by C. P. Vanner
Hampton reached into the bookcase and found the cane, four feet of hard bamboo. ‘Bend down,’ he commanded.
Just then the maid hurried into the room. ‘Please sir, don’t beat him,’ she begged. ‘I didn’t realise you were home. He’s my brother.’
‘That makes no difference to me,’ Hampton retorted. ‘I’m still going to thrash him.’
‘But it’s my fault,’ the maid pleaded.
‘Did you tell him to read my books?’ Hampton asked.
She shook her head.
‘Did you tell him not to read my books?’
She nodded.
Hampton swept the cane through the air. ‘In that case there’s no reason to change my intention.’
The maid grasped the hand holding the cane. ‘He’s not really my brother, sir. He’s my lover. If you are going to punish anyone it should be me.’
‘It will be you after him,’ Hampton snapped. ‘The nerve of you, using my home as a clandestine meeting place. I can imagine what you get up to when I’m not here.’ He turned to Charlie. ‘Remove your trousers and underwear and bend down.’
Slowly Charlie took off his shoes, socks, trousers and underpants and bent down in front of Hampton, with his hands on his knees. With the end of the cane Hampton flipped up his shirttail and tapped Charlie’s legs apart. He whistled quietly under his breath as he studied his victim.
‘Take all your clothes off,’ he said.
When Charlie stood in front of him, naked apart from her mask, her pubis shaved and her breasts firm and cherry tipped, Hampton said, ‘You try to deceive me, on top of everything else. You will get double the number of strokes for that - double strength.’
When the maid cried, imploring him not to carry out the punishment, Hampton turned on her. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘for you too. This... this female is your lover, you say? It is unnatural. You are lesbians and you are deceivers. It is right that you are severely punished. I shall enjoy administering it but not until you each have had a turn.’
He ordered the maid to strip but to leave on her shoes, stockings and suspender belt. When she had done so, he made her sit down and take Charlie across her lap. ‘Now you will spank your lover, as hard as she deserves,’ he said, adding that the softer the spanking, the harder would be the caning that followed.
The maid needed no second bidding. She spanked until her hand hurt and until Charlie’s buttocks were bright red and she was squealing with pain. Then it was Charlie’s turn, and she too spared no mercy, spanking even harder in return. The maid’s bottom, deliciously framed by the suspender belt and stocking tops, quivered delightfully with every stroke. By the time Hampton stopped them, every visible inch of Abigail’s flesh was a burning scarlet.
‘Now for the real thing,’ he said. ‘Who’s first?’
‘I... I’ll take a double dose if you’ll spare my friend,’ the maid said meekly.
Hampton laughed briefly. ‘Very noble,’ he said. ‘And for such unselfish behaviour, I shall take you second.’
He made Charlie bend over the back of the sofa, and the maid to kneel the other side, holding her friend by the wrists. ‘I am going to beat you for deceiving me, for disobeying my orders and for being a dirty little girl who plays with herself.’ The maid watched with wide eyes as he positioned himself behind Charlie, cutting the cane in the air.
As each stroke landed with a meaty crack across Charlie’s bottom, the maid could feel the girl’s hands clench inside her own, and see the tears that sparkled in her tormented eyes. She sobbed continuously and hung her head, resigned to her fate.
‘You may kiss her better and then change places,’ Hampton finally announced, noticeably panting with the effort of caning Charlie.
With her friend still draped over the back of the sofa, Abigail went around to the other side and fell on her knees in front of the cruelly striped bottom. Tenderly she kissed the stripes, trying to draw out the pain with her soft lips.
After a moment or two, Charlie straightened up and walked a little stiffly around the sofa as the maid took the position she had vacated, the fabric of the sofa already warm under her belly.
‘A double dose,’ Hampton said. ‘That seems only fair for a slightly plumper bottom.’
The maid said nothing, but clasped Charlie’s hands firmly with her own. She gasped as the first stroke landed with force across the middle of both buttocks and she was crying freely by the time the last stroke cut across the top of her thighs.
