by Laurel Aspen
‘Well yes, granted,’ agreed Amy, covertly admiring her colleague’s comely chassis, ‘but what happened to tights?’
‘Patients don’t like them,’ Maria said dismissively. ‘Nor do Matron or Dr Gooding. You must listen, Amy, when I tell you these things. Matron’s word is law,’ she lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘and Matron is also Mrs Gooding.’
‘Aha,’ an uncomfortable truth dawned on Amy.
‘He Mr Nice Guy, she Ms Nasty Woman,’ confirmed Maria. ‘She report you for discipline, he dish it out.’
‘Discipline,’ Amy murmured vaguely, thinking of black marks and boring lectures.
‘Amy,’ Maria was good humoured but exasperated, ‘you must read rulebook. Get in trouble then you’re punished,’ her hand slapped Amy’s rump playfully, ‘like this.’
‘What?’ Amy was incredulous. ‘You surely don’t mean a smacked bottom?’
‘We are paid very well, yes?’ said Maria, patiently trying to explain. ‘Hospital have clear rules, no committees, no written warnings, you do wrong your bum is smacked, then is all forgotten.’
‘Yes, but, I mean, have you…?’
‘Of course,’ said Maria simply, ‘but for me perhaps not so bad, back in Philippines this normal, you Western girls have been spoilt.’
‘You cheeky thing.’ Amy playfully tossed a pillow at her companion. She felt tired; it had been a long day. What the hell, she wasn’t going to worry about the clinic’s punishment regime. She hadn’t yet encountered a situation she couldn’t charm her way out of, not with men, anyway. Time for bed.
Two weeks later Amy gained her first indirect confirmation that what Maria had told her was true.
‘Ah, Amy,’ Matron called abruptly as she sailed imperiously past her down the corridor, ‘just the person I wanted to see. I realise I’ve neglected an aspect of your induction training, be outside my office in ten minutes.’
Such a summons was clearly not to be ignored, so Amy was consequently waiting outside Matron’s office door two minutes early. To her annoyance she found she was nervous, the whole situation bringing back not entirely pleasant memories of her time at a traditional private girls’ school.
‘Amy, and on time too, very good, come in,’ observed an authoritative voice from within, and anxiously Amy entered the austerely furnished room, containing a desk, two straight-backed chairs, a tall cupboard and a bookshelf. No pictures, no personal artefacts to brighten the space, but to her surprise she discovered the room already contained a third occupant, Maria, standing stiffly and tight-lipped in one corner.
‘Right then, Amy,’ commenced Matron without preamble, ‘you have now had ample time to read the clinic’s staff rulebook. In particular to peruse the chapter on discipline, which no doubt you have probably dismissed as fanciful. This session is intended to demonstrate unambiguously that is very definitely not the case.’
Amy’s mouth opened but she could think of nothing to say. Opposite her Matron stood purposefully and commanding, while Maria’s shoulders slumped abjectly, the beautiful young nurse appearing resigned to her fate.
‘Maria here has erred,’ Matron continued sternly. ‘It’s not the first time she has visited this room, so she knows what to expect. I shall punish her myself.’ Matron turned, fixing Amy with cold eyes illuminated with a glint of excitement. ‘Corporally punish her.’
‘But…’ Amy began.
‘But nothing, this is not a debate, kindly sit there and remain silent, Amy. You are required to do no more than observe.’
Having delivered this rebuke, Matron turned her attention to the pretty Filipino. ‘Maria, sit on the desk, please.’
‘But, ma’am, what have I done?’ Maria enquired pathetically, and Amy’s heart went out to the petite girl as she appealed to her employer to show mercy.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Matron replied sarcastically, ‘now do as you’re told, unless of course you wish me to double the number of strokes?’ Demonstrating considerable dignity under the circumstances, Maria walked slowly to the side of the desk, turned and sat upon it, feet dangling above the floor. At a glance from Matron she carefully lowered her torso back, laterally along the polished surface, simultaneously raising her slender legs into the air.
