From: willmac@pixi.com (theshadow) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Vicky's bad week-Shoplifter punished-pt 3 Date: Mon, 07 Aug 95 21:05:54 GMT Organization: Pacific Information eXchange, Inc. Message-ID: <406kqn$e5l@rigel.pixi.com> Wednesday At five minutes before four the next afternoon, Vicki found herself knocking for the second time on the door of Jameson's office. Obeying the muffled call for her to come in, Vicki slipped into the office and closed the door behind her. Jameson was seated at his desk, poring over a stack of printed forms. He glanced up when he heard the door click shut. "Ah, Miss Wilkins," he said, "I'm glad to see you're so prompt. We'll go downstairs as soon as I finish these, so you may as well get ready." Vicki kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned her sundress and pulled it over her head. Wearing only the emerald green bikini that had gotten her into this mess, she stood uncertainly for a moment and then sat down in one of the shabby chairs facing Jameson's desk. The chair was covered in a coarsely woven material that felt scratchy wherever it touched Vicki's skin--and given the skimpy size of the bikini, that included a considerable proportion of Vicki's bottom. Her rear was still a little achy and tender this afternoon, but she'd been able to sit through her classes without squirming too obviously, she thought. She'd even managed to sit at the table and chatter through dinner last night, as though she had no concerns beyond those of any other graduating senior. Vicki wondered how today's punishment would be administered and what it would feel like. Vicki had no doubt that this afternoon's spanking would hurt, but she hoped it wouldn't be as much worse than yesterday's as that had been worse than the day before. The first day would have been a hand spanking, if she hadn't refused to strip all the way. The second day was that horrible paddling. She still couldn't understand why it had hurt so much more yesterday than it had the day before; with the way Jameson had pulled the sides of the bikini bottom into the middle of her behind, she'd been almost as bare the first day as the second. And unlike the first day's paddling, which had left no marks on her skin at all, last night and even this morning the skin of her bottom had been mottled with dozens and dozens of reddish dots, almost as though she really had been stung by swarm after swarm of insects, just the way it had felt while Jameson was using the paddle on her. Thinking about her mottled bottom reminded Vicki of how it had looked in the mirror the night before. Excusing herself after dinner, she had gone to her room, ostensibly to study, but she'd been careful to lock her door. She had dragged her desk chair a few feet away from her full-length mirror, and, placing her pillow over the back of the chair to pad it, she had bent over the back of the chair, her bottom toward the mirror and her legs spread. It had been awkward, but she had managed to get a pretty good idea of how she had looked to Jameson in the afternoon. Her rear had still been pretty red then, and she had stroked and squeezed the widely spread cheeks with both hands. Her fingers had parted the silky tangle of hair between her thighs until she could see her secret place clearly. She wished she knew what to call that place, but the only words she'd learned, like "vagina", "labia", "clitoris", and so forth, sounded more like a sex-ed book than like the parts of her body she'd explored last night. She had overheard bits of giggling conversations among other girls who used other terms that Vicki thought probably referred to their secret places, but she wasn't positive--and she would rather make do with the textbook words than find out later that she had misunderstood what the other girls had been talking about. The fingers of one stroking hand had crept down to spread her labia, which were damp and slippery inside. The slipperiness seemed to suck first one of her fingers and then two deep into her vagina, and within seconds Vicki had found herself first squirming and then writhing frantically as she bent over the chair. She had told herself to stop, or at least to go lie on her bed, but her fingers and her hips were no longer controlled by her mind. Even when the pillow slid off onto the floor and the top of the chair back dug painfully into her stomach, Vicki had been unable to stop her gyrations until violent orgasm had surged through her, leaving her dangling weakly over the chair. "All right, Miss Wilkins, let's go." Vicki jumped as Jameson's voice interrupted her reverie. Blushing, she got to her feet and tugged at the bikini bottom, which seemed to be stretched uncomfortably through her crotch. Jameson opened the back door of his office and led her down the chilly concrete stairway. He opened the door of the security room and stood to one side to let her enter first, then closed the door and flipped the switch on the doorframe. Without waiting for instructions, Vicki stripped off the bikini, tossed it onto a chair and turned to face Jameson. He marveled at how much she had changed in two days. Monday she had been tearful, pleading, appalled by the thought of being nude in front of him. Now she had stripped without being told to, and stood facing him, feet comfortably apart, her arms crossed not to conceal her tits but to support and display them. He hoped that her apparent lack of fear didn't mean that she was no longer afraid of his filing charges against her, because with that fear would go both his leverage and his safety. "I trust," Jameson addressed her sternly, "that you remember the lesson in obedience you received yesterday, and that you won't force me to