Woody Woodpecker #070
4 hours ago
"For God's sake do exactly what he asks - exactly - or it could mean my future."Do you think Toby knew what Fiona was in for?
The words rang in her ears as she ascended the wide staircase towards his study. She glanced across the hall, into the large room where most of the guests were assembled, conversation and laughter filling the air. It was all so wonderful, everyone looked so beautiful, the men in their dark dinner jackets and crisp white shirts, their wives in their best gowns, shimmering blues, golds, whites and reds. Fiona paused on the stairs, just to drink it all in, to savour the moment of her first party, her first company ball at the luxurious home of the chairman, Sir George Francis.
She remembered the moment so well. The moment when Toby, her husband of just nine months, had burst through the front door of their tiny apartment with the wonderful news.
"Darling, I've made it on to the board, I've bloody well made it!" His grin was so wide she thought his face would fall in half. "Director of Advertising, seat on the board, new car and loads of lovely money."
She had flown into his arms.
"Well done, Darling! Well done. I knew you would get there. Oh, you are so clever! How wonderful!"
Now their money worries would be over. The past nine months had been very difficult, trying to maintain a good lifestyle had proven very hard, having to keep up with both her and Toby's richer friends. Even her wages from the company had not been enough to keep them out of rising debt.
Toby had taken his new post two weeks before, just in time for the annual company ball. Fiona bubbled with pleasure at the thought of mixing with the very top brass in the company, particularly being introduced to the powerful chairman.
She had shopped around carefully for new clothes. Toby said she should look her best. She eventually settled for a simple black gown that clung to her hips and then softly swirled out into a fuller skirt. The material made it seem as though she walked in slow motion. She loved it. New underwear completed the look, she wanted to be at her best, and that was when she felt most sexy.
The evening had started well. Everything was as she expected; the dresses, the lights, the magnificent setting, being introduced to everyone, the wonderful conversation, everything was just so... perfect, it was as if she was walking on air.
"Which one is Sir George? Where is the chairman?" she whispered to Toby. "I want to meet him."
"It doesn't look as if he's here," Toby answered, gazing round the room. "Don't worry, darling, you'll meet him soon."
"I certainly hope so, I can hardly wait," she said excitedly.
She so wanted to make a good impression, to help Toby. She had it all worked out. "Good evening, Sir George," she would say, gazing up into his eyes. She knew he would be taller, distinguished, with a subtle air of authority. Someone with power. Power over Toby and his job most certainly, but also power - she hardly dared think of it - power over her!
"Good evening, my dear," he would say quietly, "so nice to meet you. Such a delight," and she would feel his eyes sweep over her. She shivered as she imagined being swept onto the dance floor, his strong arms around her.
"Mrs Fiona Fortune? Madam?" a soft voice, just behind her, suddenly interrupted her reverie.
"Oh...er...sorry...yes," she turned, flustered, to see a butler, dark jacket and bow tie, startlingly white shirt, grey hair, standing quietly, a gentle smile on his face, holding a silver tray.
On the tray was a gold-edged card.
"For you, Madam."
"Oh! Th..thank you." she stuttered, taken aback. Written on one side of the card in elegant gold script was Sir George Francis, Chairman - United Electronics. On the other side in blue ink was written, in a strong masculine hand, Fiona, my dear, we haven't met. Allow me to rectify that situation. Please do me the honour of visiting my private study on the first floor, immediately.
Fiona felt a sudden tingling spark glow through her body. She glanced up and looked around the room. No one was looking, everything seemed as it was before, except she had this wonderful invitation. She had been picked out. Undoubtedly, as the wife of a new board member, the chairman wanted to make her feel welcome. It was just the chance she had wanted, an opportunity to talk to the chairman alone, a chance to impress him, a chance to push Toby's career, so many opportunities her eyes glowed in anticipation.
"Look, Toby, look what's happened." She had pulled him away from the group of men he'd been talking to, into a quieter place.
"Fiona, really," he said, annoyed, "what is it?"
"Look at this card from Sir George. I've been invited to his study. Isn't that wonderful? Now I can tell him all about us - you know, impress him. It could do you a lot of good." She spoke quickly, almost shaking in her excitement.
Toby looked at the card.
Why didn't he smile? Why was he looking at her like that? Almost as if he was worried, scared even.
"What's the matter, Darling," she said, suddenly concerned. "Aren't you pleased?"
