Triangles

From Uniform Girls 23

Tracey Jones was young and pretty, just nineteen years of age. She was standing in the centre of the room wearing just a pretty and very brief undie set. Her firm young breasts pressed outwards against the little bra-top, the hint of a dark-pink nipple protruding above the thin fabric. Her knickers stretched tautly across the her firm round bottom. Little darkish curls peeped out from behind the narrowest band of material at the very top of her long slim legs. Tracey felt very uneasy, standing there in front of her employer. Knowing that she was in the wrong. Realising that Mr Williams could throw her out, and report her to the police.

Conrad Williams sat down. ‘That was your very last chance, young lady.’ He raised his arm and pointed through the open doorway. ‘The front door, Tracy. You may leave… now.’

The girl glanced along the direction of her employer’s gesture and then shook her head. ‘No. Mr Williams. Please, Mr Williams. I’m sorry…’ The man remained silent, listening to the girl as she pleaded with him. ‘Please. I won’t do it again, honest I won’t. Please, I need my job… Oh please don’t…’

Williams waited as she offered her petitions. Yes. She was dishonest. He had caught her smuggling the garment out of the factory, hidden inside her own coat. And that hadn’t been the first time, either.

He signalled to her to step nearer, so that her bare feet were no further than inches away from his chair. ‘Now you are a dishonest and despicable young lady, aren’t you?’ Tracy nodded, her deep pink blush spreading across her pretty face. ‘And what arrangement did we come to, when you last stole from me?’ The blush grew deeper. Last time, he had put her across his knee, her skirt folded back, well above her waist, and he had smacked her knickered bottom. The memory of that incident had lingered with her. The awful embarrassment of her employer doing such a thing. Tugging her little white knickers right up as tight as he could so that most of her bottom was bared. And that awful long smacking which had her pleading with him, well before it was over.

‘I smacked you, didn’t I?’ She nodded. ‘I smacked your bottom.’ He reached forward and patted the seat of her knickers with one slightly curved palm.

‘But it doesn’t seem to have worked, does it?’ Again he waited, until Tracey signalled her agreement. Obviously, a smacking was not enough to correct young Tracey’s behaviour. ‘These don’t belong to you, do they?’ He was tugging at her pants again. ‘They fit you very well. You took the trouble to steal the right size, didn’t you? But if they don’t belong to you.’ Conrad Williams stood up. ‘So is it punishment from me, or a visit to the police?’

She whispered her reply, but the man heard each word quite clearly. ‘You punish me, Mr Williams, please…’

He told her to face the doorway so that her firm round bottom-cheeks, only partly covered by the knickers, faced towards him. ‘Now touch your toes.’ Slowly, reluctantly, Tracey bent forwards, her arms stretched outwards and downwards until her fingers touched her bare toes, her clean healthy hair falling forward to hide her face.

Williams stared at her bottom, the knicker fabric now tightened across her rump, and noted the ample firmness of the flesh which escaped either side of the thin triangle of material. A cane across those tightly-contoured bottom-cheeks would teach her a lesson. Half-a-dozen of the whippiest stinging strokes he could administer. She’d think twice before stealing again from her employer. That’s after she had ceased the inevitable war dance and the yelling and sobbing. But that would be too easy. Young Tracey would certainly feel the impact of the cane. It would do her good. But somehow it would be a very impersonal punishment. Williams knew that this punishment needed to be an intimate event. There was nothing very intimate about a young girl standing in pretty bra and knickers. After all, William’s factory made them. This time, her punishment would have to be very different. He was a little tired of the cheeky young girl, with nipples that almost peeped out at him above her bra, and dark secrets and little brown curls which only just managed to stay hidden behind those pants. And a bottom which richly deserved the most severe tanning he could imagine. And Conrad’s imagination was pretty wild at times.

Conrad Williams was a shrewd and experienced man. He had many young women working on his production line. Day by day, he watched them, and listened to their conversations. And he knew that a girl who appeared to enjoy flaunting her body was often the most shy of all the females in a group. Yes, they enjoyed displaying a little cleavage, or a hint of bottom-cheek, but if someone actually made them take their bra right off, or suggested that they needed a good sound smacking right across their bare bottom, with their little knickers taken right off… the very same self-confident little minx would almost die of embarrassment!

Tracey was still straining to touch her toes. ‘Alright. Get up, and stand still…’ She turned round once again, brushing the tangle of her hair away from her face. ‘As those garments are stolen property, young lady… my stolen property… you have no right to wear them, have you?’ Her face a bright crimson, the girl shook her head.

