Working Weekend – Sunday

Photo-story from Janus 102 featuring Amanda King, continuing on from the previous story in Janus 101.

Pretty Brenda Watkins yawned, pushing a cloth over a grubby set of dials. Sunday morning, and back down in this grim place again. She had slept badly, tormented by dreams of the exhausting, painful and humiliating experiences endured here yesterday. Voluntarily, too! But if that had been awful, today promised to be hell.

Quite simply, Brenda wanted to keep her audio typing job in the office four floors above. She wasn’t very good at it, but it gave her pride and a sense of belonging. A good report from the caretaker, Mr Tubbs, for this weekend cleaning ordeal she had agreed to undertake was vital if her boss, Mr Meldrum, was not to fire her for incompetence, as he had often threatened.

Basically Brenda Watkins was a good girl, who did as she was told without thinking too closely about it. By nature mild and acquiescent, she had returned this morning at eight sharp in the same unseasonably skimpy clothing as yesterday. Why? Because Mr Tubbs had told her to, following the embarrassing whacking he gave her on her near-naked bottom for ‘slowness’ — in exchange for which he had let her go home early.

Now, in the dingy diesel-tanged gloom, increasingly weary as the morning wore on, Brenda rubbed and buffed with duster and cloth over more of the same surfaces that she had covered yesterday, plus others she had missed. But Mr Tubbs had not shown up.

Brilliant, she thought. Perhaps the evil perv would not turn up at all! — had got drunk on some filthy pub-crawl last night with dirty-minded friends as horrible as himself, and would be sleeping it off, slumped in disgusting repose in the foul backroom where she imagined him living. Her heart rose at the thought. Or maybe he had simply forgotten she would be here, in which case she would give it a little longer then slip away, and…

‘So youm be ‘ere, then.’ Brenda looked up in dismay on hearing the dreaded voice with its almost incomprehensible accent. How long had he been lurking behind the pipes and ducts watching her? ‘Buck yer ideas up, mi lass, or I’ll fetch a boot to yer saucy arse, right niftily at that!’

Brenda’s knees and haunches ached, her hands were sore, and her buttocks inside the achingly tight sawn-off jeans still felt tender from where he had struck them with that heavy strap. But his sudden presence galvanised her into greater activity, dusting guard-cages, buffing conduit pipes, bringing a sheen to the tiles…

Tubbs looked down at the strenuously-working girl as she knelt on the hard floor beneath him, long blonde hair shaken awry as her shapely body, unconsciously erotic, strove to please. He salivated at the sight of his very own living wet dream right there before him again — for if Brenda Watkins had been tormented by nightmares after yesterday’s events, Tubbs’s sleeping hours had been illuminated by pantingly sexual dreams of what had occurred between them.

He could never quite forget, of course, that this testicle-tingling piece of stuff had been sent to him, the firm’s cleaning contractor, by office manager John Meldrum as a very special treat. Naturally she did not know that she was the latest and greatest in a series of favours exchanged between the two like-minded, though very different men, each hoping to outdo the other in a competitive spirit. He licked cracked lips as his gaze feasted on how her hips jerked and swayed to every movement, how her tightly-clad arse wiggled and shook in the skimpy pants, and how the luscious breasts swung and thrust against the flimsy blouse.

‘Oooagh!’ He made a strange guttural sound and rolled his eyes. She paused. Was he ill? ‘Get youm on, girl!’ he snapped. ‘More elbow grease!’

Brenda sprayed polish on the greasy floor, feeling her shoulders ache more keenly as she pushed the duster faster in a hopeless effort to bring up the shine.

‘Lazy young besom, barn’t youm!’ growled Tubbs. He reached up, higher than the girl could possibly have stretched, and gathered dust from a hidden angle of machinery. Leaning down with a gloating sneer he held the dust-coated finger under her nose. ‘What be this’n, then?’ he sneered. ‘Youm s’posed to be cleaning the place, girl. This’m’s nought but disgrace, youm’s gonner have to do better if I’s to give a good report to Mr Meldrum!’

‘But it’s not fair,’ Brenda pleaded, blinking back tears of disappointment. ‘I’m doing it as hard as I can!’

Tubbs snorted — an unpleasant enough noise, but more comprehensible than his oddly-phrased verbal utterances. Brenda flinched at the expression in the pink, puffed face. She smelt the tang of oil and aluminium as he shifted his ungainly stance and planted his fists on his hips.