Once they had reached the perpendicular, at a perfect right angle to her body, she clasped a hand behind each knee to hold both lovely limbs upright. Matron grunted her approval as Maria’s assiduously ironed uniform skirt fell back to reveal stocking-clad legs and the cute curves of her delectable little bottom. Wordlessly, with clinical precision, Matron stepped forward, grasped the waistband of Maria’s skimpy white knickers and tugged them vertically upward to her knees. Her mocha-hued rear was now exposed in all its peachy perfection; dark curls of pubic hair just visible between her slightly parted thighs. Watching in mute amazement Amy was disturbed to experience a familiar sense of arousal between her legs.
Seemingly happy with Maria’s awkward position, Matron strode to the cupboard, opened it and contemplated the contents carefully, obviously pondering a difficult choice. No one spoke, a falling pin would have been clearly audible as eventually, with a smile of anticipation, Matron turned, grasping a worn looking, twin-tailed Lochelly tawse.
Clearly enjoying the element of theatre, relishing her power over the two girls, she swished the leather through the air to land with a loud ringing slap on the desktop. Eyes shut, hands tightly clutching her legs, Maria winced at the impact.
‘Six,’ intoned Matron, with grim satisfaction. ‘Please watch carefully, Amy. Any nonsense and you could be taking Maria’s place in no time at all.’
Amy looked on aghast as the domineering older woman then proceeded to act as good as her word. Three strokes from the left side, three from the right, delivered with the full strength of her forearm, right across the fleshy fullness of the helpless cheeks.
After the first three strokes Maria gasped and squirmed. First a yelp, followed at the fifth and sixth strokes by shrill cries as Maria writhed in discomfort on the table’s surface, her cute little bum basted with fierce, unforgiving heat. Somehow, despite the red bands searing her sit-upon, she managed to hold the difficult position until Matron was finished, when flushed and panting her tormentor surveyed the results with unseemly pleasure.
‘I think that should serve for your bottom,’ she began, ‘however, there remains one further disciplinary procedure.’
Amy gasped involuntarily; Maria’s ordeal was clearly not yet over.
Grasping the unfortunate girl by a lock of hair, Matron forced her off the desktop and, knickers still tangled around her calves, onto a chair. Maria winced as her crimson-streaked nether cheeks touched the unforgiving bare wooden surface, but Matron, it seemed, was a stranger to empathy. Pushing the chair under the table she reached forward and wrenched open the top of Maria’s uniform tunic, revealing a pair of small but prominent breasts encased snugly in a white bra. Roughly Matron tugged each perfect breast from its confinement as Amy felt a sharp twinge of desire at the sight of two light brown aureoles and the darker nub of each eminently suckable nipple.
Finally guessing the older woman’s intentions, Maria’s brown eyes widened with consternation as her breasts rested on the hard surface of the desk. Her mouth opened to speak, but the resultant words were instantly mutated into a loud shriek.
Once, twice, the tawse flashed down across her cruelly exposed bosom, her entire body contorting with pain and distress as two searing lines of grief imprinted themselves across her flesh.
Matron stood back, hands on hips, apparently supremely satisfied with her sadistic conclusion. ‘Maria’s sore tits and even sorer rump should leave you in no doubt about who is in charge around here, Amy. I’ll leave you to help her to her feet,’ she added breathlessly, obviously anxious to leave. ‘Let this be a lesson to both of you.’ With that she replaced the tawse and swept from the room.
Appalled, yet secretly fascinated, Amy rushed to her friend’s aid, helping Maria carefully
from the chair to stand tearfully rubbing her tormented tush. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Amy took the diminutive Asian nurse in her arms, absentmindedly whispering soothing words as she stared in fascinated horror at the weals on the girl’s burning breasts. Tentatively her hands joined Maria’s, already massaging the target area. The skin felt hot to the touch, and her efforts at comfort were clearly appreciated. Maria gave a long, sensuous moan, grinding her body against her comforter’s. Amy looked down, Maria gazed up, and their lips met in a long, lingering kiss.
For the first time that night they shared the same bed. It was Amy’s first ever Sapphic encounter but, judging from her enthusiasm and expertise, it was far from being Maria’s. With busy tongues and fingers both enjoyed a succession of orgasms. ‘But I’m not gay,’ gasped Amy, in confusion.
‘Neither am I, well not exclusively,’ responded Maria. ‘I’m open to any sexual pleasure.’ A philosophy Amy felt able to embrace wholeheartedly.
