We continue with Obliged to Bend by B. A. Bradbury. In the previous selection Mrs Hammond, the prospective governess, was shown an amazing array of implements, and chose a cane for her own disciplinary session. It now begins.
"Then kindly raise your skirts," I said, "at the back."
She gave me one last unhappy glance then lifted her skirts to her waist. I squatted behind her and pulled her drawers down to her ankles, and she murmured as I did so, clearly ill at ease. I guessed she had hoped to retain these for modesty's sake, but there was not the slightest chance I would allow that, out of respect for my grandfather's memory...
Her broad, full buttocks were creamy-white, smooth and beautifully rounded... I was tempted to smack her, there and then, for there's nothing quite like the feel of a firm bottom bouncing under your palm, but I refrained, not wishing to set my dignity at risk. A punishment is a serious matter, and must be conducted accordingly. A few playful slaps might be great fun (for me, at least) but could easily give the impression this was all just a game, which it most certainly was not.
So now Mrs Hammond waited, eyes shut fast, breast rising and falling rapidly; yet I delayed, savouring the moment. Then I raised the cane and tapped it lightly against her buttocks three times: tap-tap-tap.
"Oh," she gasped, buttocks clenching and back arching as she rose up onto her toes.
She had no way of knowing it, but she had just been introduced to my famous Triple-Tap-Tester. And much it had revealed to me, for I was convinced now the woman had never been caned before. Her reaction to the gentle tap was that of a complete novice, out of all proportion to the mere tickle she received. She was a spanking virgin, which made all this doubly pleasurable for me. Like footprints across a field of freshly fallen snow, the stripes I was about to leave on her posterior would be all mine, with no one there before me...
And I could delay no longer. I drew back my arm and struck her. This was no light tap, but a lively stroke that whistled on its way. Not desperately hard, yet crisp enough to give her something to think about, it contacted Irene Hammond's behind with a satisfying thwick. She yelped and her hips jerked forward.
A second stroke followed, then a third, and a fourth. Once she realized it wasn't as bad as she'd feared, Mrs Hammond seemed to settle a little. I made the fifth stroke somewhat harder, both to undermine her confidence and to set her twitching again.
After the next I stopped to examine her. Six narrow pink tramlines, marks typical of a cane, showed against her white skin. Evenly spaced and virtually identical, they were weals to be proud of. An excellent start, I thought, to what promised to be a most enjoyable session.
"May I rub, sir?" she asked, once she realized this was more than just a longer pause between strokes. I was pleased that she understood a penitent must ask permission before rubbing her bottom. There are some, I know, who consider this old-fashioned but I was taught by a master of the old school and take pride in these ancient traditions.
While Mrs Hammond rubbed her tingling behind, I watched her face. She looked very thoughtful, and I imagined she was wondering how much worse it would get.
"Thank you, sir," Mrs Hammond said, with a respectful glance in my direction. She hitched her skirts up a little higher, closing her eyes to await the remaining strokes.
I had to smile, for I recognized these actions of hers -- thanking me, and adopting the position in this way -- for what they were. She was attempting to dictate the pace of the proceedings. It was understandable that she wanted her punishment over and done with as quickly as possible, but the penitent must never be allowed to take control in this manner. Mrs Hammond must be left in no doubt as to who was master.
I left her standing there, stoically awaiting the remaining two and a half dozen, while I strolled to the bell-pull and rang for Alice. The maid appeared in a trice, I asked her to pour me a brandy, and I saw her eyes register astonishment as she took in the scene before her as she scuttled across to the cabinet by the window.
"Tell me, Mrs Hammond," I said, "do you think you will like our Oxfordshire countryside?"
"Why...yes, sir, I... I believe I will," she stammered.
"We have some fine elms in the neighbourhood. Did you notice them on your way from the railway station?"
"I... No, sir... I can't say that I did."
Alice carried the brandy over to me on a small silver tray, curtsied, and then attempted to slip away unnoticed. I had other ideas, however.
"Alice," I said, "you're a native of these parts. I'm sure you'll agree the countryside hereabouts is beautiful."
"Yes sir, thank you sir," she said, glancing at the door with a look of longing desperation, curtseying twice more for good measure.
I swirled the brandy in the glass and sampled its nose. Excellent. I strolled back to where Mrs Hammond waited. Casually I stroked her buttocks, pretending to examine the marks left by the cane. In reality, of course, I was drawing the maid's attention to them -- and more importantly, letting Irene Hammond know that I wished the staff to witness her humiliation.
"England can boast many fine counties," I said, "but I challenge anyone to name a prettier valley than our own, eh, Alice?"
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
"Thank you, Alice. You may go."
She curtsied once more and hastily departed. Her eagerness to be back in the relative safety of the servants' quarters was understandable. Canes and raised skirts were all too familiar to the girl; possibly she believed the combination to be contagious.
I finished my drink at leisure, deposited the glass on the table and sauntered back to my victim. I stood before her and looked directly into her troubled eyes. "I think," I said quietly, "we will now carry on where we left off. Does that meet with your approval, Mrs Hammond?"
To be continued...
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