As Hampton dropped the cane, Charlie rushed around and started kissing the maid’s bottom, placing a cool cheek on the burning flesh. Apparently oblivious to Hampton, she ran her tongue along the last weal until it met and lingered on the sweet lips peeking between Abigail’s thighs.
Hampton, who had picked up the discarded book, looked up from the picture on the page that Charlie had been studying to the two girls in front of him. ‘This gives me an idea,’ he said.
He made the girls stand up and study the picture with him. It showed two naked girls making love. One was lying on the floor on her back, her legs apart. The other was kneeling over her, also with her legs apart. Each girl had her head buried between the other’s thighs; each had a pink tongue against the other’s red cleft.
‘This is what you like, so this is what you shall have,’ Hampton said.
He made Abigail lie on her back on the floor, with her legs apart and her knees raised. She wriggled as the tender flesh of her bottom touched the carpet. The maid still wore her mask, suspender belt and stockings. Charlie was naked apart from her mask. With her back to Hampton, she straddled the maid, her bottom in the air and her head lowered to the warm sex exposed and inviting in front of her. Instinctively and without further instruction, the girls placed lips to lips and started licking each other.
Hampton watched intently as he undressed. When he was totally naked, he too knelt by the maid’s head, his penis just inches from her tongue as it disappeared inside her friend.
Arching his body over Charlie, he slid his erection between Charlie’s vagina and the maid’s tongue and began to slowly pump so it was warmed and wetted by each. Then he withdrew, took the maid’s hands and placed them on Charlie’s pink and purple bottom. ‘Open it for me,’ he said.
The maid, licking her friend again, gently pulled Charlie’s sore buttocks apart to allow Hampton free passage. As both girls increased the pace of their licking, issuing wet gurgles and gasps, Hampton thrust into Charlie’s tight rear passage and started to pump slowly back and forth. This movement pushed Charlie’s vagina harder against the maid’s mouth, and Abigail thrust even deeper with her tongue as if trying to lick Hampton inside her friend.
The gasps turned to moans and the moans to cries as all three chased their climaxes together, and when their climaxes arrived, they came as a single explosion. With a satisfied sigh Hampton collapsed with his full weight on Charlie, and the two slumped onto Abigail.
When Hampton finally raised his head, he saw the maid’s mask had slipped off, and he saw that the maid, the ‘model’ who’d been photographed being spanked and enjoyed fantasy games under the names of Candy and Abigail, was in fact the star of Cross, Carstairs and Denton - Beth Forrester herself.
Chapter 14
‘You look well. The country must have done you some good.’ Richard Cross looked admiringly at Natasha. She did indeed look well, her pale skin tinted by the sun, and her cheeks gently flushed. The evening sun flooding through the window of his office turned her soft black hair into a lustrous dark gold.
‘Thank you, I do feel rested,’ she said.
‘Rested? I’m not certain that’s such a good thing. You didn’t go to the country for some R and R.’
Richard Cross was, as usual, seated behind his desk. Beth lounged on the sofa with her feet up. It was Friday evening, after all, and the staff had finished work for the week. Natasha sat in an
easy chair by the window, with a red folder on her lap.
‘Is that your report?’ Richard asked.
‘Yes,’ Natasha replied. ‘I wrote it today when I got back. I used Beth’s computer at home. I had to compile it in a hurry, so there are probably lots of mistakes.’ She didn’t add that Beth had helped her with the writing, lay out and presentation, even helping her print the report and put it neatly into a folder.
She stood up. ‘I’ll leave it with you,’ she said, reaching to put the folder on his desk.
‘Not so fast,’ Richard said. ‘We are all here. There is no hurry. I would like you to read it.’
Natasha, taken aback, resumed her seat, still clutching the folder. ‘I’m not very good at reading aloud.’
‘If you want a job here you’ll find you have to speak in public,’ Richard said, not too unkindly. ‘You’re among friends now, so it will be good practice for you. But before you start, perhaps you’ll pour all three of us a drink.’
