A Lady’s Pleasure

From Blushes 37. I may have mentioned before that I'm rather fond of this model, with her dodgy 1980's perm.

The girl goes silently out of the drawing room with the tea trolley, her high heels sinking softly into the deep carpet. A pretty girl with dark curling hair and a neat figure in her little black maid’s uniform. The eyes of the attractive blonde woman sitting on the settee follows her appraisingly.

‘She seems a willing little thing, Susan,’ she observes to her hostess.

Susan Mallamby says, ‘Yes. Willing enough. She’s not had much experience of course.’

The blonde woman, who is tall and in her thirties and called Muriel Worthing, says, ‘But you’re working on her. Her training.’

Susan Mallamby, less tall than her visitor and younger, says, ‘Oh yes.’

‘The cane? Have you caned her yet? Or perhaps a strap?’

Susan gives a quizzical look, then smiles. ‘No. I can’t say I have. Well I don’t know that she actually needs that sort of thing. She is very willing.’

The older blonde woman shakes her head. ‘Susan, they all need it. Especially a new, young one like that. You need to make things very clear to a girl and it requires the cane. Willing or not. There’s no substitute.’

Susan Mallamby considers this. ‘Have you never caned a girl?’ Muriel asks. Susan, perhaps flushing slightly, shakes her head. She is 25 and not long married, an inexperienced young woman one could say. And at 25 she is not a lot older than her maid.

Muriel Worthing gets to her feet. In her black high heels she is close to 5’10” with a full, shapely figure in her fitting dress. With that shining blonde hair piled high she is a very striking woman. ‘I tell you what,’ she says. ‘Let me borrow her for the weekend. My own girl is going to be off anyway. If you can spare her for the weekend I can give her a little introduction. If you’ve never done it yourself before it can be difficult.’ She smiles. ‘I can bring her back on Monday and… well, show you the way.’

Susan is standing now as well. Her face is flushed. It is perhaps embarrassing to have to admit one does not know how to deal with a maid. Is it a reasonable thing for Muriel Worthing to do what she suggests? And what exactly does she propose to do to Arlene? Cane her for no reason. Or possibly for her own pleasure? But she can’t really say no. It may be an entirely reasonable and indeed generous proposal. It is after all the kind of thing people tend not to talk about. She produces an urbane smile.

‘Yes. If it’s all right, Muriel. If it wouldn’t cause you a lot of trouble.’

Muriel Worthing assures Susan that it will be no trouble at all. She will be delighted. And there could possibly be a certain gleam in those clear blue eyes which says that she will indeed be delighted. ‘I can take her with me when I leave,’ she says.

----//----

Arlene pulls the bath towel tight round her nude body. It is not that she is actually cold, this little bedroom that Mrs Worthing has assigned to her is pleasantly warm, but… she feels vaguely scared. An unfocussed feeling, though it centres on Mrs Worthing. Not that she has done anything unpleasant to Arlene since she brought her here to her house in the chauffeur-driven car half an hour ago. Mrs Worthing in the car was friendly enough, asking Arlene questions about herself, etc. And there is nothing really to be scared of, she is only helping Mrs Worthing out for the weekend and then going back to Mrs Mallamby.

It is just that there is something scary about Mrs Worthing. Something scary for instance about the way she patted Arlene’s thigh in the car. And something scary now. In this room: Arlene’s room for the weekend. Where her clothes have disappeared; have presumably been taken away.

‘I should take a bath,’ Mrs Worthing said as soon as they were in the house. ‘Have a nice warm bath, Arlene. It will relax you.’

That in itself was odd: why should Arlene need anything to relax her? But of course she obediently had the bath. And dried herself with the big blue-and-white bath towels that Mrs Worthing told her to use. But now, back in the little room… where are her clothes? The uniform from Mrs Mallamby’s that she was wearing and also her case with her other things in. It all seems to have simply disappeared. This is the room Mrs Worthing put her in. The bed and the blue armchair and everything. She hasn’t come back to the wrong room by mistake. But…

And then the door opens.

It is of course Mrs Worthing. It is not likely to be anyone else. Arlene pulls the towel more tightly round herself. There is no reason to be scared but… Mrs Worthing has changed, into a blouse and skirt, but she is still looking ultra smart. Glamorous. And scary. She smiles… but her eyes have that appraising look. Searching out perhaps what is under the tightly clutched towel.

‘Did you have a nice bath, Arlene?’

‘Y… Yes, Mrs Worthing. Thank you. But… my…’

‘Your things, dear. Yes, you’ll have them shortly. You don’t need them right now. We need you undressed for the moment. Put the towel down, Arlene. Let me see you.’

The scary feeling is back. Redoubled. The colour flooding to Arlene’s cheeks. There is something to be scared about, she is now sure of that.

‘Put the towel down, Arlene. There’s no need to be shy with me.’

Arlene clearly cannot refuse. She is after all only a maid, a servant. And Mrs Worthing is Mrs Mallamby’s friend and moreover a frighteningly poised and self-assured woman. Whatever she wants Arlene to do she can only accept. Heart thudding, Arlene lets the towel fall away. A beautiful slim figure, girlish but full-breasted. Arlene stands with a hand nervously over her groin.

‘Stand straight.’ Mrs Worthing’s voice has a sharper edge. ‘Hands at your sides. I said I wanted to see you.’

Both hands come reluctantly down at Arlene’s sides. Something is certainly on now. But what? Mrs Worthing has come closer. There is the scent of her expensive perfume. The older woman’s voice is softer. ‘You are a very pretty girl, Arlene. With a lovely body. Do you have a boyfriend?’

