A Double Reckoning 1

Photo-story from Janus 119 with the delightfully pert-bottomed Tiffany Reed

There had been a time in Hilary Hanbury-Boyce’s earlier life when she was as affronted by her husband’s chauvinistic views concerning the female of the species as she was attracted by his air of absolute authority. Even when Hilary was his sweet young bride, the doughty old soldier had been well into his middle years; and on the first occasion he had found it necessary to upbraid her for some misdemeanour, she had felt her insides melt with thrills.

Yet Hilary had been a stranger to his kind of discipline, and when the Brigadier announced that he would have to spank her, she was so shocked she almost fainted. He had made her report to him at a set time in his leather-and-tobacco-smelling inner sanctum, and confess her offence. He had thereupon lain her across his knees and raised her dress, then caressed the cheeks of her tender young bottom with such thoroughness that she almost orgasmed against his thighs. The sensation had, for Hilary, been overwhelming. As was the punishment that followed, in which her pampered buttocks became pummelled and blasted by such searing pain that she hadn’t sat down for several hours afterwards, and had cried herself to sleep that night.

Yet the combined afterglow had been sensational. From that occasion on she became as great a devotee of corporal punishment as he. Brigadier Hanbury-Boyce had been an enthusiastic advocate of the cane, and many a time had his enchanting wife sprawled across his desk as the whippy shaft struck against her softly rounded nether-cheeks.

And yet she’d always bridled at his assertion that young women were ‘made for pleasure’. That their ‘dreamy curves and nubile softnesses combined with their propensity to taunt and tease’ rendered them natural targets of rigorous buttock-chastisement. At the time when she had challenged such assertions, Hilary herself was just such a female as her husband was describing, and objected to being regarded as little more than a pleasure-fount.

How long ago it all seemed now. The Brigadier lay with his ancestors conducting military campaigns on that great battlefield in the sky, while time had turned her into a middle-aged woman of almost matronly aspect. Few could know how much her bottom still yearned for the searing kiss of the rod or the fiery thunderclaps of a vigorous spanking.

Yet it seemed that, at his passing, the Brigadier had breathed some of his dominating spirit into Hilary, for it had been her greatest pleasure in the years since to adopt the role of chastiser. She especially loved to punish young women, and it made her smile to think how much her views had changed. Young females, petal-fresh and fragrant as Springtime, were indeed, as she had come to realise, ‘made for pleasure’, while the exquisite curves of their bottoms were made for caressing and spanking. Her husband had surely been right.

Still living in the Old Hall, with sufficient inherited wealth to see to all her comforts, Hilary had developed something of a ‘lady of the manor’ status in the village, with a penchant for spanking that required frequent expression, and the pert backsides of many a local maidservant, check-out girl and saucy hoyden had burned and prickled to her stern attentions over the years.

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‘What is your name, girl?’ Now here was another to add to her treasure trove. This one looked sulky. Not yet nineteen, skin like silk and an apple fragrance all her own. Hilary could almost taste her. It was absurd, but her mouth was actually watering. Certainly she would very soon be feeling that delicious young flesh, tracing its curves with her fingers and palms, testing its springiness and likely reception to punishment.

‘Tiffany, Madam. Tiffany Reed.’

Hilary almost laughed. Even the name was perfect! A simple little farmer’s daughter from down the road, but with the looks of a film star and the name of a supermodel. Heavens, she looked more delightful in that cheap mini-frock and clumpy pair of trainers than many a woman would look after spending a fortune on haute couture.

After the miscreant’s nervous arrival, she had made her sit alone in the parlour for a good twenty minutes to contemplate with growing anxiety what might be in store for her.

‘Your father sent you to me, I believe.’ Hilary entered the room carrying one of her late husband’s black leather slippers. Her own behind had felt it many times in the past, and knew just how much pain could be packed into that smooth, well-worn sole.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Was that the hint of a smirk as the girl glanced at the slipper? Oh, this one was going to be a joy to deal with! Her father was a burly, ruddy-faced man with a small vocabulary. How on earth could such an uncouth being have spawned this angel? If he had taken his belt to his daughter’s backside she would have needed to use ice cubes and lotions on it for at least a week afterwards. Perhaps it was why his wife had suggested this alternative course. Clearly, Hilary’s reputation was becoming common knowledge.

‘What did you do, Tiffany, to merit being sent to me for punishment?’

The girl looked uncomfortably at her feet. ‘I stopped out all night at a rave with my boyfriend. It was six in the morning before I got back. Dad caught me, he was doing the milking. Said he and Mum hadn’t slept all night from worry.’