repeat it." He stared hard at her, hoping to see evidence that her attitude wasn't as confident as it seemed, and was elated to see her body stiffen as she remembered that final fierce paddling the day before. "Oh, no," the girl stammered, "I mean, yes, I remember, and no, I don't want to be spanked like that again, not ever." Despite the girl's stance, their was a tremor in her voice, and she shivered as her skin erupted in goosebumps. "Good," Jameson nodded. "Well, then, today I don't want to have to touch you." "You mean you won't, I can, you're not going to spank me?" There was eager hope in the voice, but Jameson thought he detected just a trace of disappointment in the girl's eyes. "I mean just what I said--I'm not planning to lay a hand on you. You will stay here, however, and I am certain that you will be very much aware that I am here also," Jameson responded. "Come over to the desk. Stand against the front, facing the chair." The girl complied quickly, even spreading her feet wide apart so that he didn't need to force her to do that. "You are to stay in that position until I tell you to move. You may rest your arms on the top of the desk if you wish, but you are not to move your legs. Is that clear?", he demanded. She nodded and leaned forward until her forearms rested on the glass desk top. The position thrust her ass back from the edge of desk provocatively, and it was all Jameson could do to keep from drooling. He walked around to the back side of the desk and stooped to open one of the lower drawers, from which he drew a leather strap about 30 inches long and three inches wide. He had looked long and hard before he had found it in an antique store. It was a razor strap, the kind that once had hung from every barber's chair; they were used to hone the edge of a straight razor, although many of them found other uses as well, as Jameson knew from his boyhood and Miss Victoria Wilkins was about to learn. Although the leather had been abraded and thinned by tens of thousands of razor strokes, it remained heavy and exceptionally supple. "You have learned what wood can feel like, Miss Wilkins," Jameson told her as he straightened up and kicked the drawer shut. "Today you will learn about the feel of leather." She turned her head to follow the strap as he walked around the desk and took a position behind and to the left of her waiting ass. He was pleased to see the mottled appearance of the previously unblemished skin; yesterday's paddling hadn't left any major bruises, but each hole in the face of the paddle had left its own mark each of the dozens of times the paddle had touched her. He noticed that her upper thighs were marked, too, but his eyes were drawn inexorably to the tight young pussy they framed. Despite the chill that had shaken her a few minutes earlier, her snatch was damp, either with sweat or with something else, and Jameson again felt the all-but-irresistible urge to run his tongue over those burgundy surfaces. The girl was still looking over her shoulder as he raised the strap. Her asscheeks clenched in anticipation, squeezing the lips of her cunt together at the same time. "Please," she whimpered, "don't spank me as hard as yesterday." "I assure you, Miss Wilkins, that this won't be like yesterday," Jameson responded as he swung the strap. He was aiming for the base of her left cheek, but the strap landed two or three inches higher. The force of the leather impacting on the girl's bare ass flung her forward against the edge of the desk, and she cried out with a mixture of pain and surprise. The knotted muscles in her buttocks relaxed as she rocked back from the desk, and Jameson lifted the strap to swing it again. Vicki had watched Jameson pick up the strap and step behind her with both curiosity and relief. She could see that the leather was thick and heavy, but she could also tell by the way it dangled from his hand that it was very soft. She was sure that it would hurt less than the paddle, probably even less than a hand spanking. Even so, when he started to swing the strap toward her she had felt her rump tighten up, as though hard muscles could somehow shield her exposed bottom from the leather. It hadn't done any good--the hissing strap burned her behind, and its weight and speed drove her forward against the square edge of the glass desk top. Before she really had time to think about how much the leather hurt compared to the paddle, the strap smacked into her again, this time on the right side of her bottom. She cried out again, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. Unlike the paddle, which had burned like fire the instant it struck, the leather strap only stung a little bit at first--but the sting seemed to echo around inside Vicki's tush, growing stronger and stronger as it resonated. She was only beginning to feel the full effects of the first lash when the strap bit into her for the third time. "AIEEE!", Vicki wailed. Jameson had swung the strap upward, catching her just below the fullest part of her left cheek, and Vicki could feel the whole mass of her left buttock lift and then fall back as the hissing leather coursed over it. The next stroke came straight down on the upper surface of the same cheek, and her knee buckled as she howled with pain. Another upward swing of the strap brought her back to her toes. Tears streaked Vicki's face and dripped from her chin to splash on the glass desk top as the scourging continued. She wanted desperately to obey Jameson's command that she stay in the same position, to avoid making him angry again, but each lash seemed to magnify the hurt of each of the previous ones as well as adding its own. Finally, Vicki could stand it no longer, and let herself be driven