Arlene stutters something but she is not quite sure herself what she is saying. Mrs Worthing’s hand is breathtakingly fondling the pert pink-nippled tits. ‘I’m sure you have.’ Fondling the nipples themselves which are stiffening. ‘And what about Mrs Mallamby. Does she tell you you’re a pretty girl? Does she like to play with these?’

The scary feeling is fully focussed now. Arlene is shaking like a leaf. Mrs Worthing is going to do things to her. Things that Arlene’s mind can only boggle at. ‘Does she?’ The sexy low voice continues. As the hand continues at Arlene’s nipples. And then, even worse, slides down to Arlene’s groin. To that bush of brown hair.

‘And does she like to play with this?’

There is no answer. Arlene is gasping for breath. Blood is pounding in her ears. Mrs Worthing’s fingers are unbelievably in between Arlene’s legs. Mrs Worthing is saying something more but Arlene, in the state she is in, cannot take it in.

‘Does she, Arlene?’ Mrs Worthing’s voice more insistent.

‘Wh… what? Pardon?’ The hand is still there, between Arlene’s legs. Where, although what is happening is unthinkably awful, Arlene is wet.

‘I said, dear, does Mrs Mallamby use the cane on you?’

Arlene hears it this time. It comes out of the blue, a mind-boggling contrast to what Mrs Worthing is still doing. The cane. Breathing heavily Arlene shakes her head.

‘No? Oh dear. Well that can only be because Mrs Mallamby is a young lady and perhaps not too experienced with servant girls. She should know that they should be given the cane from the very beginning. Otherwise all they want to think of is their boyfriends.’ Mrs Worthing’s fingers dig up into Arlene. ‘And this, dear. All they can think of is what they have here.’

Arlene’s knees feel as if they are about to give way. Mrs Worthing’s fingers and also what she has said have brought the poor girl close to collapse. She is panting, her body shaking all over. As Mrs Worthing’s voice purrs on.

‘So we will have to remedy that, Arlene. I am going to cane you. I am going to cane this lovely bare bottom of yours.’

Arlene’s mind is in a state of complete shock. As far as she could guess Mrs Worthing was going to take her to bed, to do unthinkable things to her. But now it is not that at all — or not for the moment. Mrs Worthing is saying she is going to cane her. For no reason. Except perhaps that it will amuse Mrs Worthing.

She has at last taken her hand away from between Arlene’s quivering thighs. ‘I have a cane in the wardrobe, Arlene. A nice whippy cane that I am sure is quite itching to get at your pretty bottom. But first of all we will give it a spanking. Just to get you warmed up for the real thing. So let’s have you up in the chair, shall we.’

Mrs Worthing takes Arlene’s arm and walks the trembling girl across to the armchair. She is helped up into it; kneeling in the deep seat with her face — and also those now aroused tits — towards the back. ‘Stick it out,’ Mrs Worthing tells Arlene. Her hand is at the girl’s bottom. Fondling it. Briefly sliding down and in between the thighs to where her fingers have minutes earlier created such havoc. Arlene is shaking all over, on fire, from the ministrations of those knowing fingers. Every nerve-end is at fever pitch.

So that when the hand stops fondling. And comes cracking down…

SPLATT!… As hard as Mrs Worthing can possibly manage…

It is as if Arlene has been shot into orbit.

Her body is still reacting to this first pistol-like crack of Mrs Worthing’s hand when a second one lands. And a third…

SPLATT!… SPLATT!… SPLATT!…

‘Keep still, my girl!’

Words gasped out as Mrs Worthing puts every ounce of effort into each one.

Arlene can’t keep still, though, there is no way she can. Her body is automatically jerking and writhing. She has no control over it, as she has no control over the frantic yelps which pop out of her desperate mouth. She is hanging onto the back of the chair like a ship-wrecked man clinging to flotsam in a turbulent sea. As Mrs Worthing’s hand cracks down again and again.

‘How was that?’ Mrs Worthing asks when she has finally, it seems, had enough. ‘How does that feel? Nice and warm now?’

Arlene, gasping from the shattering assault on her bottom, gives another, sharper gasp. For Mrs Worthing’s hand is in between her legs again. The fingers once more working at her.

‘My, you’re all wet, girl. I really think that’s turned you on.’

She lets go… and gives the reddened bottom a final gratuitous splatt!

‘Now we will see if the cane can turn you on as well.’

The cane. It is of course in a different category altogether. As soon as the first stroke zips into Arlene’s bottom the spanking which had her desperately yelping and writhing is forgotten. There is simply no comparison with the stultifying pain which the whippy bamboo produces. Arlene lets out a banshee-like howl.

‘Like it, do you? Just try and keep that bottom still…’

Thwackkk!…

The second is in effect even worse. It comes on top of the already red-hot pain that is pulsating out from Arlene’s shocked bottom.

Thwackkk!!!…

‘Yes. This is what pretty girls need, Arlene.’

Thwackk!…

----//----

‘Now get into bed, dear. A girl wants to get in between the sheets after that, I know.’

The caning is over. Mrs Worthing has helped the sobbing, gasping-for-breath Arlene down off the chair and has led her over to the bed. And has pulled back the covers. Tears are blinding Arlene’s eyes and she can hardly see. She stumbles at the bed. Her bottom is criss-crossed with bright red stripes. Mrs Worthing eyes it, her face slightly pink, as her hands go to the waistband of her skirt. Unzipping it. As the shaking nude girl clambers into the bed.

‘Through the tears Arlene can scarcely see but she can see enough to realise that Mrs Worthing is undressing. Skirt and blouse. Slip. And all the rest. Her pale statuesque body is nude. She is unpinning that shining blonde hair. And now she is climbing in with Arlene, in the narrow bed. It is narrow but that is not a problem for Muriel Worthing. She climbs on top of the shivering girl. Her ripe body is hot and eager. Her mouth on the girl’s mouth is hungry, ravenous.