It was too early for a second drink, and besides, there was probably still time for him to call Paris. He picked up the empty coffee cup from the floor and walked across to the kitchen. There again Mercedes had left her mark, a sink full of cups, sauces and plates, an open jar of coffee left on the counter, the kitchen table strewn with newspapers and breadcrumbs. Why did the girl never clean up after herself? He was certain that she was very different at home; Jennifer had described Mercedes’ family as very nice, with a large house full of people that was somehow always spotlessly clean. By their own reckoning Mercedes was a bit of a tearaway, an impulsive, bright, inquisitive sort of girl who liked to do things her way.
Edward sighed. He would have to have another long talk with the girl. But he feared it would go the way of all the talks they’d had: she would listen sombrely, nod in all the right places, call him monsieur in a voice of utmost respect, and then carry on regardless. Still, it had to be done. The only consolation was that the first week had passed and that she would be gone in another.
He ascended the stairs wearily, wishing that the week would pass quickly and then things could return to normal. Next time, he promised himself, he and Jennifer would go away together.
The unexpected noise from his bedroom made him stop in his tracks. He pressed himself against the wall and inched towards the door. If Mercedes was out, then who was in the room? Very slowly he pushed the door open, the bright sunlight from the bedroom spilling out into the hallway.
Thankfully the door failed to creak its normal complaint, and as it opened slowly he could see clearly what was going on. The wardrobe door was open, the mirror on the inside of the door catching the light. Mercedes was standing by the wardrobe door, rifling through the hangers heavy with clothes, examining closely the contents of the shelves and the rack on the door.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ Edward demanded angrily, pushing the door open completely and bounding into his room. He was furious. Mercedes was staying in the guestroom and she had no business whatsoever going through his and Jennifer’s bedroom.
Mercedes stepped back, mouth open and blue eyes wide with shock. The colour had drained from her face, and for the first time since she had arrived she was completely speechless.
‘This is our room,’ Edward cried, his anger undiminished, ‘you have no right to be in here. What were you doing? Well, girl, what were you doing?’
Mercedes gasped for air, her full red lips opening and closing and unable to form coherent speech. She was dressed casually in loose T-shirt and a short black skirt, slit at the back. Her eyes were made-up, long fluttering lashes, eyebrows pencilled darkly to frame her pretty blue eyes. Full lips outlined in red lipstick that contrasted with the slight golden tan of her skin.
‘Well? I’m waiting,’ Edward continued, advancing a step towards her. His glance fell on the open wardrobe and he understood at once what it was that had drawn her attention.
‘I was looking for something to wear, monsieur,’ she managed to say, her voice soft and nervous.
‘You have your own clothes, what did you want?’
‘I wanted to travel to London, monsieur, but I did not have a summer jacket to wear with this… I thought perhaps that Madame may have had something appropriate…’
‘Is that why you were looking in my wardrobe?’ Edward demanded, pointing to the rack on the open door. It was lined with belts, canes, a heavy black paddle, all reflected in the bright light of the mirror.
‘I… I…’ she struggled for an explanation, but instead her eyes became fixed on the implements of punishment so neatly laid out.
‘You were stealing,’ Edward decided suddenly, his voice losing the harshest edge of anger but becoming lower and more devious.
‘Non! Monsieur! You are mistaken… This is not true…’
‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ Edward said. ‘But how would it seem to your college if I rang them and explained these circumstances? Even the suspicion would look very bad for you.’
‘Please, monsieur, I am very sorry for this. I did not come to steal. I was here to search for a jacket… in the beginning.’
Edward nodded. He could see that the truth was going to come out, she was not a thief but neither was she always truthful. If Mercedes had really been looking for a jacket she would have looked on the coat rack downstairs, or else she would have looked in Jennifer’s side of the wardrobe. As if to prove the point he opened the other door of the wardrobe to reveal the closely packed hangers full of Jennifer’s clothes, all of them apparently undisturbed.