‘Ah, the old favourites,’ sighed Hilary to herself. ‘They never let you down’ She let the silence spread a little, then walked around the girl to look her up and down.

‘Your hair looks a mess,’ she said. ‘How dare you come here looking like that!’ Some women I know, whispered Hilary’s traitorous inner voice, might spend a hundred pounds in a West End salon and come out looking a good deal worse.

‘Sorry, ‘M. I’d only just washed it when Dad and Mum got me to come up here and see you.’

‘Let’s have a look at the target area, shall we?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You will be,’ Hilary snapped. ‘I’m talking about your bottom. Turn round, girl.’

Slightly flustered, Tiffany did so. The woman lifted the flimsy little skirt and gazed at the sleek, trim, tightly voluptuous girl-arse. Oh God, Hilary could feel the excitement mounting already. Encased in skin-tight panties that clung lovingly to the glorious rumpy rounds, Tiffany Reed’s bottom was one to dream on, write poems about. Hilary ran trembling fingers over its fleecy surface as once the Brigadier had done to hers. She felt the girl tense and clench her buttocks.

‘Relax them,’ breathed Hilary, peering closer and digging her fingers into the delicate softness. ‘You really do have one of the most beautiful bottoms I have ever seen.’

The girl relaxed as bidden. She began to smile to herself. The old girl was as much of a perv than the man in the off-licence with his lechings and attempts to touch! This was going to be a walk…

‘And I’m going to take the greatest pleasure in thrashing it so soundly you won’t sit down for a week on it!’ added Hilary suddenly, straightening and gripping the startled girl by the chin. ‘You can wipe that smirk off your face, young lady, because by the time you leave here today you’ll know better than to go gallivanting off all night and scaring the wits out of your parents. Get over my knee at once. NOW!’

Hilary sat on the couch and pulled the startled girl forward over her knees, revelling in the feel of her warm weight settling across her. She lifted the hem of the skimpy dress up the slender back to expose again that beautiful arse tightly dissected by the clinging panty-fabric. Lifting her right hand and stiffening the palm, Hilary brought it down with a satisfying clap across the firm young bottom. Tiffany jerked and yelped, and the woman smacked down harder, making those excited little gasps that had become a feature of her punishments.

Soon her hand was rising and falling with the speed and force of a flail on those enchanting buttocks, compressed as they were by the tightness of the knickers. Wickedly saucy knickers, Hilary noted, with warmth radiating through her at every smack.

The girl began to struggle and whimper as the stinging heat built up in her bottom. For a moment, in a kind of panic, Tiffany tried to struggle up from the meaty platform of the woman’s thighs, but yelped loudly as the punishing palm walloped down on the backs of her thighs like flashes of fire. ‘You-will-stay-right-there-and-receive-your-punishment,’ Hilary grated, each word accompanied by another hefty slap.

Although having been fairly sure what form her correction was likely to take, Tiffany had expected hardly more than a few feeble slaps on the bum that she could giggle about later with friends. The reality was proving very different: the intensity of the pain blazing through her bottom was almost unbelievable, and she found herself squirming around on her chastiser’s lap, yowling and yelping.

‘That’s right,’ grunted Hilary, delivering another flurry of spanks. ‘Make a noise like a cat on the tiles — you little she-cat stop-out!’

Hilary paused. Becoming aware that her hand was stinging from the full-blooded smacks it had delivered to the girl’s knickered rump, she took up the Brigadier’s trusty old slipper and set it to work. As the broad leather sole struck in with echoing whacks across the rapidly reddening cheeks, the girl screeched and kicked; and as the smarting in her rear intensified, she uttered a most unladylike epithet.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Hilary Hanbury-Boyce, her faintly scandalised tones rising. ‘I don’t think that word is quite appropriate, young lady. You will now be punished for using it in my presence. How dare you?’

In fact, Hilary had reached her favourite moment. She had been aching to see that rudely robust girl-bottom bared in all its splendour. She ran hungry fingers over the springy orbs, enjoying the other’s squirmings across her lap, then gripped the top of the provokingly tight panties and slowly peeled them down to fully expose Tiffany’s naked behind.

The girl groaned at this ultimate humiliation, then howled at the first resounding slap of the slipper. Hilary set up a cracking rhythm with the Brigadier’s favourite ‘naughtiness corrector’, delighting in every impact against the girl’s bare buttocks, watching them bounce and redden more deeply, the soft flesh spreading and flattening at each splatting impact, then quivering back to their full rounded shapes before the next loud smack set them into motion again.

