From the Top Shelf - In a Mist, Chapter 14

The story so far:
Chapter 1	Chapter 12
Chapter 2	Chapter 13
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11

Poor Elizabeth! Her striped bottom is too damaged for Mr. Lennox to be able to spank her, and both are waiting impatiently for it to heal. In the meantime, there's more music. Finally the day arrives, and there is an unexpected audience for her long-awaited spanking.

Chapter 14 - In which desires and longings meet in harmony.

But if Lennox naively supposed that Elizabeth had been sound asleep during his masturbatory assaults on her innocent behind, then he was mistaken.

After the episode with the cold cream she'd gotten into his bed and pretended to fall asleep simply because she couldn't bear the thought of being packed off to her own room. She'd hugged herself in triumph when he did what she'd hoped he'd do - climb into bed beside her. Then, when she felt his penis, like a hungry eel, attacking her bottom, her excitement knew no bounds. She offered no resistance when he boldly proceeded to slide it in between her thighs, and she felt herself begin to lubricate once more as it teased and tormented the sensitive slit of her vagina.

How she longed for him to do it to her properly! To intimate, inch by inch, his throbbing maleness into her hot sticky cave. But she dared not offer him even the faintest murmur of encouragement lest it break the spell and make him recoil in shock at the realisation that she was actively enjoying his furtive stolen pleasures.

And all the while he rubbed his penis back and forth against her oozing sex, his belly making muffled slapping sounds against her buttocks, like gentle waves lapping on the shore.

She began to wriggle her behind excitedly as his piston-like thrustings grew more and more furious. And when he abruptly pulled back and withdrew his prick from its warm nest between her thighs then she felt it once again gush its glorious spendings all over her well-whipped bottom - why, then she was obliged to bite her lip hard to stop herself from crying out in delight at the stabbing violence of her own climax....

She slept late, in consequence of it being early morning daylight before she'd finally sunk into contented slumber. Crawling sleepily out of bed she slipped down her pyjama trousers and examined her bottom in the mirror.

She grimaced when she saw how cruelly the patchwork quilt of interlacing weals marred the beauty of her shapely hind-cheeks. Needless to say, she'd slept exclusively on her stomach. Nor did she suppose she'd be able to do much sitting down for quite some time, although the painful throbbing had abated considerably overnight.

But what did rally her spirits and thrill her to the core was the visible legacy of his nocturnal thrustings - the milk-white discharges of his come that clung in coagulated blobs to her back, buttocks and thighs. She gazed proudly at her bespattered flesh. It seemed a crime to wash it all away. She wondered if her tutor's secretions might contain magical healing qualities, for her bottom certainly felt much better, thanks to his ministrations. Whether solely due to the Pond's cold cream she couldn't say....

Be that as it may, when she took her usual morning bath it was with the profoundest regret that Elizabeth soaped and sponged away all traces of his liberal spendings.

Afterwards she put on a petticoat and a loose flowing cotton dress. Her legs were sufficiently sun-tanned for her to forgo wearing stockings, although her real reason for doing so was to avoid wearing a garter belt, in case its taut straps should rub her on a tender spot. She left off her knickers too, to allow the soothing air full access to her sore behind.

She'd hoped to go riding with her tutor but that was obviously now out of the question. She walked stiffly downstairs and found him alone in the drawing room, gloomily turning the pages of a novel. He looked up at the girl, awkwardly searching for words while recalling the disgraceful things he'd done to her during the night. However she took such pains to appear ignorant of anything untoward and improper occurring between them that his customary air of firm ascendancy over her soon reasserted itself.

"Didn't your uncle say something about there being a piano in the house?" he asked after politely enquiring about the state of her 'health'. The recumbent, panama-hatted figure of Mr. Harker could be observed through the drawing-room window, peacefully snoozing in a deck-chair on the lawn, his bird-watching binoculars lying in his lap.

Elizabeth led Lennox upstairs to a little used room at the back of the house where amid packing cases, discarded old horse-hair sofas and chairs, and other accumulated junk, a rusting iron-framed piano uneasily resided. Mr. Harker had tolerated its presence in the drawing room, at least for ornament's sake, until Elizabeth had grown tall enough to reach its keys, upon which time it had been swiftly banished and relegated to its present lowly surroundings.

