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ISBN: 9781780800615Author: Sarah SteelWord Count: 75,410Format: eBook
Beetle studied the Matron as the negotiations progressed. She was a striking woman of forty - perhaps a couple of years more - and something of a forbidding beauty. Her pale face was free from any trace of cosmetics, and the full lips of her resolute mouth bore no lipstick's kiss. Beetle felt uneasy in her presence: the Matron was the epitome of stern authority. The note of austerity was sharpened by the seamed nylons, stiff brogues and the faint whiff of carbolic soap. Beetle sensed the Matron's eyes upon her, and quickly glanced down into the glow of the gas fire, grateful that Krystal was doing all the talking. Beetle blushed slightly and her nipples peaked firmly as she succumbed to the thought of being disciplined by Matron.
In Sarah Steel's corporal punishment story a crime must be instantly dealt with. When it is inappropriate to wait for the process of law. When what is required is the swift and painful execution of justice. When it's time to send for the - Correction Squad.
Krystal is blonde, beautiful, Polish - and mean. Pretty, dark-haired Beetle is her assistant. Together they relish the chance to exercise their talents in the dispensing of justice. And when they have finished with the impudent flesh of the sullen-faced thief and the pert posterior of the trembling cheat - then it's time to hone their skills on each other...
'Come in, Sister Oates—' 'But I've finished my shift and my breakfast will spoil, Matron.' 'I believe,' Matron continued imperturbably, 'your duties brought you into this room a little after eleven last night?' 'Yes.' The reply was guarded, the tone defensive. Sister Oates turned in surprise as Krystal, still dressed as a domestic, stepped into the bedroom, locking the door behind her. 'An expensive item of jewellery, a single string of pearls, appears to have been mislaid. Would you be so good as to assist us in looking for it? You know what these old dears are like,' Matron shrugged resignedly, nodding to the elderly woman sleeping in the bed. Suddenly emboldened - thinking her moment of danger had passed - Sister Oates obliged with a convincing act of searching for the mislaid pearls. 'What are you wearing around your neck, Sister?' Krystal enquired softly. A hand flew up to the startled woman's throat. 'As a matter of fact—' She faltered - then recovered her composure - 'I have a rope of pearls. Imitation, of course.' 'What is happening?' wheezed the elderly patient from her pillows, gazing sleepily around her. 'Good morning,' beamed Matron. 'You join us at an opportune moment. Is this the person who stole your pearls?' Oates gasped audibly. 'Yes,' croaked the feeble voice from the pillows. 'That's a lie,' hissed the accused. 'And you'll never be able to prove—' 'That is the person who stole a single string of pearls at ten minutes past twelve last night,' Beetle spoke now in her own voice as she briskly removed the whitened wig and sallow make-up she'd worn to age herself. Transformed from crone to nymph in seconds, she bounded out of her bed. Panic and fear froze the face of Sister Oates into a mask of sullen hatred. 'These pearls are mine,' she asserted, a note of desperation in her shrill voice. 'This is purely a coincidence.' Her encircling accusers remained silent. 'Are you police?' Oates quavered. 'Worse than that,' Matron murmured. 'Much worse, I fear.' 'Strip,' Krystal barked. Oates paled beneath her pretence of outrage. 'I said strip. At once. Get out of that uniform.' 'Yes,' Matron added. 'You are a disgrace to your uniform. Undress this instant, Oates.' 'B-but—' 'At once!' Sister Oates fumbled with her belt and buttons. Slowly, resentfully, the uniform was peeled off until she stood, trembling slightly, in her brassiere, panties, nylon stockings and crisp suspender belt. 'I want you naked,' Krystal whispered in a tone of velvet menace. As she spoke Krystal wriggled gracefully out of her domestic's uniform, then casually plucked off her own underwear, tossing her panties aside. Slowly she thumbed the pubic tuft at the base of her belly as she glared at the disgraced nurse. 'Utterly naked,' echoed Beetle, her disguise completely discarded, as she pulled the modest nightdress over her head to emerge unashamedly nude. 'I shall leave you two to your pleasantly painful duties,' Matron said softly, gazing hungrily at Oates's bare bottom as the accused woman palmed down her panties over the sheen of her nylons. 