by Fiona Locke
In stories the ritual had always been my favourite part. The spanking itself was often anticlimactic. The telling off and anticipation were what really set my pulse racing. Then the careful positioning, raising of the skirt, taking down of the knickers … There was an art to it. It was a dance with precise choreography. And the moments leading up to the spanking were like the predatory circling before the tango.
Facing a genuine punishment was an entirely different matter. I could neither avoid it nor hurry it along. Mired in ambivalence, I didn’t know whether it was worse to postpone it or get it over with. The preparations heightened my anxiety – a punishment in itself. I could do nothing but wait while he made ready to punish me.
At last he was satisfied and he sat down. ‘Right, young lady,’ he said sternly. ‘Over my knee.’
Though the distance was tiny, I could barely cross it on my trembling legs. Standing powerless beside him, I implored him with my eyes. But I had no choice. I draped myself across his lap.
Without a word he lifted my tartan skirt to reveal my bottom, demurely covered by a pair of powder-blue boyshorts. Instead of taking them down, he smoothed them out over the curves of my unblemished cheeks, carefully arranging them so that they were trim and taut. I knew without being told that the next time this happened I would be in school uniform. White cotton panties would replace my boyshorts and French knickers. And my array of tartan skirts would hang like lonely orphans in the wardrobe, forsaken for the plain navy-blue pleated school skirt he favoured.
Peter lifted his right knee, raising my bottom a little more. My sense of shame increased and I whimpered, wrapping my hands around his leg.
I expected another scolding – his palm describing languid circles over my nervously clenching cheeks while he lectured me further on my negligence. But he didn’t waste any time getting straight to business. He spanked me briskly and vigorously and I squealed and struggled right from the start.
‘I know it hurts,’ he said, not without affection. ‘It needs to hurt if it’s to do any good. And I’m not going to stop until you’ve learnt a lesson.’
Peter’s hands were beguilingly smooth, almost the hands of an artist. It was hard to believe he was capable of the exceptionally hard spankings he could deliver. His arm was tireless and he slapped each tender cheek in turn with a rigorous cadence that made it impossible to hold still. But he didn’t let that deter him. He simply held me down and wrapped his right leg around the backs of my knees, pinning me in position. The spanking continued in earnest and I couldn’t even kick. Gasping for breath, I made my usual frenetic promises that I would be good, that I would work hard and not slack off.
At last his rhythm began to slow and I could breathe again, thinking it was almost over. He stopped and placed his hand alternately on each cheek, feeling the warmth. Then he tugged my knickers down to my knees.
Tears welled in my eyes as I braced myself for another onslaught. His hand descended in a steady torrent of slaps that echoed and rebounded in the room, making my ears ring. I was crying long before he was done.
Finally, he let me up and I stumbled to my feet, wiping my tear-streaked face. Peter stood up and folded me in a tight hug. I clung to him, sniffling piteously.
‘I don’t enjoy having to do this,’ he said sincerely. ‘I’d rather roleplay a scene with an imagined offence. But I won’t hesitate to discipline you when you need it. Caring punishment can be very effective in the right context and I think you will respond well to it. But remember – this is just a warning. A reminder of what is expected. Serious offences will warrant stricter punishments.’
My eyes strayed fearfully to the birching block and I couldn’t suppress the shudder as a surge of cold fear went through me.
In bed that night, I replayed the scene over and over, caught between dread and arousal. I knew that I would never be able to live up to his exacting standards, however hard I tried. A slide was inevitable. It only heightened my arousal.
Twelve
‘YOU’LL NEVER GUESS what we did,’ Courtney sang.
‘You’re probably right,’ said Peter drily. ‘So you’ll just have to tell us.’
The waiter had taken our orders and the four of us had relative privacy in our corner of the restaurant. Courtney dug in her handbag and I was surprised when she came up with a handful of phone-box cards.
On the way to dinner she’d been giggling at every phone box we passed.
‘Was it that one?’ she’d asked Shaun at one point.
He shook his head. ‘No, the one in front of Starbucks. On the corner.’
