Painful Consequences

Painful Consequences
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ISBN:  9781907753244
Author:  Alison North
Word Count:  64,021
Format:  eBook



Equally Painful ConsequencesEqually Painful Consequences

'These parts have sinned!' her employer exclaims angrily, pressing the length of the cane firmly across the fullest part of her bare buttocks, and noting with approval the pretty indentation it makes along the line of the intended cut. 'Not only have they sinned against the trust and authority that others have vested in me, they have also sinned against your lawful wedded husband. They have failed disgracefully in their duty to keep themselves only unto him. But fear not, Mrs Jamieson, I shall grant them absolution. I shall purify them with fire!' Mr Stanley raised the cane on high, carefully taking aim. 'I shall purify them with a fire so intense they'll think twice before ever sinning again!'

Painful Consequences chronicles various true tales of painful correction consequent upon a disastrous one-off liaison.

It's not necessarily to a woman's advantage to possess the sort of beauty that brings men to their knees and leaves them weeping openly in the street. Take Jennie, for example, an absolute vision of a girl. With her angel face, long blonde hair and a figure to take the breath away, she walks through life wreaking havoc and spreading frustration. Men scheme to have her, every one. And some scheme to have her in such a way that would ensure she remains on her feet for the rest of the week...

Mr Stanley continued to lounge back in the luxury of his swivel armchair. With quiet authority he explained exactly what was required. First he drew her attention to a mahogany writing table that stood in the corner of the alcove of a huge bay window, in front of and a few feet to the right of his desk. A tall wooden chair had been pushed right up to the table, the back of which towered some ten inches above the writing surface.
   She was then instructed to stand directly behind the chair, facing the table. In this way her back, bathed in filtered sunlight from the window, was turned approximately three-quarters towards the spot where Mr Stanley sat watching.
   He was taking his time, as he'd earlier promised himself he would. This was just too good to rush, he gloated to himself. And anyway, the longer he made her wait the more her anxiety would grow. Already she was visibly unnerved, as witness the occasional twitch of each pouting buttock while she stood with her hands gripping the top of the chair. He'd study those involuntary movements for a few minutes longer, before issuing further orders. He felt confident they'd become ever more pronounced as time ticked slowly by. Mind you, her present agitation was as nothing compared to what she had in store. Those juicy-ripe cheeks at which he was staring would be trembling even more before the cane began to rise and fall. But that was far in the future. There was a great deal of procedure to undergo before the first excruciating cut...
  Mr Stanley's next set of instructions was very precise indeed. It was precise because the instructions were immensely important. Calmly but firmly she was told she had to bend forward over the top of the chair. All the way forward, until her forehead and forearms were resting on the writing table beyond and below. He wanted 'that ruttish little rear end' - he informed her - pointing at the window and several inches above the level of her head. He wanted it to be the highest part of her person above the floor. No compromise would be tolerated.
   After he'd finished speaking there was a noticeable hesitation on her part, and it seemed possible she might rebel. At length he spoke again. 'Bend over, Mrs Jamieson,' he said bleakly, confident that eventually she would comply. 'Bend over, just as I ordered.'
   She darted a furtive look back at him as he sat at his desk, grim-faced and with the hellish-looking cane held purposefully in his right hand.
   'Bend over,' he repeated as frostily as before. She opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it.
   'Bend over,' he said yet again, tightening his grip on the cane as he spoke.
   She stared down at the highly polished tabletop, groaning miserably to herself. There was still time to change her mind. Still time to opt for his original punishment...
   Mr Stanley read her thoughts. 'Very well, I shall contact your husband if that's what you wish me to do.'
   'No, not that...'
   'Then be so good as to do as you're told.'
   'Couldn't I just stand here...?'
   'You most certainly could not. Bend over, exactly as I said.'
   Eventually, very red in the face and with a deep sigh of resignation, she began to bend forward from the waist, slowly and reluctantly, still stunned by the unreality of her situation, still hoping it might be a dream. Further and further she bent, the top of the chair digging into her stomach, her long blonde hair tumbling in front of her eyes, and the already well-filled seat of her short blue skirt tightening by degrees. At last she was sufficiently bent over so that she could place both hands, palms down, on the far side of the tabletop. While in that position she paused, hoping to give herself a little more time to adjust to the embarrassment and humiliation.
   'Is there anything wrong?' he asked.
   'I'm just composing myself,' she murmured over her shoulder.
   'Well, I suggest you don't take too long.'
   She took a deep breath. Her head was still a good eighteen inches above the table, yet she knew that her bottom was already raised in an extremely indelicate manner. This was undoubtedly the most undignified thing she'd ever had to do, she sighed to herself.
   'I'm a patient man,' he continued, 'but I'd strongly advise you not to take unnecessary risks. Not in your present position, at least.'
