Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/V/VIKI#3.TXT

Text File | 1989-11-14 | 21.0 KB | 394 lines

                            Thursday


        When Vicki arrived at Jameson's office she found an
envelope, addressed to "Miss Victoria Wilkins", taped to the
outside of his door.  She ripped it open with a pounding heart.
It must mean that Jameson wasn't there, so maybe she wouldn't get
her spanking today!  She found herself both pleased and a little
disappointed by the thought; she'd been psyching herself up all
day and didn't want to have to do that again.  Besides, tomorrow
was supposed to be the last day, and if Jameson didn't spank her
today he might want to give her a double session tomorrow.  Vicki
didn't see how she could stand that!

        With shaking hands she unfolded the handwritten note and
read it:

           "Miss Wilkins:  I have had to leave the store for
     a few minutes but will be with you shortly.  You know
     the routine.  Go into my office and lock the door
     behind you.  Leave your clothing there and then wait
     for me in the security room."

The note was signed "F.J."

        Vicki stuffed the note and its envelope into the pocket
of her chinos and tried the doorknob.  It was unlocked, and she
entered the empty office, shut the door and twisted the deadbolt.
She pulled the tail of her blouse out of the waistband of her
slacks, then unbuttoned it and dropped it on one of Jameson's
chairs.  She stepped out of her loafers, unzipped her pants, and
quickly added them and her socks to the pile on the chair.

        She wondered if Jameson expected her to take the bikini
off here too.  The note had said "clothing", but Vicki decided
that meant just her outer clothes.  It would be embarrassing
enough to meet someone in the stairwell dressed only in her
swimsuit; she couldn't take a chance on running into someone
stark naked!

        Closing the back door of Jameson's office quietly behind
her, Vicki made her way down the cold cement steps.  The door
into the security room had been propped open with a rubber
doorstop, and she peered quickly into the room to be sure it was
empty.  Vicki picked up the doorstop and let the door fall shut
behind her.  She started to flip the switch on the doorframe as
Jameson had done, but it was already on--so either the door was
locked now or else the switch wasn't a lock.

        Vicki stripped off the green bikini and crossed the room
to sit on the sofa.  Her tush ached some whenever she sat on it,
but it was a deep kind of ache, not near the surface, and it
didn't really bother her.  She gazed across the room at the glass
topped desk, and immediately pictured herself, as she had the
night before, bent awkwardly over it.  She saw her bare bottom
and the lips of her secret place, and could feel the weight of
the leather strap as she drew it back and swung it toward the
waiting cheeks of her own behind.

        She felt the muscles in her tush bunch under her as she
imagined the heavy strap slapping hard against her skin.  Just as
it had in her room the night before, her hand slipped
unconsciously to her crotch, and Vicki moaned as her fingers
slipped between her labia and touched the gooey warmth of her
secret place.

        Jameson, watching the videotape monitors in next room,
began to breath raggedly as the girl started masturbating.  It
was exactly what he'd guessed would happen, after watching the
tapes from the three previous sessions last night and seeing how
she'd spent her time alone in the security room after Tuesday's
paddling, but he still found the scene almost unbearably
stimulating.  The girl might do a lot of screaming and begging
while he was working her ass over, but the sessions really seemed
to turn her on.  Thank god he'd remembered to turn on the video
recorders before she'd come down to the security room!

        He waited until the girl was writhing and bucking on the
sofa, her fingers plunging rapidly in and out of her gash, before
slipping into the hallway and walking into the security room.  He
stopped abruptly and stared at the girl in pretended shock and
amazement.  It took her a second to register the fact that she
was no longer alone, and then she jerked her fingers out of her
cunt and sat motionless.  Her entire body turned a shade of
scarlet he wouldn't have imagined possible, so dark he could
barely distinguish her wine-colored nipples and areolas from the
surrounding skin of her boobs.

        "Well, Miss Wilkins," Jameson said with mock anger, "you
really had me fooled.  I had thought you were being punished, but
now I see you've really been enjoying our little sessions.
Obviously you need something a lot more severe than what you've
been getting up till now."

        "Oh, no, Mr. Jameson," Vicki said with horror.  "I
haven't enjoyed the spankings at all, they hurt terribly.  It's
just that, well, I'm not used to sitting around naked, and I
started thinking about something else.  I know I shouldn't have
been, uh, doing what I was, but please don't do anything that
hurts more."  She burst into tears.