Peter and I just looked at each other quizzically. I guessed that, since she was American, the novelty of tart cards hadn’t worn off yet. She’d only been in London a couple of years.
Courtney spread the cards out across the table like a blackjack dealer. We looked at the cards, then at Courtney and Shaun.
‘Well, go on, pick one,’ Shaun said, enjoying the game as much as Courtney.
Peter and I perused the cards. Some of them were, admittedly, enticing. But most were just silly. There was an implausibly gorgeous Scandinavian blonde named Astrid. She was bending over with her skirt up, revealing what Peter would call a very spankable bottom. ‘Spanking and –’ I peered closer at the typo ‘– Canning. An odd pair of services.’
Peter smirked at another one. ‘I can’t imagine this is the actual girl at the end of the phone line,’ he said. ‘This is some Brazilian supermodel clipped out of Vogue.’
We leafed through the cards, chuckling at each unbelievable girl. If they were truly the girls in the pictures they belonged in Hollywood, not turning tricks in a sleazy London brothel.
There was a Young Oriental Beauty with strategically placed stars covering her nipples. Her ad declared she was ‘hot and spicy’, offering ‘unhurried services’. There was an Italian Stunner who did lesbian shows. A Sexy American Transsexual who was New In Town was eager to offer All Services. One girl, calling herself simply New Blonde, specialised in Bubble Baths.
But the corniest one of all said, ‘Czech me out.’ Peter and I groaned in unison at the odious pun. The picture showed a fresh-faced Eastern European girl with a shy smile and dark hair cut in a bob. ‘Lenka. Petite Student from Prague.’ There had to be some pervy joke that Shaun and Courtney wanted us to find.
I had always enjoyed the kinky cards. Some of them even showed girls in school uniform advertising my kind of play. Wide-eyed girls in gymslips, claiming they’d been ever so naughty … I’d once entertained a silly fantasy of making my own card and sticking it in a phone box. But the prospect of sex with a sweaty stranger when all I wanted was a smacked bottom was just too squicky.
When we’d looked at all the cards, I shrugged. ‘OK, I give up. What’s the story?’
Shaun picked out the corny Czech one and handed it to Peter. He blinked at it, turning it over. There was an address written on the back, but nothing illuminating.
He shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘What are we missing?’
Shaun and Courtney exchanged conspiratorial grins.
Suddenly, we understood.
‘You didn’t,’ I breathed, gaping at the card.
Courtney shrieked with laughter and the other diners in the restaurant frowned at us, startled and annoyed.
Peter handed the cards back to Shaun, shaking his head. ‘OK, this sounds like a good story,’ he said, ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘Well,’ Shaun said, ‘it started out just as a laugh. We never thought we’d actually go through with it.’
For several nights they had been collecting phone-box cards, looking for just the right girl. But neither of them was into vacuous blondes or exotic foreigners. They wanted a girl-next-door who didn’t look like a pro.
‘Let’s keep trying,’ Shaun said. ‘I still don’t think any of these are quite right.’
They had been up and down Tottenham Court Road and around Russell Square. Now they wandered along Bloomsbury Street, past the
British Museum. They peeked into all the phone boxes along the way, finding more of the same cards.
At last Courtney entered a phone box and stopped. ‘Got her,’ she said, holding the card out to Shaun.
‘Czech me out,’ said the card. Lenka was exactly what they were looking for.
Shaun grinned. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Definitely.’
Nervously he picked up the receiver and sent the coins rattling into the slot. He gave Courtney a lopsided grin. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say.’
Courtney shrugged and waited, bursting with subversive excitement. Shaun’s expression changed and she knew someone had answered.
‘Hello,’ Shaun said cheerily. ‘I’m calling for Lenka.’ He listened for a moment, then replied to the person on the other end. ‘I found her card in a phone box. Is that really her in the photo?’
There was a pause.
‘In photo,’ he said slowly. ‘That is really Lenka?’
Courtney giggled. She could only hear Shaun’s side of the conversation, but she was able to fill in some of the gaps.
