From the Top Shelf - The Tally Man

Today's story is an excerpt from "The Tally Man" by Vincent James, from The Janus Book of Spanking Stories. Tally man is an old term used for a debt collector. The tale is set in England just after the Second World War.

When I knocked on the door of number 12 Foundry Terrace on that dismal Monday afternoon, I little knew what was in store for me or what a difference it would make to me in the future.

I was working as a collector for a large firm of credit drapers in a small industrial town in the North of England, and it was my unhappy task to try to collect the weekly instalments from the difficult customers. In this particular town there were a considerable number of unemployed at that time, so it was even harder to collect debts than usual.

I had been to the house at least half a dozen times and got nothing but excuses and vague promises. I had come to the conclusion that the young woman concerned was more than a little improvident for I knew that she was married and that her husband was in the Navy,and therefore she got her money every week.

The door was opened by the girl's old grandmother who shared the little four-roomed house with her. "Ah, thought 'twould be you," she said, "Better come in, I've put the kettle on."

She walked slowly, with the aid of a stick down the passage to the kitchen, and I followed her. The little cramped kitchen was darkly lit by the dull afternoon light, which filtered through the lace curtains at the small window. A nice fire glowed in the old fashioned black cooking range, and a big copper kettle steamed gently on the hob.

My client was sprawled inelegantly in an old armchair reading what appeared to be a girls' weekly gossip mag and did not, at first, seem to notice my presence. She was an attractive girl of about twenty-two, with a gorgeous figure, and a pretty, though weak, face and thick, dark hair. She affected me, physically, very strongly, so much so that I was always extremely careful in my dealings with her to try to remain as polite and distant as possible.

She was lying back in the chair with the end of her spine just resting on the edge of the seat; her knees were bent and her skirt rucked up well above her knees. I couldn't help but see the soft gleam of her parted thighs, right up to where the tight legs of her brief white knickers encircled the plump flesh.

I sat on the edge of the kitchen table while the old woman made the tea and poured three cups. She hobbled over to the other armchair and, when she had settled in it, gave the recumbent girl a hearty prod up inside her skirt with her stick.

"Hey, Pat, sit up and look decent! It's the Tally Man come for his money!" she said in a cracked voice.

The girl jumped as the stick prodded her none too gently between her legs. "Oooo Gran," she gasped, "Don't do that, you'll do me a mischief one of these days!"

She suddenly realised I was there and endeavoured to pull her skirt down over her knees.

She gave the old woman a reproachful look and then, turning back to me, said with a pout;

"I forgot you were coming - I haven't got any money this week," she hesitated for a moment and then said, "My money didn't come but I'll give it to you next week."

This was what I expected. It happened every week, and usually she got away with it, but this time I was determined to win the battle of wits. I was just about to answer when suddenly the old woman burst out, "She's a lying little bitch, she had her money alright, but she's spent it."

Pat stared, open mouthed at her gran, then her face flamed. "Shut up, you old witch," she yelled, "You mind your own business." She turned to me. "It's not true, don't take any notice of her." She sprang up from the chair and stood in front of the fire, her hands on her hips, her long legs astride.

"She's a liar," her grandmother reaffirmed, banging her stick on the floor. "She always wastes her 'usband's money. What she needs is a good hiding like she used to get. I've still got the leather strap I used to tan her lazy backside with."

She pointed to something hanging under the mantleshelf. I saw it was an old leather strap about eighteen inches long and about an inch wide. It was black with age and had evidently been there a long time.

"Used to tan 'er Ma with it too," the old woman continued. "She was just the same, needed her behind warming regularly. Can't do it now," she moaned, "I got the screws something dreadful , or I'd soon have this lying little hussy dancing about a bit lively." She paused for breath and glared at her granddaughter. Pat glared back at her.

"Be quiet, Gran," she said, her face blushing. "He doesn't want to hear all that, anyway you're too old to tan me now so that's that!"

