From the Top Shelf - The Baker's Dozen, Part 2

Last week we started the story of a young writer who is invited by her local baker to a spanking party. Read it here to refresh your memory.

Now we resume The Baker's Dozen by Rachel King:

Joanne tapped on the door and put her finger to her lips. A moment later came the command "Enter" and Joanne opened the door and waited. "The new one has just arrived," she said.

Ben Tuphall came to the door. He wore a suit styled in the period of the 'forties, a white shirt with tie and braces. He looked at Sallie quizzically and smiled. "Good. I hope you enjoy our little evening."

There was something very odd about the situation. When Ben appeared, Joanne had given what, to Sallie, looked like a curtsy, and this room, in contrast to the bare floors and chairs where the women talked, was luxurious in decor and furnishings, like an old smoking-room. She glimpsed large comfortable armchairs, side tables, newspapers and whisky glasses. She looked up at Ben and gave a weak smile. He looked different, darker, more threatening. And he was wearing a suit. Sallie had a weakness for men in suits. She felt a new respect for him. The oneupmanship game was suddenly redundant. What mattered now was that he was a man, she a woman - nothing else. She gave a little shiver. A warning tingle ran down her spine.

"We'll be out when we're ready," he said to Joanne.

"Yes, Sir."

"Make Sallie feel at home."

And with that he turned away, leaving the door open, and sat down in the nearest armchair.

Sallie hung up her coat carefully on a coat-stand in the corner of the hall and arranged the tape-recorder inside the pocket so she could press through the material and switch it on without anybody knowing. So they were waiting for the men. She stood politely and listened to conversations. There was much talk about 'values' and 'the old way' and phrases like 'I deserved it' came up from time to time. She saw Jane Tuphall, in a floral tea-dress, laughing and patting her bottom. Everyone seemed lively and enjoying themselves. In a while Ben came into the room and positioned the chair to the front of the platform before giving the ladies a meaningful glance and going out again. Sallie's curiosity at last got the better of her.

"Excuse me, can you tell me what's going to happen tonight?"

Joanne lowered her eyes and giggled like a girl. "Oh," she said, "It'll begin soon, but we don't know who it's going to be. They decide. That's what they're in the other room doing right now."

"Decide? Decide what?"

"Who's going to get a spanking this evening, and who's the lucky man to get the ball rolling." Joanne looked at Sallie in surprise. "Didn't you know that?" She gave a little giggle of excitement. "No one comes here under false pretences."

"Um...yes...Ben did tell me."

"I don't think you'll be chosen. It's your first time. You can just watch, and feel sorry for us."

Sallie was taken aback. "You mean those men actually spank... grown women?"

Joanne laughed. "Of course! See the chair at the front? That's where 'it' happens." She gave Sallie a conspiratorial smile. "Don't tell me you've never been spanked!"

"As a child, yes - but not as a grown woman!"

Joanne's face gleamed. "Oh, it's much better to be spanked as a woman. Some of us are really addicted."

"Oh really?" The thought of getting all this on tape made Sallie feel quite excited.

"Some of us actually have...have...well ...an orgasm while it's happening." Joanne whispered.

Sallie opened her mouth but closed it again. Unbelievable! Were such things possible? In front of an audience? How would it feel, she wondered? Horribly humiliating. Oh! One would have to try and conceal it rather well.

But humiliation was kin to tease and Sallie had been teased a lot, and played along too. Teased by Ben Tuphall. She had to admit she suddenly found him overwhelmingly attractive. And if any woman went too far, he clearly was not shy of dealing with them. Would that apply to her? Maybe that's what she wanted...

Sallie thought about what it would be like to be spanked by Ben. And she blushed deeply, guiltily - and right at the wrong moment.

For Ben and his fellow men had left their snug and come into the room, and she hadn't noticed until his strong male presence walked past her. When she looked up, her unguarded expression met Ben's intense stare. He had read her mind. Sallie reddened, Ben's lips gave a twitch of amusement, and then he walked past her.

The men sat in the front, like an old-fashioned church. The women sat behind them. Quickly, before Sallie found her seat, she nipped to the coat-rack and pressed the record button on her tape-recorder.