‘Stand up!’ Brenda did so, stretching her aching limbs. She stared in alarm as his angry features worked to form further speech. ‘Pick up yer cleaning gubbins in yownder bucket.’

Divining his meaning, the girl obliged, and Tubbs goggled at her deliciously shapely body as she stooped to put the various bottles, cloths and dusters back into the plastic bucket.

‘In my office. Now, youm idle little shirker! NOW.’

As Brenda did as bidden she noticed how the sweat gleamed on the man’s craggy brow, and that his staring eyes were glassy from some strange passion she could not comprehend. She half-hoped he was about to collapse with high blood pressure, or even heart failure, as she entered his office and put down the bucket beside what passed as a desk in this untidy, fusty-smelling room.

‘Stand there, girl!’ Brenda stood meekly as Mr Tubbs, like some grotesque headmaster from a Finishing School in Hades, lowered his bulky boiler-suited frame into a chair behind the desk. ‘Barn’t youm ‘shamed?’ he barked, scarcely glancing at the naked monochrome female smiling sexily up from the page 3 of yesterday’s newspaper. Why bother to look, when the real flesh-and-blood article was standing in front of you?

‘I-I’m doing my best,’ came the girl’s protesting whine.

‘Best? Youm don’t know what best be! Youm a slack, idle, useless besom what needs a boot up the pants!’ Tubbs paused to light a cigarette, watching her flinch from the acrid fumes. ‘Middlin’ nice pants, too,’ he added slyly. ‘Thinner’n tissue, shorter than short and tight as can be.’ A thread of saliva dribbled from his mouth.

‘It’s very, very hard!’ Brenda Watkins protested.

‘That it is, an’ all,’ he remarked, giving a sly smile.

‘I’ve done my very, very best to clean this place!’ she went on almost petulantly.

‘Well it barn’t good enough!’ Tubbs growled. ‘And youm, my girl, can get youself offa these premises. Go on, home with youm! Be sure I’ll be telling Mr Meldrum how useless youm were, so that’ll be that.’

‘No! No! It isn’t fair,’ Brenda protested with a show of spirit. ‘You’ll put in a bad report, and I’ll lose my job, and I want to keep it. It’s just not fair, I have done my best!’

Even to a man of Tubbs’s primitive instincts it was fairly obvious that the girl was about to turn on the waterworks, which would never do. The hidden video camera was in its place and whirring softly, the sound masked by the groans and hisses of the plumbing all around. He ejected a stream of smoke through gritted, uneven teeth, then leaned back. ‘Tell youm what,’ he said. ‘I’m a fair and reasonable man, don’t no one say diff’rent. So I mun be prepared to put in a passable report if us can come to an arrangement.’

Brenda Watkins stared in dismay as his ravaged features collapsed into a smirk. ‘Y-you mean like yesterday?’

Tubbs nodded. ‘Youm be brighter than Mr Meldrum gives you credit for. If youm be prepared to take a spot more punishment on that tasty bot o’youm, then I’m prepared to let you off the rest of the cleaning.’ He blasted more smoke between his teeth.

‘A-and you… will you give Mr Meldrum a good report on me?’ the girl ventured. ‘If I agree, I mean.’

‘If youm don’t agree, that’s your free choice. I mun still give a good account of youse work, but yer’ll have to work the day out.’

‘What?’

‘So there’s yer choice,’ came the gravelly tones. ‘Carries on working all day, or else takes a choice of either a little smackie-bum, or a dose of cane what I promised yesterday. Take yer pick, youm’s free as a bird to go.’

Brenda’s eyes widened in unhappy contemplation of the alternatives. ‘If it is just a spanking,’ she said doubtfully, ‘it won’t hurt as much as the cane. Only I really don’t think I can work any more — I’m aching all over…’

‘A spanking it be, then.’ Tubbs rose, stiffly, inwardly exulting. ‘On youm’s pretty beam-end, now. Youm knows the part I mean.’

‘On my…’

‘Say it!’ His heart set off at a canter.

‘My bottom?’ Joy flittered through Tubbs’s crude soul like an exotic butterfly in an abattoir as he excitedly placed his chair where the hidden camera could see it better. ‘Please don’t smack too hard.’ Brenda Watkins’s pleading voice echoed around the bleak walls and into the sensitive microphone. ‘It still hurts from yesterday.’

