Reformed Characters Read online

  'So you're doing it for my own good?' Sherry asked, letting a little note of sarcasm enter her clear voice.

  'I'm also doing it because I love to see girlish arses buck and squirm under the rod,' the older woman said.

  God, she was a patronising bitch. Sherry allowed her mind to fill with revenge fantasies. She'd love to have this aristocrat over her knee, would like to spank her wearing a leather glove then unbuckle her belt...

  Her thoughts returned to her disarmed state as Madam drew back the cane. This time it livened the strip of flesh just below the last rod line. Sherry cried out but managed to stay in place.

  'That's stroke one delivered. Now for stroke two,' the Frenchwoman said. The second one went lower. Again Sherry had the feeling that this women knew exactly what she was doing, that she was heating a new area of buttock each time. 'Mm. Good girl. You're colouring up nicely,' her dominator continued, drawing back the slender rattan again.

  'It really hurts, Miss,' Sherry whispered, twisting her head around to follow the cane with her eyes whilst still holding on to the coat hooks.

  'Of course it hurts - it's punishment,' the older woman shot back.

  She laid the stick onto Sherry's rump again and the girl gaspingly danced in place.

  'That's you at the halfway stage. Only three to go if you're obedient,' her suited disciplinarian explained. Sherry didn't think that the word only was appropriate when her bottom stung as if it had been pulled through nettles by wild horses, but she kept quiet about that.

  'Ask nicely for the fourth,' the woman said.

  'Please cane me again,' Sherry whispered miserably

  'Oh, you can ask more ingratiatingly than that. Sound a bit more humble or I may discover my caning arm finds additional zest.'

  'Please... please stripe me like a zebra,' Sherry mumbled. 'Please remind me who's in charge.'

  'That's better,' her superior murmured and toasted her extremities again.

  'Aah!' Sherry drummed her feet against the carpet but kept her fingers away from her rear. There had been a slight overlap between these last two strokes and the intensity was building. Still she told herself that she could take the last two without complaint. And she did indeed cope with cane stroke five, which emblazoned its way across the lower portion of both jiggling buttocks. It was the sixth and supposedly final stroke that she couldn't stand.

  Madam Binchet laid it smartly across the girl's underswell, and the lashing of that sentient place unnerved the semi-naked victim. She squealed and let go of the coat hooks, rubbing at the soreness as if her life depended on it. After a moment she looked up to see Madam Binchet shaking her head at her.

  'It was too much. I couldn't bear it,' she gasped pitifully.

  'Then you shall have your final punishment bent over the settee where it'll be harder for you to protect your arse,' the older woman said. She pointed to a long regency suite. 'Keep your feet on the floor and stretch across that with your hands on its furthest arm.'

  Walking stiffly, and feeling immensely silly because she still had her skirt pinned up around her waist, Sherry hastened to comply with the order. She looked back at her employer as she reached the settee. The low couch would hold her buttocks in place and there would be no mercy. 'Over,' the woman said again. 'For the very last time.'

  Snivelling, Sherry did as she was told. She kept her feet on the floor and bent from the waist. The leather felt cool against her naked belly. She stretched out her hands and realised she couldn't move away easily, that the settee's design forbade a quick escape.

  'Tell me how much you deserve this,' Madam Binchet said, coming to stand at her face and holding out the rod again.

  Sherry kissed it without further bidding. 'I was a bad girl in rubbing my sore bottom earlier,' she muttered, hoping that to embarrass herself now would save her arse in the moments to come.

  'How bad?' the older woman prompted.

  'Very bad... very naughty, Miss,' Sherry said. She sucked in her breath and held it as she sensed the stronger woman walking behind her. Then she exhaled hard and wailed loudly as the rod bit into her crimsoned flesh again.

  At last it was over and Madam Binchet said that she could leave. 'If you want to join my cleaning crew I'll take you on,' she added gently.

  'But I'm not trained, so...?'

  'I'll train you myself this week on half pay. You'll know the basics by next week and can start earning twelve pounds an hour.'