Ben stood beside the chair on the platform. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight shone down on the chair. The atmosphere was hushed and electric. For a moment Ben scanned the audience and then he spoke.

"Good evening. Welcome to our little gathering. We meet to redress some of the balance in our confused society, and think back to a time when men were men and women were just as disobedient as they are now..." There was a ripple of laughter and then silence as Ben looked with some theatricality, among the rows of women. "Joanne Smith."

Joanne, who had been sitting next to Sallie, dropped her handbag then got up slowly, her face a mixture of nerves and excitement. The other women looked at her with sympathy and envy as she made her way to the front.

Joanne's hobble skirt was so tight that Ben, in a gentlemanly gesture, helped her onto the platform. He sat down and she stood, rather like a miscreant in school, in front of him, her hands respectfully clasped together.

"Joanne Smith, it's confession time for you, my girl. What do you have to say?"

Joanne looked at the ceiling for a minute. "I...er...was late cooking breakfast twice this week and I made my husband late for work."

"Oh dear me. And do you consider this slackness to be just cause for punishment?"

"Yes, Sir" She looked down, her head bent.

"What punishment do you deserve? And speak up, woman."

The words came out slowly. "The punishment... of...having... my...bottom... smacked."

"Soundly spanked," Ben said with relish. "Get across my knee for the spanking you richly deserve!" There was brief applause.

Sallie watched, paralysed with excitement, as Joanne lowered herself down across Ben's ample lap. She had a voluptuous figure with a big bottom and this was elevated to an almost obscene roundness as the skirt material strained itself taut. Ben smoothed his hand over her bottom for a minute while he gave a little homily to the audience about Joanne's disobedience. Then, without warning, he raised his hand and brought it down on her right buttock with a crack like a pistol shot. The women gasped and Joanne gave an involuntary jump. He raised his hand again but brought it down merely to smooth her rump; then raised it and ...crack! He repeated this many times, until she didn't know when the spanks were coming, and almost lifted her bottom up to him between each slap, inviting him to thunder his firm hand down.

Sallie could hardly breathe. There, in front of her, a woman about her own age was being spanked by Ben Tuphall, the baker - and clearly enjoying every minute!

It was then the disaster happened. In a silence between spanks, Sallie's tape recorder malfunctioned and a loud whirring noise came from her coat pocket.

Ben stopped spanking, looked to the back of the room, his eyebrows raised. Sallie had gone scarlet and there was no hiding the fact that she was the culprit. She had never hidden blushes well.

Ben spoke quietly to Joanne and told her to go to her seat. She did, walking stiffly, smoothing the skirt over her bottom and trying not to rub there. Ben sauntered down past the men at the front, flicked on the main lights and walked through the ranks of women - straight to Sallie. All heads turned in her direction.

Ben looked down and smiled evilly.

"The perfect culprit gives herself away every time," he said, his eyes dancing. "I like to see a woman blush as you're doing now, Sallie. Tell me, what was that noise? A tape-recorder?"

"I'm sorry." She stared hard at her lap, conscious of her burning face and all the attention she was getting. "You did say not to...and I did." She looked up, stricken. "I'll go now."

"Oh no you won't!" Ben stood at the end of the row and beckoned her out. "I couldn't let you do that. I know you wouldn't want to get away scot-free, now would you? Remember our little chat in my shop when those boys broke the window? Remember what you said you would do, Sallie?"

She looked at him helplessly, in confusion. Ambivalent feelings; horror at what might happen, yet an unmistakable erotic thrill. Meeting his eyes, she knew he too was fired by the delicious prospect of dealing with her.

"Give her what she deserves!" came a deep husky voice from among the women. There were murmurs of agreement. Everyone waited.

"Get up, Sallie, and come with me," Ben said.

She had no choice. And she did not want one either. Her thighs damp with fear and strange excitement, she followed him to the platform. The lights dimmed and the spotlight came back on.

Ben sat down, spread his thighs and patted them. "We know the crime, my sweet, so you don't have to confess anything. Now what do you think I should do with you, hmmm?" Sallie licked her dry lips. In a barely audible voice she said, "Punish me?" He nodded. "How? You tell me. You are a writer. Make it descriptive, Lots of detail. Make it interesting."