‘The full story, girl,’ he told her firmly. He closed the second door of the wardrobe but left the first one open, noting the way the young French girl’s eyes kept returning to the long leather belts and the canes hanging from the rack. How long had she been studying the various instruments of punishment in his collection?
‘I was looking for a jacket but when I opened the wardrobe I saw these things… I was fascinated by it, monsieur… They are not for wearing?’
Edward smiled. ‘No, they are not for wearing,’ he admitted. ‘They are for using, for punishing bad girls who should know better.’
‘Like me?’ Mercedes asked, her voice barely a whisper. She looked at Edward strangely, her eyes filled with fear and excitement in equal measure.
He nodded. ‘You have taken advantage of my hospitality, young lady. This has been the last straw. I have a good mind to send you packing this instant, and to inform your family about your behaviour while you have been here. Do you think they will be pleased to hear this? Will it make them proud?’
Mercedes shook her head slowly. He could see the implications filtering through her imagination, the horror of it dawning slowly. Her eyes returned to the instruments of punishment, and the fascination she felt was self-evident. Any other woman would have ignored them, closed the door, not even noticed them, but not Mercedes. Just the look of the long bamboo cane with the curved handle seemed to attract her gaze and attention.
‘I am truly sorry, monsieur,’ she whispered, looking up into his eyes appealingly.
He reached out and took the cane from the rack, swished it once through the air for effect. She swallowed hard but did not try to run away, she did not even cry out in horror.
‘You know what this is for,’ he told her calmly.
She nodded, and then, without bidding, she turned her back to him slowly. She began to bend over at the waist, moving as though in a trance.
‘No, across my knee young lady,’ he commanded. ‘You’ve acted like a silly child and that’s how I’m going to punish you.’
She did not know what to do or how to react. She walked across the room towards him, stopped in front of the mirror, and waited. He sat on the bed and motioned for her to join him, pointing to a spot six inches from his feet. When she was ready he put his hands under her short skirt and pulled her knickers down, the pretty white bundle of frills sliding down her smooth thighs to her knees. Her face was bright red with embarrassment and her eyes resolutely avoided his.
Her skin was soft and warm, and he could easily guess how it would react to a few firm strokes. He bent her over his knees, positioning her so that she was well placed and balanced over his lap. She made not a murmur of protest, moving as though in a dream. Her skirt went up slowly, the strong afternoon sun warming her smooth legs as the hem was pulled over her waist. She had firm round bottom cheeks, pert and well shaped, the groove between bottom and thigh deep and attractive.
‘Please, monsieur… Please…’ she whimpered, finding her voice at last. It was too late. She was spread across his knees, her delicious derrière displayed completely in the clear orange light. She tried to kick out but her panties held her feet together.
‘This is no time for tantrums,’ he told her gruffly.
The first heavy smack of hand to bottom silenced h
er completely. He looked down and saw her softly tanned skin marked red with the imprint of fingers and palm. His guess had been correct; she had the sort of soft, mellow skin that would colour intensely at the softest spanking. His fingers rubbed the redness, tracing the slightly raised shape of his own hand on her hot skin.
The second hard spank matched the first on the other bottom cheek, marking her symmetrically so that the terrible smarting pain would be balanced. It was her first time, he was certain of that, and he intended to make sure it would not be an experience she would easily forget.
He began to spank her rhythmically, smacking fully with the flat of his hand, first on one cheek and then on the other. Her golden orbs clenched and unclenched as he beat her soundly, tanning her skin until it glowed red all over. He dealt swift blows at the top of the thighs also, and then aimed several between her buttocks so that she shook all over with the impact.
‘Well?’ he demanded, forcing her to her feet.
When she did not speak he grabbed her by the shoulder and took her to stand by the mirror. She looked over her shoulder at the punished globes of her backside, patterned a deep even red all over. Her eyes widened as she was displayed, her backside still quivering with pain.
