Saturday, June 13, 2009

Maids and Mirrors, F/FF

I wrote this a number of years ago, one of the only caning stories I've done...
How had I ever gotten into this mess, I wondered miserably? It had only been a few short months ago, when I had traveled over to England, and then my whole life changed. I fell in love with the country,and decided to stay, but my money was running short, and jobs, especially for a foreigner, were in short supply, at least any that I wanted to take. And then I had noticed the ad, as I sat in the local pub, "Maid wanted, no experience needed. Will train."

The paper was several days old, and I figured that the job was probably already filled, but I asked the bar maid how to find the place. She took a look at the address, and just laughed, and said that the job was most likely still open, and told me how to get there, refusing to answer any other questions I asked of her as to why the position was 'probably still open'.

The house was magnificent, like something right out of one of those PBS period specials I used to watch. I was let into the library by the housekeeper, and a short while later, the lady of the house was there. She was a pleasant woman, but formal, and after a very short interview, I was told that the position was mine.

She also told me that she believed in the old fashioned ways of running a household, and that those rules would apply to me also. I laughed inside my head, at the mental images that produced, the lady of the house spanking some troublesome maid, just like in the old stories! But how ridiculous. No doubt she meant something more along the lines of proper respect and decorum, yes ma'am, no ma'am, that sort of thing.

So I told her, yes ma'am, I understood, and she smiled at me and turned me over to the housekeeper to get settled in. There were two other maids, besides myself, and it was only a short while later that I found out how mistaken I was.

I was finishing up in her drawing room, when I heard the sharp and quite distinct sound of a spanking! I knew exactly what that sound was, having been on the receiving end many times while growing up (and into my teens as well, though I didn't want to admit that to myself.) And there was nothing quite like the sound of a girls bare bottom being punished, or her cries of remorse.

I walked by the one of the guest rooms, pretending to put away my supplies, but I made sure I peeked in as I walked by the open door. And there was Lauren, over the mistress's lap, her modest skirts up, her full panties down about her ankles as that antique ebony hairbrush turned that bouncy full bottom a wondrous shade of crimson! I stopped in my tracks, my mouth undoubtedly hanging open, when she looked up at me.

"Angie, if you do not wish to be next, please leave, this is of no concern of yours."

I flushed, and stammered out a quick and articulate "Uh, no ma'am, I mean yes ma'am, I mean right away ma'am!" and I was gone.

But that night, as I lay in my bed, alone in my room, I played with myself as I thought of Lauren and her bottom and how pink and moist she was as her legs kicked...

I became flustered, and it was inevitable that I should soon be taken to task myself.

I was in that same guest room, when she came in, and inquired why the task she had given me several days ago STILL wasn't finished, and I hung my head, as I had no excuse, I had simply forgotten.

She pursed her lips,and told me that this always happened sooner or later, and then pulled out the chair from the desk, took my wrist, sat down and pulled me across her lap!

And I went, pleading with her to forgive me this time, but in hindsight, not really making any true protests or fighting her right to punish me. My skirt was pulled up, my own panties lowered, and then my head came up as that hairbrush came down!

And then I noticed something. I saw that my mouth was pursed into a small, distressed O. I know this for I was able to see my face in the mirror in front of me. I could also see the red blotches the hairbrush left, and the way my kicking legs left none of my charms to the imagination.

I know that, for in the mirror in front of me, I was able to see the mirrored closets behind me, capturing all of my shame. It was as good of spanking as my mother had ever given me, and I was a sobbing mess by the time it was finished. Then it was over,and she gave me a quick hug, and told me to be a good girl from now on, and left me to compose myself. I won't shame myself by telling what I thought of or did that night in bed.

Over the next several months, I managed to keep my nose clean, although I did witness or overhear some of the other girls catch it. She was never arbitrary in her punishment, never spanked without a real cause, and was never cruel or cold afterwards. But they were real lessons, and the injured party did her best to avoid a return trip.

