It got to be five o’clock somehow.
I tapped on the door so quietly he didn’t hear me the first time and I had to knock again. Stern-faced, he opened the door.
“Ah Rosemary, yes. Do come m.’ Sort of cold, hard, not like the soft smile he’d given me the night before. I wasn’t sure I liked this person very much, but on the other hand, we were role playing, weren’t we? I sincerely hoped we were.
He led the way into a study, lined with books and furnished with huge leather armchairs and a big desk.
‘Now, Rosemary,’ he said, as he sat behind the desk tapping a pencil in his hands, leaving me standing like a sheepish schoolgirl in front of him. ‘I understand you think naughty girls should be punished. Is that right?’
I swallowed twice before replying, ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
It seemed a foolish question, but I tried anyway: ‘Well, it seems wrong, somehow, getting away with silly mistakes. If I’d been at school -’
‘You’d have been reported to the headmaster a long time ago for daydreaming and sloppy work!’ he interrupted, shocking me with his accusations. I definitely didn’t like this John Catherington at all, and turned to go.
‘Where are you going?’
‘No ... nowhere.’ And to be honest, I wasn’t. The impulse to leave flashed through my mind. I’d half given way to it, and then stopped. I’d come for something, and I was going to get it, no matter what.
‘Come round here.’
I walked round the desk, dropping my bag as I went. I stood, eyes downcast, waiting for instructions.
‘Rosemary, you’ve been my worst pupil this term. You’ve stared at me all through lessons, you’ve turned in consistently bad work, and last night there was no work at all! What have you to say?’
‘Nothing.’ And there wasn’t anything to say, not really.
‘I’m going to punish you, at your suggestion, remember? I can but hope you’ll take more notice in future.’
‘What are you...’ And I stopped, because it seemed silly to ask what he intended to do.
‘I’m going to give you a good spanking. Bend over!’
As I bent over his waiting knees, my stomach flipped right over. Here it was at last, what I’d fantasised about. Was I brave enough?
Skirt tugged up, silk petticoat kept for just this occasion and yes, the suspenders and black lace edged knickers too. He said nothing but I felt the sharp intake of breath. I think I knew then I’d picked my man accurately. I hoped I’d picked the right man, I’d be in a pretty predicament if I hadn’t!
What I hadn’t envisaged was how much a man’s hand hurts, when it meets soft, pampered flesh with a considerable amount of force. I think I yelped as the first smack stung like mad, and it seemed only seconds before my whole bottom was on fire and every subsequent smack hurt more than the one before. The pain grew more intense; my bottom got hotter and I kicked and struggled and pleaded for mercy, long, long before he stopped. And when he did stop, my bottom was completely blazing hot; from the very top, right down to the tender join. I fervently hoped that there wasn’t a surly, curlered Mrs Catherington somewhere listening to me getting well and tally spanked, and crying over it too!
I got up when he told me to, tears running down my face. I rubbed frantically at my sore bottom, not that it helped any.
‘Right, now, bend over my desk.’
Had I heard right? There was more to come? I backed away, pleading for mercy but there was none to be had.
‘Rosemary, I’ve just spanked you for daydreaming and sloppy work. Now I intend to give you six with this ruler for not handing in the latest assignment. Now bend over.’
The ruler looked pliable and painful, and I was sore, but I had no choice. After all, as he’d pointed out, it was my own suggestion.
The ruler hurt every bit as much as I thought it would, and then some. After the second whack I stood up, asking to be let off but there was still the strangely cold look on his face, and I was ordered down again, with the threat of him starting all over again if I didn’t. I bent over, hanging on to the other side of the desk, determined to take the other four. I did, but only just. When he stopped I collapsed at his feet, the six bands of pain hotter than the original all-over pain had been.
Suddenly, here was the whispering, tender, gentle, creamy-smooth John Catherington holding me and caressing me, with exploring enquiring fingers that found the wetness. The carpet was prickly and stabbed my bottom with sharp nylon tufts. I didn’t get to go on top after all, but was crushed to the floor, a cock hard and long, harder than any I’d experienced before, plunging deep into me, the part of me that had been waiting and willing. The sore bottom added impetus to my writhing as I wanted to get off it, so I thrust against him over and over. And he, in turn, rode me all the way to the climax. It wasn’t quite moonlight and roses, but every bit as good.
Afterwards, sitting in one of the soft, leather armchairs, feeling the glow spreading from my spanked bottom to parts it shouldn’t (not after the climax I’d just had) he told me how thrilled he had been to find my note.
There was no Mrs Catherington, he lived alone in the huge rambling old house with only the odd girlfriend and a supply of spanking magazines for consolation. Rarely had one of his girlfriends consented to go over his knees and when they did, they hadn’t liked it and he was beginning to think all the stories were fantasies, until last night.
He apologised for the cold hard act he’d put on, and I had to admit in all honesty it was convincing, and added tremendously to the whole thing, making me feel just like an errant schoolgirl. He said he’d worked it out all night, while he was trying to decide whether I meant what I’d written or whether it was all just a game. I made him promise to do it again, next time.
There’s not much else to tell you.