  Sherry thought about it for a couple of minutes then she nodded. Beggars couldn't afford to be choosers. 'Okay, I'll give it a try.'

  Madam Binchet smiled and patted her arm. 'That's settled then. Now, can I give you a lift home? You must be tired out.'

  'I'd appreciate that,' Sherry said, smoothing her clothes down. She'd never met so changeable a woman. 'Could I just freshen up?'

  'Of course. Have a cold shower if you like. I keep some body lotion in the guest bathroom for cooling naughty girls' bottoms. If you just sign this work contract first...'

  Fifteen minutes later they walked to Madam's car. Sherry got into the passenger seat. Her feet landed on a clanking carrier bag and she picked it up. 'Shall I put this in the back for you, Madam Binchet?'

  'I don't see why not - but you might as well examine its contents first.'

  Sherry looked inside and gulped as she saw a glossy wooden paddle, a thin black riding crop, a four-tailed tawse and a coiled leather whip.

  'Isn't it lucky that I bought them this morning on my trip to London? As I said, you're going to need training,' the woman explained.

  'But I thought you meant...'

  'Oh yes, I'll teach you how to clean stately homes. But when you make mistakes I'll re-educate you till you squeal for mercy.' She smiled sweetly as she started the Rolls. 'I've already trained many of the younger staff but they've learned fast and hardly ever make- errors nowadays.'

  'What makes you think I will?' Sherry muttered, trying desperately to shore herself up with the thought of twelve pounds an hour.

  'I have a feeling that you're going to be a slow learner,' her superior said, fingering the transforming line of the fibreglass riding crop then swishing it through the air as if aiming for a very naughty bottom, 'and that you'll become very well acquainted with my reformatory friends.'

  A Spirited Approach

  Last night she'd dreamt of the whip again. Chloe cautiously opened her eyes and filtered in the early morning sunlight. Her bedside clock showed 6am. It was two hours till the alarm was due to ring, but she knew that further sleep would evade her. Leastways, it had these past few days. Days in which her slumbering brain had conjured up disturbingly punitive images. Images which told of power, hate, revenge.

  In the first dream she'd seen the whip lying on a satin-draped bed. The second vision had shown that same riding crop held between two large hands - male hands. In the third dream which she'd experienced a few moments before, the whip had been brought mercilessly down on someone's sentient and disarmed buttocks.

  Chloe shivered as she stepped into the shower and turned it on full force. She'd returned to consciousness seconds after she dreamed of a womanly bottom, of the onset of the lash. I managed to leave my dream, she told herself as the warm water splashed over her breasts, I controlled the situation. Maybe she could use positive thoughts to stop herself seeing the nocturnal whip again?

  After a half-hearted breakfast, Chloe drove her Renault to the English-As-A-Second-Language Centre where she worked as a teacher. Today she was tutoring a Portuguese family who'd come to Britain to further the husband's career. Tom Dia!' she smiled, greeting them in their own language, before going on to explain English's basic rules.

  By lunchtime her own performance was becoming woefully basic, and she made her way for the fifth time to the coffee machine in reception. 'Late night, was it?' Tony, a recent addition to the staff, asked cheerfully.

  Chloe grimaced. 'No, an early one,' she said.

  Tony looked at first surprised and then slightly crestfal
len by her answer. 'Oh, I see. Alright for some.'

  Belatedly Chloe realised that she'd given him the wrong idea about how she'd spent her time. 'I went to bed early because I had a bit of sleep to catch up on,' she admitted lightly. 'I've been an insomniac of late!'

  'No nights in white satin, then?' Tony parried.

  No - nights spent staring at a riding crop, Chloe thought weakly. A crop which mercilessly bites...

  'Nightmares, more like!' she admitted, looking up into his kindly eyes whilst cradling her plastic cup.

  'I know just what you need,' Tony said. For a moment Chloe felt herself blushing, then he followed his words with the statement, 'You need a night at the disco with me.

  Chloe hesitated; she was twenty-five now and hadn't been to a disco since she was nineteen.

  'Isn't it all mindless muzak nowadays?' she asked haltingly.