"Well, yes, of course," he said slowly. "You will be careful, Darling. You know, don't say the wrong thing. He's very powerful, so you mustn't upset him. You know, agree with him, don't argue, do as he says." There was agitation in his voice.
"Why, of course I won't upset him. I'll be a model wife and I'm sure he'll be the perfect gentleman," she laughed.
"OK then," but his forced smile was tense, nervous and he gripped her wrist. "Just remember not to upset him, and for God's sake do exactly what he wants, exactly what he wants or it could be the end for my job!"
There was that tingly, sparky feeling again as Fiona listened to the tension in her husband's voice. Suddenly it all felt a bit dangerous. Fiona shivered as she smiled reassuringly at him.
"Don't worry, Darling, it'll be fine. Anyway I better go." and she made her way towards the large staircase.
* * *
Sir George Francis sat behind the large mahogany desk in his deep leather chair. He pulled thoughtfully on his big cigar as he studied the contents of a simple, buff-coloured file. It was the only thing on the desk.
The room was hushed. No sound from the party below intruded here. Thick drapes hung at the windows, thick carpet covered the floor. Two comfortable leather armchairs stood in front of the log fire, an old writing desk stood against one wall with a glass covered gun cupboard above it. Two shotguns shone dully from inside. There was a single light on the desk and a tall standard lamp in the corner. Dark, expensive pictures adorned the walls. It was a comfortable room, HIS room, totally masculine.
He spread the photographs from the folder on the desk in front of him.
Fiona getting out of her car showing a very nice expanse of thigh.
Fiona bending to retrieve some dropped papers, skirt stretched tightly over her pert bottom .
Fiona, caught on a summer day by a gust of wind, skirt lifted, a hint of stockings and suspenders.
Fiona, just standing in the office, high heels, short, tight, dark skirt, crisp white blouse tucked in, taut across her breasts, sensual blonde curls framing her face.
These are nice, he thought. His people had done a good job. He smiled at what she would say if she ever discovered she had attracted this kind of interest.
Sir George Francis was one of the most powerful industrialists in the country. Utterly ruthless in business matters, he had risen to the top through his own efforts and was proud of it. He drove himself to the limit at work and expected the same dedication from everyone, in particular members of the board, who he would get rid of in an instant if he felt they were not pulling their weight or offering him their total cooperation...
He didn't have much time to relax, but when he did, he liked to take an 'interest' in the wives of his employees and particularly those of his Board members. It was unwritten, of course, but there were just two qualifications for the board of United Electronics. You had to be very good at your job, and you had to have a beautiful wife.
Fiona certainly fitted the bill, he thought. Young Toby Fortune had earned his place on the board but it was Fiona who had clinched it, and now - he smiled to himself - here she was on her way, unknowingly, to seal the deal.
He gathered up the photos and replaced the file with the others in his desk drawer and locked it.
He sat back and waited.
* * *
Fiona reached the top of the stairs and walked slowly along the the thickly carpeted corridor towards the oak paneled door at the end. The noise of the party receded and she felt herself enveloped by the hushed atmosphere. The tingly,sparky feeling was becoming more pronounced and it was joined by a million butterflies that had gathered in her stomach. She felt she was walking into a dangerous situation. Sir George was, after all, a man who could ruin her life, and Toby's. He held them - her - in the palm of his hand. He could ask anything of her, do anything to her. She would simply have to obey.
She reached the heavy door, knocked timidly, and waited.
Suddenly her mind was filled with another tension packed moment like this. Waiting to enter another door. Her Headmaster's study door at Highburne House School for Girls. She had been in the sixth form, almost eighteen, attending for punishment. She hadn't meant to steal the cosmetics from the shop, something had just come over her, but no one believed that and now she was for it. She remembered the thick oak door opening, the Headmaster sitting behind his desk, the Chairman of the Board of Governors sitting in the big armchair. She remembered the utter humiliation, standing in front of them, the Chairman's eyes glittering with excitement, the Headmaster's barked instruction as he rose from his chair, cane in hand. Her throat dry as she pulled down her knickers in front of them, then bent over that large desk. Intense humiliation...and something else too!
"COME IN! I SAID COME IN!"
She heard the voice through her dreaming. It startled her. Shocked her. How long had she kept him waiting?
Hurriedly she pushed at the door, it would not open. Flustered, she twisted the handle and almost stumbled into the quiet room.
"Oh I'm so sorry, Sir George. I don't know what came over me..." she stood embarrassed and confused in front of his desk.
"There, there, my dear Fiona," he said smoothly, delighted to see her flushed face and her consternation. "Please don't fret. I'm sorry I shouted but I feared you had not heard me."