‘Perhaps I ought to drive you back to the factory, Tracey. Convene the Board of Directors. And then make you take off your stolen knickers, in front of them?’

The girl gave a quiet sob. ‘Oh please, Mr Williams. Please… just punish me here, Mr Williams… I’ll do anything… honest I will…’

He ran his index finger down between the girl’s breasts, and hooked it around the narrow centre band of the minute garment, pulling it away from her body. ‘Come with me, young lady.’ She scampered along, trying to keep close to him; fearful that the flimsy bra-top would rip with the strain of his tugging.

He marched her along the hallway and up the staircase. Halfway up both bobbing breasts fell free of the bra, as he continued to tug at the front strap. As she climbed the stairs, Tracey’s pretty tits swung from side to side. Frantically, she tried to push them back up. Finally, he stopped, and ushered her into a small plain bedroom. He released his grip, quietly pleased that his fabric design stood up to so much stress! Blushing frantically, Tracey pushed her breasts back behind the material.

Williams turned to the bedside cabinet, and withdrew a set of large plain handkerchiefs. He looked at her. ‘My punishment?’ he asked again, reminding her of her promise. ‘Your punishment… please…’ she replied, in a quiet faltering voice. He told her to put her hands on her head. She stood, quiet and still, her feet together, her hands clutched together nervously at the back of her head, watching her employer.

Williams took two of the handkerchiefs, and knotted them together, and then added a third. He held them up, his fingers holding the diagonal ends of the material, so that the handkerchiefs fell naturally into a string of three large triangles. He slipped them around the girl’s neck, as if fastening a necklace around her pretty shoulders. Quickly, the two ends were tied together behind her neck, the material was adjusted, and Tracey found herself wearing two plain triangles of material which fell loosely over the protuberances of her breasts.

‘And now I’d better retrieve my property, young lady.’ He turned her slightly, so that he could reach the fastening of her bra. He loosened it, and the bra fell away from her breasts, into his hand. ‘Don’t move, young lady.’ She froze. The triangles formed by the handkerchiefs falling down over her bared breasts, protecting them from his gaze.

The man rummaged about in the bedside drawer again, and found the two largest remaining handkerchiefs. Again, he knotted them together, and then slipped them around her slim waist, so that one triangle fell forward, hiding her pubic mound, the other lying draped over the roundness of her bottom.

‘And now your pants, young lady.’ He slipped his fingers beneath the handkerchiefs and tugged the little knickers down over her hips. As they reached her thighs, they fell free, and landed in a little tangle at her feet.

‘Please hand them to me.’ He held out his hand. Tracey bent forwards to retrieve her little pants. Williams watched, as the two triangles covering her breasts fell forward, and her pretty tits dangled free. And the one small triangle of loose fabric now covering her bottom tapered away revealing the plump lower curves of Tracey’s bottom in all their bare enticing glory. She fumbled as she placed the tangled pants in his hands.

‘Hands back on your head, young lady. And listen to me, carefully…’ Williams sat down on the edge of the bed.

Just a few feet away stood a pretty young woman, waiting to be punished. She looked incredibly appealing, standing there, covered in just three flimsy triangles.

From under the bed Williams drew out his cane. He watched Tracey’s eyes widen with fear as she realised its length. He flexed it between his hands, letting her see that it was also very supple, perfect for wrapping around the curvy contours of the little minx’s bottom. He lifted it, and with its tip, lifted the flap of triangle covering Tracey’s left breast. He admired the pert little nipple which he had unveiled. He let the handkerchief drop back again and then inspected the girl’s other breast.

‘I’m going to cane you, Tracey…’

She responded with another quiet sob. He told her to turn sideways, and then, again with the tip of the cane, he raised the triangle of material which was almost covering her bottom. He absorbed its pink roundness, and the dark cleft, and the soft curves of her lower cheeks. ‘Has this pretty bottom of yours ever been caned before?’

She shook her head. He let the handkerchief drop back. ‘I think we are being a little too modest, young lady.’ He dropped the cane onto the bedspread and stood up, turning the girl so that he could adjust the knot behind her neck. He pulled up the two ends of the triangles until the tips of the material only just covered her nipples, leaving her breasts exposed. The knot re-tightened, he adjusted the two handkerchiefs knotted around her waist, drawing them tighter so that they were raised an inch or two above her waist, until the tip of the front triangle just failed to cover her neat little triangle of dark hairs, and the one at the back left her bottom almost completely bare.

‘That’s better,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Much better.’