‘It is? OK. And who are you?’ Another pause. His brow furrowed. ‘The maid?’
They blinked at each other. Maid?
‘Well, can you tell me what her rates are?’ he asked, then simplified his wording. ‘How much?’
A tinny voice buzzed in response, but Courtney couldn’t make out what it was saying. She pressed her head close to the receiver and Shaun held it away from his ear for her. When she still couldn’t make it out, she gave up.
‘Sixty pounds for half an hour,’ Shaun repeated for her. ‘What about spanking?’ He winced slightly at the lengthy answer that followed. He made two rude gestures, miming what must be a graphic list of everything Lenka was willing to do. ‘OK. Well, listen, I have a couple of questions. I’m here with my girlfriend.’
At that Courtney giggled again and Shaun nudged her with his foot to be quiet.
‘No, I don’t want to be spanked. I want a girl I can spank. Will Lenka do that? Let me spank her? Good. And my girlfriend will be with me. To watch. No sex. Just spanking.’
There was another long pause as the maid was clearly laying out the rules for Shaun. He nodded distractedly, squinting and rolling his eyes at various things. At last he said, ‘That sounds fine. Where are you? Upper Montagu Street? All right. Hold on, let me write it down.’
He gestured to Courtney and she handed him a pen. He wrote the address on the back of the card.
‘What Tube station? Baker Street? OK. So we call when we get there and you’ll let us in? Fine. We’ll be there in about half an hour. OK. See you then. Ta.’
He hung up and Courtney bounced up and down like a puppy, begging him to share it with her.
‘She’ll let me spank her. But not too hard. No marks.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And it’s sixty quid.’
She let out a low whistle. ‘Holy shit, I’m in the wrong line of work!’ She laughed.
It was a dark street of peeling Victorian houses and they found the address easily. They were both apprehensive as they stood outside the nondescript building, trying to get up the courage to call.
‘Are we really going to do this?’ Shaun asked.
Courtney played with her hair, agonising. ‘I don’t know. Do you think it’s safe?’
He shrugged and looked up at the darkened windows. ‘I’ve no idea. It’s not like I’ve ever done this before.’
They were silent for a long time. Finally, Courtney spoke. ‘If we chicken out now we’ll regret it forever and we’ll never have the guts to go through with it again.’
Nodding, Shaun murmured agreement. He took a deep breath and hit the redial number on his mobile.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I called a little while ago about Lenka. We’re outside the building. OK, we will.’
He rang off and looked to Courtney for courage as his finger hesitated on the button to the right of the door. With a bright flash of a smile, Courtney pushed his finger on to the button and they both gave a little jump when the buzzer sounded to let them in. Neither of them had any idea what to expect. In the back of their minds was the worry that they’d be arrested or roughed up by gangsters.
But a small older Eastern European woman with a weathered face and bright orange hair let them in and introduced herself as the maid. She beckoned Shaun and Courtney up the stairs. The house was cluttered, but clean. At the top of the stairs was a small bedroom, where she asked them to wait. She offered them tea, but they declined politely.
Shaun reminded the maid what they were there for and she gave them a friendly smile and nodded as if it was a perfectly normal request she got all the time. Perhaps it was.
‘Lenka is busy now. But soon she is ready.’
‘How soon?’ Shaun asked.
The maid shrugged. ‘Fifteen minutes? Is hard to say.’
‘What is she wearing?’ Shaun asked.
‘Wearing?’
‘What clothes? How is she dressed?’
The maid seemed surprised by the question. Presumably most of her customers didn’t care what she was wearing, as they’d want it off as soon as possible.
‘Blue dress,’ the maid said slowly.
‘What about her underwear?’ When the maid laughed, Shaun explained, ‘I don’t want her wearing a thong. I like panties that cover her bottom.’
Puzzled, the maid shook her head. ‘I do not understand.’
‘Courtney, stand up,’ he said.
Shaun turned Courtney around and bent her over, raising her skirt so that the maid could see her panties. They were soft and pink and covered her bottom fully.