She fought to collect herself. This was not how she had planned it at all. She took several deep breaths and began to feel calmer.
He waited quietly while she composed herself, taking in the picture of her soft, blonde curls, her pretty face - all the more so, blushing pink as it was - her cool, bare shoulders, breasts pushing against the bodice of her dress, the swell of her hips, all this in one, long glance.
She was aware of his long stare, taken aback by his pugnacious appearance, not at all the film star figure she had imagined, but totally aware of the immense power contained in that one glance. She caught her breath as she felt the dampness between her legs.
"... and I expect my Directors wives to contribute to the success of the Company. Don't you think so, Fiona?"
"What? Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't quite follow..." her voice trailed off feebly. This was awful. What must he think of her? She was starting to feel wretched and guilty for letting Toby down so badly.
"Never mind, my dear. I was just saying that everyone involved with the Company had something to contribute, and that the wives had a responsibility too."
"Oh I do agree," she gushed, "everyone should play their part." She stood, helplessly, her hands by her sides. Sir George did nothing to make her feel more comfortable.
"Good. And I've asked you up here to give you my own personal welcome as a new director's wife and to get to know you a lot better," he said softly but with an authority she could hardly ignore," yes my own, very personal, welcome."
She stood staring at him, unable to find an answer.
"So, my dear, let's make a start with that, shall we? Why don't you take off that beautiful dress?"
For Sir George, this was the delicious moment. What would she do? Refuse angrily? Be shocked and scandalised? Break down in tears? What?
For Fiona, the words came almost as if she expected them. Somehow, deep down, she had known something like this was going to happen. The power of this man.
"For God's sake do exactly what he says...exactly!"
It felt as if she was moving in slow motion, her hands at the back of her dress, unzipping it,not a word of protest, her eyes fixed on his, the tingly, sparky feelings now coursing strongly through her body, the butterflies whirring round in her tummy, the blush mounting in her face.
He watched as she shrugged off the top of her dress, the straps off her shoulders, revealing the soft pink brassiere filed with her breasts. Then she pushed her thumbs into the dress at the sides and eased it over her hips and let it fall in a pool at her feet. Hands at her sides, she stood red-faced, in front of him, staring down at the carpet.
"Well done, my dear. How delightful you are. Toby is a lucky man," he said in that quiet, authoritative voice as his eyes swept over her.
Black high-heeled shoes tightening her calves, dark stockings, the tops pulled to points by her pink suspenders and contrasting violently with the whiteness of her thighs, the suspender straps disappearing into the lacy legs of her pink French knickers which clung seductively to the swell of her stomach.
"Now that didn't hurt at all. Did it?" he said in a more business-like voice.
Fiona shook her head. It hadn't hurt. In fact it had given her a real thrill but she didn't raise her head.
"Well I have a little initiation ceremony for new wives," he said sharply, "I am going to spank your bottom. Come here!"
Now she raised her head in shock.
"Oh please no, not that. I won't!" she found her voice at last, strangled and choking.
"Now I'm sure you don't need me to remind you how much your husband depends on my favour," he said, smiling without mirth, "for you must know that already."
Then she knew she had to go through with this for Toby's sake and, stepping out of the pool of her dress, she walked slowly around the desk.
Obediently she lay across his knees, her bottom posed conveniently for his hand. She felt his hand momentarily fondle each buttock, before his fingers were at the waistband of her knickers. Her face was bright red with embarrassment now but she said nothing, just raised herself slightly so that he could pull them down to her knees. She could feel the cool air on her rear cheeks as she abandoned herself to the feeling of being mastered, just as she had at school, draped across that oak desk ,the humiliation she experienced and the knowledge that a stranger would soon be staring at her most intimate and private parts. That there was nothing she could do to stop him only added to the mounting excitement within her.
Sir George stared at Fiona's bottom with great pleasure. Women's bottoms never failed to excite and delight him. He had seen many, many women in this position but each time they were a new source of pleasure. Fiona's was no exception. Taut, yet soft and amazingly resilient, her flesh pink and smooth yet covered with a soft down, hardly noticeable from his fine vantage point.
He smiled...and raised his hand.
It was like a pistol shot as his palm met her flesh. he felt the delicious wobble as she bucked on his knee.
This time on the other cheek...a second red hand print appeared. Again she jerked under the impact. Delightful!
