A Double Reckoning 2

Second part of the photo-story with Tiffany Reed, from Janus 120.

In Part One (Janus 119), Mrs Hilary Hanbury-Boyce of the Old Hall soundly spanked, slippered and caned pretty Tiffany Reed, a farmer’s daughter whose parents had sent her to the renowned local disciplinarian to be punished for stopping out all night at a rave with her boyfriend, Denzil. At the end of her punishment the chastised girl was made to stand sobbing, with hands on head, humiliatingly displaying her blazing bottom to her punisher. It was at this moment that a dramatic interruption occurred…

As Hilary Hanbury-Boyce 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 the woman’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.

‘Don’t think I haven’t heard about the things that go on here with the girls in this villager Denzil shouted as Hilary rose austerely to her feet. He seized hold of her collar. ‘Well, you’ll not do it to my Tiffany and that’s that.’

‘She already has done it,’ wailed Tiffany, rubbing her hot, hot bottom. ‘Oh, Denzil, my arse is on fire, but leave it be.’

‘No I won’t leave it be!’ the young man exclaimed. His anger, mixed with a little awe at his own temerity, lent his voice an authority and force it usually lacked. Tiffany had never seen him like this before, and was frankly amazed — though Hilary Hanbury-Boyce, cool and aloof still threatened to freeze him with her haughty glare. Neither Denzil nor Tiffany could know how the older woman’s insides squirmed deliciously at this sudden male presence and dominating voice.

‘Look what you’ve done to my Tiffany’s bum!’ Denzil roared.

‘It thoroughly deserved everything it got, young man? came the reply ‘And if you had an ounce of sense, you’d realise it.’

‘How would you like it if I did the same to you?’ he blustered. Brandishing the wooden cooking spoon, Denzil was suddenly aware of what an absurd object it looked. Tiffany’s kid brother had painted a face on it. If the woman had burst into fits of laughter at that moment, he would have been finished.

But Mrs Hanbury-Boyce didn’t. Instead she fixed him with an expression that was part challenging and part yielding.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said, breaking the frozen silence.

The young man felt his confidence return. ‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’ he found himself responding. ‘Maybe you’re not the only one who can whack an arse, my lady. I reckon it’s high time you had a taste of your own medicine?’

In Hilary’s mind’s ear she heard again her husband Brigadier Hanbury-Boyce’s commanding voice, saw his gimlet eye with its unopposable glare deliciously numbing her will to resist. In an action that would later astonish her, Hilary allowed herself to be spun round by the irate young man so that her back was to him. In the deepest centres of her being she wanted to have all control taken from her for the first time in years, to feel again the bite and burn of a chastiser’s rod, the chilling inflections of a voice commanding her to bend and present her buttocks for a thrashing.

Instead, the woman heard a mocking voice behind her ‘Bet it looks like a cow’s backside,’ Tiffany giggled. She picked up her dress to shield her nakedness, and sat where Mrs Hanbury-Boyce had been when Denzil came in. The girl’s mind was in something of a whirl and her bottom still hurt quite badly. Although the act of sitting down on it reignited the fires that smouldered in each bottom-cheek, it was a deep spreading heat that tingled in her genitals and permeated her lower belly. To be honest, Tiffany could hardly believe the sensations she was feeling, let alone what her ears were hearing and her eyes seeing.

‘Lift up your skirt and bend over, my lady?

Was that really Denzil’s voice? It sounded stronger, sharper, harder.

To Hilary Hanbury-Boyce, it was a voice she had yearned for for years. She let out a sigh that might have been mistaken for an inarticulate cry of protest, then doubled over at the waist, pulling up her skirt as she went.

The thrill of the action rocked Hilary, causing her to tremble at the knees, and she was glad of the chair-back on which to rest her elbows while arching her spine to push her bottom out towards its punisher. Denzil and Tiffany stared at what was now revealed: not the flabby, mottled, overhanging arse they had expected, but a surprisingly trim and shapely bottom, almost girlish in its proportions, in tight white panties framed by a suspender belt and stocking tops.

