An Evening at Mr Holroyd’s
Story from Janus 34 by R.T. Mason
Angela looked up at the clock. Half past six. ‘I’d
better get ready. He doesn’t like me to be late.’
Bryan grunted but went on eating his dinner and reading
the newspaper at the same time. His pretty 23-year-old wife got up and went
upstairs, where there was shortly the sound of the shower running. Bryan, also
23, went on eating and reading as if oblivious to what Angela was doing, but he
wasn’t. He was well aware that it was Wednesday evening again and he knew what
that meant. Of course there was no point getting excited, he had after all
agreed to it. All the same it was not something you could
easily ignore.
Just to prove to himself that he really didn’t mind he
shortly got up and followed Angela upstairs. In the bedroom she had just
started dressing.
She gave a groan. ‘Oh god, Bryan, you’re not going to
watch me, are you?’
Angela’s shapely form was nude apart from a white satin
suspender belt and a pair of black nylon stockings. She was holding a pair of
brief white nylon knickers and, bending to step into them, her full breasts
were pendant, the pink nipples slightly erect from the shower. Bryan felt a
twinge of lust — mingled with the sharp pang that for two hours this evening
his wife would be someone else’s plaything.
Angela slid the knickers up the shapely stocking-clad legs
and fitted them tautly over her quite full hips and bottom. She quickly took a
matching bra and harnessed the bobbing breasts. As she did so Bryan reached for
her.
‘Ange — why not tell him you’re ill or something. I… well
I feel like… you know, bed.’
Irritatedly Angela pushed her husband away. ‘Oh god Bryan!
You know I can’t. Look I wish you’d let me alone to get ready. Do we need the
money or don’t we? And if you’re feeling horny save it up till I get back — you
know it always turns you on to see me with some fresh red stripes on my bum.’
Bryan gave her a sullen look but did not stop his wife as
she proceeded to put on a white schoolgirl blouse and a short navy blue pleated
skirt, and then a red-and-mauve striped tie. She sat down at her dressing table
and tied her shoulder-length hair into two bunches with red ribbons.
Bryan looked a bit sick. ‘Whatever do you look like!’
She made a face in the mirror. ‘Like a schoolgirl I
suppose. And if you don’t like to see it why watch?’
She had a final look in the mirror, slipped on a pair of
black high-heeled shoes, and stood up. With her fresh complexion and soft full
mouth Angela did look like a schoolgirl — a rather mouth-watering Sixth Former
which was what she was supposed to be.
She turned to Bryan and put her arms round him. In a more
conciliatory tone she said, ‘Don’t worry about it, darling. I mean it’s not as
if I was on the game, is it? It’s not as if he was doing me. And we agreed we
could really use the money.’
She kissed him. ‘Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late. I’ll
see you later, OK?’
Bryan said nothing as Angela slipped on a light raincoat
and picked up her handbag, car keys and a straw boater with red-and-mauve
ribbon matching her tie.
He watched her go out. There was shortly the sound of the
car starting. He wondered whether to go out to the pub but decided he really
didn’t want to. He went downstairs and started to do the washing up.
These Wednesday evenings had been going on for six weeks
now. It had been a real shock when Angela had first mentioned it, that her
friend Jane Walters knew this man, etc, etc. And then Angela had said she
wouldn’t mind trying it, and after some discussion Bryan had agreed, as long as
the bloke wouldn’t be screwing her. After all it was Angela who would be
getting that cane on her bum.
The deciding factor had naturally been the 20 quid a time
that Angela would get. But although he had agreed to it you couldn’t be
expected to enjoy it. Especially during the actual two hours each Wednesday
evening. When she got back, though, with those red stripes on her tail, well
that was funny, he hated it but at the same time it turned him on.
----//----
It didn’t take Angela long to drive to Mr Holroyd’s, a
quarter of an hour. As usual she felt the excitement welling up as she got
closer. She had never been caned before, not before Mr Holroyd, had never
really thought about it until that day her friend Jane told her what she did
one afternoon a week. And had then asked if Angela would like to try it — Mr
Holroyd was looking for another girl and Angela was his type. It had seemed
just an impossible thing at first but then after thinking about it it hadn’t
seemed quite so bad. If that was all he wanted.
So she had plucked up courage and finally broached the
subject to Bryan. She had persuaded him to let her try, and it had started. She
had been really scared at first, and as she had thought, it hurt like hell. But
at the same time she found it stimulated and excited her — although she hadn’t
told Bryan that.
At Mr Holroyd’s she parked the car and then wearing the
light coat and carrying the hat walked up the driveway. At the back door,
hidden from the street, she put the straw hat squarely on her head and then,
heart beginning to thump, rang the bell.
It opened almost immediately. ‘Ah, Miss Simmonds. Yes, I
was expecting you of course.’
