Chapter 6
"Are you quite certain you want to go through with this, Joanna?"
Alec Reddick tipped the wicker chair behind the paper-strewn desk in his office and looked at her standing before him-in control of her faculties now and standing as she knew you were expected to stand, hands at her sides, looking over his head.
"Quite sure, sir," she said.
"I won't let you off lightly, you know. In fact, since I'm not sure if you realise quite what you're doing, I shall make it highly unpleasant. If you're doing this out of curiosity, or for a thrill, you'll be cured, I believe."
"If Cynthia is to be punished, I should be," she said.
"Very well. It's your choice." He tapped his teeth a second. "Turn around and take down your things and let's see your bottom."
This was her first test, she knew. Turning, flushing, fingers hooked in the waistband of her snug tartan bermudas, she seemed to hear the heavy beat of a drum. Her pulse was beating heavily behind her eyes. She slipped her shorts and panties to her ankles and stood before him, her senses suddenly heightened and refined.
"Lean forward with your hands on your knees."
"Yes."
"In this room you call me sir."
"Yes, sir."
There was the scrape of his chair as he rose and came behind her. He rolled the still slack fat at the base of her right cheek between finger and thumb. Then he joggled her flesh in his fingers, parting her but not touching the slotted fruit between her legs.
"Um," he said, returning to his desk, "you have quite muscular thighs, but that ass of yours is going to feel it, I fear. Do up your clothes. Now then, is it truly your wish to be subject to our discipline while you stay with us in The Territory?"
"It is. Sir."
"Absolutely certain?"
"Yes. Sir."
"Very well." He drew forward a ledger and began writing it. Punishment Book, her inner self told her. "I shall give you six. Go upstairs to your room. I will deal with Cynthia first, and then you will be sent for."
She paused. In an abstract, remote voice she could barely recognize as her own she said, "I think I should have the same as Cynthia."
He shook his head. "You weren't lippy. Don't worry. I'll see to it that you have plenty with a sixer."
Up in her room, Cynthia had her skirt up, her panties down and was sitting on a long marble coffee table.
"I'm going to get it too," Joanna said faintly.
"Oh you are a fool," her sister replied, but she did so with a quick, grateful, almost shy smile, rising at once and embracing Joanna warmly. "Well done."
"But what are you doing?" she asked with a smile.
"Sitting on something cold sometimes helps beforehand, but not much. Anyway he generally feels first. Any attempt at anesthetizing is highly discouraged. Oh darling, I do hope you won't regret it."
A smile of triumph flew over her face. "I won't," she answered.
"Then I'll tell you what you have to do. Isn't this apprehension ghastly? And delicious? Who was it said he hoped the suspense would go on because it was so dreadful?"
"Oscar Wilde." Again they seized each other in exultance, their fingers wandering wildly.
Ten minutes later, back in her own room, she saw the elegant figure of the slim maid walking down the corridor through the crack of her ajar door. There was a tap on Cynthia's door. "Mistuh Reddick like see you, Ma'am." Cynthia started walking down the passage, biting her lower lip and frowning. Joanna fled to her balcony.
From here, after a second, she could see Cynthia walking along the covered way to the left, along to Alec's office-where she disappeared under the tiled overhang. Joanna felt a deep heat in her head. She moved about aimlessly, her hands roving over her bottom, which felt suddenly twice as heavy. Once she stared at her profile in the mirror-yes, her cheeks looked swollen and sorry already. How big her bottom looked, how taut and foolish and ready, ripe for the crack of the cane.
What you need, my beauties, she hissed to herself, is a damn fine hiding. And you're going to get one, too.
Out on the balcony again, the wait seemed eternal. Was Cynthia never going to reappear? Then suddenly she did, walking quickly toward the house this time, her head dropped, her arms folded tightly across her heavy breasts. She stopped at a wood support, held onto it for a moment, writhing, then continued On her way so hurriedly that the urgent rap on Joanna's own door came before she was ready. Cynthia was running down to her room, holding herself, when Joanna came out and started navigating the staircase down.
As she passed through the living-room a pair of quick blue eyes looked up from behind a magazine. Pamela was sitting there, reading ... knowing. She would have to negotiate Pamela later.
She knocked on the door in a state of trance, hearing his "Come in" as if from some immense distance.
"You are about to be beaten for being late. Do you have anything to say."
"No, sir."'
"Do you wish to appeal."
"No."
She gave her ritual answers fatally, from her depths. The sense of ceremony was exact as he bent his head and again inscribed her punishment in his book.