  'Exactly,' said Tony who seemed to have an answer for everything, 'you just bop till you drop and go home too tired to think about a thing.'

  They went. She danced. After her fourth Pernod she decided that Tony was an undiscovered genius. 'You were right - I think I'll sleep tonight!' she yelled in his ear. 'All I needed was lots of exercise!'

  'And another Pernod?' Tony queried as they returned to their glass-littered corner table.

  'No, if I drink any more aniseed I'll have lots of stray dogs following me home!'

  'Would you mind if this stray dog followed you home?' Tony asked huskily, covering her small hand with his large one and looking at her intently. Thrown off balance, Chloe pulled her fingers away. She hadn't had sex with anyone in the three months since she'd split up with Ken, her childhood sweetheart. And for the last year of their relationship she hadn't even had sex very often with him.

  'You're a great guy...' she started carefully. And a good looking one, she admitted to herself, gazing into his fun-filled hazel eyes.

  'A great guy who moves too quickly, huh?' her colleague countered. 'Yeah. Sorry Chloe - it's just that I've been interested in you ever since we met.'

  Chloe nodded. She'd sensed as much. 'So why didn't you say something sooner?'

  'Someone told me you were getting over a long term relationship so I decided to bide my time.'

  And now her own time was filled with self-punishing symbols, for what else could the whip in her dreams represent? Chloe determined that she'd fill her bed with a more pleasurable form of action tonight.

  'I haven't even thought about my ex for weeks,' she said honestly. Then she smiled and held out her hand to him. 'My King Size awaits.'

  He looked good. He sounded good. And when she stroked and kissed him he felt good. And yet... 'Is there anything special you'd like me to do?' Tony whispered after he'd come twice and she hadn't. Sleepily, Chloe shook her head. She'd brought him off with her mouth and then with her hands - she hadn't gotten wet enough for him to penetrate her. It had been like that with Ken towards the end.

  'Just hold me,' she murmured, glad to have a man's arms around her, 'this insomniac's about to get some rest.'

  Rest soon turned to restlessness as she slept. The woman was naked again. Chloe could see more of her this time. Could see that her hands were tied above her head, that she was standing almost on tiptoe. Then the whip lashed into her helpless spheres and she moaned and Chloe did the same.

  'Hey, it's alright! It's just a bad dream,' came a man's voice - Tony's voice.

  'Is it?' Chloe whispered. For during the last seconds of the punishment scene her eyes had been fixed on the corner of her room and she was convinced that she'd been awake.

  When does eccentricity cross over into madness? When does lack of sleep produce waking hallucinations? Chloe pondered the problem throughout the day as she translated various languages into English, and made numerous trips to the Centre's coffee machine.

  'You'll never sleep again if you drink that much caffeine,' Tony said, coming up behind her in the corridor and kissing her earlobe.

  'Maybe that's the idea,' Chloe said.

  She still liked Tony, was relieved that there was no awkwardness between them. But his kisses hadn't aroused her and she knew that she didn't want to have sex with him again.

  'I'd be happy to play Scrabble with you through the wee small hours,' Tony offered, and she thought how sweetly old fashioned he was and wished again that she could love him. Instead, she'd let the man down gently now.

  'Maybe I'm still not over that ex-boyfriend after all,' she lied with halting gentleness. 'So can we keep things simple by just being the best of friends?'

  'Friends it is,' Tony joked. She saw the disappointment reflected in his eyes and mouth, and felt an answering lowering of her spirit at the thought of spending yet another night alone without a Mr Right.

  But that night she wasn't alone. Chloe returned from work and stayed up until 2am, dreading the moment when she must enter her dream-filled bedroom. At last her energy levels dwindled so much that she couldn't concentrate on writing up her monthly report. I'll sit up in bed and read that glitzy fashion novel, she told herself as she pulled off her leisure suit and panties. All that name-dropping should send me to sleep...

  After placing both pillows against the headboard, Chloe got underneath the duvet. It had been a warm night so far, but suddenly the large square room felt arms-pricklingly cold. The language teacher reached for her dressing gown and wrapped it around her otherwise nude young frame. Time I saved up for central heating, she told herself, then opened the book and began to skim the first indifferently written page.

