From the Top Shelf - Albert Strikes Back, Part 2

Last week I began the story of the curmudgeonly Albert, who strongly disapproved of the way young women dressed and behaved. (Read part one again here.) Today, we see how he deals with that burning issue. Here is part two of Albert Strikes Back by R.T. Mason.

Melanie stared at the old man for what seemed like hours, her mind in a whirl. Then she realised that there was no choice and, swallowing hard, her face as red as a beetroot, she nodded her very reluctant agreement to all his demands.

"Right then," said Albert firmly, "We'll do this properly. I'll be round tomorrow morning - with a riding crop!"

Albert didn't own a riding crop but they were readily available from the saddler's in his rural town, whereas trying to buy a cane would have raised eyebrows. He could have used his trouser belt, as he had done once in his younger days on an errant niece, but he fancied something a little more formal and dignified. A riding crop definitely seemed right for the occasion. It had style, and it would also undeniably produce a very painful sting.

The price, when he went to the local saddler's, caused Albert to mutter about 'extortion'. Quite evidently the proprietors were making a scandalous profit but then what else could you expect nowadays? Albert gave the salesman a piece of his mind then paid up. It would be worth it. Oh yes, it would most certainly be worth it. Back at home he had a few very satisfying practice swings in the privacy of his bedroom, then hid it in the coal shed. The next morning, with Dorothy off on her regular shopping expedition, Albert took his new purchase next door, hidden under his jacket.

Melanie was in a state approaching panic, and had been ever since Albert's shock visit of yesterday. She had no idea how he'd found out; surely he hadn't been peering in the window because he would have been seen. Except that... The lounge faced the back garden which was very private and not overlooked. Maybe they should have gone upstairs. More to the point, she shouldn't have allowed it at all. She had known it was wrong, and now...if Gary ever found out...!

Melanie had at least been able to get Trevor on the phone, to tell him on no account to ever come to the house again. Something awful had happened.

She waited for Albert's arrival with bated breath. A riding crop! She felt slightly sick. The knock at the back door duly came and, with a shudder, Melanie got up and went to let him in. Mr. Higginson reminded her of a rather fierce grandfather she'd had when she was young; pinkish face and white hair, and sort of staring eyes. He had something under his jacket and Melanie knew all too well what it would be. She had her jeans on as usual. She thought about wearing a skirt as he so disapproved of her jeans, but you can lift a skirt. Whereas with jeans... No, he wouldn't do that, would he? He couldn't. Melanie had somehow told herself he would have too much respect for her modesty to make her take them down.

She led the way into the lounge. What did you say to a man in such circumstances? "W-would you like to sit down?" she hesitantly offered.

Albert's pink face had a healthy ruddy glow. "I've not come here to sit down and chat, young woman, as you well know. Let's get straight down to business. Kindly take down those disgustingly tight trousers!"

Melanie gulped. The riding crop had now appeared from under his coat. It looked absolutely horrific. She weakly shook her head in refusal. No, not with her jeans down. No, he couldn't.

"Take 'em down," Albert growled. "You had 'em right off yesterday as I recall. Come on, snap to it. Then get yourself bent over the arm of that sofa."

Melanie gazed at him in horror. The awful old bugger was evidently intent on humiliating her as well as dishing out punishment. She looked into those staring eyes for signs that he might not mean it - but there were none. Oh he meant it all right! Melanie's eyes did some rapid blinking; it was enough to make a girl cry. Her hands went to the button of her jeans.

The zip slid down, releasing the strain on the tight-stretched denim. A wedge of pale flesh and a strip of mauve knickers appeared. Looking fixedly at the floor, Melanie wriggled the jeans down and off her bottom. Albert's eyes gleamed. Released from the constraint of her jeans, Melanie's bottom seemed even bigger, more lascivious, and there was a great deal of it on show for the skimpy knickers were exceedingly brief, no more than an apology for an undergarment...

"Get down - right over that arm," he ordered gruffly.

Melanie shuffled forward, jeans halfway down her plump thighs. She gave Albert a pleading look. "Please don't do it too hard. I can't stand pain."

She got down as instructed. She had never felt more frightened in her life, every nerve-end taut; because you never knew, he could be some sort of nutter with those stary eyes, a real sadist who would just slash that crop down with all his force and keep slashing it down. Melanie pushed her face deep down into the cushion, in an ostrich-like attempt to make it all go away.