Hilary loved the physical intimacy of a spanking. As Tiffany bore, with squeals and grunts, the furious slippering that seemed to simultaneously scald and numb her tender bottom, the girl felt a burning glow spreading from the middle of her bottom-cheeks to her extremities. It was weird and wild, unbelievable. She began to jerk and rock back and forth, as if rubbing the centre of her excitement against the lady’s thigh. Musky dampness added to the heady mix of the girl’s gasps of pain and protest, the ambivalent pleasure-pain that Hilary knew so well from her own experience.

Smack, smack, smack went the slipper on that bare, bare bottom. After what seemed an age of this — or was it no more than three or four minutes? — Hilary ceased the walloping and set the slipper down beside her, then began to tenderly squeeze and caress the hot cheeks of Tiffany’s bottom till the girl was in a foment of confused sensations, knowing that the punishment was real enough, as her tormented buttocks bore witness to, but what were these other feelings pooling in her secret centres?

Ah, woman — it takes one to know one. Just as the girl was beginning to croon and moan with this amazing new pleasure, Hilary forced her off her knees.

‘Stand up, you wicked girl!’

Tiffany stood, confused and trembling. She knew that the woman was trembling too, and breathing more rapidly than was normal. The atmosphere had changed again, from a point of near ecstasy to the frightening chill of severe punishment.

‘I am going to cane you. Take off your dress.’

Tiffany hesitated. She had hastily pulled up her knickers, and her bottom prickled with fire and ice. ‘What?’ Never before had she felt so giddily bewildered.

‘Oh, stand there, girl, I’ll do it!’ The skimpy dress opened quickly under Hilary’s nimble fingers, and slid down Tiffany’s legs. ‘Hands on head!’ the woman commanded. As Hilary stooped to take down the girl’s knickers once more, she found her face only inches from that adorable bottom’s soft surface, now blotched angry red from its punishment and seething like fire. She could almost feel the heat of it.

Tiffany Reed was naked, hands obediently on her head. Naked except for those ridiculous trainers on her feet. Hilary stepped to one side and picked up the cane that had been waiting with quiet menace for this moment. The girl was suddenly filled with fright.

‘Please,’ she said in a little voice. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

‘Bend over!’ came the crisp reply. ‘Right down! I want your bottom firm and tight. You have done wrong, and are being justly punished for it at your parents’ request.’

Shakily, Tiffany Reed bent over. She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, hearing Mrs Hanbury-Boyce getting into position behind her. There was a rustle, and a swish, and a flash of agony seared across her bending buttocks. The girl wailed, and tears seeped from her eyes.

Swish — CRACK!

‘Aaggh-ohhh-ohhh! Tiffany’s inarticulate cry rang round the room a split second after a sound like a gunshot as the cane struck full across both cheeks of her vulnerable bottom.

Swish — CRACK!

An explosive gasp from Tiffany.

Swish — CRACK!

A plaintive cry.

Swish — CRACK!

‘Oof! Oh! Oh!’

Hilary felt the contact shudder up her arm as whippy wood met chubby cheeks. Stern, searing strokes burned across the naked globes. Tiffany opened her mouth and yelled, hoarse and loud. Tears leaked from her eyes and dripped to the floor. More cane-strokes came, flaring across her soundly punished bottom. After the appalling pain yet strange allure of the spanking, she was suddenly in hell. Tiffany did not know that her punisher was in heaven as she delivered with a zestful flourish the final cane-stroke across the sobbing girl’s red-hot flinching buttocks.

‘Right, Miss Reed, your punishment is over,’ the Lady of the Old Hall announced. ‘You will place your hands on your head and face the wall like the wickedly naughty young woman you are!’

As Tiffany did as instructed, still sniffling, and Hilary sat down to pleasurably survey her handiwork, there came a most unexpected sound. A male voice could be heard, loudly demanding admittance. Rapid footsteps approached, the door was flung open and a young man entered the room.

‘Denzil!’ gasped Tiffany. As she turned towards the intruder the cheeks of her face became almost as red as the punished ones on full display. For several seconds the young man stared at the sight, aroused, despite himself, by Tiffany’s compliant nakedness. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs Hanbury-Boyce’s outraged glare froze him.

‘I suppose you understand that this constitutes trespass, young man,’ came the dauntingly ringing tones.

Denzil braced himself. ‘I suppose you understand that what you’ve done to my fiancée constitutes assault,’ he found himself responding. Where the words came from, he never knew. All he did know was that the woman before him seemed to melt a little and lose her force. She was eyeing, with a strange gleam, the painted wooden spoon he had snatched from Tiffany’s mother’s kitchen the moment she had told him where her daughter had gone.

There was a reckoning to be made, and that reckoning was nigh.

To be continued on Friday…