Her nipples were hard, dark points pressed suggestively against her white cotton shirt. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes misted over slightly. She had enjoyed her punishment, though he did not think she had ever expected to receive such chastisement.
‘I’m sorry, monsieur…’ she whispered, her voice hot and breathless. She parted her legs slightly and bent over, sticking her bottom out more to get a better view of it in the mirror. Her eyes had been filled with tears, but now she seemed more interested in how she looked.
‘So you should be, my girl,’ he said softly, almost indulgently. ‘Now, what are you going to do next?’
‘Next?’
The house downstairs was still a mess, and there was no way that Edward planned to clean up after her. The cane was on the bed, the object of her fascination had yet to be applied to her pert and punished behind. ‘I want you to clear up the mess you’ve made in this house,’ he told her simply. ‘The kitchen, bathroom and sitting room look like they’ve been hit by a bomb. Clear it all up.’
‘Oui, I will clear it all up, monsieur,’ she promised eagerly. She looked up and caught Edward’s eyes in the mirror. They looked at each for a moment and then she turned away, her face blazing red with embarrassment again.
‘Good. I’ll inspect it all when you’ve finished, and if it’s not up to scratch you know what to expect,’ he warned her.
‘The bamboo?’ she guessed hesitantly.
‘That’s right,’ he smiled, walking across the room to pick up the thin cane. He could see that it held some symbolic power for her, that she feared it as much as she was fascinated by it.
‘Shall I begin now?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but remove your skirt and knickers completely, I want you to remember why you’ve been punished.’
Mercedes smiled. ‘But I do, monsieur,’ she sighed, rubbing her bottom with her hands. For a second she sounded grateful, there was none of the belligerence or defiance he had expected from her.
She posed herself in the mirror, examining the marks on her body, pressing her fingers hard against the reddest parts of her bottom. She unclipped her skirt and it fell to her ankles, leaving herself naked apart from the flimsy covering of her T-shirt. As she walked out of the room Edward watched her go, her punished flanks rippling sexily as she walked. She was showing off, and the quick cut of the cane made her yelp with pain. The red stripe cut a distinct track across the curves of her derrière. She almost jumped out of the room, clutching her painful bottom tightly, her first taste of the cane making her move like lightning.
The phone call to Paris got through at once, and in moments he heard Jennifer’s cheery voice. ‘How’s Mercedes coming along?’ she asked brightly.
‘I’ve finally had to take her in hand,’ Edward admitted, smiling to himself.
‘I see,’ Jennifer said, pausing for a moment. ‘How did she take it?’
‘She’s downstairs cleaning up after herself, with her bare backside smarting from a good spanking.’
‘I see,’ Jennifer repeated. ‘Do you think she’ll be good from now on?’
Edward laughed. ‘Not if the way she’s been studying the cane and the belts is anything to go by. I expect that the next week’s going to get very interesting.’
‘I’m just sorry I’m not there to see it,’ Jennifer sighed dreamily.
‘Don’t worry,’ Edward promised her. ‘This exchange trip was your idea, and it’s not entirely Mercedes’ fault things have turned out this way.’
There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. ‘Will I get the cane or the belt?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Both,’ he promised her.
Later, as he walked downstairs with the cane in hand, he imagined the anticipation and excitement that Jennifer would enjoy for the next week, thinking of the punishment to come as soon as she was home. Her backside would be tingling before the first touch of the belt or the cane.
In the sitting room Mercedes was sprawled out on the couch, belly down, her pert backside a bright pink and sticking up in the air, as she watched the opening credits of yet another Australian soap opera. Her long limbs were spread nonchalantly across the sofa, and he could see the tinge of dark hair between her thighs and visible from behind. Young and wilful, impetuous and individual, the bare-handed spanking had not been enough. Her pretty backside would have to take a lot more correction if things were to change. The cane almost twitched in Edward’s hand, readying itself for action. It was going to be a very interesting week ahead.