Elizabeth lifted its creaking lid and caressed the yellowing keys. Her fingers hit a lugubrious minor chord. The piano was badly out of tune.

"Poor old Mr. Piano-ano," she said sadly, reverting to the childhood name she had given it, "Uncle Harker doesn't love you any more, and you are dying of neglect."

"In that case pray allow me to tinkle it back to health," Lennox said with a quiet smile, taking the girl by the hips and moving her gently but firmly to one side.

"Don't tell me you can play the piano, too?" she asked, a trifle incredulously.

By way of reply he sat down at the stool, flexed his fingers in his hands, and commenced to play a ragtime tune.

Elizabeth began swaying her hips unselfconsciously to the syncopated rhythms. Soon she was dancing spontaneously around the room, oblivious of everything except the seductive music.

Frequently he looked up from the keyboard to catch the provocatively innocent movements of her sinuous body - especially her enticing little rear. She was like a supple young tree, bending and quivering in the breeze. Her thin skirts billowed out around her as she pirouetted, then clung tightly to her form when she bent and swooped - so that he could clearly see the firm shape of each arse cheek, as well as the deep cleft between them.

Just then he remembered all the carnal acts he'd greedily committed the night before on that poor wounded bottom of hers. The full realisation struck him like a blow in the face and his musical concentration deserted him. His fingers hit wrong note after wrong note. The ragtime tune petered into silence.

His light-hearted manner deserted him. To hide his shame he became once more the officious pedagogue, the strict disciplinarian who haunted Elizabeth's erotic dreams. He rose abruptly from his piano stool and confronted his pupil with a frown.

"I had better inspect your bottom today, Elizabeth, to see what sort of shape it's in," he said sternly, as though it were an unpleasantly onerous duty that he had to perform.

"Lift up your dress and petticoats, take down your knickers, and bend over the piano!" he commanded , slamming down the lid.

"But I'm not wearing any knickers today, sir, so I can't take them down," she murmured, slipping back easily into her pupil's role, but with just the merest hint of saucy provocation in her eyes.

"No knickers? Have you no shame, girl?" he stammered, amazed at the directness of her reply. Already he felt his mask begin to crumble. How was it that such a slip of a girl could wreak such havoc with his composure, he asked himself in exasperation.

"I thought my bottom would heal more quickly if I let the air get to it," she explained, cupping the seat of her dress and pouting prettily.

"I see your point," he said and coughed, self consciously. "All the same I wouldn't advertise the fact to anyone else if I were you. It wouldn't do much for your reputation." He pinkened with embarrassment. Elizabeth was quietly amused to discover that, unorthodox as were his leanings in some areas of life, in others he was an absolute stickler for convention.

"As if I would ever tell a soul apart from you!" Elizabeth exclaimed passionately - for, like the rest of her, her bottom belonged to him and him alone. Without the slightest trace of reluctance she scooped up her dress and petticoats to her waist and stretched herself lengthways across the smooth lid of the piano. Lennox stiffened with arousal at the sight of her bruised nakedness.

What devil was it that got inside me, he mused incredulously, to make me want to whip her so hard? He forced himself to take account, full responsibility, for his actions, as he stared at the ugly black welts and patches of broken skin. All prospect of punishing the girl again would have to be abandoned for at least a week - if not two. He knelt down behind her and touched the weals gently with the tips of his fingers. Elizabeth wriggled and bravely stifled a cry.

Anyone walking in at that moment would have seen Lennox, his eyes burning with penitential fire, genuflecting in adoration before a sacred shrine.

"Does it still hurt as much?" he asked, tapping her outspread buttocks as though playing on a drum. Her wriggling grew slower, more voluptuous. The sharp little stabs of pain began to cause her pleasure, and she sighed, remembering the cool silkiness of his fingers anointing her behind with cold cream.