to the side by a horizontal stroke of the razor strap. "I didn't tell you to move, Miss Wilkins," Jameson thundered. "I know, I'm sorry," Vicki cried. "I just can't help it, it just hurts too much! Please, I beg you, just spank me with your hand." "We've already discussed the rules, Miss Wilkins. If you don't have enough self-discipline to do as I tell you, then I'll have to restrain you." Jameson dropped the strap onto the surface of the desk and walked around it. He rummaged in the drawer from which he'd taken the razor strap and emerged with several short strips of leather. They had metal buckles and looked, Vicki thought, like extra-wide dog collars. "Get back where you were," Jameson ordered curtly. Vicki slunk back to the middle of the front edge of the desk. Jameson seized her right ankle roughly and jerked it sideways until her foot slammed into one of the short legs that supported the front of the desk, then whipped one of the dog collars around her ankle and the desk leg and buckled it tightly. He repeated the process with her left ankle, then stood up, walked to the back of the desk pulled the chair out and sat down. Vicki kept her eyes downcast. She was afraid to look at him. She wondered why he wanted to rest, but she was sure that he was going to do something awful to her for disobeying again, and now she couldn't run away to stop the pain, even for a few seconds--although maybe that was just as well, she thought. At least she wouldn't be able to do anything to make him angrier. Her thoughts were interrupted when Jameson jerked her left arm toward him, bending her forward across the desk. Vicki flinched as her left nipple touched the cold glass surface of the desk, but he held her hand tightly while he buckled another of the leather straps around her forearm. He must have run the strap through some kind of ring on the back edge of the desk, because her arm was now immobilized. Just as quickly she found her right arm fastened tightly, separated from the left by a couple of feet. The position was extremely uncomfortable. The front edge of the desk top bit deeply into the fronts of Vicki's thighs, just below her crotch, and both arms were forced just as painfully against the back edge. Her breasts just grazed the top of the desk, but her nipples had hardened and elongated so much from touching the cold glass that no matter how she squirmed, she was unable to draw her body up enough to avoid the contact. "I'm sure you wish now that you had stayed in position, Miss Wilkins," Jameson remarked as he stood up, "and you'll wish it even more before we're through today. But I'll help you keep your mind off the little discomforts you're feeling now." He lifted the razor strap from the desk and walked behind her. Vicki felt more terrified than she had at any time since she had first been taken to Jameson's office. With all of the spankings she'd had up till now, she'd at least been able to see him, or feel when he lifted his arm. But now all she could do was look down at the desk, knowing that Jameson was somewhere behind her, not touching her, but about to inflict enormous pain on her helpless bottom. Jameson wasn't surprised that the girl had to be restrained. He doubted that he could have held still, when he was her age, for the kind of strapping she was getting--or could now, for that matter. Not that he'd had any recent experience. The last time he'd had a real licking with a razor strap was probably when he was about 13, but he doubted that it felt much different at any age. The leather was really deceptive; it seemed soft and harmless, but with the right kind of muscle behind it, the strap could be about as painful as anything. Except a cane, of course--but that was for tomorrow. He surveyed his trembling target. The girl's legs weren't spread quite as wide as he would have liked, but there was nothing but the inner legs of the desk to which he could have tied her ankles, and he could see a small rectangle of the desk framed by her thighs and her tantalizing little cunt. The girl would have been more comfortable if her waist and the desk top had been at the same height, but he doubted that she would notice her stiff back after another few minutes. She wouldn't be able to move much forward or backward or up and down, but she had enough slack for some sideways movement, and Jameson guessed there would be plenty of that as soon as she felt the strap again. The luscious asscheeks were already marked with some wide pink stripes from the initial 15 or 18 lashes, as though a painter had begun outlining a picture on canvas. Now it was time to begin filling in the blank spots. Jameson grinned at the analogy as he selected an unmarked area on the right cheek and raised the razor strap. His aim was good. The strap landed high on the outer surface of the girl's right asscheek. She gave a sharp cry of pain and swung her hips hard to the left in a vain effort to dodge the force of the heavy leather. Jameson gave her a backhanded swat that cut across the middle of both cheeks, provoking another scream and a swing of hips back to the right. Jameson continued thrashing the helpless buttocks, changing the direction and rhythm of his swings at random. After a series of downward diagonal slashes, alternating left and right, that had the girl howling and begging, he stopped for several seconds, watching her hips twitch and jump within the limits of her bonds as she tried to anticipate where the strap would bite into her next, and then launched a new series of horizontal and upward strokes. By the time the strap had slapped down 25 or 30 times the girl was sobbing uncontrollably, crying out only at every third or fourth lash, and Jameson decided it was time to