Staying Over
I looked at Jan and smiled shyly, my face turning red when she returned my smile with one of her own. The more I blushed the more she seemed to enjoy my discomfort, until I turned away from her, certain that my face was a red blaze of colour. Jan always did that to me; she could reduce me to a mumbling, shy, adolescent embarrassment whenever she liked. She was older than me. I put her at around thirty, very attractive, funny, intelligent and more sophisticated than I could ever be. Added to which she was my husband’s boss’s wife and a near neighbour of ours, though her massive house was a mansion compared to our little place a few streets away.
The memory of our first visit to Jan and Peter’s house was still very fresh. It was the first time I had met them and I was terrified that I’d do or say the wrong thing and land my husband, Chris, in trouble. In the event Jan was wonderful. She put me at ease at once, made me feel very welcome, and by the end of the evening we were firm friends. Except that she could turn me into a silly schoolgirl at will. All it took was a certain look, a comment or turn of phrase, and I’d be blushing furiously, much to her obvious enjoyment.
We were at her house, just the two of us, because our husbands were away, out on Territorial Army manoeuvres somewhere in Germany. Usually when Chris was away I’d stay on my own, but this time Peter had suggested that I stay the weekend at their house. It was only Jan’s phone call that had persuaded me to stay with her; she seemed so bubbly and eager that I hadn’t the heart to say no. Besides which, both of us liked a good natter and she had a lot more gossip to tell me, especially about business, and I was keen to hear from the horse’s mouth how my Chris was really doing at his job.
‘Come on, Susan, there’s no need to look so embarrassed,’ she laughed, waving her glass of white wine at me, ‘I was only asking.’
‘I know, but it’s just that…’ I let my voice trail to silence. She had been talking about sex again, teasing me because she knew how embarrassed I got talking about it. She was sitting on the sofa opposite, shoes off, feet up, cradling the glass of wine while we talked. Even at home she looked fabulous; very long shapely legs, l
ithe body, looking relaxed and comfortable. I was sitting in the armchair, dressed in long floppy skirt and loose top, and not looking half as good as she did, despite the fact that I was just out of my teens and a lot younger than her.
‘I’m only teasing,’ she smiled, swinging her long legs over the side of the sofa. Her skirt rode up and I was treated to a glimpse of bare thigh and a flash of black lacy panties. For some reason my heart was racing and I suddenly feared that she had seen where my eyes had been, and that she’d know I had been eyeing her long smooth thighs.
‘I thought we were going to be talking about the office,’ I said, changing the subject rather sharply.
‘Oh that,’ she sighed, walking barefoot across the room to get the bottle of wine, ‘who wants to talk about that boring old thing?’
‘Is it true that Peter’s got a new secretary?’ I asked innocently.
She laughed as she poured herself another glass of white wine. ‘You mean the delectable Miss Fairfax?’
‘Is that her name?’ I asked, in my best butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth voice. I had heard all about Miss Fairfax from Chris, who described her as a hot young thing with less skirt than brain, and who was lusted after by every man in the company. Her speciality seemed to be low-cut blouses and dresses which allowed her to show off her ample cleavage, for which most men were eternally grateful and were willing to forget her nasal twang and terminal stupidity.
‘Naughty, naughty,’ Jan cautioned, wagging a finger at me. She offered me the bottle but I declined, afraid that a second glass of wine would go straight to my head and loosen my tongue even more.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I laughed. For the first time that evening I began to feel comfortable. We were about to have a real cat eat cat session, with Delia Fairfax as our mutual victim.
‘I know all about Miss Fairfax,’ she assured me, returning to her seat. ‘All breasts and no brains, or at least that’s what all the guys are saying. Though I don’t hear them complaining when she has to bend over to pick up her work and they get an eyeful. Does your Chris complain?’
A Strict Seduction Page 14