        "I don't know whether to believe you or not," Jameson
responded, "but I'm quite sure you won't feel like playing with
yourself when I'm finished with you today."  He opened the desk
drawer and removed the restraining straps he'd used the day
before.  Clutching those in one hand, he walked over to the sofa
and seized the sobbing girl by the arm.  He pulled her to her
feet dragged her over to the desk and pushed her down on top of
it.

        "Get on the desk and lie face down," he ordered.  The
girl climbed onto the desk and started lie lengthwise atop the
glass surface, then stopped with a gasp.

        "It's too cold!", she exclaimed, still on her hands and
knees.

        "You'll be quite warm in a minute, Miss Wilkins," Jameson
assured her, seizing her arms and pulling them out from under
her.  She protested loudly as the full length of her body
contacted the glass desk top, but he held her wrists firmly as he
passed one of the restraining straps through a ring attached to
one corner of the desk and buckled it tightly around her forearm.
He repeated the same steps with the other arm at the other corner
of the desk.

        "Please," she implored him, "I'll hold still today.  Let
my arms go, and I'll just lie here."

        "I don't think that's very likely, Miss Wilkins," Jameson
commented grimly.  Sobbing again, the girl tried to get her knees
under her as he moved to the other end of the desk, but Jameson
caught her ankle with one hand and quickly strapped it to a
corner of the desk.  When he finished buckling the fourth strap,
the weeping girl lay spreadeagled, face down on the desk,
essentially unable to move.  The solid, creamy hillocks of her
ass, barely tinged with pink, jutted upward, inviting his
attention, and Jameson intended to give it in full.

        He walked behind the desk and pulled the wide center
drawer out as far as he could.  Wedged into it diagonally, with a
slight bow to accommodate its length, was a birch cane--another
trophy from days spent in antique shops.  Jameson had heard that
they were still used sometimes in British schools, and no doubt
there were some that maintained firm discipline in a few homes in
this country, but the only one with which he had had "first hand"
experience had long ago disappeared.  Even now, the memory of how
that one had seared his ass and the backs of his legs made him
wince.  Victoria Wilkins was about to have an experience that,
like the strapping he'd given her yesterday, very few--too
few--of her generation had ever had.  Jameson was willing to bet
that if she decided to jack off tonight, or tomorrow, she
wouldn't do it sitting down, or lying on her back either.

        He flexed the cane and lifted it out of the drawer, then
walked around to the end of the desk nearest the girl's head.
"Today, Miss Wilkins," he informed her, "your punishment will be
administered with this cane."  He showed it to her, bending it
and then whipping it sharply downward to let her hear the "whirr"
as it sliced through the air.  Then he moved to the front of the
desk and rested the cane across the twin summits of her asscheeks
for several seconds, watching the muscles twitch as goosebumps
spread across the skin.  Then he raised cane to roughly the
height of his head and brought it down sharply.

        Vicki had suspected that she was in serious trouble from
the instant she had realized that Jameson had walked into the
room without her hearing him.  Her fears had been confirmed when
he had insisted on strapping her to the desk without even waiting
to see whether she would hold still.  She had inferred then that
whatever kind of punishment he had in mind was going to be much
worse than she'd experienced in the three previous days.

        What on earth could have possessed her to start fingering
her secret place when she had known that Jameson would arrive
within a matter of minutes?  She certainly should have known,
from her experiences in her bedroom the last three nights, that
once she got started with that she would be totally oblivious to
anything else around her.  Now she was practically glued to the
icy glass top of his desk, her breasts squashed flat as pancakes
by the weight of her body, unable to move to relieve even part of
the pain.  And any second now, Jameson was going to lift that
cane off her rump and bring it whistling back down.

        Maybe it would have happened anyway--Jameson had hinted
that each day's spanking would be worse than the last--but why
had she given him such a clear reason to believe that she had
been enjoying his punishments?  The fact was, of course, that she
didn't enjoy the spankings at all while they were happening, and
what excited her most when she thought about them afterward was
the image of giving a spanking, not getting one.  The only good
thing was that unless he kept it up for a really long time, that
cane couldn't hurt all that much.  It was too light to bruise her
bottom like the paddle or the leather strap, and so small it
could only touch a tiny area at a time.