Simmonds was her unmarried name, and it seemed to take her
further than ever away from her married status, even in a way that was rather
liberating. Mr Holroyd said using that real name added potency to it. He was
sixtyish and a bit like schoolmaster although Jane said he was a retired civil
servant. The eyes behind the spectacles were bright as inside the back porch
his rather bony hands unbuttoned her coat. The hands pulled the coat apart and
Angela gave a little gasp as he took hold of both breasts through the tight
white school blouse.
‘Yes Miss. Reliable reports tell me you have been seen out
with boys. Young louts, I’ve no doubt, who’ve been allowed to maul your body
and get you all hot and excited, is that it?’
‘No sir!’ gasped Angela, flush-faced. It was almost as if
she were 17 again, and all this was for real. He sounded as if he really meant
it. Not that it had ever happened, not like this.
‘My sources, Miss Simmonds, are most reliable.’ One of the
hands left her breasts and slid down and up the front of her short school
skirt. Fingers lightly touched the bulge of her pubis through the tight nylon
knickers. They moved spider-like.
‘This, Miss. Boys getting this all
excited. Is that correct?’
‘N…no, sir,’ she felt herself trembling.
‘Turn round, Miss.’
She was breathing really fast now.
With her back facing him Mr Holroyd lifted the bottom of
the coat and Angela’s skirt. His hand took a firm hold of one nylon-clad bottom
cheek.
‘So what we will do, Miss Simmonds, is give this part
of your anatomy a warming-up. In fact I intend to warm it up so much that you
will not want to sit on it for some time to come. That is the best antidote I
know for randiness in a Sixth Former.’
The hand gave her bottom a sharp pinch and then a slap. ‘So
get into the sitting room, Miss — and get yourself ready. Look sharp!’
With a mixture of dread and excitement Angela went smartly
into the room. She knew what she had to do and she also knew what she was going
to get. It would hurt like bloody hell but at the same time she knew she would
in a way enjoy it as well as hate it.
Angela took off the coat and the straw hat. Unfastened the
skirt and stepped out of it, and then slid down the knickers and stepped out of
them. She was nude below the waist apart from the suspender belt and stockings.
Mr Holroyd standing in front of her now had the cane in his hand.
‘Yes Miss — girls who get hot between the legs need their
bottoms hotting up, I’m afraid.’
A gasp from Angela as the cane whipped out and slashed
into the side of her thigh, stinging like a wasp.
‘Get over, Miss. The usual position.’
Obediently Angela stood at the back of an upright chair
and bent forward and down so that her arms and head were down in the seat. And
her own bare seat was sticking prominently out, ripe globes awaiting the sharp
kiss of that stinging cane.
It was unceremoniously raised, and then brought swiftly
down — THWATT! squarely across the ripe rump.
‘Eeeooowwhh!!’ Angela’s yelp of agony was no way
contrived. It really bloody stung! As it always did.
THWATT! A
second awful stinger landed not far from the first line of impact. Another
agonised yell and a frenzied writhing of bare buttocks.
THWATT! ’Aaaoowwch!!’
The third was where Angela especially hated it — just below the lowest curve of
her rump at the very top of her thighs. She wriggled and desperately clenched
her buttocks in an attempt to dissipate the awful pain.
Mr Holroyd, eyes glinting and erection in full flower,
waited for the girl to get still. He loved to get a girl’s bottom really
wriggling, like a fat pale fish on a line.
THWATT! ’Aaaooowww!!’
The fourth landed on the full fat undercurve and produced another bout of
splendid bottom-writhing.
Another pause… and the cane again raised. THWATT!…
He gave her 12 in all. That was what he usually gave her —
after the first couple of times of course when she was still learning to take
it and he had restricted himself to six. In his experience 12 was what a girl
was prepared to take once she’d got used to it. Twelve good hard ones. And if
they were spread out that was the time it took for him to be ready to break
off. To call the session to an abrupt halt as he exited to the bathroom to
relieve his by now brimming arousal.
Angela, her bottom blazing from those 12 red stripes, was
briskly told she could stand up and pull up her knickers. The first part of the
ordeal was over. As Mr Holroyd went out she pulled the tight knickers up over
her hot bottom, causing it to sting even more. She thought of Bryan… and bed.
She would really feel like it when she got home, she always did, but she had
never let on to Bryan. She was pretty sure he’d hate the thought of that, her
getting turned on by Mr Holroyd’s cane. Although Bryan himself did of course.
She looked around the room, its activities hidden behind
the heavy closed curtains. Jane came here on Fridays and got the same
treatment. Jane also went to another man, Mr Warren, who wanted to have a go at
Angela as well. But Mr Warren wasn’t content with just caning, he wanted
something else afterwards. Angela couldn’t bring herself to agree to that,
although Jane didn’t seem too bothered. She didn’t tell her husband of course.
Not the truth.
Mr Holroyd was suddenly back looking a bit less intense
than when he’d gone out. ‘Haven’t you started making the coffee, Miss Simmonds?’
he asked.