'I shall return within the hour. Will you both be breakfasting?' she asked, a carnal snarl tightening her voice as Oates removed her brassiere. Krystal nodded. 'Big breakfasts for both of us, please. I find that dispensing punishment gives me quite an appetite.' 'P-punishment?' Oates gasped. 'Then I had better instruct the kitchens accordingly,' Matron smiled. 'Stockings.' Krystal barked. Oates obeyed, her hands trembling as they eased the sheer nylons down her slender legs. Matron departed, locking the door behind her. 'Do you still insist the pearls are yours?' Krystal fixed her gaze on the string of pearls - the sole adornment on the naked thief. 'Yes—' 'Take it off,' challenged Beetle. Oates made a frantic attempt to do so, her breasts bunching between her elbows as her hands worked at the clasp. 'But then you can't, can you? You see,' Beetle continued crisply, 'it has a trick catch on the lock.' Oates dropped her hands down to cover her bosom protectively 'Guilty,' Krystal hissed, slowly pulling on a pair of stretchy clear plastic gloves. Splaying her fingers, she studied the effect approvingly. 'I think we've proved our case beyond reasonable doubt.' Oates bowed her head in fearful shame, conceding her guilt completely. 'No doubt whatsoever,' Beetle replied. 'And her punishment?' 'Kneel,' Krystal commanded. Oates made a token gesture of resistance but obeyed the curt command. Her bare bottom wobbled perceptibly as she squirmed down onto her knees, scrunching her toes into the carpet. Beetle approached the nude and bent over her, brushing her nipples against the nurse's upturned face as her nimble fingers stretched to undo the secret catch. The string of pearls slithered from the thief's neck in silence. 'Up,' Krystal commanded. Oates rose unsteadily, vainly attempting to cover her nakedness with her trembling hands. 'Hands behind your back.' 'No, p-please—' 'Behind your back.' Blushing deeply, Oates obeyed Krystal's firm instruction, exposing her breasts, belly and pubic thatch to the fierce gaze of her accusers. Krystal inched towards her captive. Stretching out her gloved hand, she fingered then cupped the naked left breast. Squeezing it slowly, she gazed dominantly into the frightened face. 'Before we whip you—' 'Whip me?' Oates squealed. 'Whip your naked bottom,' Krystal murmured suavely, punishing the breast within her gloved grasp. 'I will require you to write a full confession.' 'Just let me go - Please—' Oates whined. 'Silence!' Krystal captured and tormented the pink nipple between a cruel pincer of finger and thumb. The nipple thickened, then purpled with pain. Oates gasped and moaned. 'You can't do this. You've no right. The police—' 'Need not be bothered. All I want from you is a signed confession. And then your bare bottom,' Krystal whispered. Oates whimpered. 'The pen and paper you'll require,' Krystal pointed, 'are over on that desk.' Crushed by the stern note of authority, Oates shuffled over to the desk and sank her naked buttocks down onto the polished wooden chair. 'A full and frank confession, listing everything you have stolen from your elderly patients, both here and elsewhere. Everything, understand?' The thief, nodding her obedience, picked up the pen. Like a naughty schoolgirl writing lines in detention before the kiss of the prefect's slipper across her bottom, she laboured over her scribbled confession. As she wrote, she peeped across at her naked accusers. Krystal and Beetle busied themselves for the impending chastisement. Their preparations for punishment were simple: they merely had to arrange the bed to their satisfaction for the thief to receive and suffer her whipping. Two leather belts were produced, unfurled and snapped. At the harsh double crack, Oates glanced up and shivered. Once her written confession had been completed and signed, Oates was ordered to approach the bed and to stretch out face-down into the duvet. Her pubic curls rasped softly as they brushed the gleaming satin. 'Head down, bottom up. Higher,' Krystal barked, tapping the round buttocks firmly with her straightened index finger. The nude shuddered at the touch of the plastic-sheathed fingertip as it dimpled-her upturned peach-like cheeks. 'Pillows,' Krystal nodded. Beetle positioned two pillows between the satin duvet and the warm thighs above. Applying a gag to Oates, she smothered the rising grunts of protest and pleas for pity. The two nude punishers took up their positions - facing each other across he defenceless bare bottom that separated them. 