From the Top Shelf - The Spendthrift Wife

Last week's story featuring a tawse was enthusiastically enjoyed by my readers, so I have found you another. This one is from Lucy Golden's enchanting storybook Tales Between their Legs. It's called "Jane's First Tale" and is the story of a very proper middle class lady who has run up a huge debt at a fashionable boutique. Neither she nor her husband - who cannot control her spending - is in a position to repay the debt, so the shop sends a debt collector with an unorthodox method of obtaining payment.

Jane's husband, Danny, returns from work just as the debt collector is announcing his terms of repayment to pyjama-clad Jane. As neither of them can pay the bill, Danny watches his wife's embarrassing yet titillating means of restitution.

Right then, Mrs Rhodes! Please continue. Let's have your top off, shall we?"

I don't know why but I'd expected something more subtle than that, that he would not have been so direct, but he simply waited. I looked over desperately for some support, guidance or even instruction from Danny, but he was no more help to me than I had been to him. He didn't even look at me.

"Now?" I asked, but the man didn't even bother to answer so I lifted my top up a little way, pulled my arms down inside the sleeves, then took a deep breath and pulled the whole thing over my head, tossing it down onto the chair. My breasts quivered.

"Not bad,' said the man. "Not bad at all. Quite a big girl, aren't you! Come closer where I can check you over."

He was being deliberately insulting, because they aren't 'not bad', they are very good! I have received loads of complements about them, not just from men but from women at work. I took a single step forward but he pointed down to a piece of carpet almost between his feet until I was standing only a foot in front of him. My breasts were now level with his eyes and, as he scrutinised me, as close as any man would want to be, I felt - saw - my nipples hardening and knew he could see it too. And, he knew why!

After an age, his hand reached out to touch me, quite slowly, and I heard a gasp from Danny as he guessed what was coming next. Then the hand touched: long fingers wrapping round my ribs and running up to my breast...then his fingertip traced down my stomach, tickled into my tummy button for a second and hooked into the waistband of the pyjama trousers then stopped.

"Now these!"

I glanced over at Danny. "Please...?"

"And if you have anything on underneath them," he continued, ignoring me completely, "we'll have them off as well."

I didn't move. I couldn't.

"Do you have anything on underneath?"

"No."

"Really? Nothing at all?" There was an accusation there that wasn't justified, but he pulled the waistband out a little way, out and down, just enough so he could peep in. Then he pulled a little further and glanced down. "No you don't, do you! My, you're a nice wooly little thing, aren't you! I like that."

Over to the side, Danny's head shot up. For a moment he stared, was about to speak, sat with his mouth working silently and then it was all too much. He scrambled out of his seat and strode out of the room.

"Right," said the man "now that we are alone, I think we should have these off, shouldn't we!" and plucked at the elastic again.

"Look," I started "I'm not sure about this. My husband is upset."

A frown flashed across the man's face and as quickly cleared.

"Well, yes, I imagine he is. I mean he has just found that you are a thousand pounds in debt. Most men would be very upset in that situation. But surely that's something you should have considered earlier, don't you think?" He plucked the elastic again.

In the silence while I searched for a defence he plucked at my pyjamas again. "Come along now. Let's have these off."

He could have pulled them off himself, of course, but he seemed to like watching me do it, humiliating me more in the process.

"Look," I was clinging to the waistband now, my fists clenched tight and clutching the flimsy security. 'Look, please...'

"Don't play games, Mrs Rhodes. I am going to have the rest of your clothes off and it is not going to get any better for you if you waste time." He sat back again for a second, quietly considering me. Then simply "Off!"

So I obeyed him, afraid of what would happen if I didn't, kicking off my slippers, pushing the pyjamas down and off, then dropping them on the chair with my top.

"Come closer and don't keep scurrying away!"

I stepped back to the appointed place and stood with my hands clasped modestly in front of me, the very smallest protection, but it annoyed him.

He slapped my wrists, pushing my hands out of the way.

"Don't be silly, Mrs Rhodes. Before we are through, there won't be an inch of you that I won't know intimately, so there is absolutely no point in this pathetic attempt at modesty."

So I let him have his way, and waited while he ran his hands up my sides, over my breasts again, lifting them, cradling them and weighing them. Yes, I am a 'big girl' and he was clearly someone who appreciated that in a woman. But now all of me was on display...