Tubbs was already sitting on the chair. ‘We’ll ‘ave them shorts down, for starters,’ he said. ‘Turn you this way — thaa’s right…’ His shaking fingers unbuckled the belt and tugged the denim skimpies down her long graceful legs to drop in a heap around her ankles.

His clammy hands touched and clutched, causing Brenda to tense as she felt his fingers on the flesh of her leg and left buttock, probing the springy softness.

She winced, hearing him gasp, but endured it without complaint. Best to get it over with!

She felt the stubby fingers squeeze there again, and then she was sinking awkwardly across his thighs till her weight was supported by them and his palm was pressing down in an intimate way on her buttocks and the small of her back.

‘Not too hard,’ she whimpered again.

Tubbs positioned the girl across his lap, feeling her silky skin beneath his stroking hands. Bloody lovely, it was — a sodding dream coming true all over again. How the hell was he going to live without this in the future? He gave a slap to the petal-soft moons, watching how they quivered.

Then he raised his hand high and began to spank in earnest. Smack, smack, smack: deep, resonant juicy impacts that brought gasps and little squeaks from the girl. She shifted, pressed down on his lap, as the spanks began to change from tingles to stings to scorches, and it seemed to Norman Tubbs that his senses were starting to float.

Smack, smack, slap. His left slid beneath her body the better to hold her, and as his right palm swung and pounded with luscious noises over every quivering inch of her buttocks, his left hand found other treasures, ‘accidentally’ nudging against her breasts to the squirming movements she made.

Smack-smack-slap-smack-spank! Brenda was in a haze of pain and embarrassment. After the first few impacts of his leathery hand against her bottom-cheeks the separate stinging shocks seemed to coalesce into a single, growing fire-pool. Smack-smack-slap. His obscene grunts, the muscular movements of his thighs beneath her tummy and groin were horrible enough, as was the way his palm seemed to linger and squeeze for a fleeting instant after every smack, as if to rub the sting even deeper into her bottom.

But she could feel, too, how his left hand began to push at her breasts. But even worse, as she was jerked inwards against him during the movements of their bodies while he spanked and groped, there was the unmistakable sensation of something rigid pushing against her naked hip.

Smack, slap, spank, SMACK! Brenda’s face was as hot with shame as her bottom was hot with the fiery rain of his walloping hand-slaps, during which his other hand began to squeeze and grope more at her breasts, and the pressure against her hip seemed to grow firmer and stronger. Another scalding slap. Brenda kicked a leg up behind her and gave a mortified shriek.

‘No! No more! NO!’

Tubbs paused, panting. The hidden camera quietly whirred. ‘I barn’t hardly begun yet,’ he grunted, resting a hand on the back of her upper thigh and squeezing, squeezing and stroking…

‘No. Please.’ Brenda struggled to find words. She knew that when her boyfriend did certain things — well, that was different. Now tension cramped her stomach. She jerked her body away. ‘No more spanking,’ she gasped. ‘I-I made a mistake…’

‘Get you ‘ome, then,’ Tubbs said heavily. ‘A little bit longer and I could’ve ge’en youm a good report. Pity. Still…’ He let the girl up, giving a final squeeze that made her flinch. ‘Be sure I’ll let Mr Meldrum know.’

‘I’ll have the cane.’

‘Wha’?’ Tubbs stared at her, hardly daring to hope he had heard correctly.

‘I didn’t know that spanking would be so…’ Brenda could not help a grimace of disgust. She wanted only to be away from this man, but she also wanted to come in to the office tomorrow without facing dismissal from Mr Meldrum. ‘So I’ll take the cane. Not too many. And then it’ll be finished.’

Tubbs struggled to calm his heaving senses. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If it’s what youm wants…’ He stood up. ‘Stand youm against the table there and bend forrard over it.’

The girl did so, with evident apprehension. From behind his desk Tubbs now produced the cane he had shown her yesterday. It was light and whippy, with a satisfying shiver when he shook it. He looked at the girl’s rounded arse, so provocatively presented to him — nigh on naked, rosy from the slaps and pinches it had already received. Her legs looked good, too. He yearned to get down on all fours and lick them. Lick them all the way up, and then all over the ripe soft mounds of that fantastic, fabulous, beautiful…

‘Push it out, girl! I want ter see it up — nice and round.’