"Very well. You will receive six strokes with the cane. Go through and I'll deal with you in a minute."
As if some burden had been lifted from her, in a total surrender of her will, she walked to the far end of the room, where there was a door, which she opened, closing it behind her. It gave onto a large, bare expanse of polished wood, resembling a small gymnasium-in fact, Alec used it as a keep-fit room. There were bars, a leather horse, stools and weights, but chiefly her eyes were drawn to the impedimenta hanging on the walls, the straps, well oiled and used-looking, and the rack of canes, one above the other. Chiefly, also, her eyes were held to the short, hip-high structure riveted to the flooring by one wall. That'll keep you nice and tight, she told herself grimly. She was already quivering all over, and perspiring.
It was very simple really, resembling some iron towel rack or such-like. Cynthia had explained it perfectly. The top bar, adjustable, was about on the level of your, well, your lap and you duly bent over it; not before, however, you had stepped between the two ankle-level bars at the bottom. One of these could be opened and closed like a gate and made it impossible to kick back, or forward for that matter! So standing, two further simple bars pressed horizontally at the front of the legs, one at the shins beneath the knees, one at the thighs above them. The culprit's legs were braced ineluctably back, tight. So long as she was holding onto the lower bar in front with her hands she could not reasonably move her parted, tightened ass.
"Shoes off," said a voice. Alec had come in. She shucked them, seeing with a sudden flutter that he had donned tennis sneaks and rolled his right sleeve up high. He went to a wall, selected his instrument, swished it through the air a couple of times, and came forward thoughtfully.
Just like a doctor, she told herself, feeling with sudden panic a desire to pee. She thought of the Gladiator's story, what would happen if she ... the sensation increased dreadfully....
"Stand there," he said, pointing with the cane-tip, "and take down your clothes. Right down, if you please. Now bend over and grip the lower bar."
He did not seem surprised that she knew how to do so at once, but he spent some time positioning her to his satisfaction.
"Get a really good hold of it. I think you know it's two extra every time you leave go of the bar."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"Three if you rise before Permission."
His thumb prodded her inspectively. Bent as she was, she felt all buttock. The bars did not merely brace back her knees, they seemed to bend her legs in a bow so that all her weight fell forward, on her hands in front. Her cunt pouched back at the division of her legs and hips, but Cynthia said the cane never hit in there, at least not hard. The hips were always sufficiently curved enough to ... she stared miserably at the peurile wrinkles in her panties at her ankles. Would Alec be able to see the sodden patch in their center?
"Head down."
Ah yes, to draw the flesh up fully at her seat.
The cold cane touched her, measuring.
"This is Canadian acajou. Whippy, but not too."
After tucking her sweater needlessly high, he turned and went from her-perhaps to get some other frightful thing, she thought, when with a thudding rush he bounded athletically at her and into her. The limb stirred the air with a breathless whirr, a strangely peevish sound, and the cane thrashed full across her seat with its now characteristic rap. Her head came back at the shock, but she thought, I can take it. Then the true wave flamed up her skin. She contrived a grunting pant.
Whrrrr-upp!
The second whipped into her after a pause. It was agony. The tip seemed to burrow and she felt herself give an instinctive buttocky wriggle to throw it off. Two.
Hold on, she told herself desperately, hold on.
She did so until the fourth had splatted powerfully, with a ringing echo, round her hips. She tried to stamp, emitted a short, shaming fart. Alec stood behind her calmly. It was like being struck by the sun.
"Aiieeee!"
"Relax," he said. "It'll hurt you less that way. You're trying to fight it."
"I'm s-sorry ... I've never been caned like this ... before."
"Always co-operate with the cane." His fingertips touched her scorching weals. "I'm going to give you these last two hard. Concentrate on your posture, please."
There was that savage swaying in the air again and a fiery razor sliced across her skin-Phhhrr-ruppp!
"Ow!" she cried.
The last followed crisply on top of it.
"Don't get up until I tell you."
It was the hardest thing Joanna had ever done. The pain became an unspeakable flame, drenching her impossibly. She hung over, mouth open, drooling.
"Ooooh....auuuuu....aaaaah!"
"All right."
She arched erect, hissing, clutching her buttocks and, feet still fettered in the system of bars, sat down heavily on the floor behind her, on her hands.
She looked up at him miserably, beaten, fearful, her cunt lips shimmering as if in the heat waves from her tortured flesh. She saw him reflectively stroke the ascending chord at the center of his being and then he ordered, "Get up and put your clothes on. Let that be a lesson to you."