‘Like these.’
The maid gave another laugh. ‘Oh, I understand! Yes, she will wear.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You wait, please. I bring Lenka.’ With that she left, closing the door behind her.
Courtney eyed the small sagging bed. ‘You could have me while we wait,’ she suggested impishly.
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘You don’t have enough money for two girls anyway.’
‘Yes, but I don’t have to pay you to redden your backside, do I?’
She giggled.
While they waited they listened to the sounds of the brothel. The phone rang almost constantly and they could hear the low voice of the maid as she chattered away to the callers. There was the intermittent squeal of pipes and the sound of a toilet flushing, then a torrential shower, which seemed to run forever. At one point the lights went out and they froze, fearing a police raid. But then the maid was arguing with someone, a man, in Czech. After some energetic banging, the lights went back on.
‘It’s a madhouse,’ Courtney said, laughing.
They strained to hear any sounds of sex, but couldn’t. Once, they heard what they thought were smacking noises. They both pricked up, listening, but the sounds were not repeated.
It was nearly an hour before the maid returned. ‘OK,’ she panted, slightly out of breath. ‘Lenka is here.’
She stood aside and the girl from the photo came into the room. Lenka looked about twenty and her hair had grown an inch since the picture was taken. It was a little shaggy and tousled, but that only added to her appeal. She had dark eyes, high Slavic cheekbones and a girlish smile. The simple denim dress she wore enhanced her student image; she could have come straight from class.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Shaun stood up and greeted her with a smile.
The maid said something to Lenka and Lenka responded with a rapid burst of Czech.
‘I explain to Lenka,’ the maid said to Shaun. ‘Spanking, no sex.’
‘That’s right,’ said Shaun. ‘You said sixty pounds on the phone.’
‘Yes. Come. I show you room.’
The maid led Shaun and Courtney into a larger room that was decorated with garish floral wallpaper and smelt strongly of cinnamon. The double bed was freshly made with pastel-green sheets. The plac
e could have been a homely B&B anywhere in the country, but Courtney was amused by the little details that confirmed it was not. The bottles of lotion and lubricant next to the bed. The boxes of tissues stacked chest-high against the far wall. The baby wipes and condoms side by side on the rickety dressing-table.
‘You pay now,’ the maid said decisively, holding out her hand.
Shaun obliged and, when the maid didn’t withdraw her hand, Shaun added a tenner for a tip. She seemed satisfied and said something else to Lenka in Czech, who nodded. Then she left, closing the door behind her.
Lenka smiled shyly at Shaun. Waiting.
Ready to play voyeur, Courtney sank quietly into a chair by the window.
‘So you’re a student?’
Lenka nodded. ‘Yes. I study the English,’ she said proudly.
‘What about the English vice?’ Shaun asked, his eyes glinting.
Courtney grinned. There was no way the girl would know what that meant.
Sure enough, Lenka looked puzzled. ‘Please?’
‘Spanking,’ Shaun said.
She blushed. ‘Oh, yes. I know spanking.’
‘Have you ever been spanked?’
‘I am spanked one time by American tourist,’ she said brightly.
Shaun and Courtney exchanged a look of surprise.
‘Hard?’ Shaun asked.
Lenka shook her head.
‘Are you a good student?’
Lenka glanced at Courtney, then began to smile. She gave Shaun a kittenish look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I am very – what is word? Naughty? Very naughty student.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,’ she continued, sidling up to him and unbuttoning the top button of her dress. ‘I am having sex with my teacher for high marks.’
Shaun shook his head at her with mock disapproval. ‘You wouldn’t get away with that in my school, young lady,’ he said sternly. ‘Naughty girls in my school take their punishment.’
Lenka pouted. Courtney was delighted by her natural reactions. She had been expecting a slick professional who would be skilled, but predictable and uninteresting. This girl seemed almost shy, but she also seemed to be enjoying herself. Courtney could see Shaun’s body responding. He stiffened slightly and the bulge in his pants began to grow.