My latest assignment has just dropped on my desk, with another note.
This work isn’t up to standard. Please report to me at 5 pm tomorrow.
What price being teacher’s pet? This time I’ve been promised the cane.
Dommie
Having read SF for years, it seemed natural to me to have a go at an SF story. This was the result. Will household robots ever get that good, we ask ourselves?
Terry had been gone for a week now, and Stella was bored. There was nothing to do, and Dommie was not exactly a conversationalist. She sighed heavily. Perhaps if they’d had a baby she would have had something to occupy her days, but there was no baby, no Terry, there was nothing but the long empty days - and Dommie. He was the cause of most of her problems.
Dommie was six foot tall, dark, very good-looking - and a robot. And you just could not flirt with, tease or interest a robot. She could walk around the house naked, had walked around the house naked, and provided she didn’t try to open the front door to anyone in that state, Dommie would merely respond to her with a ‘Yes, Madam’, as he always did when spoken to. Dommie never started a conversation. He made statements.
‘Dinner is ready, Madam.’
‘Your friend has arrived. Madam.’
‘Your transporter awaits you. Madam.’
And that was about it.
Dommie was short for Domestic, his robot status. Stella, young, pretty and frustrated, was fast developing a violent crush on Dommie and he remained totally, robotically unaware of it. In fact, the only time he really made any effort to get near was when she did try - just once - to open the door naked. She was pulled rather sharply away and Dommie stood in front of the door, ignoring her commands to move, Stella sighed again. So tough, so strong, so inhuman. Such a waste.
She picked up the holographic image of Terry and it smiled at her. Why in all the Universe did she go and marry a Space Captain? It had seemed romantic at the time, marrying someone who flew to Mars as casually as she went shopping, but she
had overlooked the boredom his long absent periods would result in. Dommie was the latest addition to a house full of gadgets, and had given Stella much amusement and interest at first, testing his capabilities around the house, but now the novelty had worn off, and she was bored.
‘Someone here, someone here,’ sang the door softly.
‘I’ll open it. Dominie,’ called Stella, eager for something to do. Dommie stood in the doorway.
‘Madam, you are inadequately dressed!’ he said in his stilted not-quite-human voice. Stella looked down at the almost transparent Glassex negligee she had thrown on in the morning.
‘I’m not naked, Dommie,’ she answered swiftly, ‘and it won’t be anyone important.’ And before Dommie could respond to that, she ran to open the door. Outside stood a young blond man, wearing the bright orange Helpers Inc. coveralls.
‘Mrs Black?’ he enquired, trying and failing to look at her face. ‘Helpers Incorporated, you called us.’
‘Yes, I did.’ Stella felt a prickle of excitement. ‘Come on in.’ She swung her head a little, sending shivers of light over her sleek black hair. She led the man to the kitchen and pointed to the waste-disposal unit.
‘It’s the waste-disposal, it refuses to dispose of waste!’
The man smiled at her small joke, and again tried not to look at her body as he opened a tiny box of tools. Stella began to move away some of the accumulated rubbish.
‘You have been having problems, haven’t you?’
More than you know, thought Stella, but replied brightly. ‘Yes, just a few days and look at the rubbish! I was hoping our Domestic would have been able to fix it, but this is something outside his programming.’
The man looked up as Dommie glided silently into the kitchen. ‘That your Domestic?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘He was one of the expensive ones, I bet.’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘You’re lucky, my wife would give a lot for one like that.’
Stella suddenly felt as though Dommie was staring at her and she said abruptly, ‘It’s all right, Dommie, you can attend to your other duties.’
‘But Madam -’ Dommie began. Stella cut him off.
‘That’s a command.’
‘Command accepted.’ Dommie turned and silently glided away.
Stella turned back to the repair man and caught just the glimpse of his look as he eyed her near-naked body. He resolutely turned back to the disposal unit. Stella crept nearer to him, on the pretence of being interested in the workings of the unit. The man tried to pretend she wasn’t there, as he checked and probed, but when he reached out for a tool from his bag, his hand touched her leg. He looked at her.
‘Mrs Black, I’m trying to fix this for you. You’re getting in the way, just a little.’
‘Sorry.’ Stella backed off a bit, slightly subdued. She caught sight of Dommie watching her from the hallway. So what? She thought defiantly. What can Dommie do about it? For the first time she was glad he was only a robot. At last the man stood up and shut the tool box.
‘Only a small problem, Mrs Black, it’ll be all right now.’
‘Thank you.’ She leaned back against the cooker, her full breasts pushing at the filmy material, nipples erect. Being around a man always did that to her, especially when she was lonely and bored.
The man swallowed a few times and made for the door.
‘The - the office’ll send the bill.’
‘I’ll see you out.’
‘Thank you.’ He was going red now and Stella smiled seductively at him.
‘Come back any time you’re passing.’
‘Goodbye!’ he said, and beat a hasty retreat.
Stella turned away and walked into Dommie. ‘Get out of my way!’ she snapped, but he caught hold of her wrist in an iron grip. Stella tried to pull away from him.
‘What’re you doing, Dommie?’ she demanded. ‘I command you to let me go!’