"Haaa!" snorted the old woman, "I might be but he isn't!"

Pat swung round to face her. "What are you talking about, you silly old fool, what's it got to do with him?"

The old woman cackled and looked up at me, her eyes glinting in the firelight. "Got plenty to do with him if you ask me. He's not going to get his money again, and if he had any sense, he'd have you over his knee with your skirt up and larrup that cheeky backside o' yourn for lying to him. Go on, Mister," she taunted, "A strong young chap like you ought to be able to handle her, do 'er the power of good. Make her buck her ideas up a bit if she had a good tanning. Not afraid of her, are you?"

I looked from one to the other, not knowing what to say, for things had taken a surprising turn. It was the first time I'd been invited to chastise a grownup young woman, and a married one at that.

"I hardly think it's my place to punish your granddaughter." I stuttered.

Pat appeared to be at a loss for words too, and just stood in front of the fire looking at me. I was very conscious of her ripe figure outlined by the firelight. I couldn't see her face too clearly but she seemed to be regarding me very intently. There was an air of tension in the way she stood and I noticed that her hands were now behind her. I imagined them spread out across the seat of her dress, as if protecting her bottom from assault.

Suddenly I realised that she thought I would do as her Grandma suggested, and was still not sure of my intentions. The room seemed very quiet, and there was a strange feeling of tension in the air. I licked my lips and put my hand out towards Pat.

She came towards me slowly. Her eyes were on my face. She came close and my raised hand touched her hip. I felt a tremor run through her at the touch of my fingers and my heart started to pound in my ears. It was as if an electric current flowed between us. She said nothing, neither did I, but we both knew what was about to happen.

I took her hand and drew her close to me. I was still half sitting on the edge of the table, with my left thigh on the table and my leg hanging over the side. I loosened her hand and put both of mine on her hips, and held her before me, between my legs.

Her full lips were moist and parted and her eyes bright. I wanted to enfold her and kiss her but daren't, not with the old lady watching.

My hands slid from her hips, moved back and encompassed the the full firm curves of her bottom. I felt the warmth of her flesh through her skirt, and even through the thick material my fingers were aware of every curve and valley of the two hemispheres, which overflowed my outstretched fingers.

The only sound in the room was that of heavy breathing, both hers and mine.

I began to work her skirt up, slowly and quietly, by sliding my hands down over her rump and pulling up a little of the skirt at a time. When the hem came withing reach, I took it and drew it up to her hips. Pat started to tremble as my hands went once again to hold her soft bottom, this time the only barrier being her tight white cotton panties. Suddenly, she gave a little moan and went down over my left thigh, stretching herself out along the table. Quickly now I pulled her skirt up out of the way and let my eyes rove over her lightly-clad bottom.

As my hands had told me, she was well-developed and, positioned as she was, her bottom was displayed to full advantage. The cheeks were deep and adequately plump, filling the tight panties to bursting point. The twin curves of her hips, as they flared out from a slim waist, was a sight to set any man's pulse hammering.

I put my fingers under the waistband of her panties, wondering if I dare take them down, then I caught the old Grandma's eye. She nodded vigorously in encouragement.

Pat made no move as I slowly drew her last defence down over her hips. The panties were so tight, that they wouldn't come more than half way down. So I had to roll her from side to side so that I could free them from under her. At last I was able to get them down to her thighs and feast my eyes on the beauty thus revealed. Her skin was clear and unblemished and white with a faint warm pink glow of good health. A surge of primitive pleasure engulfed me as I gazed at this lovely vision spread so temptingly before me. I raised my hand and began to spank the firm white globes. Not hard at first, for I was still unsure of myself, but quite gently, just letting my hand fall lightly on each cheek in turn. The feel of the soft flesh moving as my hand met it, was delightful, the skin at first cool to the touch.