For the next two weeks Amy’s life settled into an enjoyable routine of non too taxing nursing - light on the bedpans heavy on the indulgent chats with patients - interspersed by frequent romps with her newfound Filipino friend. That Maria also found time to entertain a dalliance with a famous American film director, one of the clinic’s regulars, twice her age but possessed of sufficient charisma to charm the birds from the trees, mattered not a jot to Amy, who was frankly too unworldly to entertain thoughts of jealousy.
Amy’s appearances in the male patients’ rooms - wards were naturally non-existent at Gladesmore - became increasingly eagerly anticipated by their inhabitants as they came to increasingly recognise, from afar, the silhouette her stunning figure made against the tall windows as she sashayed into sight.
Ditzy, occasionally comic, without ever intending to be, Amy rapidly became everyone’s favourite nurse and, since political correctness held no sway within these private walls, attracted many a friendly pat on her perfectly formed posterior, to which she would often respond flirtatiously - and why not? It was what the punters were paying for. In truth, Amy was being paid to be a tangible feel-good factor. Predictably she also got a number of discrete offers - including, from an oil sheik, at least enough money to buy a substantial house outright - should she consent to being rather more liberal with her favours. Such inducements were charmingly deflected by the ingenue in a way that skilfully contrived to leave both parties un-offended.
For the moment, rather than initiate intimate male company, Amy was happy to walk in the grounds or retreat to her room to read racy erotic novels and pleasure herself with one of several vibrators she kept close to hand. Life at Gladesmore was good, everything she’d hoped for, and more. Thus it was all the more surprising for Amy to suddenly hear her name, harshly called, in far from friendly sounding terms. ‘Amy,’ Matron’s stentorian tones echoed down the corridor, ‘my office, now!’
Somewhat flustered, the nurse once again entered the austere room, sensing without being told that she should shut the door behind her. Matron was already pacing the boards, a determined look on her - it seemed to the girl - constantly scowling face. Amy might not have entertained jealous thoughts but the older woman, envious of Amy’s evident popularity with patients, apparently did.
‘Well, girl?’ she coldly demanded.
‘Well what, ma’am?’ Amy asked anxiously.
‘Don’t act the innocent with me. I told you what to expect if you stepped out of line.’
‘But I, what?’ Amy quickly became flustered. ‘I mean, I haven’t…’
‘I’ve had a complaint,’ replied Matron, so sonorously it sounded like a judicial indictment. Erect and imposing she presented an intimidating authoritative countenance to the young nurse. ‘And you’ve seen how breaches of discipline are dealt with at Grovelands.’
Amy certainly had, and the image of a soundly thrashed Maria flashed through her mind as she subconsciously clutched her bottom. The ensuing silence was pregnant with possibility.
In contrast to the nurse’s crisp white uniform, Matron wore a pristine navy-blue linen dress, tightly belted to emphasise what was, particularly for a forty-something woman, an enviably narrow waist. Which in turn thrust to prominence a generous chest and maturely sculpted hips that, to the intense enjoyment of many older patients, swayed with voluptuous promise as she clicked along the corridors on brightly polished four-inch heels. Matron deliberately dressed to impress, with her hair a deep auburn, lips and nails a vivid red, legs sheathed in black stockings, she was every uniform fetishist’s dream personified. And now she’d the perfect chance to exact revenge upon the young pretender to her sex goddess throne.
With a basilisk stare she sat on one of the hard wooden chairs, straight of back, gimlet-eyed and firm of purpose. ‘This matter will be dealt with forthwith,’ she announced menacingly. ‘Amy, come and stand beside me. Now, girl!’
Flushed and tremulous, poor Amy quickly obeyed, standing stiffly at attention beside the imposing figure, shoulders back, breasts and bum outthrust and prominent, mutely awaiting her fate.
‘Turn around,’ instructed Matron, and Amy meekly complied; giving up a startled gasp as the older woman decisively lifted her uniform skirt, tucking it into the waistband of her tunic.
‘We’ll have that out of the way for a start,’ Matron continued briskly, drinking in the vision of Amy’s pert bottom cheeks filling her tight and translucent white panties to perfection.
‘Now then,’ she grasped Amy’s wrists tightly, pulling her abruptly back round to face her, ‘get over my knee, girl.’