"It aches, but not unbearably," she whispered, unobtrusively shifting her feet so as to open her legs wider for him. Now he could look right into her cleft. Her sex pouting shyly up at him from beneath its fluffy screen of pubic hair. Oh, how he longed to -

Slapping her callously across both dainty rotundities, so that she jumped up and cried out in distress, he said roughly, " Cover yourself up now , child. I shall take another look at it tomorrow to see if there is any improvement."

Each day of that following week, in the privacy of the schoolroom, he inspected Elizabeth's naked behind - he, sternly resplendent in his academic gown: she, a shy leggy schoolgirl in cotton underwear, white blouse and little grey pleated skirt. She grew to look forward to it intensely...enjoying the shocking humiliation of pulling down her knickers and baring her bottom abjectly for his approval.

The bizarre little ritual, enacted promptly at nine-thirty every morning in the schoolroom, always gave Lennox an erection, which he managed to conceal with ease beneath the ample folds of his gown.

Meanwhile, motivated no doubt by the severe chastisement her tutor had dealt out to her on the beach, Elizabeth continued to make good headway with her studies - even in mathematics which had always been her bete noire. And the very first thing she did after getting up in the morning was to scrutinise her bottom anxiously in the bedroom mirror, impatient for the time when the fast-fading weals would have vanished completely - for she remembered his promise to spank her. And the more she was deprived of it, the more she lusted and craved for him to once more take her across his knee....

A week and a half later that day arrived - A Thursday to be exact. Naked, Elizabeth examined her behind from every angle. Not a mark, not a blemish to sully its ivory perfection. She pulled up her black stockings and fastened them to her garter belt, slipped on a fresh crisp pair of white cotton knickers, donned skirt and blouse, and hurried to the schoolroom.

Lennox, who had given her bottom a provisional 'all clear' the day before, was awaiting her in a state of tremendous sexual arousal. Ten maddening days of seeing Elizabeth bend over and willingly bare her bottom to him - not to mention all the accompanying glimpses he'd had of her private parts - had whipped up his frustration to an unbearable peak.

She knocked and entered, her legs melting with delicious trepidation. Already the gut-wrenching stabs of shame which she associated with being spanked began to overpower her. She shivered at the awful inevitability of the situation. Whatever she said, whatever she did, would make no difference. Come what might, he was going to pull her down across his sturdy lap, take down her knickers, and spank her soundly until she cried.

Not wishing to appear too eager, Lennox suspended execution of the chastisement until after lunch. Elizabeth, sick with nervous anticipation, had to endure an endless morning of algebra, ancient history, and the French subjunctive verb. Not surprisingly, she made many stupid mistakes, all of which he noted down in the little black book he kept for that precise purpose.

She had no appetite for lunch. She sat silently at the table, toying with her food, deaf to her guardian's testy entreaties to "Eat up, for goodness sake, girl!"

Back in the schoolroom he wasted no time. He simply rubbed his hands together and said softly, "Well now, Elizabeth, I trust you are ready for the spanking I promised you? It has certainly been long overdue."

Ready for her spanking? Was ever a girl ready for such a fearful indignity? She'd been expecting it all day. She'd scrubbed her pretty bottom while in the bath, until it glowed. She'd selected an immaculately laundered pair of knickers. She'd carefully checked in the mirror that her stocking seams were straight. Yes, she'd made all the necessary preparations. Yet, like a condemned prisoner whose hour of execution has finally arrived, she couldn't help but feel hopelessly ill-prepared and unready.

Seating himself on the old leather-upholstered chair, which was there only for that one specific purpose, he beckoned her over. She went to him, meek as a lamb, and he silently gathered her into his arm, tipping her gently down across his knee. Her dark-blonde hair flopped into her face as the floor rose up to meet her. She braced herself with the palms of her hands on the worn green carpet to prevent herself toppling off his lap.

Her bottom was now her highest part, served up and ready to be devoured by him - like the choicest dish at a banquet. She felt his body shake with suppressed excitement as he drew up the hem of her little pleated skirt around her waist and began fondling and squeezing the taut seat of her knickers. Her sex dilated and moistened, soaking the thin cotton gusset. She was aware of his male hardness poking up urgently between her thighs.