give her a rest. "Five minutes," he told her, tossing the strap onto the top of the desk beside her. The girl gave a long, shuddering groan. "Please," she implored, "no more. I've learned my lesson. Even without the first spanking, I would never have taken anything again. You just keep hurting me more and more, for no reason." Jameson didn't respond, and Vicki knew he wasn't about to change his mind. In fact this spanking wasn't as bad as the one yesterday had been, but she hoped that if he thought she found this even worse, he might not whip her too much more. The strap did hurt, of course--it hurt a lot! But it was nowhere near as bad as that awful paddle; if she had to choose between ten spanks with the paddle and twenty with the strap, she'd choose the strap in an instant. Besides, when he wasn't actually using it, like now, the memory of the way the strap kind of curled around her bottom made her wish she could touch her secret place the way she had after the spanking ended yesterday. The thought reminded her of the way her secret place had looked in the mirror last night, and then of the view Jameson must have of it now, and a sudden thought alarmed her. Thank goodness he hadn't hit her there with the leather strap--that would have to hurt something awful! Vicki wished she could stand up straight, or close her legs, or do something to protect that part of her body. Suppose he let the strap hit her there, even by accident! She began to struggle against her bonds with all her strength. "Getting restless for some more, are you, Miss Wilkins?", Jameson asked mockingly. He lifted the thick strap from the desk. "Oh, no, please, no more," Vicki entreated. She clenched the muscles in her bottom as tightly as she could, trying unsuccessfully to protect the most sensitive part of her body from the blow she knew was coming. She heard the hissing of the leather a split second before she felt it. To her dismay, the strap cut across the very tops of her thighs, barely touching the lower edge of her bottom, only millimeters from the area she was trying to shield. "NO!", she shrieked. "Don't spank me down there, please." The strap snapped across the inside of her left thigh, midway between crotch and knee, and then again, an inch higher on the inner surface of her right thigh. Vicki screamed and twisted frantically in the restraints, finally standing on her toes as the lashes crept inexorably higher. Just as Vicki was concluding that the next stroke would to prove her worst fears accurate, and hoping that she would faint quickly from the pain, Jameson decided that he had tormented her enough and lashed her instead across the fullest part of the left side of her bottom. He repeated the same stroke several times, and Vicki cried out with each, but her cries reflected relief more than pain. Vicki continued rolling and swinging her hips, managing occasionally to avoid at least part of the force of the prolonged strapping. Her cries were real, but so was her sense of reprieve now that Jameson was concentrating the lashes on her behind. She could even make herself think about going home and reliving today's spanking in the privacy of her room. Finally Jameson stopped and dropped the strap beside her on the desk. This spanking had gone on at least as long as the previous days', and Vicki waited for him to begin unbuckling the dog-collar straps to let her go. She was startled by his voice. "We would be through for the day, Miss Wilkins, if you had not forced me to restrain you. As it is, however, we will take a short break and then I will have to give you another lesson in obedience." Remembering how terribly that final flurry of spanks had hurt the day before, Vicki began to plead. "You might as well relax and save your breath, Miss Wilkins," Jameson interrupted her. Vicki fell silent, trying to focus on the pain in her wrists and her lower back as a distraction from the throbbing in her bottom, which she knew would get a lot more intense before she could leave. At least the glass was no longer cold where her breasts touched it; her body heat had long since eliminated that discomfort. She tensed as she heard the razor strap slide across the desk. Much as she wished this spanking were finally over, it hadn't been as bad as yesterday's, and no matter what Jameson did now, it couldn't possibly be as painful as when he'd bent her over his leg and used the paddle on her. Vicki closed her eyes and tried to force herself to relax. The strap swung straight upward, raking across the tender flesh between the halves of her bottom. Vicki howled with pain and renewed terror. Lunging from side to side she tried to make the lashes land on the muscular facets of her bottom, but Jameson unerringly caught the inner face of first one cheek and then the other, spreading them wide apart and raising new crimson stripes with stroke after stroke, each one slightly lower than the last. Vicki yelled at the top of her lungs for Jameson to stop, but she felt a sickening certainty that this time he would not relent--that the end of the strap would reach lower and lower until it touched her labia, and lower yet until it curled completely around her secret place. Still she struggled and writhed, until her wrists and the fronts of her thighs were raw from rubbing against the edge of desk top and her nipples had left long streaks of sweat on the glass top of the desk. When it finally came Vicki felt almost numb, as though she'd been struck by a small bolt of lightning. The strap flew upward, searing the insides of her thighs before it cupped her secret place. She could feel the very tip of the leather curl against her pubic bone. She thought it hurt, probably hurt unimaginably, but it was hard to