‘Your command is not accepted, Madam.’ The impassive face of the robot hardly moved as he spoke. ‘I have been specially programmed by Mr Black for just this occasion. Your commands cannot override my programming.’ He glided away, towing a frantic Stella behind him.
‘Where are we going!’ she cried, furious that he would not accept her orders. ‘Dommie, where are you taking me?’
Dommie ignored her and dragged Stella along the highly polished hall and into the kitchen where he sat stiffly on a high kitchen stool. Stella stood by his side, held firmly in an iron grip that she could not break, no matter how hard she tried, without bruising herself extensively. It was easier to wait and see what he would do next.
What happened next surprised her considerably. Dommie pulled Stella over his knees and put one arm around her waist to hold her still as she struggled and fought to get free.
‘Dommie!’ she shrieked. ‘Stop it!’ She struggled even harder when she felt her negligee being pulled back, exposing her bare bottom to the air. A dreadful feeling came over her as she began to realise what was happening, that Dommie had been programmed in a way she would never have believed possible.
And every fear became reality. Dommie brought one hard hand down SMACK! on one of her plump cheeks. Stella squealed with outrage and pain and Dommie brought his hand down equally soundly on the other cheek. His hands were hard and unyielding, and each smack covered a large area. He waited while she shouted and yelled, while the pain coursed through her. Then he smacked her again, once on each cheek. After three smacks Stella was crying but had stopped struggling, it was no good trying to reason or fight with a programmed robot, she had to stay where she was, hoping it wouldn’t last too long. Dommie deliberately paused between each set of two smacks, once each side, making her draw in a breath with dreadful anticipation of the next sound SLAP that a plasti-iron hand could deliver. Someone had programmed him very carefully; the smacks covered all her plump cheeks, and were delivered with the same strength each time, no variations.
She stared through tear-filled eyes at the patterned floor, hoping he hadn’t been programmed to deliver too many smacks!
Dommie stopped after the twelfth and helped Stella to stand up. She stood in front of him. holding her bottom, tears freely pouring down her face.
‘Why?’ she shouted, still not understanding.
‘Madam,’ said Dommie precisely. ‘I have been programmed to punish you for any flirtation with any person other than your husband.’
‘I might have guessed Terry was up to something, buying you,’ she said furiously. ‘When did he programme you?’
Dommie had clicked off, and Stella knew from experience there was no point in trying to talk to him.
She ran upstairs to the bedroom and slammed the door after her as hard as she could. Terry! Damn him for a distrusting man! No wonder he’d been so keen to have Dommie delivered before he left. How dare he not trust her! It’s only a game, this flirting, and only because she was so bored when he wasn’t around. She had no doubt that he was unfaithful to her on his flights, how could he not be with all those space attendants hanging around wearing skin-tight coveralls? She dried her tears and sniffed, then went to the mirror to inspect her hot bottom. It was bright red and glowing. She sniffed again. He’d pay for this when he got back!
A few days later, when Stella’s boredom had reached screaming point, there came a welcome diversion. Her friend Isabel called to take her on a shopping trip. Isabel was a slim petite and pretty blonde, with a reputation for gossip and slander, just the sort of person Stella needed to take her out of herself for a while. The two women set off in high spirits. They spent a considerable amount of time window shopping and buying items they didn’t really need.
As the hour grew late, Isabel suggested they stay in town to eat and Stella agreed. She called Dommie from a visibooth to cancel her lun
ch. As they entered the restaurant Stella confessed: ‘I don’t know how I managed before Dommie came along.’
‘I bet it gives Terry some peace of mind while he’s away. There isn’t much Dommie can’t do, is there?’ asked Isabel, openly envious of the expensive robot.
Stella wriggled her bottom on the chair, suddenly remembering one of the things Dommie could do. ‘He’s marvellous to have around,’ she confided, ‘and you wouldn’t believe the things Terry’s programmed him to do!’
‘I’d believe anything of someone as gorgeous as Dommie!’ said Isabel.
‘Yes, but this you won’t believe, Terry’s programmed him to spank -’
Stella stopped suddenly, realising she had said far too much to the town gossip but it was too late. The word was out, and Isabel pounced on it.
‘Spank you? Has he, really? Darling, do tell.’
Stella sighed inwardly. She’d done it now, and there was no point in not saying anything else, she’d given it all away.
‘Terry’s programmed Dommie so that if I flirt with anyone I get spanked.’
‘And did you?’
‘How do you think I found out? I found myself over his knees, skirt up, getting my bottom smacked just like a little girl!’
‘Did it hurt?’ Isabel was all eagerness.
‘I’ll say it did! There’s no fighting Dommie, he’s too strong, and he’s got a very hard hand too!’
‘I don’t think I’d mind being held tight by someone like that,’ sighed Isabel.
‘Yes,’ said Stella, ‘but he’s a robot and completely unaware of women, except as someone in the house to obey.’
‘There’s a thought,’ giggled Isabel wickedly and the women laughed. The manager came over to the table and smiled at them.
‘Enjoying your lunch, ladies?’ he asked.
Cream of the Crop Page 7