Natasha busied herself with bottles and glasses at the sideboard, trying not to look at the object lying on its surface until she had to move it out of the way. She pushed at it with tentative fingers, telling herself it was simply a piece of wood, not a cane. Beth, watching but not helping her friend, noticed the smile play around Richard’s lips as he observed Natasha’s hesitancy.
When all three had their drinks, Natasha resumed her seat and opened the folder. Richard nodded and she began to read aloud in a light, girlish voice.
‘Tuesday, August 3.
‘Arrived by taxi mid-afternoon. Big house, very beautiful. The central section dates back to sixteenth century. Enormous garden, complete with swimming pool.
‘Mrs Cross very gracious, tells me to call her Helen. Tea together on the veranda followed by a walk around the grounds. Helen talks about purpose of visit. Says she was raised in a very moral home, turpitude was severely punished. (Looked up turpitude later in the library. It means baseness, depravity, vileness.) Helen says young women should learn obedience and self-discipline in an old-fashioned way, that infractions should be dealt with severely, a lesson she had learned at the hands of her father. Not certain I agree, not entirely certain what she meant, but kept silent.
‘Helen says that she had heard from Richard that I had a tendency to be “light-fingered”, and was an example of such turpitude. Her father would have been most severe. Helen says the means never justifies the end. Must think about that. Helen says deceit is always destructive but most destructive when we deceive ourselves. She says the nuns who used to live in the house centuries before when it was a convent, used to flog themselves and each other to purify their spirits and that it was good for them. She calls it self-flagellation. I say I bet it was the monks who flogged the nuns, but Helen is not amused. She says I need purification.
‘We sit under a huge oak tree in the garden and she asks me about myself. She is very easy to talk to. I tell her about modelling, how I am fed up with it and want a more demanding career. She asks me about my family and my childhood. I tell her about my time as a teenager in the hostel, how I was frequently being punished. She puts her arms around me and asks for the details. I sit on the grass with my head on her lap and she strokes my hair as I tell her exactly what happened to me and how unhappy I was.’
‘Excuse me interrupting, Natasha,’ Richard said, ‘but this is news to me.’ He turned to Beth. ‘Did you know about her time in a home?’
Beth nodded, and Richard turned again to Natasha. ‘Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me about it when you’ve finished your report. Now continue.’
‘We make supper together in the big kitchen. It is lovely. New potatoes, cold meats and salad, followed by strawberries freshly picked from the garden with a sauce of crushed raspberries and cream. Perfect. Afterwards Helen shows me the library. So many books and documents. She finds some books that are more than a hundred years old, maybe two hundred, about how life used to be in the convent. I think they will be boring, but they are not. In fact, they are quite naughty. There are pictures; Helen calls them plates, under sheets of tracing paper. Some of them show nuns being whipped. We giggle a lot but I feel quite sorry for them.
‘Helen says it is time for bed as I have a hard day ahead of me tomorrow. She sends me upstairs for a bath. It is an enormous old-fashioned tub, and I feel as if I’m swimming, not bathing. When I’m up to my neck in water, Helen comes in and sits down on a bath stool. We talk again about my childhood and Helen says what I must have missed most, not having a proper mother, was bath time and bedtime. I am quite touched when she makes me wash well behind my ears and between my legs. When I stand up she wraps me in a large warm towel and helps me out of the bath. Helen is a strong woman. She is beautiful and the opposite of me, with a voluptuous figure.
‘In the bedroom, a lovely light and airy room, she makes me lie naked on the bed while she powders me like a baby. I am not at all embarrassed in front of her; she does it all so naturally. First she powders my front, my armpits, my breasts, my stomach and lower parts. Then she makes me turn over and she powders my back. She runs her hands over and around my bottom for so long that I am almost hypnotised by it. She says she can understand why the man in the hostel spent so much time looking at my bottom because it is beautiful. As she talks, she rubs the powder over my bottom and between my legs. Her fingers touch me quite intimately but I am too dreamy to object. To be truthful, I do not want to object, I want it to go on. I hear her say that tomorrow the lessons in unquestioning obedience start, but I am listening not to her voice but to her hands. She is a beautiful woman. I think I am a little bit in love with her.’