tell because of the tingling surge of electricity that rushed through her body. The strap began teasing her, slapping fiercely at the sensitive areas between the cheeks of her bottom and then returning, without warning but with equal severity, to fling itself against the outer folds of her secret place. Her brain reeling with the confusion of signals her nerves were sending, Vicki could manage no more than a strangled gasp of a cry at each stroke. Jameson gave her a final lash that covered an area as wide as the strap from mid-thigh to coccyx, and then let the strap dangle in front of him. He didn't know exactly what to make of the last few minutes; the girl had seemed earlier to be absolutely terrified that he might whip her pussy, but when he'd laid the strap on her all her fuses seemed to blow at once. Either she'd liked it, which seemed hard to imagine, or else he'd really hurt her. That thought troubled him, though not because he was concerned about the girl's pain--she had that coming. Jameson was worried first that she might decide to tell someone, which could mean a great deal of trouble for him, and second that she might not show up for the remaining sessions, which would be a major disappointment. Maybe he'd better look at the videotapes as soon as she left, and see if he could tell any more about what had happened. Jameson walked around to the back of the desk, opened the drawer and tossed the razor strap inside. Then he unbuckled first one of the girl's arms and then the other. She groaned and began massaging her wrists. Good--that didn't seem like the response of someone who'd really been driven round the bend. He stood up and went to release the ankle straps. He had just unbuckled the second strap when the girl stretched her legs wide apart, slid her feet back and flattened her torso on the desk top with a groan. From his kneeling position, Jameson found himself looking past her red-streaked thighs to her spread-lipped pussy. He felt himself hardening, and slipped a hand into his pocket to adjust the position of his cock as he got awkwardly to his feet. "You can't stay here today," he told her gruffly. "I have to leave the store for a while, and this room must be locked." Vicki slid backward off the desk top with a groan. She had hoped to spend a few minutes alone in the security room, the way she had yesterday, but things would have to wait until she got home. She eased the lower part of the bikini over her aching bottom, slipped into the top, and followed Jameson up the drafty stairs to his office. Jameson watched her put on her street clothes over the sweat-stained bikini. "I'll see you at four tomorrow, Miss Wilkins." Vicki nodded and left his office, her feelings still confused. She ached all over, her joints from the awkward position in which she'd been tied, her poor bottom from the spanking she'd received, and her secret place from both the strapping and from the tingling shocks that had convulsed her. She knew that she would spend a long time this evening reviewing today's session in her mind. From: willmac@pixi.com (theshadow) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Vicky's bad week-Shoplifter punished-pt.4 Date: Mon, 07 Aug 95 21:10:54 GMT Organization: Pacific Information eXchange, Inc. Message-ID: <406l42$e5l@rigel.pixi.com> Thursday When Vicki arrived at Jameson's office she found an envelope, addressed to "Miss Victoria Wilkins", taped to the outside of his door. She ripped it open with a pounding heart. It must mean that Jameson wasn't there, so maybe she wouldn't get her spanking today! She found herself both pleased and a little disappointed by the thought; she'd been psyching herself up all day and didn't want to have to do that again. Besides, tomorrow was supposed to be the last day, and if Jameson didn't spank her today he might want to give her a double session tomorrow. Vicki didn't see how she could stand that! With shaking hands she unfolded the handwritten note and read it: "Miss Wilkins: I have had to leave the store for a few minutes but will be with you shortly. You know the routine. Go into my office and lock the door behind you. Leave your clothing there and then wait for me in the security room." "F.J." Vicki stuffed the note and its envelope into the pocket of her chinos and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, and she entered the empty office, shut the door and twisted the deadbolt. She pulled the tail of her blouse out of the waistband of her slacks, then unbuttoned it and dropped it on one of Jameson's chairs. She stepped out of her loafers, unzipped her pants, and quickly added them and her socks to the pile on the chair. She wondered if Jameson expected her to take the bikini off here too. The note had said "clothing", but Vicki decided that meant just her outer clothes. It would be embarrassing enough to meet someone in the stairwell dressed only in her swimsuit; she couldn't take a chance on running into someone stark naked! Closing the back door of Jameson's office quietly behind her, Vicki made her way down the cold cement steps. The door into the security room had been propped open with a rubber doorstop, and she peered quickly into the room to be sure it was empty. Vicki picked up the doorstop and let the door fall shut behind her. She started to flip the switch on the doorframe as Jameson had done, but it was already on--so either the door was locked now or else the switch wasn't a lock. Vicki stripped off the green bikini and crossed the room to sit on the sofa. Her tush ached some whenever she sat on it, but it was a deep kind of ache, not near the surface, and it didn't really bother her. She gazed across the room at the glass topped desk, and immediately