Acacia Avenue

A nice story from Roué 2. Sadly no pictures.

The little upstairs room is bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, shining on the yellow patterned wallpaper and glinting on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles behind which two bright and eager eyes stare unblinkingly. A bird twitters outside, and the sound of the steady flow of traffic floats in through the half-open window. Quietly, the softest and most poignant of sounds, a half-stifled catching of the breath whispers from between two petulant lips. Two eyes, red-rimmed yet alarmingly pretty, wander from the close-up texture of the sunlit wallpaper to the shiny leather strap which pat-pat-pats against the coverlet of the bed, and then to the ticking bedside clock, and finally to the eyes which still glitter menacingly behind the spectacles.

‘P-please —?’

The eyes flicker to her face.

‘What is it?’

‘Can I p-pull my knickers up now please?’

‘Have you learnt your lesson then?’ The bright eyes glance back to the full, sun-bathed swell of her naked buttocks, dappled hotly with the scarlet glow of a freshly punished bottom, framed above by the delicately-laced edge of a white cotton underslip, held obediently up around her full hips, and underscored below by the clear and simple brevity of white nylon knickers, untidily arranged around the tops of firm and youthful thighs as if by someone in a hurry.

‘Y-Yes. I think so.’

The two warm and glowing cheeks quiver as she moves slightly, as if pleading the case of a lesson learned, of a naughty girl well spanked, of a penitent asking pardon.

‘You think so?’ The voice teasing, menacing. ‘You mean you’re not sure? You mean perhaps your bottom would like another taste of —’

‘N-no! No, please don’t. I’ve learnt my lesson, I have, I have!’

The strap stops its pat-patting. Two feet shush across the carpet. The girl half-turns, twisting round, her eyes big and frightened, never leaving the strap. Her knickers, disturbed from their precarious lodgement around her bare thighs, slip half an inch, cling momentarily, then start to slither slowly down her legs. Automatically she presses her thighs together. Her knickers stop their silky descent.

‘N-no, pleeeeeease!’

Yet she stays in her corner, holds up her slip, leaves her naked bottom helpless and unprotected, obedient despite the pleading in her eyes.

His hand lights fondly on the under-curve of one plump cheek, strokes around the swell, feeling its weight, tracing the slightly raised and visibly reddened marks as they curve across her strap-kissed bottom. The leather brushes threateningly against her thigh, its touch chill and shiny. She withers away from its cold caress, her bottom more prominently offering as she bends her knees a little in an effort to evade the all too familiar contact.

The exploratory hand cups up under each cheek in turn, each resilient buttock trembling as it is patted and fondled.

His voice is quiet, cajoling, his breath impinging on her ear.

‘Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right my little sweetheart, your bottom says it can’t be quite, quite certain that this little girl has learnt her lesson to perfection.’

‘Ooooooh, no, please d-don’t strap m-me any more!’

Another hand, confident and no-nonsense, rests briefly on the smooth warmth of her bare tummy, and then glides unhurriedly down the angle of a thigh, tickling through soft curls and then delving intimately into the satiny apex of her legs.

‘Oh — Ooooh!’ The two pretty eyes close, thighs slide against each other in a moment’s reluctance, then surrender sweetly, edging apart and admitting the tormenting fingers. He teases her with tiny nibbling movements of his fingertips until she can’t help but worm lewdly and rhythmically, her hips swivelling slowly in time with his prompting.

‘Oooooh — oh, please —!’

The leather smacks smartly up under her proffered bottom, the sound stingy and crisp. She wriggles away from the strap, gasping through parted lips, but the demanding fingertips coax her back.

‘That’s a good girl.’

Another spank, she squirms forward, impaling herself on his hand.

‘Oh Christ — ooooo — ooh!’

He straps her slowly and methodically. Her knees begin to buckle and she sags against him, panting her almost indecipherable pleas.

‘Ooh, my b-bum! Ooh — please — s-stop, stop!’

She wilts, her body melting under her, her bottom a startling glow of crimson strap marks, aflame in the rays of the sunlight through the window. With a last desperate gasp, and a tiny shriek of ecstasy, she shudders helplessly to her climax.

The strap is laid on the bed, the spectacles glint with satisfaction. Janet kneels exhausted, her forehead resting against the yellow-patterned wall, her slip slithering down from around her waist and veiling the hot, punished skin of her bright-blotched bottom save for a crescent curve of one firm cheek which continues to smoulder tenderly in brilliant contrast to the virginal white. She groans in an undertone, and her hips still move in a slow, languorous shimmy while the last ecstatic fires flicker still in her loins.