Breathing rapidly he proceeded to peel down her knickers, inside out so that the wet patch at the front was incriminatingly exposed. The musky scent of her arousal bewitched his nostrils, tempting him to commit unutterably lewd acts upon the half-naked girl lying prone across his legs.

Lecherously he patted each white round bottom-cheek in turn until they quivered and danced before his eyes. He gazed with fierce longing into the depths of her virginal cleft. What wouldn't he have given to be able to possess her completely - to sink his tumescent prick deep inside her, and bathe her womb with his cruelly pent up sexual juices!

"Oh sir! Sir!" Elizabeth panted excitedly as he tightened his restraining arm around her waist and raised his other hand high above her bottom, ready to deliver the first slap, "I feel so ashamed. Whatever must you think of me! I'm such a wicked, wicked girl...please spank me...spank me as hard as ever you can!"

The frankness of her confession - he guessed she was alluding to her dampness - took him aback. For a second or two he doubted the evidence of his own ears. Then he grinned wolfishly. So Elizabeth was actually begging for it, was she? Why, the saucy little baggage was so aroused she had even wet her pants in excitement! She'd really got it coming to her and no mistake.

He deliberately took his time punishing her, smacking her bottom slowly and with unremitting thoroughness until her hindquarters began to glow and tingle deliciously.

But soon the tingling became a painful smarting as, like some grim stoker, he relentlessly built up a slow-burning fire in her bottom. Her opal-cream cheeks turned bright pink then red. Her embarrassed gasps changed to frantic pleas, until tears filled her eyes and she began to weep blindly.

But still the loud slaps fell, faster now and even harder as his excitement rose to a frenzy. Legs flailing wildly, she gyrated and twisted her flanks like a corkscrew, trying vainly to dodge the explosive impacts of his flattened palm.

"STOP! OH PLEASE STOP NOW!" she howled, wriggling like a demented eel.

But the more she twisted and contorted her loins, the more she unintentionally chafed and stimulated Lennox's prick until he felt himself on the very edge of coming. Ignoring her desperate cries for clemency, he carried on spanking Elizabeth until the delicious grindings of her pubis against his stiffly erect tool finally caused him to come in his trousers.

He was not proud of what he'd done. After the glorious explosion of his emission, he felt embarrassed and ashamed. But at least the folds of his gown concealed any visible stains from the girl.

Looking at the clock on the schoolroom wall he was amazed to discover that he had spanked her for well over a quarter of an hour. He gazed down at Elizabeth's bottom, now a mottled hue of deep crimson. It twitched spasmodically as her broken sobs became fainter and less frequent....

A short while earlier, Mr. Tomms had been trundling a wheelbarrow laden with garden vegetables for the kitchen table along the gravel path immediately below the schoolroom. His ears pricked up at the unmistakeable sounds of a spanking coming from the open window and, being by nature something of an inquisitive fellow, he immediately abandoned the wheelbarrow with its contents and rushed up the back stairs, intending to slake his curiosity by peering through the keyhole of the schoolroom door. He was chuckling out loud at the thought of his cheeky young mistress at last receiving the come-uppance she so richly deserved, and he was also more than a little excited by the idea. He had tanned Florence's bottom on numerous occasions, yet had never seen a girl spanked by another man. It was an experience he was keen to savour.

Florence was sweeping the landing carpet when she too heard the smack of hand on soft flesh, accompanied by shrill female cries. She ran on tiptoe to the schoolroom door and put her eye to the keyhole.

"Well I never!" she exclaimed softly in astonishment at the sight of Miss Elizabeth bent indecorously across Mr. Lennox's lap, her bare bottom reddening with shame from the slow methodical spanking it was receiving. Florence was at heart a loyal servant and she was deeply shocked to see her mistress, who had recently made that generous gift of silk underclothes to her, being subjected to such a humiliating punishment.

Then Florence saw the comical side of it, and she began to giggle hysterically at the spectacle of such an elegant, well-brought-up young lady getting the same painful medicine that she herself had to endure regularly from Mr. Tomms.