pictured herself, as she had the night before, bent awkwardly over it. She saw her bare bottom and the lips of her secret place, and could feel the weight of the leather strap as she drew it back and swung it toward the waiting cheeks of her own behind. She felt the muscles in her tush bunch under her as she imagined the heavy strap slapping hard against her skin. Just as it had in her room the night before, her hand slipped unconsciously to her crotch, and Vicki moaned as her fingers slipped between her labia and touched the gooey warmth of her secret place. Jameson, watching the videotape monitors in next room, began to breath raggedly as the girl started masturbating. It was exactly what he'd guessed would happen, after watching the tapes from the three previous sessions last night and seeing how she'd spent her time alone in the security room after Tuesday's paddling, but he still found the scene almost unbearably stimulating. The girl might do a lot of screaming and begging while he was working her ass over, but the sessions really seemed to turn her on. Thank god he'd remembered to turn on the video recorders before she'd come down to the security room! He waited until the girl was writhing and bucking on the sofa, her fingers plunging rapidly in and out of her gash, before slipping into the hallway and walking into the security room. He stopped abruptly and stared at the girl in pretended shock and amazement. It took her a second to register the fact that she was no longer alone, and then she jerked her fingers out of her cunt and sat motionless. Her entire body turned a shade of scarlet he wouldn't have imagined possible, so dark he could barely distinguish her wine-colored nipples and areolas from the surrounding skin of her boobs. "Well, Miss Wilkins," Jameson said with mock anger, "you really had me fooled. I had thought you were being punished, but now I see you've really been enjoying our little sessions. Obviously you need something a lot more severe than what you've been getting up till now." "Oh, no, Mr. Jameson," Vicki said with horror. "I haven't enjoyed the spankings at all, they hurt terribly. It's just that, well, I'm not used to sitting around naked, and I started thinking about something else. I know I shouldn't have been, uh, doing what I was, but please don't do anything that hurts more." She burst into tears. "I don't know whether to believe you or not," Jameson responded, "but I'm quite sure you won't feel like playing with yourself when I'm finished with you today." He opened the desk drawer and removed the restraining straps he'd used the day before. Clutching those in one hand, he walked over to the sofa and seized the sobbing girl by the arm. He pulled her to her feet dragged her over to the desk and pushed her down on top of it. "Get on the desk and lie face down," he ordered. The girl climbed onto the desk and started lie lengthwise atop the glass surface, then stopped with a gasp. "It's too cold!", she exclaimed, still on her hands and knees. "You'll be quite warm in a minute, Miss Wilkins," Jameson assured her, seizing her arms and pulling them out from under her. She protested loudly as the full length of her body contacted the glass desk top, but he held her wrists firmly as he passed one of the restraining straps through a ring attached to one corner of the desk and buckled it tightly around her forearm. He repeated the same steps with the other arm at the other corner of the desk. "Please," she implored him, "I'll hold still today. Let my arms go, and I'll just lie here." "I don't think that's very likely, Miss Wilkins," Jameson commented grimly. Sobbing again, the girl tried to get her knees under her as he moved to the other end of the desk, but Jameson caught her ankle with one hand and quickly strapped it to a corner of the desk. When he finished buckling the fourth strap, the weeping girl lay spreadeagled, face down on the desk, essentially unable to move. The solid, creamy hillocks of her ass, barely tinged with pink, jutted upward, inviting his attention, and Jameson intended to give it in full. He walked behind the desk and pulled the wide center drawer out as far as he could. Wedged into it diagonally, with a slight bow to accommodate its length, was a birch cane--another trophy from days spent in antique shops. Jameson had heard that they were still used sometimes in British schools, and no doubt there were some that maintained firm discipline in a few homes in this country, but the only one with which he had had "first hand" experience had long ago disappeared. Even now, the memory of how that one had seared his ass and the backs of his legs made him wince. Victoria Wilkins was about to have an experience that, like the strapping he'd given her yesterday, very few--too few--of her generation had ever had. Jameson was willing to bet that if she decided to jack off tonight, or tomorrow, she wouldn't do it sitting down, or lying on her back either. He flexed the cane and lifted it out of the drawer, then walked around to the end of the desk nearest the girl's head. "Today, Miss Wilkins," he informed her, "your punishment will be administered with this cane." He showed it to her, bending it and then whipping it sharply downward to let her hear the "whirr" as it sliced through the air. Then he moved to the front of the desk and rested the cane across the twin summits of her asscheeks for several seconds, watching the muscles twitch as goosebumps spread across the skin. Then he raised cane to roughly the height of his head and brought it down sharply. Vicki had suspected that she was in serious trouble from the instant she had realized that Jameson had walked into the room without her hearing him. Her fears