The door clicks discreetly. He leaves her to come round in her own time and walks along the landing and down the fourth-floor flight of stairs, narrow and treacherous on the bend. None of the other tenants seem to be about. Probably at work, most of them, in the middle of the afternoon. No one likely to have heard Janet as she paid her dues.

Funny girl, Janet. Doesn’t understand herself, that’s for sure. Just as well he does.

He passes along the second floor landing and starts down the last flight of stairs. A door opens behind him. Self-consciously he slips the folded strap into his pocket where it makes an unsightly bulge.

‘Mr Anderson!’

‘Yes?’ It’s Jenny, room seven.

‘Don’t you want this?’ She waves something in her hand. His weak eyes can’t identify it.

‘What is it?’

‘Money. It’s rent day Mr Anderson, or had you forgotten?’

Rent day, yes of course, it’s rent day. Little Janet upstairs knows all about it being rent day.

Jenny comes precipitately down the stairs two at a time, her tight jeans creasing and darting back and forth across the tops of her thighs making the fat little bulge seem to pout tantalisingly. She holds out the money, folded inside her rent book, and laughs in a tinkling, girlish way.

‘Don’t say you don’t want it after all the effort I’ve had scraping it together!’

He smiles and takes her book.

‘Having money troubles then?’

‘I’ll say! If things don’t start looking up soon I’ll have to start taking in lodgers myself.’

Her grin is impish. With her short blonde hair it makes her look pert and elfin-like. Childishly she swings around the corner banister while he finds a pen and acknowledges receipt of the money. Her jeans are stretched tight across her round little bottom as she oscillates to and fro around the banister, which creaks under the impetus of her movement. The central seam at the back of her jeans pulls snugly in between the two firm buttocks, separating them into a pair of blue denim apples.

‘Well now, if ever you get really stuck — you know, can’t afford the rent, things like that — well don’t be afraid to come and talk about it with me. I won’t bite you, y’know.’

His hand, seeking to brush confidentially across her bottom as she swings by, pats presumptuously and lingers a moment longer than discretion might decree.

Jenny’s pretty face loses some of its gaiety. Her eyes meet his for a moment and then avoid his gaze. He returns her rent book.

‘Thanks. Er — see you next week then.’

‘Yes.’

‘Bye.’ Without looking back she runs up the stairs, her denim cheeks bouncing with a fluid solidity that his eye can’t help but follow.

He turns and continues down the stairs, undiscouraged. The important thing is that the seed is sown. She’ll have him marked down as a dirty old man and will go out of her way to avoid him, which is as it should be. Because, when she comes, which she will eventually, she’ll come in the full knowledge that there will be a price to pay. She’ll bluff and prevaricate and pretend to be shocked, but he’ll know that she wouldn’t have come at all if she hadn’t already decided that the price might be worth paying. Yes, the seed is sown. The harvest might be a good one.

----//----

He opens the door that leads to the back of the house downstairs. His own private part quite separate from the rest of the house with its dozen or so bedsits.

The heavy drone of a vacuum cleaner reverberates through the rooms. He goes into the study and locks the money away in a heavy metal box, then goes to look for a cup of coffee. He finds Kathy in the lounge, charging around with the cleaner and all but demolishing the legs of a William-and-Mary cabinet. Oblivious to his presence, she continues to intimidate the rest of the furniture. He stands in the doorway and as she moves into the sunlight from the window he can see the pale, bluish traces of Monday’s caning delicately decorating the overlap of her bum cheeks where the silly little knickers, too tight and incongruous with their dainty pink flowers quite fail to encompass the full country-girl robustness of her firm young buttocks.

Knowing the extent to which he can take liberties with her, he stalks her and then as she stoops to pick up a stray piece of paper, takes a nice fat pinch of a plump buttock and squeezes it wickedly.

Kathy jumps visibly and clutches at her injured bottom. Her full breasts tremble in their half-cups as she swings round to confront him with a pained look on her lace.

His mouth moves soundlessly.

Kathy switches off the vacuum cleaner and it whines into silence.

‘I said I know you’re used to wrestling with sheep and pigs down on the farm Kathy, and with men who keep their wellies on in bed, but do you think you could be a little more considerate of my furniture?’

‘Well I’m sorry Mr Anderson, but I thought I’d better get it done early today you see.’ One hand hovers gingerly behind her still. ‘You didn’t half pinch my bum,’ she complains.

‘I’ll do more than that if you start wrecking my home my girl! Now put that instrument of torture away and get me some coffee.’

With a petulant look on her face, Kathy drags the cleaner guiltily out of the room, her firm, bouncy bottom wobbling faintly with every step. A clatter ensues in the kitchen and Mr Anderson winces. A little later Kathy returns, carrying a cup of coffee. He takes it and goes over to the window where he stands, sipping from his cup. Kathy fusses with ornaments.