Brenda obeyed, arching her spine more so that her hips rose and pushed her bottom out. She shut her eyes, buttocks twitching in dreadful anticipation.

Crack! It sounded like a gunshot, and she hardly heard it coming. But she felt it. The first stroke took her full across the meat of her bottom, a brief burning streak. Even before her gasp was fully expressed, Tubbs had brought back his arm and swung in a second time.

The springy stick snicked wickedly in, imprinting its shape across both rosy buttocks again. He was rewarded, as the cane sprang away, with a high-pitched cry and a drumming of her feet on the floor. ‘Hold youm still!’ he ordered, transported to a plane where fantasy merged with reality.

Swish-thwack; swish-crack; swish-CRACK! The sounds rang out loud and harsh as he continued to bring the cane smartly down across that maddeningly erotic target: whop-whop-whoppings punctuated by girlish gasps, whimpers and squeals. He was not caning especially hard for, gross though his thoughts usually were, Tubbs found himself applying the stick with the same sort of consideration he might have given to something uniquely special which he did not want to damage.

But for Brenda Watkins, bent humiliatingly across the desk, her world was filled with a succession of pain-filled heat-flashes through her out-pushed rear and the noise of her chastiser’s odious gruntings. Amongst the other sounds in that bleak room she was vaguely aware of a soft whirring nearby, but her unsuspicious mind would never have related it to the purring of a video camera. Purely and simply she was being punished. On her bottom. And it hurt. But it meant that she could go home soon. And keep her job.

Crack! ’Owww!’ Another stroke drove into the soft underfolds at the base of her buttocks, adding its fire to the conflagration elsewhere.

Whop-whack. ‘Push that arse up! Out! Out! Out!’ His hoarse instructions reached her, causing her again to strain her bottom backwards like a sacrificial offering. The cane struck again, making another track of stinging pain which brought tears to the brink, blinked back, lip bitten hard to keep them from spilling…

Thwish-thwack! Brenda rapidly drummed her feet, as if to shake the blaze from her burning bottom. It certainly hurt a lot more than she’d thought, but at least his horrible hands weren’t on her any more, slimily squeezing…

Thwack! ’Ahhhh!’ Her fists clenched and unclenched on the desktop. She kicked up her leg, rubbed ankles frantically together. No more. Please, no more…

For the timeless moments it took him to administer a dozen swift, accurate strokes to that glorious arse of a thousand masturbatory fancies, Norman Tubbs forgot about his own empty existence, the dead-end job he would be in until retirement, the smarmy smart-suited Meldrum from the office and their constant quest to outdo each other in raunchy ‘treats’. He forgot the whirring camera, and how he planned to ply Meldrum with a copy of the tape so he would have to come up with something even more special next time…

No. Tubbs saw only this gorgeous fair-headed girl bent bare-bottomed beneath him, bucking and jerking to his stinging cane-strokes. For the moment she was his girl, his fairy-bleedin’-princess with her pants down having her tasty arse tanned before giving her all to him with sighs and kisses…

Whack! The final stroke sang through the air and snapped across twin pillows of reddened flesh, and his beauty whimpered and gasped. Then, quite suddenly, his arm had no more strength.

For several seconds Brenda Watkins was unable to move from the desk. Her bottom throbbed and burned. When she felt his coarse hand on her right buttock, softly squeezing, she was surprised to find the sensation almost pleasant.

But the hand moved on to her left buttock, caressed her leg, and his stubby fingers were threatening to probe into crevices that concealed her private places.

And still she stayed there, seemingly frozen, stomach knotted. She could not understand the gentleness of his clammy, vulgar touch, nor the heavy sigh he heaved. She did not know why he left her then and walked away, leaving her bending across his grubby desk in his grim little room, hot and hurt from shame and pain.

At last she stood up. In sudden panic to be as far away from this revolting man as possible she did not even pause to put on her shorts, but snatched them up and hastily climbed the wooden steps, appalled and elated in equal measure because although she would never forget how horrible this had been, she knew now that she would keep her typing job. The irony of the notice ‘Mind Your Head’ at the top of the stairway was lost on Brenda Watkins: it was her bottom she minded about…

In Mr Tubbs’s office the hidden camera continued to whirr, recording the empty space where a simple girl had been punished and a stupid old bastard had fallen in love.

The camera continued to operate till the end of the tape. But no one came to switch it off.