'Excellent,' Krystal observed, dragging the tip of her supple leather belt across the crown of the vulnerable cheeks. 'To avoid scandal, Oates, copies of your signed confession will be sent to very agency—' Oates writhed, twisting her head around. Krystal flicked the strap down across the bunched cheeks, scalding the quivering rump savagely. Oates lay still and silent, her face buried into the bed. 'At your expense, of course. You will be taken off every agency register and you will make full restitution to each of our victims. We'll see to it that you never again obtain a position of trust caring for the elderly. You will be denied,' Krystal hissed as she gathered up the length of cruel leather into her gloved hand, 'any opportunity to prey on the weak and the vulnerable. Do I make myself perfectly clear?' Oates squirmed as she grunted her assent into the gag. 'Twenty strokes,' Krystal pronounced, relishing the sentence as she fingered the leather belt affectionately through the plastic gloves. The hide slid easily between her sheathed palms. Swallowing silently to lubricate her dry mouth, Krystal stared down at the bare buttocks she was about to blister with her belt. 'I shall administer the first eight lashes. You,' she gazed into Beetle's brown eyes, 'were superb last night. A most convincing performance. You've earned the lion's share. Give her the remaining twelve strokes, but remember Matron's instructions.' 'Severely?' the brown eyes widened. 'Severely,' Krystal echoed. Down on the bed, the bare bottom tightened perceptibly, the cleft becoming a narrow crease between the anxious buttocks. Crack, snap! The dark hide of the leather lashed down across the naked flesh as Krystal delivered the first of her eight searing strokes. The pliant curved domes spasmed in anguish, burning under the pink stripe of hot torment bequeathed by the bite of the belt. Crack, swipe! Crack, lash! Oates moaned into her tight gag, writhing as the punishment proceeded. Crack, snap! Crack snap! Oates bucked her hips, wriggling and twisting vainly to escape her pain. 'Hold her down!' Krystal barked. Beetle dropped the belt she was absently rubbing against her hot slit and sprang upon the punished nude. Grappling with the hot-bottomed thief and easily mastering her, she pinned her victim to be bed then looked up with adoring eyes at Krystal. 'Got her.' 'Well done,' the dominant blonde purred approvingly, raising her strap once more. The first eight lashes left the reddened bottom ablaze. Krystal dropped her leather belt to the carpeted floor and knelt at the bedside to examine the scalded cheeks. Oates flinched from the cool touch of the plastic gloves but Krystal gripped the firm buttocks and spread the punished flesh of the hot cheeks apart, exposing the cleft to her hovering thumbtips. The gloves cupped and ruthlessly squeezed the splayed buttocks as the thumbtips grazed the damp warmth of the shadowed cleft. Slowly, intimately, the punisher examined at close quarters the visible suffering of the punished. Beetle picked up her belt and crushed it to her nipples as her brown eyes greedily drank in the scene on the bed. Her green-eyed blonde partner, perspiring slightly, bending down closely to inspect the hot cheeks. The shining plastic gloves, smoothing and palming the swollen mounds of ravished flesh. The penitent, stretched out face-down on her bed of pain and shame, her legs and thighs tautened in fearful expectation. Krystal reached down and scooped up her length of leather. She doubled it up with mathematical exactitude, halving the cruel hide into a shorter strap. Slotting the belt between the striped buttocks, Krystal dragged the hide along the sensitive flesh of the exposed cleft. Oates squealed, thrusting her hips violently as she strove to rid herself of this intimate torment - her smothered protests audible despite the gag binding her mouth so severely. Removing the leather from the cleft between the bunched cheeks, Krystal buried her face down into the striped buttocks, biting softly into each mound. Nipping the creamy domes solemnly, the punisher bade the hot flesh of the punished nude adieu. 'Give her the remaining stripes,' Krystal said quietly, rising to her feet and moving towards the bedhead. 'Hold her by the wrists as you lash her.'
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