by Ray Gordon
Sitting on a bench she looked out across the park. There was a man walking a dog, a young woman pushing a pram, kids playing on the swings. They were free to live their lives, whereas Arthur had so much on her now that she daren't cross him. But why, she wondered for the umpteenth time, was he doing all this? What did he want from her?
Trying to relax she watched the orange sun sinking behind the trees. Christine would be in the wine bar, and Jack would be wondering why Emily had stood him up. Perhaps they'd get together - Jack buying the drinks, Christine chatting him up. They were probably having a great time, but what did Emily's evening hold - another unjust punishment? With her buttocks still pulsing slightly from her latest beating, she knew she dare not be a minute late getting back home - or she'd pay for it.
Chapter 5
Emily slipped the key into the lock, wondering fearfully if Arthur was inside waiting for her as the door opened. Was he in the lounge, waiting, lurking? It didn't feel like home any more. It was just a house, a place to live. With despondency and disquiet setting in Emily closed the door and hovered uncertainly in the hall. Arthur wouldn't miss an opportunity to chastise her, would he? Checking her watch as she crept into the lounge, she sighed with relief. It was nine forty-five. She wasn't late, and Arthur wasn't there. He had no excuse to punish her again. But where was he? Why wasn't he waiting for her?
Wondering whether he was lurking in her bedroom, she climbed the stairs cautiously. Arthur was a control freak and he'd go to any lengths to control her. But breathing another sigh of relief as she looked around her room, she couldn't understand why he wasn't in the house. Perhaps he'd gone out for the night, she thought, deciding to go back down and slip the catch on the front door and jam a chair against the backdoor.
She couldn't live like this; worrying, constantly fearful, riddled with anxieties. She had to try to forget about Arthur, to calm her mind and relax. With the house secure she'd at least get a good night's sleep, and she felt a little easier as she filled the kettle for a nice, hot, comforting herbal tea.
'Well done,' Arthur said, suddenly looming in the kitchen doorway.
'Shit!' Emily shrieked, almost dropping the kettle and holding her throat as her heart raced. 'You frightened the living daylights out of me!'
'You're a quarter of an hour early,' he carried on calmly. 'That's good, Emily. You see, you can do it when you try.'
'How did you get in?' she asked, feeling faint and having to put the kettle on the worktop before she did drop it.
'With my front door key, of course,' he answered simply. 'I've been waiting for you in the dining room.'
'Skulking in the dining room more like,' she snapped, her pulse still racing. 'What do you want now, at this time?'
'As I said earlier, I thought we'd have a cosy little chat.'
'But I'm tired, Arthur,' Emily complained. 'I want to go to bed, so do you mind leaving instead? We can have a chat tomorrow, if you like.'
'I see you've got the kettle on,' he said, ignoring her request. 'I'll have a drink with you before I go.'
Making two mugs of steaming peppermint tea, Emily feared there was no escaping the man.
'Did you meet Jack?' he asked, accepting the hot drink she passed to him and then leading the way into the lounge as though he knew she'd follow without having to be told to.
'No, no I didn't,' she replied, following his back.
'Oh, that's a shame,' he said, with a distinct lack of sincerity.
'I didn't go to the bar,' she divulged. 'Not that it has anything to do with you.'
'Oh, Emily,' he said, placing his mug on the mantelpiece, 'the way you talk to me with such little respect really disappoints me. I've been good to you - very good.'
'Good to me?' she scoffed, laughing at the irony of his remark. 'How on earth do you work that out?'
'This is the third consecutive night you've been out,' he reasoned, as if that constituted being very good to her.
'What is it you want from me, Arthur?' she asked wearily. 'Why are you always coming round here, dreaming up excuses to punish me? Please just tell me; what do you want?'
'To make a better person of you,' he said. 'Discipline and obedience—'
'Oh please, don't start that nonsense again,' she said impatiently. 'To make a better person of me? By tying my wrists and chaining me to a radiator, spanking me and thrashing me with a leather belt? You said you wanted to have a chat, so let's talk about this. You've made my life hell since my parents went away. I would have been perfectly all right on my own, but because of you, because of all this trouble you've caused—'
'Now just a minute,' he snapped, sitting on the sofa and fleetingly eyeing her thighs. 'You caused all this trouble, Emily. I've done nothing except try and do what's best for you.'
