Rules of the House

From Blushes 37, a sequel to Introductions Over.

Daniel Ward’s training system for young female executives now has another recruit.

Sally felt the cold dry hand against her bared bottom-cheek. She stared blankly at the rich patterned curtain just inches away from her face. ‘Oh God. This is awful. Just awful.’ Knowing she was bare and exposed. Knowing that the woman was staring at her, considering all those intimate secrets of a big girl’s anatomy, all now so blatantly exposed. ‘Right down. Get right down. Rest yourself on the dressing table.’ She heard the woman’s carefully-measured tones. ‘And keep your bottom still.’

Sally Blackwell was a career girl. Just three months ago she had joined the dynamic young workforce of Danward Services Limited, one of the new and exciting young businesses so beloved and encouraged by the present Government. And in those three short months, her personality and drive had taken her straight into the Managing Director’s Office. Young Sally was pretty, intelligent, and spirited.

Daniel Ward leaned back in his executive chair. ‘So you really want a career with us?’ Sally smiled positively, and nodded. ‘Reckon you’ve got what it takes?’ Again, Sally nodded assuredly. Dan Ward pursed his lips and paused for thought. He made a silent decision. ‘Alright. I’ll transfer you to our Midlands branch. You’ve got one month to prove you can stay the course.’

Young Sally virtually skipped all the way home that evening, having discovered the scale of her new pay-packet. As the weekend approached she prepared for her move. The journey north. One hundred and fifty miles from St Pancras. Her new job. New responsibilities, and a lot more money. As she stepped out of the train onto the platform of her new home, Sally promised herself that this would be the turning point in her life. Three hours later, Sally had her bottom smacked.

‘Stand up, please, Miss Blackwell.’ The woman entered the bedroom and the power of her presence pervaded the small well-appointed room. Sally’s surprise and indignation denied her the power of speech for a short but vulnerable time. The girl glanced upwards, wondering why her new landlady had invaded her privacy. But then the woman smiled. ‘Yes. Mr Ward said you were a good-looking girl.’ Sally, a little bewildered, shook her head. The woman’s experienced eyes quickly scanned the girl’s slim form. ‘Yes. Well-groomed; well-dressed; good-looking…’ Sally tried to move away. Suddenly she felt menaced by this woman. Suddenly, Sally wanted to be alone.

Mrs Mason sat down beside her, her arm gently resting upon Sally’s shoulders. ‘A few facts you ought to know, Miss Blackwell.’ Sally wished she could shy away, but instead she stayed rigid, wishing that this woman would take her arm away and leave her little room. ‘Just like you, I work for Dan Ward. In fact I report personally and directly to Mr Ward.’ Sally felt the woman’s strong arms around her, as if she was being pulled towards this strange domineering woman. ‘Mr Ward is insistent that if his staff fail in their personal and private lives, then they will fail in their business life as well.’ Sally tried to move away. The softness and richness of her little room weighed heavily upon her. But Mrs Mason continued. ‘That means quite simply, that you do as I say. Otherwise, you can say goodbye to your nice new job.’

That evening, young Sally snuggled well beneath the bedclothes and tried hard to forget the events of that evening. She cried quietly into her pillow as the images and sensations of the past hours refused to leave her. Mrs Mason had recited the house rules. About not returning home too late in the evening. About not making too much noise in her room. And then the pretty twenty-year old had found herself resting face down across Mrs Mason’s lap. ‘I deal with disobedience in my own way,’ the woman had warned her, in a quiet whispering voice. ‘After all. If Mr Ward got to know, that would be the end of your career, wouldn’t it?’ So helpless, Sally had remained lying stretched out across the woman’s lap, while she felt those cold determined fingers lifting up her loose skirt. Time stood still for young Sally as the woman ensured that the girl was perfectly positioned across her knee. her upturned bottom elevated quite prominently, and protected only by the flimsiest of white lace knickers. ‘So any misdemeanour under my roof will result in the soundest of bottom-smackings, Miss Blackwell.’ A cold firm palm was already resting upon the bare curves of the girl’s bottom, unprotected by the little white knickers. ‘Unless of course you’d prefer Mr Ward to deal with the problem…’