   Jennie decided there was little point in demurring any further. Sooner or later she'd have to bend right over the back of the chair in the manner he'd demanded. So it might as well be sooner. Closing her eyes she began to stretch forward and downward with the upper half of her body, hoping that the pressure from the top of the chair would ease once her head and elbows were firmly on the tabletop. She tried hard not to think of the spectacle she was being forced to make of herself, but she could sense his eyes all over the cheeks of her bottom as she continued to bend. She gasped. Ouch! The top of the chair was really cutting into the lower half of her midriff. But there wasn't too much further for her to go now. Her elbows were already safely on the table. It was just a matter of getting her head down there too - while Mr Stanley continued to stare at her lewdly displayed backside. It was as well she was wearing high heels, otherwise she'd never have been able to manage. It was also a good thing that she was quite an athletic girl who played badminton and squash three or four times a week, plus various other sports...
   At last she was in the pose he required. At full stretch and on the very tips of her toes, but in the pose he required. Mr Stanley had judged the relative heights of the wooden chair, writing table, and school secretary to absolute perfection. The latter was now comprehensively draped over the former, her head down and the fullest, fleshiest part of her bottom almost at the pinnacle of her pose. A pose of which he'd dreamed for so long. The submissionary position, it might so well be called. With her feet and legs close together, the perfect half crescent of her buttocks was now thrust a good four inches higher than her head - exactly as he'd insisted.
   Mr Stanley lounged back in his chair, fully satisfied with her stance and able to relax and relish the scene. And what a scene it was to be sure! Her short, dark-blue skirt had ridden right up to the swell of her buttocks, revealing the backs of two firm, perfectly rounded thighs that seemed to stretch down and down forever. The delightful contours of her bottom were now even more discernible than ever through the thin, tautly drawn material of her skirt. The very self-same bottom, he thought to himself, that had in the past tormented him so greatly. On occasions its plumpness and perfection had given him a real physical pain. But now he could gaze at it and experience only contentment and anticipation. Soon it would be held strictly to account for the intense frustration it had inflicted over the previous eighteen months. For the way it joggled and swayed under his gaze, taunting him and provoking him as it had gone - defiantly poking fun at his helpless condition, at his inability to deal with it in the way it so richly deserved. How had she dared to be so bold? How had she dared to parade such breathtaking beauty before his eyes, day after frustrating day, so brazenly, yet expect not to pay the price?
   Jennie twisted her head to the left and glanced through a swathe of hair. She groaned in dismay. There, in the glass front of the bookcase, was the reflection of the lower half of her body. There she was, bent almost double over the back of the chair, her bottom raised and the hem of her smart blue skirt all the way up to the tops of her legs! Maybe even higher! What an unseemly picture she presented! She'd better look away at once - and keep on looking away, otherwise she'd simply die of embarrassment and shame!
   She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She supposed that any moment now he'd get up from his desk and start to lay that cruel cane across her far-too-lightly covered behind. She dreaded to think how much it was going to hurt...
   But for the next ten minutes Mr Stanley sat at his desk, silent and still, his eyes riveted to the view. From the tousled top of her head, along the graceful sweep of her spine, up and over the twin peaks of her bottom, and then rapidly down to the toes of her high heel shoes, she was all he'd ever dreamed, and more. The epitome of total submission, offering herself up for sacrifice. Stretched to capacity and offering herself to him over the sacrificial altar of writing table and chair. He had to restrain the very strong impulse to leap to his feet there and then and bring the cane down across the exquisitely filled seat of her skirt with all his might. That would never do. He had to take his time if he was going to gain maximum satisfaction from this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
   So he'd sit and study the backs of her legs once again. They were smooth and shapely, and bare because the summer day was far too hot for stockings and suspenders. Of course he'd always known she had long, lovely legs. But in her present stance their beauty was beyond belief. They were displayed to maximum advantage by the way she was obliged to stand on tiptoes in order to bend over the top of the chair and then right down to the table. And her skirt had risen so high that every splendid centimetre was visible. Suddenly it had been transformed from a mini to a micro-mini skirt. It was now no more than a pelmet around her buttocks. Indeed it was scarcely that. Another millimetre higher and he would have been afforded his first tantalising glimpse of honey-smooth cheeks and tiny, over-stretched knickers. And because she was at such stretch herself, every muscle in her legs, and above, was fully toned to its best.
   Jennie kept her eyes closed. This was just so, so, so degrading. Fancy having to stand like this, letting him gawp at her upthrust hindquarters for as long as he wanted.
   Was her skirt long enough to hide all the essentials? Or was the plumply filled crotch of her knickers peeping shyly out at him?
   Oh, what a truly awful state of affairs!

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