‘Why did you want to finish early today Kathy?’

‘I’m on duty at eight — nights this week — but I want to wash my hair before I go.’

‘Oh. I see.’ He puts his cup down. ‘Actually I find it surprising that they let student nurses do night duty. I mean, isn’t it rather a heavy responsibility for a girl of your age?’

‘Not really. There’s always a ward sister, or a staff nurse.’ She looks pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Um — if it’s alright then, I’ll get along.’

He lets her get as far as the door.

‘Ah — I don’t seem to see Willie anywhere in here Kathy.’

Kathy stops. Slowly she half-turns and looks back over her shoulder.

‘I — I didn’t th-think —’

‘Really? Why ever not?’

‘Well, I thought — since I g-got walloped Monday —’

‘For a good reason, Kathy. And just because I caned you on Monday that’s no reason why I shouldn’t cane you again today is it?’

‘But — I haven’t done anything to be c-caned for Mr Anderson.’

‘So why do you think I usually punish you then?’

Kathy’s attractive young face betrays a certain puzzlement as she tries to find an answer. ‘I — I don’t really know Mr Anderson. I always thought it must be because you weren’t happy with the way I looked after your place.’

He smiles. Kathy smiles wanly too, though she doesn’t know why.

‘Nonsense. I cane you because you’ve got a lovely big whippable bottom — that’s why. Which is also why I have you do the housework in just your bra and pants. Because I like to see you half-naked. It gives me an appetite Kathy.’

‘B-but I don’t do anything wrong, d-do I? I mean, I try very hard —’ Her eyes drop to the floor. ‘I — I don’t like the cane, Mr Anderson. I — I hate it.’ She looks up pleadingly at him with her soft eyes.

‘There’s an easy answer Kathy.’ His voice is reasonable, understanding. ‘Pay your rent. Then you wouldn’t have to have your bottom caned, would you?’

‘But I can’t — student nurses don’t get paid very much.’

‘You could live in the nurses’ home.’

‘I s’pose I could — but I don’t seem to get on with most of the other girls. I’m not used to living in town, you see. I — I’m just an ordinary girl used to country ways. Some of the others treat me as though I’m daft.’

He speaks kindly enough, but his intentions haven’t changed.

‘Well then — I don’t think you have much alternative, do you?’

‘I — I s’pose not.’ Her pretty lips pout softly. ‘D’you — want me to — um —?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. But first you’d better fetch Willie.’

‘Oh — it — it’s over there. I hid it behind them books on that shelf.’

‘Fetch him for me then Kathy, there’s a good girl.’

Sulkily, unwillingly, Kathy goes to the shelf and after some rummaging produces Willie, who quivers eagerly in her hand as if anxious to wrap himself warmly around her beautifully embraceable bottom. She gives him reluctantly to her landlord.

‘Now then —’ A crooked finger beckons. Kathy’s feet shuffle her within reach. He arranges it so that she is standing in the fullness of the sunlight, the rays picking out a pale, tenuous halo around her limbs and her strong young body. Self-assured fingers tuck under elastic, pretty pink-flowered panties are peeled down from two deliriously round and weighty buttocks, the knickers lingering between the cheeks until they are pulled free with a finger. The faint, fading traces of Kathy’s Monday caning curve and cross and intermingle, tingeing the plump, receptive underside of her firm buttocks a delicate mauve.

‘Touch your toes.’

‘Oh — do I h-have to Mr Anderson? I don’t want to be caned!’

‘Bend over Kathy. A big girl like you — I’m surprised at you.’

The heavy curve of the reluctant girl’s bottom cheeks smoothes out into a longer sweep of pink, tremulous buttocks, the tracery along the soft overhang elongating as it conforms to the stretch of her skin, the faint lines glowing in luminous shades from palest Wedgewood to dappled violet as the sunlight caresses the mutely remonstrating cheeks.

The cane slips through his palm and is laid like a long, cool finger across Kathy’s unhappy bottom. She shivers dismally and her cheeks twitch a little as she nips her buttocks together. The cane taps irritably up under the curve of her bum.

‘Don’t do that Kathy, there’s a good girl. It’s not nearly so satisfying.’

‘Oooh —’ She’s as nervous as a kitten. Her eyelids flutter wildly.

The cane slaps again, patting the un-cooperative nates.

‘Come on now Kathy, do as you’ve been told.’

As if heaving a resigned sigh the bending cheeks relax.

‘Right —’

The sibilant whisper arcs through the air, flashing for an instant in the sun before it alights with a smart crack and delivers its carefully measured dose of disciplinary sting.