All the same, she viewed her mistress's wriggling hind quarters with genuine concern. If Mr. Lennox was the same kind of man as Mr.Tomms, Lord knows what he might be tempted to do to Miss Elizabeth after he'd spanked her! She felt obliged to keep a watchful eye on her lady's virtue, and she proceeded to settle herself more comfortably at the keyhole, squatting slightly and pushing out her well-fleshed rump behind her.

The sight that greeted his eyes, therefore, as Mr. Tomms emerged onto the landing, was that of Florence's ample rump sticking up in the air like an old familiar landmark, her taut black alpaca skirt riding high to reveal massive black-stockinged thighs, silhouetted against the white panelling of the schoolroom door.

Here was a mouth-watering distraction that he hadn't bargained for. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mr. Tomms stalked his quarry noiselessly, encircled her round the waist and hissed in her ear, "Caught you, you idle young hussy! Up to no good as usual I see!"

"Ooooh, Mr. Tomms!" Florence squealed, nearly jumping out of her skin, "How you startled me!" She tried to straighten up but he pushed her back down again so that she was bent almost double. He fumbled lecherously with the hem of her skirt.

"Keep still and shut your mouth, unless you want to feel my belt across your bare arse tonight!" he growled, hoisting up her skirt and yanking her knickers down to her knees. Thet were of the loose-fitting variety so he had no difficulty at all in prising her legs wide apart.

She gave a tiny screech of outrage and attempted to retrieve her fallen knickers, but he slapped her hands away. "No, Mr. Tomms! No!" she pleaded desperately, her face burning up with shame. Surely he wasn't intending to have her there, on the landing in broad daylight, where anyone could happen upon them?

"Just do as I say and you won't come to any harm," he grunted, unbuttoning the front of his breeches so that his long knobby prick shot out like a jack-in-the-box. "Hang onto the door handle, if you must, girl - but for Gawd's sake don't open it!"

Kneading her soft cushiony arse with both hands he squeezed her buttocks apart and roughly entered her. She grimaced with pain at his hasty penetration of her, as well as his inordinate size.

He knew it wouldn't take long to bring himself off. A dozen or so quick thrusts and he'd be there, for the sound of his naughty young mistress being soundly spanked across her tutor's knee, together with the strangely passionate cries the punishment was causing her to utter, was cock-stiffening music to his ears.

He bucked and jerked convulsively while poor Florence hung onto the door handle for grim death. It crossed her mind that if his thrustings became any more violent he'd send them both tumbling into the schoolroom, incurring abject disgrace - if not instant dismissal - but by bracing her body and pushing back against him, she managed valiantly to withstand his bull-like batterings.

Then it ended as swiftly as it had begun. Tomms groaned brutishly, dug his grimy fingernails into Florence's belly and discharged himself fully into her womb. He hastily withdrew, wiping his sticky cock on her petticoat, before making himself decent and casting an anxious eye about him, to satisfy himself that they hadn't been observed. All seemed well. A distant clatter of dishes could be heard reassuringly from below in the kitchen.

Florence too repaired the woeful disarray in her dress, after which she mopped the beads of perspiration from her crimson face. She was a patient, uncomplaining girl, well used to Tomm's uncouth ways. Like most servant girls, she'd learnt to submit stoically to the roughness of male approaches. Ever since the age of fifteen, when she'd entered service at Lymchurch House as a menial kitchen maid and the burly chauffeur-cum-gardener had first clapped eyes on her, he'd never let her alone.

Goosed in the garden...spanked in the scullery...tanned and tupped in the tackroom...and now this latest, most flagrantly daring, outrage upon her person. She sighed long-sufferingly. What a bold-faced dirty devil of a man he was, for sure! Was there no end to his ceaseless rutting? She was no longer surprised by anything Mr. Tomms might decide to do to her.

So when he impatiently elbowed her aside and fixed his eye to the keyhole to catch the last exciting moments of Miss Lizzy's spanking, Florence regarded him for a moment with a hurt expression, then shrugged her shoulders philosophically and went stolidly about her duties.

It's a wonder why Tomms never took Elizabeth in hand. I'm sure he would have obliged if her guardian had requested it.