He was increasing the rhythm and her grunt was a little louder.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Each buttock in turn, now he was warming to his task. She started to kick her legs - always a great sight for a spanker to see! She tried to reach around with her hand to protect her rear, but he had too much experience to let her do that.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
His hand moved rapidly from cheek to cheek, each rapidly getting redder and redder, the warm flesh bouncing deliciously beneath his palm.
She was squealing now, it really hurt, the heat was building rapidly, she kicked up her legs,not caring what she was showing, then suddenly he stopped and she felt his hand caress her burning bottom.
He rested for a moment, his palm feeling the heat radiating from her scarlet cheeks.
Little trickles of sweat were gathering on her back and he smoothed them away with his hand... She gave something between a gasp, a snort and a moan.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
A final flourish produced anguished cries.
"Owwwww Oooooh! Please, Sir, stop! I'll do anything... anything!"
Her bottom had taken on that deep red glow, smooth and shiny under the fierce blast of his hand. The heat enveloped her, the pain in her bottom reaching every part of her, she was snorting and gasping, tears pouring down her cheeks. She felt totally mastered, humiliated, her last outburst - she really meant it - and with all this, the excitement of what was happening to her almost driving her mad with excitement.
He helped her from his knee and made her stand facing the wall opposite him, hands on her head. He watched her squirm slowly as she tried to relieve the burning sensations in her bottom.
After a few moments, he said sharply, "Go over to the writing cabinet and open the top drawer. Bring me what you find there!"
Wincing slightly she slowly did as she was asked. She opened the drawer and gasped. Wide eyed she turned towards him, the thin whippy cane in her hand.
"Oh p-p-please," she begged, " surely you're not going to...you can't...please..."
"Of course I can, and I will," he replied breezily, "the young wife's final test, eh? Come on, Fiona, I know you can take it, and you will!"
All protest abandoned, she walked over slowly and handed him the cane.
"Now take off your stockings and suspender belt," he ordered, "I want you naked for the cane."
Such was her state of mind that she hurried to obey. Completely naked now, she felt totally in his power. He could do anything he liked with her and her excitement continued to rise. It seemed right that she should be exposed to him, she made no attempt to cover herself as she bent over his desk. She allowed him to place a cushion on the edge so that she could rest her tummy on it. The heat from her bottom was penetrating between her legs and, almost unconsciously, she spread them a little way apart. She was tingling with excitement now and sighed as she bent low in acceptance.
She heard a swish and then felt the cane strike her bottom, for a split second there was nothing, then a searing pain hit her like a burning bar and she squealed aloud. He had laid the first one just across the top of her cleft, a straight scarlet line appearing as if by magic.
The second was exactly one inch below the first, the scarlet line running across both buttocks. Again she squealed and bucked, the pain tearing into her bottom.
The third and fourth, delivered in quick succession were laid in a further inch dwon to produce four exactly parallel lines of red. Each time she gave that snorting cry, wiggled her bottom, but made no attempt to rise.
He changed his position slightly and brought the final stroke down so that it crossed the others, both reawakening the pain and completing the pattern. This time Fiona kicked her legs out wide as she gasped and grunted and he had to steady her on the desk.
He watched a tiny rivulet of sweat disappear into her bottom cleft as she writhed on the desk, the heat building to almost unbearable levels. He would wait, experienced as he was, for what he knew would inevitably happen.
He smiled broadly as he inspected his 'signature' on her bottom, a dark red barred gate against a paler red background. There were two more ladies at the party downstairs who bore that mark and many others from whose bottom it had faded. It would be most noticeable on the plump bottom of Mrs Alice Cornell, the wife of his Finance Director. How she had squealed, face down across his knee, her flesh wobbling delightfully as he turned it a deep crimson. It would be fading now from the taut young bottom of Mrs Irene Fielder. It had been over a week since the wife of his Marketing Manager lay stretched across the back of the leather couch, kicking up her long legs delightfully as he 'signed' her lovely bottom.
Fiona lay face down on the desk, sobbing quietly, her breasts damply pressed against the smooth wood. The raging fire coursing through her buttocks engulfed her, yet she made no move for another intense feeling was beginning to take hold. Deep between her legs it remained, a tingling warmth and dampness that made her press her tummy against the cushion and, as it rose in intensity, she gave a soft low moan.
Sir George's keen eyes and ears noticed the subtle change and he grinned. As certain as night follows day, he thought. He walked over and gently stroked her naked bottom... As his hand gently stroked the hot, burning flesh he murmured softly, "Your husband will go a long way in this company, my dear. a very long way indeed!"
