An Afternoon Visitor

From Blushes 38

Jane entered and carefully closed the door behind her. Big brown eyes looked anxiously, a bit like a frightened mouse. A very pretty and shapely young mouse though. Mrs Weinling was sitting in her favourite armchair glancing through a glossy magazine held in elegant be-ringed fingers. She looked up.

‘Oh that’s very nice, Jane. Very nice indeed. Quite a young lady of fashion. Turn round. Let me see properly.’

Jane turned a pirouette, black high heels sinking softly into the deep pile of Mrs Weinling’s drawing room carpet. The bouffant pale grey skirt swung out showing her slim legs to above the knee. There was a matching jacket to the skirt, buttonless and open at the front. Under it was a black sleeveless top.

Mrs Weinling’s beautifully modulated upper-middle-class voice again. ‘Yes. Very charming. Come here.’

Jane stepped obediently forward. ‘No stockings, Jane? Come closer.’

The dark-haired girl shook her head but Mrs Weinling’s hand was sliding up to check for herself. Sliding up under the full skirt, up the smoothly slim thighs. ‘Good. I think no stockings is best. We don’t want to seem too sophisticated for Mr Seebor, do we? That’s not what he likes.’ The hand slipped further up, onto Jane’s bottom.

‘I suppose it could be no knickers. A little artless, ingenue touch. Mr Seebor might like that.’

Jane breathed out an automatic, whispered, ‘No!’

The hand had come away. Mrs Weinling’s voice was sharper. ‘You will do as I say, Jane.’ She was standing up now. ‘But perhaps we won’t have you without knickers. Ingenue yes, but we don’t on the other hand want you seeming like a common little tart. Mr Seebor does not want that.’ The elegant hands went to Jane’s smart jacket, opening it wide.

‘Are you wearing a bra, young lady?’ Jane nodded.

‘Oh I don’t think we want that. Knickers yes but not a bra. Not when you’ve such a delightful little figure. Mr Seebor will be quite charmed with you without a bra, Jane. Take it off please.’

Jane bit her lip and looked as if she wanted to protest, or plead, but did neither. Mrs Weinling did not allow any disagreement and would very quickly give tangible, painful proof of this. She was going over to her bureau, moving with elegant grace in her straight black skirt and blouse. She had an excellent figure, though without the youthfulness of her young protegee, and with her stunning blonde hair swept high was the epitome of feminine poise and sophistication. Jane, her face unhappy, was nonetheless doing as she was told. Taking off the jacket and then unfastening and slipping off the bra under the loose black top. Standing again with the jacket replaced. Mrs Weinling came back.

‘Yes, that’s more like it.’ Her hand came out to the now unbrassiered breasts contained in the thin black material. ‘Much better.’ The elegant hand fondled. ‘This is what a gentleman likes. A pretty girl with a lovely young body. And not overly shy. Modesty of course but certainly not a shrinking violet. And I think with knickers on but no bra we will achieve that happy medium.’

Mrs Weinling’s hand came away. And went down and up under the front of Jane’s skirt. Her voice was softer. ‘Because you’re not really an excessively shy girl, are you, Jane dear?’

Jane didn’t answer, apart from a little gasp. The elegant hand was at the crotch of her tight white knickers. Fingers in between her legs stroking along the line of the lips. The girl’s breathing became noticeably more agitated but she stood still, not attempting to stop the hand or squirm away.

Mrs Weinling gave a throaty laugh. The hand came away. Sliding down between the soft thighs. Pausing to sharply pinch a segment of flesh midway between knee and crotch. Then came out.

‘Yes, I’m sure Mr Seebor will find you most entertaining, Jane. He’s due in half an hour. And that I suppose would give us time for another little item. Yesterday. We still have to deal with that, haven’t we, my dear?’

‘Yes, Mrs Weinling.’ Words gasped out on breathing still agitated from the intimately caressing and then pinching fingers.

‘Yes, Mrs Weinling,’ the older woman repeated. ‘Yes, I think we’ve time. Shall we go up to your room?’

It was not really a question of course, it was a statement that they would. Jane’s little room at the top of the house. Up the broad, luxuriantly-carpeted stairway to the first floor and then on up the narrow bare boards which led further. A staccato rapping of high heels as Mrs Weinling closely followed Jane. Yesterday she had dropped a cup while washing up. Not an expensive item but it was gross carelessness according to Mrs Weinling and carelessness needed to be punished; taught a lesson.

‘Kneel up on the chair, Jane.’

There was no argument. Jane climbed obediently onto the wooden chair. Kneeling on the hard seat, holding the back. She knew how she was wanted. She had had this before.

‘Get your head further down. And push your bottom out. I won’t cane you, Jane: not with Mr Seebor corning. We don’t want you marked for your visitor, do we? But a smacked bottom — that won’t cause any problems.’ Mrs Weinling had Jane’s skirt up over her back and was peeling down the tight white knickers. Jane gripping the chairback; telling herself to grit her teeth. It could be a lot worse: Mrs Weinling could have done it in front of the visitor, Mr Seebor. She was quite capable of that. So having it in her room with no one else here had to be easier than that. And Mrs Weinling was not going to use the cane. It was to be a spanking; and though having your knickers taken down and your bare bottom spanked made you feel pretty sick there was no way it could be compared to the cane. Or to having it done with someone else — a man — watching.