'You're mad,' she said. 'Totally nuts. You've done all this, not me.'
'Did I tell you to go out dressed like a tart?' he asked. 'Did I?'
'No, but...'
'Did I tell you to go out and get tipsy and then come home late?'
'No, you didn't.' Already she was floundering again.
'No, of course I didn't. It had nothing to do with me, Emily. Your mother said she wanted you home by ten, and I dutifully reminded you of that only an hour before you went out. To blame me for your behaviour is an insult to my intelligence and disrespectful in the extreme.'
'I wasn't blaming you for my behaviour.'
'Weren't you? You mentioned all this trouble I've caused. You said you would have been perfectly all right on your own.'
'I would have been fine on my own.'
'Yes, I'm sure you would. Out all night, drinking and misbehaving. It seems you're blaming me for the trouble you've landed yourself in, when all I've tried to do is keep you out of trouble.'
'You know very well what I meant,' she persisted doggedly.
'No, I don't. I have done everything I can to keep you out of trouble. Last night, for example, even though I'd told you not to go out you disobeyed and came rolling in at two in the morning. Your mother specifically said that she wanted you home by ten. Eleven-thirty the first night, and two o'clock the second.'
As he rambled on, lecturing her, Emily knew it was hopeless. She'd worn her sexy new blouse and miniskirt, gone out drinking and arrived home late - twice. She couldn't deny it, and he knew that.
And then there was the matter of her father's missing money, and the photographs. Things weren't looking at all good. But still none of this had anything to do with her next-door neighbour. She would have been perfectly all right on her own. She'd have enjoyed a drink with Christine and got home late, but her parents would have been none the wiser. It was only Arthur's intervention, his interference and threats, that were causing the problems.
'Get out, Arthur,' Emily said. 'I've just about had enough of you and your so called discipline.'
The man stared at her for some moments, as though trying to come to terms with the audacity of her outburst. 'I think I'd better phone your father,' he stated dourly.
'He's in Spain,' she said, somewhat cheekily but too tired to care. 'How are you going to phone him?'
'He gave me the number of the hotel before he left,' Arthur disclosed. 'Just in case of an emergency, you understand. And in my opinion this is an emergency. Because of your questionable behaviour your parents will have to cut short their holiday and come home.'
Sinking into the armchair Emily couldn't believe he'd do such a thing - to ruin her parents' holiday, to drag them home when there was nothing wrong. But he would do it, she knew as he gazed blatantly at her thighs, and looking down she realised he was able to glimpse the white 'V' of her panties tight between them. Her short skirt had ridden up slightly, so she blushed and crossed her legs, feeling extremely uncomfortable under his unsettling scrutiny. This had gone too far, she decided. She was going to have to make a stand, and knew she had to discover exactly what it was he wanted from her.
'Well?' he demanded, lifting his eyes to hers, and then lower
ing them again, this time to her deep cleavage, exposed by the open neck of her blouse. 'Shall I ring your father?'
'If you do that you'll put an end to your games,' she said, with a note of triumph.
'Games?' he echoed.
'If you ring my parents and they come home, your games will have to end.'
'I'm not playing games, Emily,' he snorted. 'You might think this a game but, as far as I'm concerned, this is deadly serious. What about your holiday in Tenerife? If I ring your father and tell him what you've been up to, if he's forced to come home because of your behaviour, well, need I say more?'
'I've changed my mind about Tenerife,' she lied. 'I was looking forward to it, but now I'm really not that bothered.'
'You think I'm bluffing about ringing your father, but I know you're bluffing about Tenerife. So I'll call your bluff, young lady; I'll go and ring your father now.'
Watching him take a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, Emily didn't know what to do as he went into the hall and picked up the phone. She followed him and watched as he tapped the numbers, imagining her parents arriving home early and going mad at her. She'd be grounded for months and they'd disown her. Glancing at the piece of paper, her mind racing, she saw it was a foreign number. But was it the hotel in Spain? What if he wasn't bluffing? As he spoke into the receiver and asked someone whether it was possible to speak to her father, she quickly stooped and tugged the cable from the wall socket.