Chairs are for sitting on, I know, but there is no doubt that if you are sitting on an armless chair, then there should be, spread across your knees, some bare-bottomed supplicant who has well deserved the spanking you are about to deliver. She may not think she has deserved it, but, nevertheless that is why she will be there and why you are sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the room so that there is ample room for kicking legs and flailing arms.From now on I will look upon our kitchen chairs with new respect.
I have, myself, a preference for punishment given in this particular way, naked bottom under my hand, my other hand worked round and under her waist to keep her tightly to me. It is sometimes fun, though, to have her sitting on your lap, with her back to you, her legs astride yours so she is open to every movement of your hands however deeply the fingers thrust - and then to force her forward so that her bottom lies widely open to a hand that reddens each cheek with short, hard strokes while the other works gently under her once more, holding her firmly in position...
There are other sorts of chair that can be used, to place a girl in more elegantly shaming postures, even if she is not so closely confined, and some of those possibilities are worth more consideration.
The armchair is often to hand, and the temptation is simply to force her over its back, sweeping the skirt up over her back, taking the knickers down and off to leave her bottom curved tightly to receive hand, hairbrush or even a swift cane. She will be able to hide her face in the depths of the chair as you bring tears to her eyes, and receive you gratefully as you work into her from behind when the punishment has finished and her tears are turning to gasps of excitement.
There is, however, a more entertaining posture she can be led into, less comfortable in itself... Her jeans or skirt have to be taken off to start with, and then her knickers similarly removed. Some preliminary caresses are allowable at this stage, but with the warning that tears will follow however much you love her, that her bottom will be etched with the marks of your cane, marks that you will kiss when they have reddened into weals, marks that she will be able to relish for evenings to come as she prepares for bed.
The chair should have padded arms and come well forward, for it is on these that she is to kneel, with her knees halfway along them so that she can bend forward and down, tucking the back of her head against the back of the chair, down and down until the top of her head is against the seat, and her arms free to clasp around its back.
Six or twelve strokes of the cane will be enough to have her begging for an alternative tactile contact, and, her bottom being so tightly offered, you will have no doubt as to how it would be exciting to take her.
If the armchair has a sloping back, then a cushion may be placed into its angle, and your partner slid forward, to its front so that her skirt (if you have not made her take it off) is high around her waist. Lifting her legs you can remove her knickers (if, of course, she is still wearing any) and bring her knees back against her stomach, so that she can hold her legs down. Here is the softest part of her drawn tight for your hand or strap or, if the punishment needs to be severe, your cane.
While talking of armchairs, we may detour the room a little to put the sofa into use. The most obvious method is to have her kneeling at one end, bottom over the arm, hands on the floor, raising her cheeks nicely to the strap, head lower than the knees.
Kitchen chairs make another style of chevalet. One I saw the other day in one of those shops that are never undersold, had a seat high off the ground, with an open steel back and an open foot rest at the front. Here it will be necessary to strip the penitent completely before having her stand facing the chair, then making her bend down so as to slip head and shoulders through the open back; tummy resting on the seat; her feet tucked inside the foot rest. Uneasily balanced, her buttocks will be tidily offered to cane or strap, and the lower lips readily available for consoling caresses when the pain becomes excessive.
The bar stool serves more easily, for wrists and ankles go to each corner, and the bottom is presented to perfection, tightly stretched for the cane and wide open to kisses and caresses while the punishment is in progress...
So punishing your lady in a variety of positions does not need an outlay of expense. Most of the equipment is already there, in your own home. Use it wisely!
It has been a long time since I have had a chance to visit the blogs, but I can no longer get on to my own, so it seems it will just hang around in cyberspace forever! The email address it was registered in has long since retired, and I never did understand the blogs after Blogger "updated" the way they performed!
Davey and I, now married 6 years, are still living on separate continents, so spanking obviously does not happen any more. Despite all my efforts to find work with a salary large enough to enable us to be together, I have been unsuccessful until now. I have just accepted a job with a salary which just qualifies us to apply, however it does not start until September, and I will then be working 5 days a week, 15 hours a day but this means that once I can provide 6 months of wage slips, Davey will finally be able to apply for a visa to live with me.
And so I finally manage to access the blogs to find that Bonnie has retired, very sad; but I am so glad that others I know and love, such as yourself, and Ronnie, and others, are still around. I think of you all so often, but just do not have the time any more to browse online.
Hugs to you all,
Daisy and Davey xxxxxx