She stumbled to obey, surprised at her own alacrity. Her body was all instinct and every inch seemed to be suffering. Cynthia said the worst was fifteen, twenty, thirty seconds after-depending on how hard you'd been hit.
"Hurry up and pull yourself together."
She hastened past him, head lowered and holding her engorged, still smarting buttocks, to which the clothes seem to cling closely. Nor was she able, strive as she might, to tear her hands away as she traversed the long living room to the stairs. Pam's eyes were on her all the way.
Up in her room, however, a sense of aching pride came to her as the pain subsided somewhat. It was still all shuttered and dark but, yes, she had come through! She had "taken" it. It with the capital letter. Swiftly she tore the clothes off her sweating body and looked at her behind in the mirror. The parallel weals ran true across her, darkly livid on the right, hot and hard to the touch; she had been caned in earnest. A sense of immense relaxation, almost approaching gratitude, ran through her skin. Then the door opened gently and Cynthia was at her side. Cynthia, clad only in a robe, kissed her. Then she dropped her robe and the two sisters were naked in each other's arms, side by side in front of the mirror, staring into it like two damned souls. It was the younger who spoke first.
"I say. You did catch it, didn't you!"
"I'm afraid I did." Joanna gave a little tearful laugh. With a thrill of abandon she suddenly thought, I'll have something to show them at the tennis club now! "I only got six. I should have had eight."
"Wasn't it enough?"
"Plenty. But ... let's see yours."
Cynthia turned with a smile. Joanna caught her breath. The eight inky weals had been well spaced, but three, at least, had coagulated to a plummy ridge on the right. Joanna touched the spot wonderingly.
"It must have been terrible ... there."
"It's absolute agony where the tip hits in, isn't it!"
They laughed like accomplices, hugging each other for a second again, then Cynthia said, "Look. Lie down and let me rub in some cold cream for you."
Joanna lay on her belly on the bed with an "Ouf!" of contentment. Her bottom was now more of a boiling glow than a burn.
"Part your legs, honey."
Cynthia knelt on the bed behind her. The first generous dollop of cream from the jar felt gloriously cool to Joanna.
"Ooooh, baby!"
A shock ran down her body as Cynthia massaged the cream in the scalding skin of her buttocks. Her palms were strong. Joanna was closed within a spell. Her hips began to buck as Cynthia's strong thumbs ran up the now slippery insides of her thighs and cheeks; she felt the touch of one of Cynthia's pendulous bubs higher up her back, like a slab of liquid marble.
"Feel good, Jo."
"Yes, yessss...."
Cynthia's whole hands seemed to close over the ridged buttocks now as she ran them up and down, up and down. Joanna moaned. There was a volted flame, a pure unconscious ecstasy, moving upwards and upwards within her. The thumbs were running up the buttery insides of her....
"Cynth, I'm afraid I...."
"Relax, darling, enjoy it."
"You won't mind ... " She broke off, arching with a groan as the rubbery thumbs suddenly and insinuatingly ran up the wet walls of her already clenching cunt. "Baby ... I'm bursting!"
"You won't die," said Cynthia from behind her, deep in the swirling water that was rushing on, engulfing Joanna in its total incredible ecstasy.
Then suddenly another voice burst from her lips, "Give ... let ... spend ... come ... cream ... stuff!" She ceased to breathe in the convulsion of pure bliss that lit her entrails, stiffening her to stone on the bed and filling her with a million spuriously spurting quims in the depths of each of which a live fish wriggled.
"Unnnnggggh!" She slumped exhausted.
Cynthia giggled. "What did I tell you, angel? It's twice as good after a beating. You must have been coming for at least a minute then."
"I've never known," she gasped, stranded, "such satisfaction ... fulfillment."
"And with a man it's twice as good," said Cynthia cheerfully. "But lacking one, just roll over and let's get to work, shall we." I always said sixty-nine was a suggestive year."
Joanna was saturated in the contact. The rough tuft of heather protecting Cynthia's cunt was on her chin, the well-wealed buttocks opened before her face, offering their oyster. Suddenly she felt a tough tongue stuck in her like a dart.
"Suck," said Cynthia simply, parting her thighs even further. Joanna's face was smeared with beard, her nose was lost in a slimy dew as the raw nubble was rubbed demandingly up and down her features.
"Suck, Mrs. Swanne," said Cynthia, and all at once hissed. "Christ ... yeees ... there! Darling, deep ... yes, I'd say ... you were deep ... in The Territory ... noooow!"