‘Oooh — ooo!’ Kalhy’s gasped reiteration that she doesn’t like the cane. Her cheeks tremble as they settle down to wait miserably for the next stroke.

‘Nice?’

‘Oooh — ooogh!’

Whack! Hard and sprung tightly across the tenderest parts.

‘Oh God —!’

Thwack!

‘Oow! Ooo — no!’

Switt!

‘Oooo — please! No more please!’

Her anguished bottom jiggles as she swerves away from the promise of the cane’s next caress. He lets her wriggle. The red tramlines well rapidly across the two mobile and undisciplined cheeks. Kathy knows the alternative. The choice is hers, and he doesn’t mind waiting.

‘H-how m-many?’ she pleads.

He can afford to tease.

‘D’you mean how many more, or how many altogether?’

‘Oooh — how many m-more.’

‘I thought twelve would be a nice number.’

The cane strokes up and down each obediently offered cheek, seeking the beginnings of the tight-grouped lateral ridges and teasing them with its soothing coolness.

‘More?’

‘No, altogether.’

‘Eight — eight more?’

‘Yes. Just about right for a big strong country girl like you.’

‘Ooh — I — can’t!’

Her ears catch the whisper, but too late.

Whack!

‘Ow! No, don’t. I can’t!’

Crack!

‘Ooogh!’

‘Six more Kathy.’

She stumbles tearfully to her feet. Her knickers cling on hopefully just under the swell of her scarlet-blossoming bum.

‘No — please — I — I don’t want any more, please!’

The cane loiters smugly in his hand, quivering as it lusts after the soft plumpness of her bare and inviting thighs.

‘Kathy —’ His voice is low-pitched and ominous.

‘N-no. Please, not my bum, not any more.’ She looks pleadingly at him, her breasts tremble as she heaves a long, shivering sigh.

‘Turn round Kathy.’ Matter of fact, but with a threatening note underlying the words.

‘Oh —’ The cane twitches expectantly. Kathy half-turns away from him, reluctant but unable to help herself. Her eyes stare helplessly back over her shoulder.

‘Bend over.’

‘P-please —’

Swhit! Kathy’s soft thighs jump as the cane swishes lightly across them both together.

‘Oooh! Mr Anderson —’

Swatt!

‘Bend over.’ Patiently repeated. The cane hovers menacingly.

‘Can’t I —?’

Swhipp!

‘Over!’

‘Ooo!’ But she begins to stoop, her punished bottom pushing hesitantly out behind.

The cane kisses the backs of her thighs again, light but stinging. She squirms, but obediently reaches down and rests her hands on her knees, her legs slightly bent, the faint red lines showing like long, warm finger marks on her thighs.

‘Legs straight. Come on now Kathy, be a good girl.’

Her legs make the effort. Her bottom offers itself hopelessly.

He flexes the cane between his hands, making her wait for it, giving her time to elect for the alternative that she doesn’t want to admit to preferring. Which is why she goes through this charade, this pretence of virginal modesty. She wants to convince him, and herself, that when at last she gives in it’s because she has to. She can pretend that because of his beastliness she has no option. Her brightly crimsoned bottom cheeks ask mutely for just one more stroke, the one that will be the key to unlock her inhibitions.

The cane sizzles in a hushed whisper and smacks solidly across the very crown of both blushing cheeks.

‘Oooogh! Oooo — I — I —’

‘What Kathy? You want some more — is that what you’re trying to say?’

‘N-no!’ She half-stands, her hands touching tentatively at her hot buttocks. ‘Can’t I come back, Mr Anderson? Can’t I come back later?’

‘D’you want to Kathy?’ The cool cane plays a teasing game of snuggling up under the outswell of her tender cheeks.

‘Yes — p-please!’

The cane sinks, as if with regret, and nuzzles his trouser leg.

‘Very well then, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

Kathy can’t meet his eyes, but now she can play her game of helpless innocent. ‘I — I’ll have to. My poor bum —’ At least she doesn’t feel guilty about it. She can be Beauty, ravished by the Beast.

He confiscates her knickers, then lets her dress. The knickers are his hostage, and her bare bottom will remind her all night of the ordeal — or will it be ecstasy — to come.

‘You’ll need my key.’ He gives it to her. ‘I dare say I’ll still be in bed when you come off duty in the morning. Just let yourself in — oh, and you can bring me some coffee before you get into bed.’

Kathy leaves, eyes averted. He sits down and thinks of her coming back in the morning and wonders whether she understands herself the way he understands her. He doubts it, even after all this time — what is it, six months now? Funny girl, Kathy. A bit like the other one upstairs. Janet.

He looks down the list of rents still to be collected. Linda, in number eleven. Now, she didn’t pay last week…