Brought to Account

Photo-story from Janus 154, with lovely tight-bodied Helen Daniels. A sequel to Coming a Cropper and prequel to Lambert’s Way.

‘Now, Rupert,’ Lady Marsha Tewkesbury had begun with a steely edge to her refined voice, ‘the girl has a transcendental arse. She also happens to be extremely pretty in a dark kind of way — a bit of a Posh Spice lookalike without the money and husband, although to my mind far perter and sweeter; as well as a good deal younger, softer and curvier. God, I could have almost eaten her myself when I had cause to chastise her physically.’

Rupert Purbright, her accountant, had grunted incredulously. ‘You beat her?’

‘Most certainly,’ the stable-owning aristocrat had affirmed. ‘That one needs smartening up on a regular basis. She’s talented — no doubt about that, and I hope to make a useful eventer out of her yet — but she can be rather silly and thoughtless. Can you believe she fed a Mars bar to my best horse a few weeks ago?’

‘Is that bad?’

‘Well of course it’s bad, Rupert. Chocolate contains forbidden stimulants. So a random drugs test came up positive. Cost me two grand and a slapped wrist. So I took it out on her bare bottom.’

‘But this is unbelievable,’ the accountant had said with a gasp. His face went red, then white, and sweat gleamed on his sensible brow. ‘Surely that’s not allowed in this day and age?’ But the image Lady Marsha conjured up had left him distinctly flustered, with an embarrassing stiffening in his trousers. He’d recently caught sight of the stable girl putting a horse through its paces, and had been captivated. ‘She really is quite a filly herself,’ he’d said at the time in a clumsy attempt at a joke, and Lady Marsha knew she had him at her Machiavellian mercy.

‘Allowed?’ she echoed. ‘How quaint! Circumstances make their own rules here, as well you know. And I know you well enough by now, Rupert, to know that you saw the girl getting up in the saddle in those jodhpurs she squeezes into, and got the hots for her as you watched that tight little derriere bumping up and down on the saddle as she trotted the horse around.’

‘Well, really,’ the accountant had blustered. ‘I hope you’re joking!’

‘Men!’ Lady Marsha laughed, wagging a finger in front of his studious face. ‘I’d bet good money that you’d love to pull that girl across your knee, haul down those britches and give her saucy butt a thundering good hiding.’

‘Oh dear.’ Rupert Purbright had felt obliged to sit down. He was palpitating. His client often teased him for his lack of worldliness when it came to the fairer sex, but this was different. For Lady Marsha appeared, possibly by chance, to have touched on the one fantasy he would give his life to fulfil — namely, to strip and spank the bottom of a beautiful girl. Like this one. Now what was her name?

‘Helen Daniels,’ his client had said, as if reading his perspiring thoughts. With a scented lace-scrap from her sleeve she’d dabbed at his heated forehead. Her voice had softened. ‘Well, shall we get down to business?’

‘B-business?’ The accountant had glared up at her, startled, through his austere spectacles.

‘Oh, spare me the puzzled look,’ she’d said with a touch of exasperation. ‘The offshore account we discussed. The one we could transfer a section of the stud’s takings directly into and save thousands of pounds in tax every year.’

‘I thought we’d dealt with that,’ Rupert had mumbled. ‘Hardly kosher.’

‘Not actually illegal, either?’

‘Well, no…’ he’d said uncomfortably. ‘Not if it’s done in a certain way, I suppose.’

‘Then do it.’

‘I thought I’d made myself clear, Lady Marsha — I really don’t think I can. Professional ethics and all that.’

‘Ethics?’ echoed the stud owner with a derisive snort. ‘Isn’t that a county next to Hertfordshire? What would induce you to bend the rules?’

The accountant bridled. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting a bribe?’

‘Better than that,’ Lady Marsha had murmured, sidling around him. ‘This girl, Helen Daniels, has done the stupidest thing. Overgalloped a horse that was due to showjump, and crocked its ankle. She’s very contrite — always is — but I warned her last time that any further lapses would be dealt with in the same manner as with the doping issue.’

The man had stared at her. ‘You mean you’re going to beat her again?’ His tongue hung out.

‘No, Rupert,’ his illustrious client had said. ‘You are. If you’d like to, that is…’

----//----

So it was that the stable girl called Helen Daniels trudged, deep in troubled thoughts, towards the tack room where a message from Lady Marsha had instructed her to report. Helen knew she was in trouble, and what the consequences were likely to be, for her employer had warned her clearly enough that any further mistakes would attract the same punishment she’d received following the so-called ‘doping’ incident (see Janus 152). The horse she had inadvertently lamed, Nobu San, seemed to watch her sympathetically as she walked slowly from the field and into the outhouse by the stableyard at the time appointed.