She was scarlet. "I am...standing here...with...with my hands...er...clasped in front of me and looking at your lap, knowing that in a minute I must...must lie across it...in front...in front of all these people...and you will..." she paused , hearing how the humiliated feelings affected her voice, making it small, like a child's, "...sp...spank me."

"Spank you indeed. And I will enjoy every minute of it! Come, Sallie, over my knee!"

Making sure her skirt was well down, Sallie lowered herself carefully until she was draped across his lap, her blonde hair brushing the floor. Her whole body prickled with shame and embarrassment, but something else too. She felt the heat from Ben's embrace as he hugged her tightly to himself and she began to melt. The shock of being so physically intimate had unlocked feelings for him. She wanted him simply to take her.

Ben arranged her skirt, spreading out the pleats, smoothing her bottom... And then he started to spank her. Not token slaps, not breaking her in gently, but heavy, well-aimed slaps on the summit of her skirted bottom, at a rate of one a second. She grimaced and held back cries, and was glad of the hair over her face so the audience could not see. He knew how to break her tolerance - by spanking her on the same place repeatedly. The warmth engendered soon became heat, nigh unbearable without some verbal venting of the extreme discomfort. And it was difficult to keep still. Hard to keep her legs and thighs tight and not give in to the temptation to fling them wide apart and break down altogether. So far she managed to control herself - just!

Ben had other plans. Before she knew what was happening, he yanked up her skirt to reveal an indecent white thong underneath - hardly ample 'forties style underwear - but then she hadn't exactly been warned to dress for this! The garment was so brief that it was hardly worth wearing, affording her no protection at all, just like the thin ruched suspenders that held up her grey seamed stockings. But how they set off her bottom! Not too plump but so womanly, with the soft voluptuousness of a ripe pair; the suspenders delineating a neat area on softly wobbling flesh. And pink, such a pretty pink from the spanking she'd had.

But not pink enough for Ben. Not for this pretty, teasing little Miss, who tore at his loins and his heartstrings with her maddening unavailability and her clever remarks. But this would knock her off her pedestal and bring out the baser feelings she liked to pretend she didn't have! He cupped his hand on the summit of her bottom and felt her flesh rise to meet him. Oh she was softening alright!

Spanking her bare bottom now, Ben treated that once-pale baby-delicate skin as though it were a painting and he had to cover it methodically with a pink colour-wash. A red wash, in actuality, because lust drove him to spank her with abandon, its aim being to break her, and to have her submit unconditionally.

Slap! Slap! His hand stung her bare cheeks again and again. She writhed, rubbing herself against his swollen cock and he was so near to coming!

Sallie had crossed a threshold. As the bare-bottomed spanking proceeded, she dived into a void where the pain almost became too much. Then its nature changed and she felt herself riding a wave. The cries which came from her lips did not sound like her cries. The madly scissoring legs, now revealing the white scrap of thong tightly embedded in the crack between her bottom-cheeks, were an expression of pain, pleasure, abandonment and lust, all mixed up. She was crying, the tears wetting her hair. She could hear Ben hiss, as if he was unaware of an audience and there was just the two of them, an old game being played out - and he was winning.

Her bottom was red now; red all over, some areas streaked where his fingers had made an impression, some a denser red like a beautiful stain. And still the spanks rained down. Sallie bucked, writhed, strained against his grip, squealed and yelled like an animal caught in a trap. There was no place for those feelings to go, they tore towards a peak of pain-pleasure, whose epicentre was between her legs... The vibration of every slap on her bottom dived straight there until the energy had nowhere to go. Suddenly, unable to contain it any longer, she gave a peculiar unmistakable scream, her body arched, then she went limp.

Ben stopped...

"Now," he said, gently, stroking her throbbing bottom, "what were you going to do with that tape-recording?"

Sallie stared at him. her eyes wide with excitement. "Write a play for this year's festival." she said with a grin.

Ben smiled. "You might be a good writer, Sallie, but I tell you, the performance you gave this evening was an opening night and a half. Do you think you'll write that up, my love?"

Sallie looked up at him, mischief and desire coursing again. "I might," she said impishly, "if I can get more experience with a repeat performance."

Something tells me she's going to be getting her bread and muffins at a discount from now on.