had been confirmed when he had insisted on strapping her to the desk without even waiting to see whether she would hold still. She had inferred then that whatever kind of punishment he had in mind was going to be much worse than she'd experienced in the three previous days. What on earth could have possessed her to start fingering her secret place when she had known that Jameson would arrive within a matter of minutes? She certainly should have known, from her experiences in her bedroom the last three nights, that once she got started with that she would be totally oblivious to anything else around her. Now she was practically glued to the icy glass top of his desk, her breasts squashed flat as pancakes by the weight of her body, unable to move to relieve even part of the pain. And any second now, Jameson was going to lift that cane off her rump and bring it whistling back down. Maybe it would have happened anyway--Jameson had hinted that each day's spanking would be worse than the last--but why had she given him such a clear reason to believe that she had been enjoying his punishments? The fact was, of course, that she didn't enjoy the spankings at all while they were happening, and what excited her most when she thought about them afterward was the image of giving a spanking, not getting one. The only good thing was that unless he kept it up for a really long time, that cane couldn't hurt all that much. It was too light to bruise her bottom like the paddle or the leather strap, and so small it could only touch a tiny area at a time. Vicki's thoughts were interrupted by a heart-rending shriek, and it took her several fractions of a second to realize that it had come from her. In the same instant her brain was penetrated by a blinding flash of pain from her bottom. It felt as though her lower body, from the middle of her rear down, had been sliced off by a sword! She started to pull against the straps that held her ankles, but before she could make her muscles obey her thoughts she heard the cane whistle again and felt another streak of pain across her rear. This time the sensation of pain came before the scream, but the sound was just as involuntary as her first shriek had been. Vicki fought to catch her breath, to form some word of plea or protest to accompany her next scream, but each time the cane cut into her backside another wordless howl tore itself from her lungs. She felt like one of the rubber dolls she'd had as a child, with a little metal button that made a crying sound whenever you squeezed it, and wondered hysterically if there were buttons hidden in her buttocks that emitted a scream whenever the cane touched them. She didn't really believe that, of course; the screams were her body's involuntary reaction to the most horrendous pain she'd ever experienced. The sensations evoked by each stroke of the cane were like the distilled essence of pain, clear and crystalline, in contrast to the crude, opaque pain caused by her previous spankings. Without conscious effort on her part, her body bucked and jerked, alternately slamming her knees, her sternum, her hipbones and her frontal pubic bone against the unyielding surface of the desk--all of which caused new aches and bruises but did nothing to interfere with the cane's unobstructed access to every square inch of her bottom. Vicki felt on the verge of suffocating when Jameson finally laid the cane down on the desk top between her knees. She lay gasping, the muscles in her legs and her buttocks continuing to spasm, for nearly a minute before she was able to cry. "Oh, god, stop, please stop," she sobbed. "You're cutting me to ribbons! I can't stand any more, I beg you." Jameson grinned. "I don't think you have much choice in the matter, Miss Wilkins. You're going to stay right where you are until I decide that you've been punished enough for today." "Then please, use the strap, or the paddle--anything but that cane," Vicki entreated him. "I don't care if you spank me twice as many times, just so you don't use the cane on me any more." "I'm afraid that's not possible, Miss Wilkins," Jameson replied firmly. I'm glad to know you're finding this painful; perhaps you'll keep this experience in mind the next time you think about stealing something." He picked up the cane and walked around to the end of the desk to which her feet had been anchored. Jameson gazed up the girl's long legs to her pussy and then to her quivering asscheeks. The once-creamy skin was marked with scarlet welts, many of which had swollen well above the surface of her ass. The welts were at slightly different angles but all of them were more or less horizontal. By changing positions he could leave her with a nice checkerboard pattern. He could also give one of the video cameras an unobstructed side view of her writhing, bucking body (although the one he'd mounted directly overhead this morning was bound to be getting some terrific footage), and give himself a good view of her beaver at the same time. He rested the cane in the middle of her right asscheek. The girl immediately renewed her tearful pleading, which he ignored, and her right buttock went rigid and her thigh muscles bulged as she pulled helplessly against her bonds. He raised the cane high and brought it whistling down hard. He let the cane drift several inches sideways as it descended, and it created a momentary but deep furrow in the relaxed left cheek of her ass. The girl let out another of her unearthly screeches and rolled her hips sideways by the inch or so she was able to move. The resilient muscle of her ass bounced the cane back into the air, and Jameson brought it down equally hard on the other cheek, provoking another shriek and leaving another vertical