On being punished that first time it had happened up at the house amid the plush furnishings. Clearly, the setting today was not to be so grand. But it wasn’t Milady who was waiting for her, but a rather officious-looking bespectacled man with a tense, serious face.

Helen gaped at him. ‘I-I was told to report here,’ she said nervously. ‘Maybe I’ve made a mistake.’

‘No, Miss Daniels,’ the man returned in stern tones, frowning and squaring his shoulders. ‘You’ve made no mistake, apart from the latest one Lady Tewkesbury has told me about regarding, I believe, a certain horse.’

If Helen hadn’t been so preoccupied with her own inner musings she might have detected that the man was nervous. For Rupert Purbright, on seeing the divine creature of his fantasies slip into view wearing those tight riding britches with black leather boots, brown-checked riding jacket over pale T-shirt top, coal-dark eyes wide with apprehension as her slender hands fingered the crop she carried, almost lost his nerve completely.

He watched the girl struggle to make sense of the situation. She’d taken off her riding hat, and dark-brown hair hung fetchingly around her appealingly elfin face. An unexpected thrill ran through him at the girl’s appearance of absolute submissiveness, and he felt his anxiety dissolving in the face of her compliancy.

He noticed that her lips were very pretty. Awkward though Rupert usually was with the ladies, he had a strong urge to draw the girl roughly against him and press his mouth hungrily on hers. But he was aware that the urge was ridiculously inappropriate, and made a conscious effort to pull himself together. She was here to be punished, after all!

‘I’ve been given the task of giving you a beating,’ he found himself saying. The word sounded antiquated, and didn’t really represent the kind of chastisement he longed to give her. Beatings were what boys received in public schools of old, not pretty stable girls with a face and figure to die for.

‘Y-you?’ Her dark eyes, wide with shock, fixed on his. ‘But I thought Lady Marsha…’

‘She has asked me if I would do the honours in her place.’ Rupert almost made the mistake of injecting lightness of tone into their tense communication. He saw her blink, glance huntedly from side to side as if seeking a way of escape, and knew that if she were to simply turn and walk out of there he would be powerless to stop her. And ‘power’, it seemed, was all that was holding Helen Daniels there. It astonished him that this lovely girl should consider that he, Rupert Purbright, chartered accountant, possessed such power.

An increasingly tense silence grew between them as she fiddled anxiously with her riding crop. Helen had felt the sting of such an implement, for Lady Marsha had thrashed her bottom so hard with one that sitting in the saddle had been painful for quite some time afterwards. Rupert began to panic, aware that he must dominate the scene in some way, and quickly, or he would have no scene at all.

He cleared his throat as if about to deliver a speech at a board meeting. ‘I take it you have been, er, punished before in this particular way?’ he said ponderously.

Helen’s startled gaze swung floorwards. ‘What particular way, sir?’

Rupert like the ‘sir’. It gave him courage. ‘By being spanked, girl. Struck on your buttocks! Do I make myself clear?’

The errant stable girl made a sound oddly like a sigh. ‘Yes, sir. Lady Marsha did it to me.’

‘Well, at her request, I’m about to do the same to you. Look me in the face.’

Helen’s chin lifted, and her eyes met his. He saw that they were moist, as if she might weep at any moment. But she bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and managed to control herself.

‘Do you accept the fact,’ Rupert went on with a catch in his voice, ‘that I’m about to spank and beat you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right here, and right now?’

The girl’s head nodded in assent. She couldn’t look at him. The man swelled his chest, trying to contain his mounting ecstasy. He cleared his throat again, and went on. ‘And you accept the fact that I’m about to lay you across my knees in those delightfully tight jodhpurs and spank your wicked little backside hard and firm until it’s stinging? That I will then pull down your britches and slap your extremely shapely bottom over whatever you might be wearing beneath? And that I will then remove such coverings so as to render your deliciously pert and beautiful young arse completely naked, whereupon I shall smack, slap and spank it until it’s red and glowing like a little furnace? That I shall then bend you across the back of a chair and cane your hot, bare buttocks so soundly that you will thereafter be extremely careful about how you discharge your duties as a stable girl in the future?’

Another silence grew between them. While he’d been talking, Helen’s head had sunk lower, unable to meet his fervid glare. Then she raised it again. Had the feverishly excited accountant not known better, he might have imagined that the flicker of a smile tugged briefly at the girl’s mouth-corners.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said quietly.

In Rupert Purbright’s mind, bells rang and bunting flew, for his long-repressed passion was about to be indulged. ‘Very well, Daniels,’ he said commandingly. ‘You will remove your jacket and prepare for punishment…’

----//----

Afterwards, she slunk for comfort to her dog, hugging him hard, for she felt little more than an animal herself. But animals were noble, so Helen didn’t mind at all. It was only human beings who were base.

Continued in Lambert’s Way