So it was that Amy found herself staring at the bare wooden boards, balancing across Matron’s ample lap with finger and toe-tips barely touching the floor as she struggled for balance.
‘A good spanking should restore your sense of obedience, young madam,’ announced Matron crisply, and no sooner had the words left her lips than her hand cracked sharply down upon Amy’s pale left buttock.
‘Ooh,’ the prone nurse gasped, surprised by the extent of the hurt, which instantly seared across her flesh. ‘Ahhhh…’ she burbled involuntarily as Matron unleashed a fusillade of slaps upon her unprotected rear. No gentle lover’s spanking, this, no teasing build up, no intervals of stroking and patting, but rather a fully fledged, hard and impressively thorough bottom smacking of clear punitive intent, which within minutes had rendered every inch of the exposed areas of Amy’s poor bum hot and sore. With one hand pinning the wriggling girl firmly by the waist, Matron continued her self-appointed task with an almost unseemly relish, staring intently all the while as her hand descended upon its unfortunate target.
‘Hmm, I think it’s time we had those knickers down,’ the woman announced with steely determination, after what seemed to Amy to have been a hellish eternity of stinging slaps.
‘Oh no, ma’am,’ Amy wailed in response, about to begin a plaintive pleading but stopping abruptly in mid-sentence as someone entered the office. Who on earth might it be?
‘What is the meaning of this?’ roared an enraged male voice, and to poor Amy’s absolute distress, there stood Dr Gooding.
‘Oh, doctor, I was just…’ but Matron’s flushed face and unsteady tone of voice already told their own story.
‘I’m responsible for punishments in this establishment,’ Dr Gooding stated, his voice even more alarming now it had assumed a dangerous calm. ‘Get up, young lady.’ Dr Gooding solicitously helped the dishevelled and almost tearful Amy to her feet where, regardless of her sartorial disarray, she stood rapidly trying to rub away the smart of her first ever spanking.
‘Let me look at that,’ he said with professional concern, only too pleased to feast his eyes on her two scarlet cheeks. Kneeling, apparently to better observe the damage - but in reality to conceal a burgeoning erection - he carefully ran his hands over the two blotchy but beautiful mounds that radiated heat as they yielded sensually to his assured touch.
‘Mmm,’ moaned Amy.
‘Hum, ahem, yes, I see, quite, that
’s going to take a couple of hours to fade,’ blustered Dr Gooding, managing with a superhuman effort to conceal his growing excitement.
Matron, meanwhile, sat, apparently transfixed with horror. During the course of Amy’s chastisement her skirt had ridden far up over her knees to afford a glimpse of the dark welts of her stocking tops while the topmost buttons of her dress had come undone, just revealing the possibility of an enticing cleavage. Undeniably her chest was visibly heaving, whether from fear of the consequences of her unilateral action, or from the effort she had put into Amy’s vigorous spanking, or the undoubted sexual pleasure she appeared to have enjoyed prior to its abrupt termination, wasn’t immediately clear. Probably a combination of all three, mused Dr Gooding, who recognised the symptoms; he was after all married to the woman and knew her predilections well.
‘You will both accompany me to my office,’ he said shortly, and silently side-by-side they did so, each covertly adjusting their dress as they followed him through the hospital’s austere corridors to his luxurious domain.
Once ensconced and the door firmly locked, Dr Gooding bade Matron stand to attention by the French windows, and from there to watch Amy passively accede to the request that she bend across his desk, her momentary trepidation soon reassured when he stated his intention to rub a soothing balm into her hot-to-the-touch globes. Lifting her skirt and tugging down her knickers Amy sighed and whimpered contentedly, as Dr Gooding attentively massaged the cold cream into her poor, tenderised little tush.
As his hands occasionally strayed to her sensitive inner thighs, brushing the tops of her taught suspenders and white hose, she thought dreamily that this could only be accidental, as indeed no doubt was the fleeting touch of his fingers across her downy pudenda. Amy just hoped Dr Gooding couldn’t detect the telltale moistness gathering there in response to his physician’s touch. Painful though her posterior remained, her recent corporal encounter with Matron had provided a valuable lesson about which Amy now took the opportunity to ponder: watching another female being spanked definitely turned her on. For example, after Maria’s punishing encounter with Matron, both she and Amy had been desperate to exchange kisses and entwine bodies.