Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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A Business Client
(****, F/F, Serious, Spanking)
Erin plays naughty games. (Approximately 2,400 words. Originally published 1998-02.)
The caning from Steve seemed to set a turning point in my life. Everything settled into a predictable routine. At work I was paddled by Miss Swain. At home Heidi would take me over her knee for long, loving spankings with hand and hairbrush, and later in the evening Steve would cane us both. I often sat on the living room sofa, my bottom tingling with the dull burning of a half-dozen fresh stripes, listening to Heidi in her bedroom, receiving a thorough and elaborate slippering from Steve. These were long, drawn-out affairs, lasting an hour or more. I felt both sorry and jealous of poor Heidi. I knew that after Steve left she'd be blissfully happy, wandering the apartment with a dazed, just-fucked look. Me? All I got was a miserably sore bottom!
Just when the predictableness was getting to me, I met a new client at work. Her name was Mrs. Beecher, and though that sounds like the name of a dowdy middle-ager, she was, in fact, scarcely older than me. Her husband was Mr. James Beecher, the wealthy owner of Beecher Liquors. They'd been married a year earlier in a rather scandlous affair as he was forty-nine and she was not yet twenty. Everyone had assumed she was after his money.
The truth was that Sarah Beecher was in love with the man, but he barely noticed she existed. Oh, Saturday nights were special, and perhaps on holidays, or when work was going smoothly and he'd get that gleam in his eyes, but generally he worked and she was home alone. He wasn't a bad man, just focused. He existed to work and anything else was but a momentary distraction.
I know these things because Sarah and I became intimate friends. She spent a great deal of her lonely life shopping, especially for shoes. She had lovely feet, slender and petite, and would spend hours at the shop trying on dozens of pairs.
At first we talked only casually, and formally, but gradually, most likely because of our similar ages, we became friends. Since we got along so well, Miss Swain allowed me exclusive rights to Sarah as a customer. Sarah stopped by more and more often and I soon realized she was dreadfully lonely.
One day I suggested we have dinner after the shop closed. Sarah agreed immediately -- her husband rarely arrived home before nine, so she nearly always dined alone. When it was time to close I let Sarah out and locked the front door. I told her I'd meet her at the rear entrance in ten minutes.
Unfortunately it seemed I'd made a couple mathematical errors on a receipt that day, and Miss Swain insisted on carrying out the terms of our bargain before I was allowed to leave.
"That's three mistakes, today," she scolded. "Your attention has been wandering lately. We shall rectify that immediately. What shall it be: the paddle or the strap?"
Miss Swain had recently acquired a heavy leather strap which she used in addition to the paddle. It was now twenty spanks with the paddle per mistake, or ten with the strap. The strap was faster but left welts that tended to ache for a longer period.
"The strap, Ma'am," I sighed, assuming the classic position over her desk chair and waiting while she tugged my knickers down and lifted my skirt.
"I see you got the cane recently," she said, clucking her tongue with disapproval. "You are incorrigible!"
She proceeded to lash my bottom thoroughly with the strap, going well beyond the thirty due me. This was also a recent development -- she never said a word but simply spanked beyond the count, and for some reason obscure even to myself, I never protested.
After nearly fifty, she allowed me to stand and dress, and she sent me home with a gentle kiss and a reminder to be at work on time the next day.
Outside, I found Sarah standing by the door, a strange expression on her face. My cheeks flushed crimson as I realized she had heard everything, for Miss Swain's office is flush with the back wall of the building.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, her eyes shining boldly.
"Your boss seems very nice," she hinted boldly, looking off into the evening sky.
"She keeps me in line."
Sarah's eyes widened at that and I saw her suck her lower lip into her mouth and bite it. When she spoke her voice was far too casual. "And how does she do that?"
I turned to look at Sarah, no shame on my face. I could see the greedy look in her eyes and I knew she would understand. "She whacks me," I said bluntly. "Usually with a large wooden paddle she got from America, but sometimes with a heavy leather strap."