Slowly, very slowly, Sally’s little knickers had been tugged down to her knees. And her bouncy round bottom had been smacked. Really smacked. Slowly, firmly and confidently, the woman had smacked her, applying a cold firm palm to those exposed girlish curves. ‘I find most young ladies are a little disturbed by my introductory lesson,’ the woman commented quietly, as Sally, lying face-down across her knee, rocked forward and back with each firm smack. ‘But then, so few young ladies nowadays have experienced a really sound bottom tanning. Once you know what your bottom is for, your behaviour will be quite faultless, I’m sure.’ Smack by smack, Sally’s bottom turned from the smooth opal-cream, through many shades of gentle pink, to crimson red. At first, the smacking just stung. But soon the smacks were burning into Sally’s bottom. Her gasps of indignation turned to genuine pleas, her eyes filled with welling tears. Quite involuntarily, she had kicked out against the bedclothes, her legs flailing wildly. The woman seemed to take little notice.

And after the smacking, Mrs Mason had held her, still outstretched across her knee, her feet resting against the quilt-cover on one side, her pretty face masked by a damp tangle of shoulder-length hair buried deep into the bedclothes on the other side. Mrs Mason watched the girl’s bottom, now an almost even hue of bright crimson, twitching occasionally. Red and burning. ‘Now you know the rules of the house, young lady.’ She lifted the girl to her feet and turned her so that they were standing face to face. ‘You’re not too old for a good hiding, young lady. Just you remember that.’ Sally whispered silent swear words as the woman left the room. And then she cried to herself as she kneaded her stinging bottom with searching hands. Just a month to prove herself. Perhaps Daniel Ward had an ulterior motive in sending her to this dreadful place. Quite respectable suburbia, Sally had thought, as she had walked up the garden path. But who knows what can happen behind the doors of respectable suburbia? Sally was beginning to learn.

‘Is she behaving herself?’ Dan Ward had been waiting for Mrs Mason’s end of week report. ‘Occasional lapses,’ the woman reported. ‘But we are correcting them, quite effectively.’ Dan Ward pondered the manilla file containing details of Miss Sally Blackwell. ‘That one needs a firm hand, Mrs Mason. A firm hand.’ He restrained himself from defining any more clearly how the firm hand should be applied; and how frequently; and to what part of young Sally’s delightful anatomy. Secretly, Daniel Ward could be quite precise. He would have her up-ended, her bottom bared, and he would apply the very thinnest and whippiest cane he could imagine across the twin bottom-cheeks of Miss Blackwell. ‘I leave it in your hands, Mrs Mason.’ There was a confidence in his voice. Mrs Mason knew how to tame the most spirited girl. Sally would be no problem.

It was Friday evening. The end of a long week. The woman pointed with her long manicured fingers. ‘Over here. Get across the stool.’ Sally knelt obediently, as Mrs Mason instructed her to lean forwards, until her elbows were resting against the top of the dressing table, supporting her weight. ‘You’ve broken the house rules, haven’t you?’ The woman waited. Sally mumbled her response. ‘I think your bottom needs a little treatment, Miss Blackwell.’ Those cold hands lifted the girl’s full skirt, raising it well clear of Sally’s bottom. ‘Now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take your knickers down right now and tan this bottom of yours?’ Sally could think of many reasons, but the woman was already tugging at her pants. At least they weren’t those lacy things she’d worn at the beginning of the week. Mrs Mason hadn’t approved. She’d even presented Sally with several new pairs. Just like her old school knickers. But tighter. Tauter across her bottom. ‘I think a good sound smacking should teach you a lesson, young lady! Somehow, the woman wasn’t talking to Sally. She was addressing the bare round bottom, jutting out, just asking to be smacked. A smooth round bottom. Perfectly shaped. Delightfully curved. The woman pressed her free hand down against the girl’s shoulders. ‘Right down. It’s your bottom I want to see.’ And she could see much more as Sally lay exposed. Mrs Mason enjoyed the sort of view that Dan Ward would appreciate. A really intimate view of a pretty young woman. A really revealing view of a pretty girl’s secret assets. The sort of view she would only reveal when she was being spanked, or when…

