by Ian Smith
“I see. But you must understand that this is all entirely my decision to make, not yours.”
“Yes, master, of course.” Charlie tried to put every bit of sincerity she could into her voice.
He considered for a moment, then asked directly, “what are you wearing under those clothes?”
Charlie coloured, but answered “bra and panties, master,” as matter-of-factly as she could.
“Very well. You may remove your t-shirt and shorts.”
It was what she wanted to hear and at the same time didn’t want to hear, but Charlie willed herself not to hesitate. She pulled the t-shirt out of the shorts and lifted it up, awkwardly pulling it over her head. Without pausing, she dropped it on the floor and then pushed her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and firmly slid them over her hips and down her short but shapely legs. She picked up the t-shirt and out that and the shorts neatly in a pile under the ledge of his table, then stood up straight and made herself put her hands by her sides.
He glanced over her body and Charlie felt her face go red. The bra was a half-cut one and showed plenty of cleavage, whilst the panties were flimsy and brief. Both garments were a pastel pink and, somehow, being everyday undies made them more intimate to be seen in. Charlie stood stiff and miserable, knowing that worse was yet to come. However, not just yet. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She decided she would give herself five minutes to acclimatise and then make the dread request to strip herself fully naked. But she wasn’t acclimatising, in that it wasn’t getting any easier. She just felt humiliated, even though - perhaps particularly because - he was ignoring her.
The knock on the door made her jump. A moment later, Joe came in. He had a good look at Charlie, who felt herself reddening considerably - as he came up to the desk and gave a message to Proby, who nodded and spoke to him for a few moments. Then he left, but not without another good look at the quavering girl.
Charlie glanced at the clock again. The five minutes were more or less up. Might as well get on with it. More truthfully, she needed to take the plunge before her nerve went.
“Master?” she spoke in a small voice. “Permission to speak?”
“Denied.”
The single word, spoken off-handedly and with no further attention to her, almost hit her like a physical blow. For a moment she felt relief, but then immediately consternation followed it. She just hadn’t foreseen this. There was nothing to do except to remain standing there. Charlie realised suddenly that her plan had been arrogant, in that she had assumed that the decisions were hers to make, but now he was going to show her who was boss. He, not she, would decide when she would strip.
Minutes crawled by. He continued to ignore her. Charlie told herself it was imperative that, when he gave her the chance, she had to do it without hesitation. That made waiting even worse, but it had to be done. She could not face Mandy again this evening if she hadn’t taken that final wretched step.
The minutes turned into an hour. Forsythe called by to consult on something and like Joe had a good look. Again Charlie coloured, but she kept her hands by her sides. She would have liked to pull the panties out a bit, cover up more of her bottom cheeks, but it was unwise to move.
Then her mother entered with a cup of coffee for Proby. Dressed in her maid’s uniform, Sue kept her eyes firmly ahead of her, apparently ignoring her underwear-clad daughter. Proby said, “put the cup on the desk, slave,” and nothing else. With a submissive “yes, master,” Sue obeyed and then withdrew.
He picked up the cup and sipped the coffee and as he did so he looked at her thoughtfully. Charlie felt her face go red and the butterflies stir again in her flat stomach. Was this the moment? But instead, he just said “put your hands on your hips.”
She obeyed, wordlessly. The pose was theoretically one of defiance or assertiveness, but Charlie’s red face and obvious embarrassment removed any suggestion of either. Again he looked at her thoughtfully for a few moments as he drank his coffee, but then without another word he turned back to his computer.
An hour went by, then another. She gathered that Proby was conducting some sort of business from the office. Occasionally he would phone somebody, or receive a call. Eventually Forsythe reappeared to inform Proby that lunch was ready. Proby nodded, finished what he was doing and stood up. Still he ignored Charlie, who remained with hands on hips, having not been spoken to since that order.
“What do you want doing with the slave, Mr Proby?” Forsythe asked.
“Put her on the bench outside the door,” Proby replied off-handedly. Glancing at the clock, which showed five to one, he went on, “I’ll be back by two. Have her here ready.”
“Yes, Mr Proby.” As Proby went out of the one door, Forsythe took Charlie by her slim, bare wrist and led her out of the other. There was a bench in the corridor. “Put your wrists together behind your back,” Forsythe said. Wordlessly, Charlie obeyed and felt the cold steel of handcuffs wrap around them and a click as they locked on. He made her sit down on the hard, cold wooden bench and she heard another click as the cuffs were locked to a short chain on the bench. Then, without any further words, he left.
There was nothing for Charlie to do but sit and wait. What was worse was that she had to keep telling herself that the moment she was invited to strip, or allowed to ask to strip, she had to do it. It would have been much nicer to have tried to keep the thought from her mind, but she knew that meant risking hesitation when the time came. She could not face another day without getting the awful deeds done. Still, if Mandy was right, he too needed her to ... make the transition ... today. It was Thursday now, and if there were guests coming at the weekend ... but that was too horrible to think about.