        Vicki's thoughts were interrupted by a heart-rending
shriek, and it took her several fractions of a second to realize
that it had come from her.  In the same instant her brain was
penetrated by a blinding flash of pain from her bottom.  It felt
as though her lower body, from the middle of her rear down, had
been sliced off by a sword!

        She started to pull against the straps that held her
ankles, but before she could make her muscles obey her thoughts
she heard the cane whistle again and felt another streak of pain
across her rear.  This time the sensation of pain came before the
scream, but the sound was just as involuntary as her first shriek
had been.  Vicki fought to catch her breath, to form some word of
plea or protest to accompany her next scream, but each time the
cane cut into her backside another wordless howl tore itself from
her lungs.  She felt like one of the rubber dolls she'd had as a
child, with a little metal button that made a crying sound
whenever you squeezed it, and wondered hysterically if there were
buttons hidden in her buttocks that emitted a scream whenever the
cane touched them.

        She didn't really believe that, of course; the screams
were her body's involuntary reaction to the most horrendous pain
she'd ever experienced.  The sensations evoked by each stroke of
the cane were like the distilled essence of pain, clear and
crystalline, in contrast to the crude, opaque pain caused by her
previous spankings.  Without conscious effort on her part, her
body bucked and jerked, alternately slamming her knees, her
sternum, her hipbones and her frontal pubic bone against the
unyielding surface of the desk--all of which caused new aches and
bruises but did nothing to interfere with the cane's unobstructed
access to every square inch of her bottom.

        Vicki felt on the verge of suffocating when Jameson
finally laid the cane down on the desk top between her knees.
She lay gasping, the muscles in her legs and her buttocks
continuing to spasm, for nearly a minute before she was able to
cry.  "Oh, god, stop, please stop," she sobbed.  "You're cutting
me to ribbons!  I can't stand any more, I beg you."

        Jameson grinned.  "I don't think you have much choice in
the matter, Miss Wilkins.  You're going to stay right where you
are until I decide that you've been punished enough for today."

        "Then please, use the strap, or the paddle--anything but
that cane," Vicki entreated him.  "I don't care if you spank me
twice as many times, just so you don't use the cane on me any
more."

        "I'm afraid that's not possible, Miss Wilkins," Jameson
replied firmly.  I'm glad to know you're finding this painful;
perhaps you'll keep this experience in mind the next time you
think about stealing something."  He picked up the cane and
walked around to the end of the desk to which her feet had been
anchored.

        Jameson gazed up the girl's long legs to her pussy and
then to her quivering asscheeks.  The once-creamy skin was marked
with scarlet welts, many of which had swollen well above the
surface of her ass.  The welts were at slightly different angles
but all of them were more or less horizontal.  By changing
positions he could leave her with a nice checkerboard pattern.
He could also give one of the video cameras an unobstructed side
view of her writhing, bucking body (although the one he'd mounted
directly overhead this morning was bound to be getting some
terrific footage), and give himself a good view of her beaver at
the same time.

        He rested the cane in the middle of her right asscheek.
The girl immediately renewed her tearful pleading, which he
ignored, and her right buttock went rigid and her thigh muscles
bulged as she pulled helplessly against her bonds.  He raised the
cane high and brought it whistling down hard.  He let the cane
drift several inches sideways as it descended, and it created a
momentary but deep furrow in the relaxed left cheek of her ass.

        The girl let out another of her unearthly screeches and
rolled her hips sideways by the inch or so she was able to move.
The resilient muscle of her ass bounced the cane back into the
air, and Jameson brought it down equally hard on the other cheek,
provoking another shriek and leaving another vertical welt.  This
was a lot less work than the paddle or the razor strap, Jameson
reflected, especially when you considered how much more dramatic
the response was.  Maybe he should have used the cane from the
beginning.  On the other hand, if he'd used the cane the first
day the girl would probably never have come back, so he really
had been wise to bring her along gradually.

        Jameson found the girl's shrieks almost deafening.  He'd
planned to give her a second rest break and then a third session
with the cane, but now he was impatient to be through with her.
He increased the tempo of his strokes, leaving furrow after
furrow to be replaced instantly with rising welts, until the
entire surface of her convulsing ass was a tight gridwork of
blood-red stripes and her cries had merged into a continuous
scream, interrupted only by gasps for breath.