'All right,' she conceded, 'you win.'
'No one wins, Emily,' he said, replacing the receiver and returning to the lounge. 'As I said, this isn't a game. There are no winners or losers. Apart from your parents, that is.' Sitting on the sofa he looked up at her as she stood before him. 'And now that you realise this isn't a game, perhaps you'll change your attitude.'
'What is it you want from me, Arthur?' she asked resignedly. 'Come on, tell me what this is really about.'
He seemed hesitant as he gazed into the brown pools of her questioning eyes. Then slowly looking her shapely form over from head to toe, he rubbed his chin pensively. Emily wondered what he was thinking, what he was planning. Why wouldn't he be honest with her? Why not tell her exactly what he was after? Was he embarrassed? Did he want sex with her, but couldn't find the words to admit it, to himself or to her?
'Well?' she quietly urged. 'Please tell me.'
'Before we go any further,' he began, his eyes fixed on her legs, 'you'll call me Mr Price.'
'Mr Price?' she queried. 'Why should I do that?'
'From now on you will call me Mr Price,' he reiterated, brushing aside her question. 'Unless you want me to ring your parents, that is.'
'But...'
'Do you understand?'
Emily hesitated, and then sighed. 'Yes,' she said, having no choice other than to play along with him.
'Yes, what?' he pressed.
'Yes, Mr Price,' she whispered.
He nodded, with a hint of satisfaction glinting in his eyes. 'That's more like it,' he drawled. 'Your behaviour thus far has been appalling, hasn't it?'
'No—'
'Hasn't it, Emily?'
Her cheeks coloured and she lowered her gaze to the carpet. 'Yes,' she said meekly. 'Yes, Mr Price.'
'Go and get the rope from your bedroom,' he ordered.
'The rope? What are you going to do?'
'Just get the rope, young lady.'
Climbing the stairs, Emily again wondered how she'd got herself into this mess. Although she had another brief chance to escape, there was little point; Arthur would simply ring her father and tell him she'd gone missing. They'd cut short their holiday and come home, so even without her chain, she realised, she was trapped in the house - a prisoner in her own home.
She was in for a severe thrashing, she guessed, and there was no way out of it. And even though that was bad enough, whatever sort of man he was he at least wouldn't coerce her into having sex with him - would he?
'Good girl,' he said as she returned to the lounge with the rope dangling from one trembling hand. 'Now, pull the armchair round and, well, you know what to do.'
'Why are you going to punish me again?' she asked, dragging the chair into the centre of the room. 'What am I supposed to have done this time?'
'Your little show of defiance, Emily,' he explained reasonably, as though it was a perfectly understandable reason for beating her. 'I will not tolerate such insubordination. Oh, and remember to call me Mr Price.'
Bending over the back of the chair, Emily closed her eyes and resigned herself to the fact that she was completely under the creep's control. There was no point in arguing with him or trying to discuss the situation. To protest would not only be futile, but also land her in dire trouble with her parents. She couldn't fight and she couldn't run. Arthur had won, she reflected miserably as he knelt behind her on one knee and tied each of her ankles to the chair legs. This wasn't a game, but Arthur had won it nonetheless.
With her feet wide apart and her bottom positioned vulnerably, she said nothing as he folded her skirt up over her waist and ran his knuckles against the smooth cotton of her white panties. What, she wondered, was it to be this time - a spanking with the palm of his hand or a spiteful beating with the leather belt? But then he left the room and she heard the backdoor open and close, and she frowned. What was he up to now?
Wondering whether to untie the ropes she straightened up, her skirt falling to veil her tight panties. She'd have no problem sitting on the floor and removing the bonds, but if Arthur came back she'd be in even bigger trouble. No, it was best to wait obediently for a while, she decided, and then heard the backdoor open and close again and was glad she'd not done anything rash.
'Sorry to have kept you waiting,' he said as he appeared, flexing a bamboo cane. 'I couldn't decide which implement to use.'