Time crawled by. Unlike the warm office, the corridor was draughty and she was of course far from fully dressed. The bench was hard and cold beneath her almost bare bottom and she was hungry - clearly she was going to miss lunch, not that she thought she could keep anything down, such was the state of her nerves. Eventually Forsythe appeared once more, released her from the chains and took her back into the office and stood her in front of the empty desk once more. As he left, she glanced at the clock: it was ten to two. Obviously it was the case that she should be here ready well before his return. She stood, hands by her sides once more and waited. There was nothing else she could do.
Proby returned a few minutes after two. She nerved herself, suspecting he might now turn his attention to her at last, but instead he brought the computer out of standby mode and was soon engrossed in it once more.
Then there was a knock on the door and Mandy came in.
Like their mother, Mandy was wearing her maid’s outfit. Again like their mum, the top was low cut, the skirt short. Charlie wondered how she would feel in a uniform like that - but it was better than what she was wearing right now. Mandy glanced at Charlie, at first with a why-aren’t-you-naked-yet look and then slightly more understandingly as she realised Charlie was obeying orders. Then, she spoke to Proby. “Master, Mr Forsythe sent you these papers.” She placed a folder of more business papers on the desk.
Proby looked at her. “Have you been chastised so far today, slave?” he asked directly.
Mandy coloured. “Yes, master,” she admitted. Proby raised an eyebrow in further question and she went on, slightly embarrassed, “Mr Forsythe gave me six with a strap just before lunch.”
“Why?” Again the question was direct.
“ He said ... I hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just to keep me on my toes.”
Proby nodded. “Yes, new slaves need that. However, it is also important that all mistakes are noted and corrected. For example, when you enter a room where I am present, your entire focus should be on me, unless I say otherwise. Did I tell you to look at your sister?”
Mandy went slightly ashen. “No, master,” she said quietly. “Sorry, master.”
/> “Do you think an apology is enough?”
There was obviously only one possible answer. “No, master.”
“So what else is required?”
Mandy took a breath. “I should be punished, master.”
“Remove your knickers.”
As Charlie watched, Mandy reached under the short skirt and pulled her white knickers down and stepped out of them. Proby moved his chair, which was a luxurious swivel chair on wheels, back from his desk. “Raise your skirt and put yourself over my lap,” he ordered. Mandy obeyed, displaying a rounded bottom that still showed red marks from her earlier chastisement. She was facing away from Charlie, who could therefore see her bottom very clearly. That could be me, Charlie thought; in fact, sooner or later it will be.
Proby’s one hand rested on Mandy’s back, holding her in place. The other he laid on her bare bottom for a moment, feeling the firm young flesh, then he brought it up and brought it down hard. There was a loud slapping sound and a slight flinch from Mandy. Proby spanked her again, then settled down into a rhythm: first one cheek, then the other. Charlie counted twelve smacks in total, each as hard as the first. When Proby had finished, Mandy’s bottom was bright red. Apart from the occasional little gasp she had kept quiet, but it had obviously stung. Proby instructed her to replace her knickers and lower her skirt once more.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asked her. “You have permission to speak.”
Mandy thought for a moment. Then: “I’m sorry for my mistake, master. Thank you for ... educating me.”
He nodded. “I am not angry with you,” he told her. “It’s inevitable that new slaves make mistakes. But you will need to learn.”
“Yes, master. Thank you for being ... strict with me.”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Mandy did not look at Charlie as she left. Then he looked at Charlie. “Turn your back to me. Put your hands on your head.”
Charlie obeyed, feeling his eyes now on her largely bare back, her pert bottom partially revealed by the panties and her shapely if slightly short legs. But soon she heard the clicking of the computer keyboard once more. It appeared she was forgotten once more and for perhaps half an hour - she couldn’t see the clock whilst facing this direction and she wasn’t stupid enough to look around at it - nothing happened.
Then he spoke once more to her. “Turn round.”
She turned to face him again. The flimsy bra did not hide a lot of her cleavage. Her breasts were about the same size as her sister’s, but on her smaller figure they jutted out rather more noticeably. Proby gazed at her reflectively for a moment, then he said, “you have permission to speak.”
Oh God, this was it! Charlie forced herself not to hesitate. “Master, may I have permission to strip myself naked for you?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Why?”
Mandy had told her about this,and she was ready. “For your entertainment, master, and my humiliation.”
He smiled. “You’ve been talking to your sister. Hmm. ‘Entertainment’? Can you think of another word?”
Charlie forced her frozen brain to think. “Pleasure? Enjoyment?” she tried. “Amusement?”
“Amusement? All right, we’ll go with that. Now, as to the other reason, will it humiliate you?”
“Yes, master,” admitted Charlie candidly, “very much.” He was toying with her: she desperately wanted to get this over with now.
“Very well.” The two words were simple and direct.
Oh God! Get on with it! Charlie moved her hands behind her back and fumbled with the bra catch. It sprang undone and she immediately pulled the shoulder straps down her arms and then let the cups fall away. Don’t stop now! Quickly she grabbed the panties with both hands and pushed them down until they fluttered to the floor. She stepped out of them and stood naked in front of him, her face very red.