Sarah's pretty face flushed heavily and her blue eyes bulged. "And you -- "
"I only get what I deserve."
Sara licked her lips thoughtfully. "How appropriate," she murmured. She hesitated. "Perhaps we should have dinner at my house, rather than a public restaurant."
My belly quivered. The thought of playing naughty games with this delicate, proper girl thrilled me.
I nodded. "If you'd like."
Sarah's home proved to be an elegant mansion on the East side of town in an exclusive district. As I marveled at the marble floors and expensive decor, Sarah called the butler and informed him it would be two for supper promptly at eight o'clock. She then coldly told him that we desired privacy and he was to see that no servants went upstairs.
"Call us when dinner is ready, Alfred," she said. "Otherwise, no disturbances."
"Very well, madam," said the portly, older gentleman, bowing and vanishing.
Giggling wildly, Sarah grasped my hand and dragged me up a huge marble staircase. "Come on," she cried.
Inside her room, I stood entranced at the magnificent size and elegant furniture. Sarah kicked off her shoes and began to undress. I watched, nervously, as she stripped to just her petite pale blue knickers and padded across the huge room to a closet door. I must admit she was a gorgeous darling, so innocent and charming to took my breath away. I was jealous of her large, round breasts, and the way she walked, casual and graceful and utterly without shame.
Opening the closet, Sarah disappeared inside. When she emerged, my mouth opened in surprise. Before me wasn't a sophisticated, wealthy socialite, but a delectable schoolgirl in a tight white blouse, navy tie, gray skirt, and white kneesocks.
"Do you like it? It's my school uniform. I can still wear it," she beamed, spinning around so I could see her from all sides. The skirt flew upward, revealing naughty flashes of her flimsy underpants. For some reason those brief glimpses aroused me violently, even though a moment earlier I just seen her walking with nothing but her panties.
Sarah stopped spinning and approached me, her eyes greedy and nervous. She licked her lips delicately for a second, and then spoke: "Let me see your bottom."
Cautiously I lifted my skirt and turned away from Sarah. I held my breath as I felt her approach, felt her hands at my waist. Slowly my knickers were pulled downward, the smooth cotton rolling downward over the tender welts that striped my bum. Sarah did so slowly it hurt. I winced, wishing she'd hurry, but a part of me wished the amazing tension and excitement I felt to never end.
Sarah gasped loudly. "Oh my!" I felt a finger touch one of the welts. Her voice was ghostly it was so faint. "Is that from a . . . cane?"
"Yes," I breathed deeply. My body was tingling all over with fantastic excitement. I ached for Sarah to touch me more intimately. She was so close I could feel her breath on my bottom, soft and warm and light, scarcely more than a tickle. I gave a slight shudder.
"I haven't seen cane marks since school," she whispered. "And that was only once."
"You were caned?" I asked.
Sarah gasped again, this time in horror. "Of course not. No proper girl was ever caned at St. Agnes. It was Luann Tyler, a very _improper_ girl. She was always in trouble and finally was caught with a boy after lights out. They were half-dressed and rather pissed -- a half bottle of scotch was found with them. The boy's school was contacted and he was sentenced to a stiff birching from the headmaster. Tyler was simply going to be expelled, but she begged and pleaded to be given the cane instead. She promised to never misbehave again. I remember thinking she was insane, begging for the cane, but her parents were prudish and the scandal would have killed them.
"It had been nearly ten years since they'd used the cane at St. Agnes, but they brought it out for Tyler. So one Saturday morning she was given a dozen strokes. She wept for hours, and all us girls took turns visiting her, ostensibly for comfort and sympathy, but really we just wanted to see her marks."
Sarah touched my bottom again, running her fingers lightly over my weals, fascinated by the thickened, swollen flesh. Shivers of tension raced through my body and I shuddered. This young girl's naivety of such things aroused powerful memories in me, things I hadn't thought of in years.