  She was on page ten when she became aware of a shadowy movement near the window of the room. Chloe sucked in her tummy muscles and held them tightly. The window locks ensured that no one could get in, which meant... Grey wisps of gossamer slowly solidified to form the shape of a long-gowned maidservant. Somehow Chloe couldn't scream. The woman looked to be about thirty-five. Her cheeks were bright and flushed, her arms pale and slender. The English Language Teacher didn't want to know what would happen next.

  She tried to move, but found herself weighted to the bed, dormant apart from her breathing. It deepened as further gossamer wisps appeared and took the form of a cane-wielding man. Silently he pointed at Chloe's dressing table stool, and the quivering female bent over it. 'I like my staff to lift their skirts when they're to taste the cane,' he said quietly and the tremulous maidservant obeyed.

  She rolled her black gown up her back to reveal heavy lace-trimmed white button-down bloomers which reached to her knees. Her buttocks jerked with anticipation as he stared.

  'Disobedient girls have to strip for the Master of the House, Miss. Elsom,' the man continued.

  Chloe shivered at his arrogant certainty. If only she could startle the cad, stop this awful cruelty. But she couldn't speak.

  'I know, sir. I'm sorry, sir,' the woman whispered in a hoarse low voice. Her fingers crept back to the waist of her drawers and lingered nervously.

  'You'll get twelve strokes instead of six if you tarry, Miss,' her employer said. Chloe stared at the scene with increasing consternation. It's just a vivid hallucination, she reminded herself.

  Miss Elsom was now reluctantly removing her bloomers to show the man her peach of a bum. It was a rump that even a heterosexual woman like Chloe wanted to squeeze and fondle. Yet this bastard just wanted to mark it with his cane. The language teacher stared as the man moved his arm back in line with the centre of the woman's buttocks. Then he licked the rod across both taut spheres and she groaned.

  'Save your lamentations till you've tasted the other five,' her employer said matter-of-factly, 'I'm going to make that pretty arse dance a jig.'

  He did, too. Chloe stared, her book forgotten, as the autocratic male used the swishy cane again and again on the maid's twitching haunches. When he'd finished there were half a dozen red lines across her quivering flesh.

  'Now, my love, perhaps you'd like to make amends?' he murmured, and Chloe's breath came fast as the servant got slowly up from the stool and embr
aced her employer. Then she sank to her knees...

  Chloe found that she could at last close her eyes and when she opened them again it was daybreak, and the light was still on, and her book was lying on the duvet. Christ, that dream had been so realistic. The twenty-five year old got carefully out of bed, noting that her inner thighs were curiously damp. Could she have lost control out of fear and wet herself? One thing was certain; she had to stop these discipline-based images now.

  The New Age Centre along the road had a dream counsellor on its part time staff. She had a cancellation the next day, and Chloe took it. 'I've been having terrible nightmares. I need to know what they mean,' she said, as she lay awkwardly on the couch.

  'Describe the first one to me,' the counsellor Eva said from her own chair at Chloe's right shoulder. 'Leave nothing out.'

  'It... was just a whip on a bed.' Chloe suddenly felt that even her dreams were lacking in depth. 'But it was large and coiled and looked painful.'

  Eva wrote a few words in her notebook. 'Whipping usually symbolises that you're driving yourself too hard,' she explained.

  'No, I have lots of free time,' Chloe told her, remembering the long nights spent by the TV.

  'Well, have you been under pressure at work?'

  'No pressure.' Work was fine; she'd always been good at her job.

  'Then perhaps you've been putting too much into a relationship?' Eva presumed.

  No, I've been single for months,' Chloe answered, 'and the break up came slowly and was mutual. In fact, the end was long overdue, a relief.'

  Eva looked nonplussed. She added something else to her notebook and said, 'Tell me about the second dream.'

  'The whip was being used,' Chloe muttered, playing with her silver neckchain.

  'On you?'

  'No, on someone I didn't know.'

  'And you felt helpless?' Eva prompted. She'd stopped writing.