“Put your hands on your head.”
The words hit her like a lash, but immediately she obeyed. Charlie stared ahead, unable to look at him. She could feel every inch of her front under his gaze. It was like having maggots crawling over your skin.
She knew she had a good figure, a sort of miniature hour-glass. Her boobs were firm, her stomach flat and toned. And she knew he was enjoying looking at it. The knowledge did not help her at all.
“Have you anything to say?” he asked casually.
It needed to be something humiliating, she knew. There was an obvious answer. “Thank you for letting me strip myself to the buff for you, master.” It was worse to emphasise the ‘buff’, which was why she did it.
“Anything else?”
Another brief pause for thought. “I hope I am satisfactory for you,” she managed.
“Why have you shaved your crotch?” he asked in his alarmingly direct way. “Neither your sister nor your mother are shaven.”
Charlie went even redder. “I just ... I don’t know, I just always have done. It seemed ... more feminine.” She knew, sort of, that Mandy and her mum didn’t, but she had started pretty much as soon as hair sprouted down there.
“Hmm. No, I prefer hair there. You will stop shaving there, apart from trimming it into a neat triangle, of course.”
Charlie went, if possible, even redder. “Yes, master,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Turn around, slowly.”
Inch by inch, Charlie did a 360 degree rotation, showing him the side profile, then her bottom, then eventually round to the front again. She could feel the burning in her face. For the last few days she had spent so much time wondering what it would be like to have to stand naked in front of this awful man. Now she at last knew and it was every bit as bad as her worst nightmares. She wanted to run and hide, but her legs felt like jelly.
“So, that’s the first of your three submissions done,” he said conversationally. “Do you know which submission is next?”
“Submission to discipline, master,” Charlie said unhappily.
“Precisely. Turn and face the wall. Get into press-up position on the floor.” Charlie obeyed, grateful at least not to have to face him any longer, but nervous about what was to come. “Now move your feet forward so that your bottom comes into the air.” Oh God, how undignified! But she did it, pushing her bum up. “Higher.” She brought her feet further forwards so that her derriere was now at about what would be normally waist height, keeping her thighs pressed tightly together.
“Spread your legs apart.”
Oh God, from this position? But she had to do it. Charlie moved her bare feet apart, feeling her thighs open, with the awful knowledge that her vulva was now peeping out.
“Good.” Charlie was aware of him getting up from behind the desk and moving round towards her. She held her position, trembling. His voice drifted into her ears. “Normally, I give each new girl a taste of two implements,” he said, again conversationally, “but I think that, as you have kept me waiting for two days, you should get three instead. Is that fair, do you think?”
“Y-yes, master.” Of course it wasn’t, but what else could she say?
“Good. Now, this first instrument is called a flogger.” He let it dangle by the side of her so that she could see it. There were well over a dozen soft leather tails, each up to two feet long, protruding from the wooden handle. “It’s not the toughest of instruments, but it has the advantage that the wielder can take full swings. That builds up quite a momentum on impact, so you’ll have to hold yourself firmly in place.” The thing disappeared from Charlie’s view. “Ready?”
“Yes, master.” Charlie tried to make her voice as firm as possible. She wanted to show him that, however difficult she had found stripping, she would not be so bad at this. But she was nervous, unsure how bad it would be. She had never been beaten in her life. She sensed him move round behind her, measure his stoke, and then she heard the tails
swishing softly through the air.
Thwack!
He had been right, there was quite an impact. Charlie flexed her muscles, holding herself in position. For a brief moment, she felt nothing in her bottom and wondered if this would be easy. Then a hot, burning sensation spread suddenly through her rear.
Thwack!
The burning immediately doubled. It hurt!
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Each stroke steadily raised the temperature. Charlie’s bottom was stinging and throbbing now. It wasn’t unbearable, but it did hurt.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
How many more would she have to take? The burning was now scorching.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Each one hurt more than the last, because Charlie’s bottom was increasingly tender and sensitive. She tried to work out how many she had taken so far, but wasn’t sure. She thought about sixteen or so.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
With great relief, she heard him putting the flogger down. Her bottom throbbed and stung intensely. She could bear it, but it wasn’t nice.
“Now the next implement for you today is the tawse,” he informed her. Again he brought it into her view to see. It consisted of a piece of leather, maybe eighteen inches long in total. The one end was rounded slightly into a handle of around six inches, whilst the remaining twelve inches were split into two flat strips. They looked a lot less flexible than the flogger tails.
“This doesn’t need such a swing, so you won’t feel so much impact,” he informed her. “However, I think you’ll find it quite effective.”
Charlie tensed as she felt him measure his stroke, then once again she heard it swish through the air.
Thwapp!
“Ooohhhh!”
He was right: there was less of an impact, but it hurt considerably more. It really stung!
“Did you say something?” he asked silkily.