Richard snorted derisively, but Natasha ignored him and continued to read.
‘Wednesday, August 4.
‘Mrs Cross can be so cruel. I am awoken by her calls from the bathroom. I rush to her in my pyjamas and find her up to her neck in soapsuds. Then I say good morning and she replies, “Mrs Cross to you, girl. Now wash me”. She stands up in the tub like Aphrodite rising from the sea. Her figure is as nice as I knew it would be. She makes me wash every inch of her, some areas, the areas between her legs, over and over again. I am soaked. Then I have to dry her. She sits on the bath stool and opens her legs for me so that I may dry in between. She says she always thought that a woman’s sex looks like a ripe fruit, a fig maybe. I agree to be polite. “In that case”, she says, “why don’t you taste it?”. I decline politely. Then she says that I am going to learn my first lesson, that an invitation from her is an order. She makes me remove my wet pyjama trousers and lie over her lap. She spanks my bare bottom hard. It stings like anything. As she is spanking me, she tells me that before the day is out I shall taste her forbidden fruit. In the meantime, my bottom will be severely chastised, that Richard Cross expects nothing less.’
At this point, a blushing Natasha stopped reading aloud and glanced at Richard, before reaching for her drink to conceal her confusion. Richard nodded. ‘My wife was correct,’ he said. ‘How did you feel being spanked?’
‘Like a teenager,’ Natasha replied. ‘Humiliated. Embarrassed.’
Richard nodded again. ‘Details, girl. I told you I want all the details. Continue.’
Natasha replaced her glass on the windowsill and resumed reading.
‘When the spanking is over, Mrs Cross tells me to take off my pyjama jacket so that I am naked and to wait for her. In the meantime I should clean the bathroom. She takes ages getting dressed so I have time to make the bathroom really clean. When she returns she is carrying a cane and an apron. She throws the apron to me and tells me to put it on. When I protest that I need my clothes, she says the apron is the only clothing I am permitted. I put it on. It covers my front, just, my breasts and my tummy, but from behind I am bare. I have already inspected myself in the bathroom mirror and I know that my bottom is red. Now I must walk around with it exposed.
‘Together we go to the
kitchen, Mrs Cross never letting go of the cane. I have to make breakfast for both of us. Luckily she wants nothing fried; I was worried that I might burn myself. But when I drop a cup, although it does not break, she lashes the cane across my sore bottom as I stoop to pick it up. I want to cry but I am determined not to give her that satisfaction. In fact the longer the morning goes on, and the more I am caned, the more it becomes a battle for me to show that I don’t care. I see it as a battle of wills between me and the cane, a battle I am determined to win.’
Natasha looked up at Richard, her chin high and defiance in her eyes, as if implying it was him she was fighting. He said nothing but nodded encouragingly.
Her voice broke a little as she spoke to him. ‘You said you wanted the facts, just the facts. I hope you don’t mind that occasionally I put in my opinion.’
‘As so long as it is valid,’ he replied.
‘I don’t see the point of this. What is cleaning the house in the nude teaching me? Being thrashed like a convict... what has this to do with a career, with advertising? I clean virtually every room downstairs with Mrs Cross following my every footstep and lashing me whenever I miss a speck of dust. I hate it. If it were not for Beth, I would leave right now. I am not a fighter; I am a weeper. I break down in tears in the library and Mrs Cross softens for a moment. She rubs soothing oil on my buttocks that helps with the pain. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror, my bottom looks like a plum, polished and ready for sale on a market stall, purple and glowing. I am so ashamed.
‘She leaves me alone after that for a while. I have to scrub the stone passage leading from the backdoor to the scullery. I have been on my knees with a bucket and scrubbing brush for a good ten minutes when I feel a draft around my nether regions. I look over my shoulder to find the door open and a figure standing in the doorway, a man who is staring at me. He takes a filthy pipe out of his mouth and says, “In the country, that be what we calls an invitation”. The brute was referring to my bottom. I stand up and slam the door; thankful my nakedness is fairly well covered from the front. But from that moment on, I feel always his eyes are upon me, even though he is not to be seen.