'No,' she gasped, staring wide-eyed in horror at the threatening stick. 'Mr Price, please—'
'Spanking wouldn't be punishment enough,' he cut in, 'and my belt doesn't really fit the crime, either.'
'Crime?' she squealed. 'For God's sake, Arthur, what crime?'
'For your continuing disrespectful behaviour, Emily, and for not calling me Mr Price,' he pronounced. 'Only the cane will do.'
'Please, you can't—'
'I had decided on four lashes,' he continued, 'but as you're determined to resist my authority—'
'I'm not, Mr Price,' she pleaded, 'honestly I'm not.'
'Your continual insubordination leaves me no other choice.' The man was resolute, and Emily knew it was hopeless to defy him.
'All right...' she whispered despondently, 'Mr Price.'
'Gratifying though it is,' he said coldly, pressing against her shoulder and easing her back over the chair, then folding her skirt up again, 'your compliance is rather late. That's what this discipline is all about, Emily; learning to behave well, thus avoiding punishment. This is all your own doing, my girl.' He paused as he gazed at the delicate material of her panties stretching faithfully to the rounded cheeks of her teenage bottom. 'This is your own doing, but I'm a fair man, so I won't use the cane... not this time.'
As he rolled her panties down to her thighs, exposing her clenched buttocks, she let out a rush of breath. He was gazing at her naked bottom, she knew. His beady eyes would be focusing on the smooth cheeks, eyeing the tightly closed valley between them. This was humiliating in the extreme, and she prayed he wouldn't try anything else. The very thought of her neighbour pulling her panties down and gazing at her bared bottom was degradation beyond belief.
But she had little time to ponder her shame as the firm palm of his hand swept down to meet the sensitive flesh of her tensed buttocks with a loud retort. She couldn't suppress a yelp as she wondered what was happening to her life. How had she fallen into this dreadful situation?
Again the palm struck, landing squarely across the quivering globes, the stinging sensation permeating her flesh, her auburn hair hanging down, her face buried in the cushion of the chair's back to muf
fle her cries. A million thoughts battered her tormented mind as she waited for the next gruelling slap. This was her lounge, the family lounge, and she was bending over her father's favourite armchair with her knickers pulled down to her knees and her neighbour spanking her bare bottom; how could she be allowing this to happen?
'Please...' she whimpered as the man pinned her down with his free hand flat on the small of her back, and ignoring her cry for mercy, swept his spanking hand down again to impact loudly against her shuddering buttocks. Wondering how many agonising spanks she was to endure she felt tears welling in her eyes. Again the sound of flesh meeting flesh filled her ears, the slap of his palm reverberating around the lounge. 'No more,' she cried, gripping the arms of the chair. 'Please, Mr Price, no more.'
'All right,' he conceded, a little out of breath as he lowered his hand to his side. 'But remember this; while I am charged with looking after you, you will show me due respect and you will do as I say. Do you understand?'
'Yes, Mr Price,' she breathed shakily, and he nodded his satisfaction.
'Good, that's more like it.'
'May I stand up now, Mr Price?' she asked timorously, her sweet voice a little muffled by the back of the chair.
'No, not yet,' he refused. 'You took your spanking pretty well, so to show that I'm a considerate chap and fairly pleased with you, I'll massage some cooling cream into your bottom.'
'No,' she said, tensing at the thought of his hands mauling her, 'it's all right, Mr Price. You don't have to do that, thank you.'
'Nonsense, I've brought some cream with me,' he insisted. 'It'll soothe the sting from your bottom...'
Closing her eyes as she felt the cream against the burning flesh of her buttocks, Emily shuddered, but with the very thought of her next-door neighbour massaging it into her naked bottom making her cringe, she knew that she daren't protest. With his slick fingers slipping between the glowing cheeks she wondered what this was leading to, how far he was going to take the shameful violation of her body.
But then, biting her lip and clinging to the arms of the chair as his fingers moved dangerously close to the tiny star of her anus, she realised the sensations weren't at all unpleasant. With the cold cream extinguishing the fire in her buttocks and his slippery fingers teasing the secret valley between, she began to breathe more easily as her anxiety lessened, and as a rude fingertip fleetingly touched her anus she dared not object.