welt. This was a lot less work than the paddle or the razor strap, Jameson reflected, especially when you considered how much more dramatic the response was. Maybe he should have used the cane from the beginning. On the other hand, if he'd used the cane the first day the girl would probably never have come back, so he really had been wise to bring her along gradually. Jameson found the girl's shrieks almost deafening. He'd planned to give her a second rest break and then a third session with the cane, but now he was impatient to be through with her. He increased the tempo of his strokes, leaving furrow after furrow to be replaced instantly with rising welts, until the entire surface of her convulsing ass was a tight gridwork of blood-red stripes and her cries had merged into a continuous scream, interrupted only by gasps for breath. He swung the cane a last time, then strode behind the desk, flexing the cane to wedge it back in the drawer. The girl lay sobbing and moaning, not even moving as he unfastened each of her bonds in turn. Jameson left her atop the desk, lit a cigarette and crossed the room to sit on the sofa until her shuddering sobs had ceased. Then he got to his feet. "You can obviously do what you want with your own time, Miss Wilkins," he remarked, "but if you need something to keep your hands busy tonight, I might suggest that you put some ointment on your ass instead of playing with your pussy." He started toward the door of the security room, then stopped and turned toward her. "I'll be in my office for a couple of hours, so you can take your time." Dimly Vicki heard the door close as Jameson left. She lay motionless for another few minutes, then bent her elbows and lifted herself until the weight of her upper body rested on her forearms. She didn't even try to move her legs; she was sure she was paralyzed from the waist down. Except that if she was paralyzed, then she shouldn't be able to feel anything, and the sensations emanating from her bottom sure didn't feel like nothing--they felt like the most burning, cutting kind of pain she'd ever known. Supporting herself on one arm, Vicki reached back and ran a hand over first one buttock and then the other. Both were blazing hot to her touch and covered with ridges. She looked backward over her shoulder and gasped when she saw the maze of dark welts that criss-crossed her buns. The sight brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she collapsed with a groan onto the desk top. Why, oh why, had she ever let herself be tempted into stealing the bikini? She hated even the thought of it now. And how was she going to survive tomorrow? She didn't see how she could tolerate being touched, let alone spanked, and Jameson seemed determined to make each day's spanking worse than the last. Large tears splashed the desk top as Vicki slowly pushed herself backward, the square edge of the glass sheet gouging her knees, her thighs, the soft flesh covering her pubic bone and then her stomach as she slid off the desk. Finally she felt the carpet under her feet and pushed into a standing position. She walked slowly around the security room, her posterior throbbing with every step. She knew she should put the bikini back on and go get her clothes from Jameson's office, but she dreaded the thought of pulling the tight bottom of the swimsuit over her bruised behind. And once she got dressed, there would be nothing to do but go out to her car and drive home, and she wasn't at all sure she could force herself to sit down in the car. As an experiment, she backed up against the edge of the sofa and gingerly transferred her weight from her legs to her rear. It wasn't as bad as she had expected; the scratchy fabric was unpleasant, but driving home would be bearable. Sitting on the sofa reminded Vicki of the shame she had felt when Jameson had walked in on her an hour earlier, catching her with her fingers inside her . . . Jameson had called it her "pussy", and that was one of the words she'd heard whispered at school, so maybe she should start thinking of it as her pussy instead of just her "secret place." She also knew that "ass" was another word for "bottom" or "tush," although she was sure her parents wouldn't approve of her using the term. Of course, her parents wouldn't approve of her stealing from stores, either, so from now on, with Jameson at least, she would think of him spanking her ass and not her bottom. Vicki found herself picturing how she must have looked to Jameson, spreadeagled on the desk, with her ass just waiting for each stroke of his cane, and before she realized what was happening the fingers of her right hand were probing the entrance to her . . . pussy. A slight shift of posture sent another stab of pain through her ass, though, and she jerked her hand away angrily and got to her feet. What on earth was the matter with her? Jameson could decide to come back for some reason, and she'd find herself ass-up under the cane again. Still annoyed with herself, Vicki pulled the strapless bikini top over her head, slid it down to cup her breasts and adjusted the strap in back. Then she eased herself carefully into the bottom of the suit and climbed the empty stairwell to Jameson's office. He was on the phone when Vicki slipped in through the back door, and she struggled into her outer clothing without a sound. Jameson was off the telephone by the time she finished dressing. "Tomorrow is your final day, Miss Wilkins," he reminded her. "I wouldn't want you to waste the punishment you've already received by failing to show up or coming in late." "Oh, I'll be here," she assured him, "assuming I can make it out of bed tomorrow." "I'm sure you'll do just fine, Miss Wilkins," he replied frostily.