‘How dare you disobey me.’ A firm slap landed across Sally’s bottom. She wriggled, shaking her head from side to side. ‘I’ll teach you to disobey.’ Another slap. Sally gasped as the sting of the smack began to radiate across her bottom-cheeks. Slap after slap fell with stinging precision, not only over the girl’s ample bottom-curves but also lower down across her firm fleshy upper thighs. ‘Please… please… oh, please…’ But the words were lost as the twenty-year-old was comprehensively spanked, the woman pausing only occasionally to bend the girl in an even tighter and more revealing arc against the dressing table.

Sally closed her eyes tightly against the awful embarrassment of the smacking. Of feeling that woman wrenching her knickers right down. Knowing that Mrs Mason could see every private secret of her body. Wondering whether this happened to all the girls who sought promotion with the Company. Wondering whether Mr Ward knew what was happening in this quiet corner of Midlands suburbia.

Daniel Ward rang again that evening. ‘She doesn’t take kindly to having her knickers taken down.’ Dan had laughed. ‘Right little madams, these youngsters. Think the world owes them a living. All they have to do is smile, flash a few of their attributes and they’ve got themselves a career.’ He held the handset close to his lips as if to impart some confidential information to the trusted Mrs Mason. ‘Young Sally will be good, one day. But she needs training. She’s cheeky… and a little too self-assured.’ Mrs Mason knew exactly what he meant. ‘Don’t worry,’ she promised him. ‘I have the measure of young Sally Blackwell.’

On the following evening, after a brief exchange of words, during which young Sally’s vocabulary proved to be rather more — or less — than ladylike, she was spanked again. Up in her little bedroom, in the working clothes her landlady had prescribed. This time, she knew the routine. Up on the padded stool, bent forward, arms and elbows resting flat against the dressing-table, her bottom on display. A good sharp pants-down smacking, just as Daniel Ward had prescribed. Enough to make young Sally think twice about cheeking her elders and betters in future. But this time, Mrs Mason responded to her employer’s most recent comments. ‘Take her down a peg or two. Make her realise that she is still a very junior and subordinate member of this company. And if she can’t obey instructions, she’s out.’

The woman paused in her punishment. The girl risked a glance upwards and sideways, wondering if the smacking was over. Whether she could get up and grasp her stinging bottom. ‘I really don’t think you’ve learnt anything from yesterday’s spanking,’ the woman said, quite quietly, contemplating the pink and red blotches just appearing across the bottom bent before her. ‘Lean right down. Put your head right under the table.’ She pushed Sally down, and told her to hold the front legs of the stool with each hand. ‘Now perhaps I can really deal with your bottom…’ The smacking that followed taught Sally more than a few salutary lessons. For five long minutes, Mrs Mason saw only the upturned bottom and thighs of a cheeky young minx who needed to be put in her place.

z

It was time to see whether a simple spanking would have the desired results. ‘Stand up.’ Flustered, Sally scrambled to her feet trying not to bang her head on the wooden edging of the dressing table as she got up. ‘Why have you been punished, Sally?’ The girl stifled a sob ‘… Because I was… cheeky?… and… disobedient?’ The woman smiled slightly. Yes. Perhaps all that was needed was a good sound spanking every now and again. ‘Show me your bottom.’ The girl blushed at the order. ‘Come on. Take your hands away. Show me your bottom.’ Sally stood and waited as the woman stared at still-pink bottom-cheeks. ‘You don’t like showing your bottom to me, do you?’ The girl shook her head. ‘Well unless your behaviour improves considerably, young lady, you’re going to have to get used to it!’