The only thing was… but Mrs Weinling didn’t have time for any of that. Not with Mr Seebor coming in a little while. She had only time for…

SMACK!… SMACK!… SMACK!!!

She could make it really hurt even though it was only her hand. Also the very fact of it — your bottom bare like this and her hand splatting down — made you cringe, sweat. Hang on and try not to think. It would soon be over. And then… this Mr Seebor was due. So there wouldn’t be time for…

SMACK!… SMACK!… SMACK!!!

Jane could hear herself making gaspy, squealy sounds. The hand, delivered with Mrs Weinling’s full force, stung dreadfully. Each time momentarily flattening her poor bottom with the impact. Knocking the breath out of her. On and on…

Mrs Weinling, breathing hard from her exertions, finally stopped. Glanced at her watch. Jane’s bottom was a glowing pink. Mrs Weinling put her hand back on a quivering cheek. Not a vicious smack this time but lightly holding the glowing flesh.

‘That will do for the moment, Jane. That’s what naughty, careless girls have to have, isn’t it?’

A sobbing sort of sound in reply. ‘Yes Jane. It’s not the end of it, of course. You need the cane as well.’ The hand softly stroking the smooth hot flesh. ‘I shall give you that later. After Mr Seebor’s visit. You don’t like the cane, do you, Jane dear?’

Another gasping sobbing sound, this one meant to be ‘No’ rather than ‘Yes’.

‘No Jane. But a girl has to have it.’ The hand had slid down underneath. It was pushing in between the tops of Jane’s thighs. She gripped harder on the chairback. This was what she had feared, in its way as bad as a spanking, a caning even. Not painful; the reverse in fact. But… she hated it.

‘Naughty girls need the cane, Jane.’ The long elegant fingers had found what they were after. The fierce spanking had caused some wetness there: perspiration or something else. The fingers slid open the lips. Mrs Weinling’s low voice: ‘Oh dear, Jane. We’re all wet. All hot and excited.’ The fingers working. ‘Is that the way Mr Seebor will want you?’

----//----

Mr Seebor came at 2.30, right on time, in a big, expensive-looking black car. Unlike Mrs Weinling’s perfect enunciation he spoke with a distinct accent: German in fact although Jane herself would not perhaps have been able to so define it. He was older than Mrs Weinling, fiftyish, with a small moustache and sharp eyes behind black-framed spectacles.

Mrs Weinling was charmingly welcoming. ‘Ah Mr Seebor. I don’t think you have met my young lady. Jane has been so looking forward to your visit, haven’t you, dear?’

Jane was still feeling the effects of her visit to her bedroom five minutes ago with Mrs Weinling. Her face was flushed as also of course was her bottom. Unlike her face, though, her bottom was for the moment covered up.

‘Yes. Quite charming. What a pretty girl — and such a lovely glow. What have you been doing to her, Mrs Weinling?’

Mrs Weinling laughed. She said she had to go out, but Jane would look after Mr Seebor. She would keep him entertained until Mrs Weinling came back. ‘Won’t you, Jane dear?’

Jane gave her a forlorn, helpless look. Mrs Weinling laughed again. ‘Don’t look so serious. Just do whatever Mr Seebor wants. I’m sure he’ll be able to think of things to keep himself amused. Won’t you, Mr Seebor?’

The visitor smiled. Yes he could. Mrs Weinling went out having whispered in Mr Seebor’s ear, ‘Eighteen, Mr Seebor, but an innocent.’ Mr Seebor sat down on the settee. Jane could sit on his lap, he said…

----//----

‘Mr Seebor said he was very pleased with you, Jane. You were just how he likes a girl. Sweet and charming. And very attractive. He wants to come and see you again.’

Jane didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about Mr Seebor, but it was impossible to blot it out. She shuddered. Mrs Weinling took her arm. There was perhaps a certain look in the older woman’s eye. Did she know what Mr Seebor had done?

‘We’ll go upstairs now, Jane dear. Our little piece of unfinished business. We may as well get it over with.’

In Jane’s small bedroom again. This time it is not just her knickers down, Mrs Weinling wants all Jane’s clothes off. This is not really necessary, of course. Unless it is intended simply to make punishment more unpleasant, an extra dimension of humiliation. But Mrs Weinling definitely does seem to have that extra something about her: a glint to the sometimes icy-cold blue eyes, and her face is somewhat flushed.

Could it be that Mrs Weinling has somehow contrived to see — through a hidden spyhole or perhaps a one-way mirror — how Mr Seebor amused himself with Jane? Or Mr Seebor might have told her, in that private chat they had together afterwards. Or on the other hand it could simply be that Mrs Weinling has guessed — and perhaps it is not difficult to guess what a gentleman will do when left alone with a girl who knows she must submit to his wishes.

Whatever the truth Mrs Weinling undoubtedly has a frisson of excitement about her. Something which is feeding and fuelling her own planned enjoyment of Jane. The strap first and then no doubt other pleasures. So it is Jane’s slim nude body that Mrs Weinling wants. As Mr Seebor a little earlier also wanted it. And had it.

Jane’s nude, bare-bottomed shape is bent neatly across a pile of pillows on the bed, and the shiny, bum-stingy strap that Mrs Weinling smacks thoughtfully against her palm is going to hurt — really hurt!