Angela should have known although he hadn’t specifically
told her this time. Standing there dreaming, she had forgotten. She said ‘Sorry
sir’ and went out to the kitchen. She was still Miss Simmonds because Mr
Holroyd hadn’t finished yet. If things followed the normal routine there was
still Punishment PT to come after the coffee. When, if things ran true to his
quirky pattern, he would be addressing her as simply ‘Simmonds’.
Angela had never told Bryan about the Punishment PT. All
he knew was that she got the cane and also the strap to a certain extent.
Punishment PT in fact usually took up quite a lot of the two hours Angela was
at Mr Holroyd’s and to account for all that time Angela said they sat and
talked a bit. Well, Mr Holroyd obviously wouldn’t be caning her for two hours
non-stop, or she wouldn’t be able to stand up afterwards. But she did not enjoy
Punishment PT, which was why she didn’t tell Bryan about it.
And yes, it was to be the same routine tonight. As soon as
Mr Holroyd had finished his coffee he said, ‘Right then, Miss. Punishment PT
now!’
Angela knew what she had to do. Finishing her own coffee,
she slipped off the high-heel shoes and stood up. Standing in front of him she
took off the skirt again and also the tight white knickers. Once more she was
in just blouse, suspender belt and nylons.
Mr Holroyd told her to get into position. Obediently
Angela stood facing him a couple of feet from his chair, with her feet wide
apart and her hands on her head. Mr Holroyd proceeded to give her another
lecture, more lengthy this time, on her supposedly unladylike behaviour. As he
sternly addressed her one of his hands failed to leave her alone…
Angela couldn’t imagine that schoolmasters ever really did
this, although Jane said that at her school the games master had groped girls
whenever he got the chance. But anyway in Mr Holroyd’s prelude to Punishment PT
he always touched her while he spoke. As usual she simply tried to pretend he
wasn’t doing it, looking straight ahead and doing her best to keep still. At
last the lecture ended and the hand was taken away. It was time to start the
actual Punishment PT.
He had a set routine of exercises and as usual she had to
go through them all. On her back on the carpet cycling her legs in the air was
always the first; while Mr Holroyd stood over you with that wicked two-tongued
strap, whipping it out at bottom and thighs if you didn’t perform exactly to
his requirements. The cycling was always pretty awful, not just because she
could never do it to his satisfaction, but also because, with no knickers on,
it was such a really awful position to be made to get into.
The cycling finally finished and then there were the
others — deep knee bends; toe touching; running on the spot; high kicking. A
nonstop routine which had Angela gasping for breath, punctuated at frequent
intervals by sharp squeals as that strap snaked out. It was a performance
which, as usual, Angela did not like one little bit. And which she would try
very hard to screen out of her mind afterwards.
Mr Holroyd on the other hand found it highly arousing and
it went on until he was again close to that brimming-over stage. Then the
Punishment PT stopped, to be followed by a second caning session — four strokes
this time — after which Mr Holroyd made another prompt exit. This time at least
the evening’s activities were essentially over.
----//----
Back home Bryan was sitting on the settee watching the
telly. In an artificially bright voice she said, ‘Hello — I’m back!’
Bryan didn’t answer. Angela went to sit next to him,
forcing a kiss on him. ‘Bryan darling — I’m back! Don’t you love
me?’
He pushed her away. ‘I don’t want you going to the bloody
bloke anymore.’
Angela bit her lip. ‘Oh come on, Bryan — don’t
be silly.’ She opened her handbag and took out the four £5 notes Mr Holroyd had
given her for the evening. She handed them to Bryan but he simply threw them on
the floor.
‘I’ve had enough of it! You’re not going there anymore and
that’s final.’
Angela picked up the money and, red-faced, put it back in
her purse. He was bad-tempered at times when she got back but never as bad as
this. He seemed really mean tonight.
In bed a little later they had intercourse. Bryan couldn’t
resist that in spite of his anger. When he had finished he got off her and lay
on his back. Still breathing heavily he said, ‘Promise you won’t go there
anymore.’
There was a silence and then in a quiet voice she said, ‘OK.
If that’s what you want.’
She would promise but she didn’t mean it. She would just
have to go in the afternoon when Bryan was at work. It wasn’t only the £20, she
had got to be really aroused by it — exposing her bottom for Mr
Holroyd and then that feeling of dread and excitement as she waited for the
cane to land. Even the Punishment PT, which she wouldn’t think about — well,
especially that, really… the fact that she hated it yet he made her do it, that
was what did it for her, made her tummy turn over.
That wasn’t all. Just before she’d left Mr Holroyd tonight
he had again said that Mr Warren was very keen to see her. She had hesitated
and then finally, this time, said OK, she would see him.
She had agreed to go round to his house tomorrow
afternoon. Mr Warren was younger than Mr Holroyd, in his forties, Jane said.
And he was very dominant. Lying there next to Bryan and looking up at the
ceiling, Angela shivered.
‘So no more visits,’ repeated Bryan. ‘We don’t need that
bloody money.’
‘OK,’ she said. And then her hand reached out and her lips
closed in, needing him again. So urgently.
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