‘Christ, my lady,’ growled the young man with new respect. ‘That’s quite an arse you’ve got on you.’ Not even Tiffany could deny it as her young gaze bored the deep cleft between the woman’s rear cheeks. Those knickers looked decidedly damp, she thought. The old girl had got off on punishing her. Now she, Tiffany, intended to get off on watching the Lady at the Old Hall resoundingly whacked. Unless Denzil chickened out at the last moment.

Tiffany needn’t have worried. Denzil raised his arm and brought the spoon firmly down against the woman’s backside with a resonant whap. Small though the convex oval of wood was, its smooth surface imparted a stinging hurt to Hilary’s bottom. She ‘uffed at the pain of it, and when the blow was followed by more, equally hard, directed alternately at each buttock, she began to moan as long-dormant sensations re-awoke. The sound was a sort of splatting thud as the implement raced to its target again and again, indenting Hilary’s bottom-cheeks with a flash of pain and leaving an overlapping series of livid oval imprints. Her buttocks, softened by years of not being regularly beaten, keenly felt each scalding whack of the implement the young man was using with such vigour.

Tiffany, watching closely as the woman’s buttocks reddened and burned, wriggled her own naked arse on the chair and smiled, eyes shining. The fierce smarting in her nether cheeks made her feel sexy, and watching Denzil dealing with Mrs Hanbury-Boyce with such competent assurance made her see him in an entirely new and encouraging way.

Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! For Hilary, bent submissively down in front of a farmer’s daughter and her cocky village boyfriend wielding a wooden spoon, the humiliation reddened her face and made her gasp. And, as the sharp pain-slaps intensified, she began to shake her hips and cry out.

‘Hang on, Denzy,’ Tiffany suddenly called. She jumped to her feet, dropping the dress, knelt naked behind the woman and peeled down her panties. She tested with her fingers the dampness at the crotch. ‘This is turning her on as much as when she was whacking me!’ the girl carolled. ‘She’s wetting herself!’ Tiffany grinned at the twin fleshy rumps with their redly mottled surfaces. ‘There! Whack her bare arse, and whack it good!’

Denzil struck harder, his arm rising and falling faster, the spoon thumping into the fleshy orbs and springing back to hurtle energetically in again. As the heat and pain in Hilary’s bare bottom grew, sparkling sensations rippled out to her extremities while her bottom felt like a fireball. Yet the pain was just about bearable. It filled her arse and spread up her back and down her thighs and around her hips.

Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!

Denzil sensed the woman’s shuddering excitement as he fed shock after shock of pain to this splendid mature rear end, and was so intent on his task that he did not see Tiffany slip her dress back on, step across the room and pick up the cane Mrs Hanbury-Boyce had so recently used on her own still-sizzling bottom.

‘Here, Denzil,’ she called. The girl felt oddly breathless as she walked up to him. He paused, puffing a little with effort. ‘She gave me a hell of a whacking with this cane. Give her a few! See how she likes it.’

As Mrs Hanbury-Boyce glanced apprehensively round, then began to rise, Denzil said with a menacing growl, ‘Stay down, my lady. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

The tone of command thrilled Hilary. She stayed bent steeply over, buttocks seething with heat, feeling that old familiar helpless dread as the young man removed his jacket and took the cane from his girlfriend’s hand.

Tiffany watched the bending woman shiver as Denzil swished the cane a couple of times, then raised it high and brought it speeding down to sink an excruciating line of hurt deep into the waiting buttocks. Mrs Hanbury-Boyce’s entire body jumped as if touched by an electric prod. The pain was unbelievable.

Whop. Another stroke thrashed in, the force of it driving the woman forward against the chair on which she was leaning.

‘Aaaaghh!’

‘Like it then, do you, my lady?’ snarled Denzil, drew back his arm and lashed the cane in again.