        He swung the cane a last time, then strode behind the
desk, flexing the cane to wedge it back in the drawer.  The girl
lay sobbing and moaning, not even moving as he unfastened each of
her bonds in turn.  Jameson left her atop the desk, lit a cigaret
and crossed the room to sit on the sofa until her shuddering sobs
had ceased.

        Then he got to his feet.  "You can obviously do what you
want with your own time, Miss Wilkins," he remarked, "but if you
need something to keep your hands busy tonight, I might suggest
that you put some ointment on your ass instead of playing with
your pussy."  He started toward the door of the security room,
then stopped and turned toward her.  "I'll be in my office for a
couple of hours, so you can take your time."

        Dimly Vicki heard the door close as Jameson left.  She
lay motionless for another few minutes, then bent her elbows and
lifted herself until the weight of her upper body rested on her
forearms.  She didn't even try to move her legs; she was sure she
was paralyzed from the waist down.  Except that if she was
paralyzed, then she shouldn't be able to feel anything, and the
sensations emanating from her bottom sure didn't feel like
nothing--they felt like the most burning, cutting kind of pain
she'd ever known.

        Supporting herself on one arm, Vicki reached back and ran
a hand over first one buttock and then the other.  Both were
blazing hot to her touch and covered with ridges.  She looked
backward over her shoulder and gasped when she saw the maze of
dark welts that criss-crossed her buns.  The sight brought fresh
tears to her eyes, and she collapsed with a groan onto the desk
top.

        Why, oh why, had she ever let herself be tempted into
stealing the bikini?  She hated even the thought of it now.  And
how was she going to survive tomorrow?  She didn't see how she
could tolerate being touched, let alone spanked, and Jameson
seemed determined to make each day's spanking worse than the
last.

        Large tears splashed the desk top as Vicki slowly pushed
herself backward, the square edge of the glass sheet gouging her
knees, her thighs, the soft flesh covering her pubic bone and
then her stomach as she slid off the desk.  Finally she felt the
carpet under her feet and pushed into a standing position.  She
walked slowly around the security room, her posterior throbbing
with every step.

        She knew she should put the bikini back on and go get her
clothes from Jameson's office, but she dreaded the thought of
pulling the tight bottom of the swimsuit over her bruised behind.
And once she got dressed, there would be nothing to do but go out
to her car and drive home, and she wasn't at all sure she could
force herself to sit down in the car.  As an experiment, she
backed up against the edge of the sofa and gingerly trans-
ferred her weight from her legs to her rear.

        It wasn't as bad as she had expected; the scratchy fabric
was unpleasant, but driving home would be bearable.  Sitting on
the sofa reminded Vicki of the shame she had felt when Jameson
had walked in on her an hour earlier, catching her with her
fingers inside her . . . Jameson had called it her "pussy", and
that was one of the words she'd heard whispered at school, so
maybe she should start thinking of it as her pussy instead of
just her "secret place."  She also knew that "ass" was another
word for "bottom" or "tush," although she was sure her parents
wouldn't approve of her using the term.  Of course, her parents
wouldn't approve of her stealing from stores, either, so from now
on, with Jameson at least, she would think of him spanking her
ass and not her bottom.

        Vicki found herself picturing how she must have looked to
Jameson, spreadeagled on the desk, with her ass just waiting for
each stroke of his cane, and before she realized what was
happening the fingers of her right hand were probing the entrance
to her . . . pussy.  A slight shift of posture sent another stab
of pain through her ass, though, and she jerked her hand away
angrily and got to her feet.  What on earth was the matter with
her?  Jameson could decide to come back for some reason, and
she'd find herself ass-up under the cane again.

        Still annoyed with herself, Vicki pulled the strapless
bikini top over her head, slid it down to cup her breasts and
adjusted the strap in back.  Then she eased herself carefully
into the bottom of the suit and climbed the empty stairwell to
Jameson's office.  He was on the phone when Vicki slipped in
through the back door, and she struggled into her outer clothing
without a sound.

        Jameson was off the telephone by the time she finished
dressing.  "Tomorrow is your final day, Miss Wilkins," he
reminded her.  "I wouldn't want you to waste the punishment
you've already received by failing to show up or coming in late."

        "Oh, I'll be here," she assured him, "assuming I can make
it out of bed tomorrow."

        "I'm sure you'll do just fine, Miss Wilkins," he replied
frostily.