He made me turn round and his hands roamed across my bottom, up and down... Satisfied at last, he had me stand with my hands on my head and my feet apart, just like a naughty schoolgirl. I couldn't hear him moving, or even breathing for some seconds but when he spoke again he was perfectly calm and steady, then a light pressure from his fingertip started to wander slowly across my bottom.

"Have you been beaten, Mrs Rhodes?"

"Beaten?"

"Whipped? Caned?" The finger was tickling the crease at the top of my thigh.

"NO!"

"I rather thought not. It does seem to me that it takes discipline to teach you young people how to handle money these days." The finger stopped and pressed harder before being lifted away. "Well, it's time you were. I'll beat you now I think."

The fingertip was now tracing sweeping paths across both cheeks of my bottom.

"Would your husband like to witness this, do you think?"

"I don't know"

"Then you had better ask him!"

Danny was sitting at the kitchen counter, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, but he turned when I walked in, flinching when he saw I was now completely naked.

"He's..he's..." I couldn't look at him "he's going to beat me and wants to know if you want to watch."

"Christ!" He stared up at me, his eyes running all over my nakedness but flickering as if he was fighting tears, then he buried his face in his hands and turned his head back to the floor. "Christ!" he muttered again.

We both waited in silence for a few minutes then Danny said, "I suppose I do."

I led the way back to where the man was sitting and he smiled to see Danny trailing behind, glancing meekly round then taking his place at the end of the sofa.

Then the man produced the weapon. I'd never seen a tawse before, not a real one, and although it looked quite harmless, the need to enclose it, hide and encage it, showed it was not as innocent as it seemed.

It was longer than I'd thought, almost two feet long: thick leather in a serious deep tan and split into two long tongues. He curled back the tips, pointed and pierced, like nothing I had ever seen. He saw my eyes studying it.

"It's called a 'Devil's Tail' for obvious reasons," he said and released the tips so they sprang back up and quivered in the air like the forked tongue of a huge snake.

"Now," and he slapped the end against his open palm. It was only a light slap but the noise was horrible. "Six is the traditional number for one offence!" He swept it back and forth a couple more times. "There are four months unpaid so that makes twenty-four strokes!"

Slowly he got to his feet and glanced round. "I think over the sofa. That would be best for this. Bending over to start with, I think. Place your palms flat on the seat please, arms and back nice and straight, hands and feet well apart!"

I followed the instructions and Danny shuffled up a little further to give me room. As I bent over and spread my fingers out on the settee I was almost touching his leg but I dared not meet his eye.

"Excellent!" The man's easy cheerfulness made things no easier at all, but I don't suppose he wanted it to. He came over and rested his hand on my back. "Excellent. This way, you see, the subject is nice and steady. We can gain access to everywhere we need... plus, of course, a clear shot at the target" and with that he brought his hand down really hard on my bottom. I leapt up in shock, or tried to, but he was expecting it for I was immediately pushed back again.

"Right. Twenty-four!" Tap, tap, tap then the first stroke of the tawse landed. It was bearable. I didn't scream. I didn't even cry out. All my worries swept away and I almost smiled. But then came the second stroke, and the third and that was when I realised the effect of repetition. After six strokes he paused.

"That's the first month taken care of!"

"Please! Please can I go..." but he had already started again and I gave in and cried.

Danny reached over and covered my hand with his as seven, eight and nine came whipping down. I couldn't concentrate, could only feel the increased throbbing building in my bottom, one great band of agony across both cheeks. The tears were rolling down my face and dripping off my nose. I could feel my whole body shaking with every stroke but trembling between them. I realised he had stopped.

"That's twelve. Do you want a short break?" His hand was running over me still, underneath to scoop up my breasts, deliberately squeezing hard enough to hurt and flicking the nipples with his fingernails.

"Why are these so hard?"

I was still sobbing and couldn't answer. "Hmmmmm?" he said and flicked my nipples again.

"It's the pain" I muttered, pulling away.

"Oh yes? A likely story!" but at least he released me...

Jane takes the next twelve in diaper position then her husband, much excited by then, has his way with her upon instruction from the debt collector. Great fun is had by all!