Whop.

Whop.

Whop.

Tiffany Reed watched in fascination as Mrs Hanbury-Boyce’s fleshy bottom distorted and regained shape at each hard, exquisitely painful cane-stroke. Red streaks appeared across the deeply blushing skin, and keening cries came from the woman’s throat.

Whop. Whop. Whop. WHOP.

The strokes were surely as hard as any her husband had delivered to her bottom on the countless times he had beaten her during their marriage. After about a dozen of these, though it may well have been more, a fire was ablaze in Hilary’s fundament, just as it always used to be by the time the Brigadier had finished with her. Of course, no one could ever replace that stern old warrior, but this was the soundest thrashing Hilary had had in years! This boy was a natural.

Denzil stopped at last and set down the cane. He took Mrs Hanbury-Boyce by the shoulders and helped her to stand upright. The woman winced as she straightened.

‘Turn and face the wall, my lady!’ he snapped, and Hilary did as instructed. She was a little disappointed that the young man didn’t forbid her to rub her burning bottom, as the Brigadier would have done, but young Denzil had plenty of time to learn. So she allowed herself the luxury of squeezing and stroking each tormented bottom-cheek while she listened to the exchange going on behind her.

‘All right, Tiffany,’ Denzil snapped, ‘you can take that grin off your face ‘cos it’s your turn now.’ He sat on the chair and seized hold of her wrist in an unmistakable way.

‘What?’ said the girl in dismay. ‘You can’t! She’s just walloped my arse black and blue.’

‘I’m beginning to think you may have deserved it,’ he countered. ‘You’re a cheeky little piece, aren’t you?’

‘It was you who kept me out all night, Denzil, not me!’ Tiffany protested.

‘Well, whatever,’ the young man went on. ‘I reckon you’re not too big to take a spanking from me. If we’re to wed, it’s only right you should know who’s boss.’

‘You leave me alone,’ Tiffany shrilled. ‘You leave me alone, you hear me, Denzil Bates?’

Still protesting, the girl was pulled forward across Denzil’s knees. As she lay sprawled there, face-down, a strange elation was mixed with horror as he wrenched her dress clear of her delightfully pert naked backside and his hand began to smack heavily down with stinging impacts, reawakening the fires that smouldered in each cheek. They were loud, firm claps that smeared each buttock flat, building pain like a stoker feeding a fire, flames climbing higher, as the all-too-recent pain of Tiffany’s spanking, slippering and caning at the hands of Mrs Hanbury-Boyce was fully rekindled.

‘Ow-ow-owwwww!’ Tiffany’s voice filled the room as the concussions of hand on smacked bottom echoed around the walls. Her feet drummed on the carpet.

Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-SLAP.

The punishment was brisk and no-nonsense. Hilary stopped kneading her own buttocks and turned to watch approvingly as the young man spanked his fiancée. In the heat of this new activity it seemed that the woman’s presence had been forgotten.

Hilary moved forward to give encouragement. What the young man lacked in technical skill he made up for in enthusiasm. As Tiffany continued to kick and howl under the onslaught, Hilary urged him on.

By the time Denzil had finished, his hand was smarting fiercely. He dragged the sobbing Tiffany to her feet. ‘Show yourself to Mrs Hanbury-Boyce!’ he commanded.

Tiffany drew the dress up her front to expose her body. Hilary sighed at such loveliness. Life could be so enchanting. As Denzil, pleased with his handiwork, got himself ready to leave, Hilary’s arms went round the chastened girl to comfort her. How soft and scented and sweet she felt. So strong, yet vulnerable. The woman’s hands caressed the scorched globes of the tender, punished bottom. She wanted to kiss her there, to lick the pain away with cooling tongue.

But that would be Denzil’s job, Hilary Hanbury-Boyce accepted with a sigh. If only the young man had the wit to realise it.

She would, she felt perfectly sure, get an invitation to their wedding.