But it wasn't going to go away. Albert gazed at the offered-up bottom, scarcely able to believe his good fortune. The full thighs, the voluptuous spread of her plump bottom, the skimpy nylon briefs. Indecency personified, and it had fallen to Albert to hand out some just retribution. It could even be the hand of the Almighty at work. He swished the crop through the air - and then he brought it slicing down across those trembling buttocks.

Albert wasn't a real sadist, of course. He didn't want to inflict any lasting injury, but he did want to inflict real pain; a stinging shock that would clearly show Melanie Halford the error of her ways and create an aversion to them. From the desperate gasping yelp that came from the sofa cushions it would seem he had achieved that. At the same time the wanton bottom went into some contorted writhing motions that were extremely lewd but, nonetheless, evidence that real pain had been inflicted.

The crop had struck the ripe lower curve of Melanie's buttocks which were half bare, on either side of the brief strip of nylon. Across these bare slopes and through the transparent nylon in between, could now be seen a vivid red stripe. Yes, Albert had inflicted some pain all right!

Her initial shocked cry had been followed by yelps of "Noooooooo!" "Fucking hell!" and "Please, no more!" Albert, his blood pounding, but trying to stay calm, growled, "You stay down there and don't move until you're told! And watch your mouth, young lady!"

'Don't move' was asking a bit much as he slashed the crop down for a second time. Melanie did move, in particular her stricken bottom moved, but she managed to stay down spread over the sofa's arm. That first stroke had been truly horrendous, enough to make her think she might be physically sick, and the second was equally dreadful, but they were bearable - just - and, if she attempted to get up, the old bugger might get incensed and go really berserk with it.

She kept yelling out, though, and begging him to stop, but the old bastard didn't stop until he'd given her six, by which time Melanie really was getting desperate. Her poor bottom was red hot as if someone had held a glowing chip pan against it. The pain was simply unbelievable. She wasn't actually crying but there seemed to be an awful lot of moisture in her eyes.

Struggling to her feet, both hands pressed to her glowing rear, her eyes blinking back tears, Melanie groaned, "Bloody hell! You nearly killed me!"

"Watch that language, young woman," warned Albert primly. "I might decide to double the dose!"

It had been a truly exhilarating experience for Albert. To be actually doing what he had so frequently dreamt of; to deal with a naughty young woman in the proper traditional way, as young women had routinely been dealt with before the country went to the dogs. The only way to bring an errant young female to her senses!

Albert had a heady feeling that somehow now all of those young hussies obscenely parading their rears about the town centre could be dealt with like this. This marvellous crop could be used on all of them. For the moment he forgot the key fact that he would need some hold over them before they would allow it.

He gazed at the squirming, moaning Melanie with considerable satisfaction. "How does that feel then, my girl?"

Melanie pulled a face. "I told you, you blood...I mean, you nearly killed me!"

"Oh no," said Albert, sitting heavily down in a chair. "You'll not come to any lasting harm. That's just what that bit of you is made for; a good solid whack now and again. That's the only thing you young women understand. Now pull your trousers up."

Melanie, still groaning, began to drag the tight jeans up over her ripe, abundant flesh.

"And why can't you young people wear something decent? Why do you have to go round parading the shape of your backsides all the time. It's not decent. In my day, young women had a bit of decency and self-respect."

Melanie was still rubbing her bottom. "Everyone wears them, Mr. Higginson - they're meant to be tight."

Albert produced an angry barking grunt. "Not if I had anything to do with it. Oh yes, my girl, if you belonged to me I'd very soon have you toeing the line - with that whip across your backside every single day if need be!"

Melanie was now sitting on the sofa - somewhat gingerly in view of the state of her bottom. She rolled her eyes while Albert considered what he'd just said. It touched on an area he hadn't really considered up to now, but now he did start to think about it...

"We haven't finished, of course. I don't suppose that light tickling I've just given you will be enough to curb your ways. Oh no! You'll need a repeat - and more than one, I dare say!"

Melanie uttered a shrill, despairing, "No, you can't!"

But she had no answer to, "I can and I will - unless you want that husband of yours to find out!"

Melanie moaned, "Oh Christ!", but half under her breath. She seemed to be shuddering and Albert gave a grin of satisfaction. "Now how about making a cup of tea then? Or is that beyond you young married women these days?"

Whew! (fans self) I think that's about all I can manage for one day. Don't you agree? Come back next week to see how this relationship blossoms.