He led her to the foot of the small bed and told her to bend forward keeping her long legs as straight as she could. Tracey placed the palms of her hands against the bedspread to support herself. The two triangles over her breasts again fell forward, revealing the full roundness of the girl’s well-developed breasts.

Cane in hand, Williams waited as she positioned herself, her bare feet slightly parted, her bottom protruding at the ideal angle to receive its punishment. He tapped the stick against the lower curve of one fleshy bottom-cheek.

‘Are you ready, young lady?’ Tracey responded with a little quiet whimper. In her bent-over position, the handkerchief tied over Tracey’s bottom failed to cover anything. Her bottom, from the dimple in the small of her back, right down to the crease between her buttocks and her thighs, was totally bare.

He gave her the first stroke of his cane, and she yelled as the stick bit across the full width of both cheeks. She jumped up, the triangles falling forward again.

He bent her forwards again. The second stroke fell, and a second line of bright red lines appeared directly beneath the first set, traversing Tracey’s bottom. Again, the girl jumped up, with a loud yell, clasping her bottom.

‘Alright. So we’ll do it the hard way, young lady.’ He made her turn over so that she was lying on her back on the bed. He grasped her slim ankles and raised her legs aloft. Neither little triangle around her waist could offer any protection now. In fact, young Tracey was now displaying some very pretty charms.

He held her tightly in his left hand, her long slim legs well elevated, lifting her bottom-curves well away from the bedspread. And then he caned her again, and again. She tried to wriggle away from him, twisting her body as best she could. But apart from offering her employer a slightly new view of her feminine charms, Tracey achieved little more. However she tried to move, her bare bottom remained in the firing line.

Conrad Williams allowed himself to be only a little distracted from his task by her gyrations. It was only after nine firm stinging strokes had landed all over the young lady’s bottom-cheeks that Williams released his grip of her ankles, and allowed the cane to fall from his grasp.

Tracey kept her legs aloft. She discovered that by waving her legs about, and keeping her body-weight off her bottom she could at least dissipate some of the cane’s infernal sting. She no longer cared that the man was watching her intently. She just closed her eyes, yelled loudly, and waved her legs about with remarkable vigour.

He left her alone for a while. ‘I’ll call you down when I want you,’ he told her, as he closed the bedroom door, and left Tracey to her quiet sobbing.

Williams smiled to himself as she entered the lounge. Quite naturally she still looked a little flustered. Any girl would, having just received her first bare-bottomed caning. But she had re-adjusted her little triangles again, attempting to cover her breasts, and her pubic area.

He was amused to discover, as she turned sideways on, that she hadn’t worried about the handkerchief which covered her bottom. Her cheeks, still sporting the set of parallel red tramlines, were still totally naked. Perhaps even the gentle caress of a linen handkerchief would be too much for her to cope with against her punished backside.

He sat back on the settee and patted his knee. She tried to object, but he reminded her of her promise, and the consequences, should he feel the need to call in the authorities… With a little whimper of resignation, Tracey fell forward across his lap, hiding her head in her arms, her legs stretched out over the remainder of the settee her bare feet digging into a side cushion.

Quickly, but without any show of undue haste, Williams unknotted the handkerchiefs which had served as a flimsy bra. He drew them away from under her body. Next, he flipped up the remaining triangle which rested over the upper part of the girl’s bottom. He smoothed the palm of his hand over the slight ridges raised by his cane, and she jumped and flinched as he touched each sensitive red line.

He crossed his legs, thus elevating her bottom to an even higher plane. ‘I think a final sound hand-smacking, young lady, and you should have learnt your lesson…’

He pulled at the band of linen still wrapped around the girl’s waist, and the handkerchief came away in his hand. She was naked now, a big grown-up nineteen-year-old girl, lying upturned across his knee. She was a thief. And he still had to complete her punishment.

Williams slapped her soundly, his palm falling loudly and painfully across the cane-marks. Tracey’s bottom wobbled and flinched as he smacked her, and she began to sob again, in between urgent cries of pain and protest. Once again, her long legs waved frantically, and kicked against the settee cushions. But the smacking continued until the cane marks became merged in the all-over crimson of a well-smacked bottom.

He stood her up. It didn’t seem to matter to Tracey now that she was naked. He told her she could get dressed at last. A little later, and slightly more composed, she went home.

‘Tomorrow evening, I shall require you to attend my office. Half-past-six, young lady. And don’t be late.’ She promised she’d be there.

‘Oh. And on your way, Tracey…’ He had one last order to give her. She turned at the front gate and waited. ‘On your way to my office, go to the stores and draw out five large men’s handkerchiefs, please.’