For quite a while I enjoyed myself at pretending to spank her and then, as she made no sound or movement, I essayed to spank her a little harder. Still there was no protest from Pat's recumbent form nestling across my leg, and so I continued to spank her lovely bottom, with sharp, well-aimed spanks, which made crisp, staccato sounds as my hand bounced off the elastic firm flesh. Gradually the whiteness of Pat's skin was replaced by a bright pink flush, which soon spread outwards from the centre of each cheek until it covered most of the area of her bottom.

Her legs, which had been quite still, began to kick a little, and she bent her knees and lifted her feet from the floor. She started to roll her hips from side to side, and to gasp as each smack impinged on her reddening rear.

I had never dreamed that spanking a girl could be such an exciting and sexually stimulating experience, but I was really enjoying myself and the sight of Pat's superb bottom, as she twisted it about and uttered little gasps and cries was having a tremendous and embarrassing effect on me.

"Smack, smack, smack" went my hand and "Oooo, owwwwww, oooooo" answered Pat's muffled voice from behind my arm. My hand was stinging, and the hue of Pat's bottom had turned from pink to a bright scarlet.

I was amazed that she had not tried to escape, for I was not holding her down. But although she gasped at each and every smack, she did nothing to evade them.

My hand rose and fell in a steady beat, and the cheeks that had once been so white bounced and trembled beneath a constant barrage of heavy impacts. The sweat was dripping from my forehead onto the lively jerking form beneath it. The droplets spattered away as my hand smote where they fell.

I managed to get my left hand beneath Pat's body and to cup one of her breasts. The full globe hung heavy and soft in my hand, unconfined by any bra under her dress. I gently squeezed and kneaded it and felt Pat press her breast into my hand.

She was beginning to whimper a little , and her cries got louder and shriller as the spanking neared its end. My arm ached and my leg had pins and needles from supporting her weight. It began to look as if I would have to give in first. There was only one choice and that was to spank a lot harder. I concentrated on one cheek and gave it six really hard full-blooded slaps that echoed like a fusillade of pistol shots.

Pat's yell of pain was loud and long and her fluid hips contracted in a sudden spasm that forced her hard down on my leg, her cheeks contracted and drew close together, then her bottom cheeks opened and she reared up, forcing her hips high in an abrupt arc, and it was while she was in this provocative and shamefully revealing position that I attacked the other cheek.

Pat gave way to a shrill yelp, gasped out "No more...please, no more," and kicked her legs and swung her bottom about in a frantic effort to reduce the stinging pain that was setting her bottom on fire. One of her hands sought to protect her flaming rear against further punishment, but it was unnecessary for my arm was too tired to spank anymore, even had I wanted to.

She lay gasping, her outspread hand gently fondling her bottom while I recovered my breath. I felt rather ashamed as I looked at Pat's red and finger marked cheeks. The whole of her poor little bottom was an angry red and the flesh continued to jerk and twitch in little spasms of pain as I watched. My right hand joined hers in soothing the hot lush curves as my other hand continued to fondle the lovely breast which filled it.

She seemed quite happy to just lay there and allow me to fondle her. She soon recovered her composure and, apart from her heavy breathing showed no signs of distress. Her whole attitude, before and during the quite severe spanking she had endured, puzzled me considerably. I would have expected her to protest at the very idea of being chastised like a naughty child - especially by a virtual stranger, but she hadn't made a single move to defend herself, and during her obviously painful experience had not attempted in any way to escape from me.

It was very pleasant just to fondle and massage the lovely bottom, and to gently squeeze the twin cheeks, so that they moved and rolled in my hand.

The old lady began to chuckle to herself in her chair by the fire. "Heh, heh, likes it doesn't she! You too I'll wager. I'll bet you never spanked as pretty a bottom before. Ought to give her a few with the strap though before you go!"

Pat struggled upright, blushing deeply. "Shush, Gran," she said quietly, "Enough of that"...'

It's my opinion that Gran and Pat cooked up this scheme to avoid paying off what Pat owed, but how did they guess he was interested in spanking? We can safely assume that until her husband came home from sea, she never paid any drapery bills!