Sally began to pull her knickers up, lifting the elastic away from her still-stinging bottom. ‘Not yet, Sally. Not yet.’ The knickers stayed down, a tangled knot of fabric around her knees. ‘Take your skirt off.’ Sally tried to shake her head, but Mrs Mason was insistent; and she was beginning to realise that it really didn’t pay to disobey Mrs Mason. Reluctantly, the pretty black and white dress was edged down, over her hips until it fluttered silently to the floor. ‘Now sit down. Right down. Put your bottom onto the stool. Let’s see if your smacking has really had an effect.’

Sally winced as she lowered herself down until her aching sore bottom came in contact with the surface of the stool. Padded or not, it felt so hard and cold. ‘Come on. Sit down. Put that bottom of yours down on the stool.’ It really hurt. Sally wondered just how long the sting would remain. Wondered how she would be able to sit down in the office in the morning. The woman opened the door. ‘Now just you stay there, young lady, and contemplate your future.’ Mrs Mason left, leaving the bedroom door ajar. As soon as she was alone, Sally’s tears came again. Tears this time of self-pity. And tears of annoyance, as her knickers at half-mast, dressed only in her sweatshirt and shoes she came to terms with being spanked. The bottom-smacking across Mrs Mason’s knees had been bad enough. But at least the pain had gone away quite quickly. And as soon as she’d got up, her skirt had hidden her bottom. And last night’s spanking over the stool had been awful, but at least the woman hadn’t made her bend right down. A renewed shudder of embarrassment came over her as she tried to imagine the view afforded to her landlady. Such a well-endowed young woman, bent over like that.

But strangely enough, the very worst aspect of the whole affair had not been the awful smacking. Even though her bottom still stung every time she wriggled on the stool. Much worse had been the way she had been made to take off her skirt. After all, no-one but no-one had a right to see inside a young lady’s knickers. Under any circumstances… unless in the course of… Sally felt it was an outrage. Especially as she knew the woman had taken every opportunity to look at her.

On Sunday evening, another telephone conversation. ‘Yes. Knickers and skirt right down,’ the woman assured her employer. ‘And a further mild reminder before she went to bed.’ Daniel Ward asked for details. ‘Well, bearing in mind what you said… Yes, I took her knickers right off… Yes. Across my knees, on her bed… Oh Yes, Mr Ward. She’s quite a big girl…’ In those few minutes before she was left to get undressed for bed, young Sally’s smart red shoes had been taken off. ‘Just in case you wave your legs around a little too wildly.’ And with her sweatshirt folded back halfway up her back, Sally’s mild reminder commenced. Just a brief smacking. Not intended to hurt, really. Just a reminder that Mrs Mason was the authority in this house. Reminding Sally that she could return to London at any time; and tender her resignation in person to Mr Ward.

Sally’s firm round rump wobbled and bounced under the chastisement, and Sally gasped and pleaded into the quilt covers. Somehow, try as she might, she just couldn’t keep her legs together. They just seemed to wave about in response to the woman’s firm hand. Finally, young Sally gave up. Attempts at maidenly modesty just weren’t possible when you were lying face-down across someone’s knee, and your bottom, already reddened by a sound tanning, was being smacked again. Mrs Mason sensed the girl’s defeat immediately. She stopped, but held the girl still across her lap. ‘It’s in your hands, Sally. Curb your cheek and we could make a success of you.’

That night, Sally lay face down on the top of the quilt, her long nightdress carefully folded back exposing her bottom to the soothing night air. The tears were long gone. Sally’s enquiring mind was working overtime. Mrs Mason could never be doing this at her own instigation. She’d never get away with it. She’d be fired as soon as Head Office found out what she did to her tenants. That meant that Mr Daniel Ward knew all about it. She suddenly thought about the frequent phone calls. When Mrs Mason would close the door to her drawing room and talk quietly on the phone for many minutes. She was making her report. Telling Mr Ward, perhaps, about her. Describing her spankings. Telling that man all about her big bare bottom, and the way she kicked and wriggled as the woman spanked her. As she went to sleep, there was still confusion in her mind. But a germ of an idea was also beginning to form.