"I remember being terrified of the cane after that," Sarah continued. "All of us were. Especially when we saw the change in Tyler. Before she had been outspoken and rebellious, but after her caning she was quiet, polite, and never late with an assignment. She got nearly perfect marks on all her schoolwork and she never did anything the slightest bit against the rules. None of us ever tempted her, either. We'd seen the results of her caning and we knew she had good reason to stay out of trouble."
"So you've never been caned," I said in the silence that followed Sarah's tale. Her answer was a soft and gentle, "No."
"Perhaps we can repair that omission," I said, pulling my knickers up firmly and letting my skirt drop. I faced Sarah, her face pale and frightened but excited.
"You don't mean -- "
"Why not? Aren't you a naughty girl who deserves a beating?"
Sarah flushed deeply and she stared down at the floor in horror. She shook her head. "I-I can't. I just can't."
"Turn around and bend over," I ordered.
There was a long silence. Sarah didn't move. She didn't even breathe. I didn't either, calmly waiting for her decision. Suddenly she turned away and bent over, her face flooded with guilt and shame.
Admiring the slender girlish figure in front of me, I carefully placed a hand on Sarah's curved back. I could feel her trembling. With my right hand I gently squeezed the soft mounds of her bum.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed.
"Quiet, naughty girl!" I scolded, and proceeded to lift up the short skirt. Sarah's full bottom beamed at me, the generous cheeks exceeding the capacity of tiny pale blue panties.
"Are these regulation knickers?" I asked. There was no response. "Answer me, child!" I gave Sarah a very light pat on the bum.
"Oh!" She shuddered. "N-no, ma'am, t-they are not."
"Then you shall be punished extra for that!" I gave her backside another slap.
"Oh God!" murmured the girl. "Not too hard, please."
"Of course it shall be hard. A spanking is meant to hurt."
With those words I proceeded to warm Sarah's bottom with my hand. It was a mild spanking, more noise than sting, but Sarah cried out in agony and shrieked at every smack. Her buttocks were barely pink when I finally paused long enough to slip her panties down to her knees.
"Oh God, not bare!" she moaned.
"Spankings are always on the bare bottom. You know that."
"Please, I've had enough. My bottom is stinging!"
"We haven't even begun," I scolded. "After I spank you with my hand I shall give you a dose of the slipper!"
That remark caused a tremendous cry to emerge from Sarah's lips and she convulsed as if in terrible pain. I looked and saw she was crying, large wet tears dripping down her face.
"Let me give you something to cry about," I said boldly, giving her bottom a solid swat. She squealed in terror and quivered as I spanked her for real now, bringing a delicious pinkness to her plump cheeks. Her arms flailed wildly, vainly attempting to block my blows, and she tried again and again to stand up, moaning that she'd had enough. I kept my left hand on her back and held her down. She sobbed and I spanked on, oblivious to her cries. My body raged with desire and I delighted in watching Sarah's bottom quiver and tremble and bounce with every spank.
When I stopped Sarah quickly stood, her hands rushing frantically to grasp her steaming bottom. She moaned and shook tears from her face. "That really hurt!" she gasped at me. "Did you have to do it so hard?"
I could barely restrain a smile. "That's nothing but a warmup. Wait until you've tasted the slipper, and eventually the cane!"
"Oh, I can't bear anything more today," she shuddered. "Let's go down and eat. I'm starved."
My face fell, but Sarah was already removing her clothes. I watched as she dressed, wincing and complaining all the while. "You've beaten me black and blue," she said, one hand behind her back, rubbing her rear. "I won't be able to sit for a week!"
"Your bottom's barely pink," I said, shaking my head in amazement at her silly antics. "I got worse spankings when I was six years old!"
Sarah's bright eyes glittered at me. "I doubt that," she sneered, a cold haughtiness coming over her pretty features.
Her lips narrowed. "Perhaps you ought to be getting home. Didn't you say you had to study or something? We can have dinner some other time."
Five short minutes later found me outside the Beecher mansion, waiting for a taxi to run me home. I shivered in the cool night air and wondered what the hell had happened.
More to come next week!