I also learned that like my mother, the severity of the offense and whether or not it was a repeat offense had a bearing on the severity of the punishment.

She would use her hand, the brush, the tawse,and the final giver of discipline, the cane.

The cane terrified me, and she knew it. She thought it was just because I had heard the anguished crying of Steffie that day, and the marks I had helped soothe later, not knowing that all the dirty books and videos I had seen with girls getting caned in them had given the cane an exaggerated life of it's own.

And then it happened. I had been caught 'borrowing' from the household petty cash. I hadn't really been stealing, I desperately tried to explain, after the housekeeper had led me before her by the ear. I simply needed a little extra, as there was this new dress downtown that would be gone shortly, if I didn't get it first, and I had already spent my wages, and I knew that another advance was out of the question.

"But really ma'am, I was going to repay it, really I was! "

She sighed, "Angie, Angie, Angie. I do believe you, you foolish girl. But this can't go unanswered. Come with me."

And I followed her, meekly and with hanging head, to the guest room and it's mirrors. The housekeeper smiled at me, but Stefie and Lauren looked sympathetically at me as I went past, their hands unconsciously rubbing there bottoms.

She pulled the chair away from the dressing table, and then instead of taking a seat, directed me to lift my own skirt, and to take off my knickers and shoes. I did as I was told, and then bent over the table, directly in front of that mirror, the mirrors on the closets behind me showing a wobbling white bottom, as I fought to hold my position. On my toes, legs straight, slightly spread, back arched and bottom well presented. It was an ackward pose, a humiliating pose, a pose that made me feel as if I was all bottom. And in the mirror I saw her go to the armoire, and take out a wickedly shiny, supple cane.

"I think twelve will do for the first time" and then the cane whistled evilly through the air, and landed with a Thwick! right across the center of my up thrust ass. And then the PAIN followed the initial slight pain at impact, and I yelled out, and straightened up and danced as I held my poor tortured ass.

"Angie, what on earth do you think you are doing?" She asked exasperatedly.

"Oh please ma'am, please, no more it hurts so terribly!"

"Well of course it does. That is why you will respect the cane and remember this lesson and do everything you can to avoid it. Angie, have you NEVER been caned before?"

And when I sobbed out I had not, she only muttered something about the "bloody American educational system".

"All right then, this is how it works, if you move out of position, that stroke does not count. If you do not count the stroke, it does not count. If you continue to get out of position and I need to get help holding you down, we start over, from the beginning. Do you understand, Angie?"

"Yes Miss, I do, but please..."

I resumed my position, at her look and arched eyebrow, and then THWICK! right below the first!

"2 ma'am!" I choked out. I heard an exasperated breath behind me.

"No Angie, it's not. you failed to count the first stroke, and moved out of position. This would have been one. I suggest you get this right."

And I couldn't help it, but my eyes refused to shut and I saw that cane go up and come whistling back down until THWICK!

"One ma'am!"

"Very good Angie."


"2 ma'am!"


"Th-three maa'am!" I was sobbing full heartedly now, but nothing was going to get me to lose count!

On and on it went, and though I did not lose count, I danced uncontrollably, until she told me about positioning. I thanked her for the warning. In my mind, I wondered, amazingly enough, how those girls in the videos took their canings with no or little tears and so little dancing. Finally it was over, and I had earned an extra two strokes for just having to stand and dance! So for my first ever caning, I had managed to turn 12 into 16, and my entire ass felt welted and bruised and swollen and sore, and I just hung my head and cried.

My panties were pulled up, and that started fresh tears, and then I was put back to work. I moved stiffly and slowly throughout the day, every movement causing the harsh satin and silk to burn across my welts. I ate my meals standing, and retreated to my room as soon as I could. Stefie and Lauren joined me shortly, petting my hair, and placing ice packs on my fanny, as they murmured their sympathies. And then came the lotioning of my bottom, and then the questing fingers, and the discovery that my body had responded, and as for the rest of the night, it was just like in my books...


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