I stood there, as if I might Miss M., or whoever had been deputed to this task. Then I ran a hand over the thin, taut denim, which sheathed Noreen's backside. As I did so, she caught her breath, knowing that she was about to be marked with the chalk which lay conveniently to hand. Under my stroking hand I could feel the tensing of her buttocks and her taut, young thighs.
Perhaps it was because she had believed herself safe, having escaped the weekly reckoning, that she now reacted with such consternation. I ran a hand between the rear opening of her thighs and gave her cunt-pouch a good feel through the tight cloth. I continued so long that I began to feel Noreen moistening herself in the clinging pants despite her predicament.
I drew my hand away and left her in suspended animation, so near and yet so far from her fulfilment. My hands were now busy again with the firm, sturdy cheeks of Noreen's arse, stroking, parting, and thumbing. She pushed back impatiently with her hips but, much as she urged it, she could not quite bring herself to beg for the masturbation to continue.
Then I took the chalk, and she was tense and still so that she would be able to feel the shape of the numbers written. On one cheek, I wrote "12" for the groom with the hard-heeled rubber gym-slipper. Noreen cried out, "No!" in a protest at this preliminary discipline. Then, on the other cheek, I chalked a "36." She cried out in alarm, for she had good reason to know what that would mean.
Greatly looking forward to the night ahead, I now tiptoed away to my room and awaited events. I sat in the easy chair, reading the fancies of the Sporting Times and smoking a thoughtful pipe, as if I had been there all the evening.
Presently I was aware of a disturbance in the next room, to which the grooms had taken my culprit. Noreen still displayed her firm-faced indifference, no more than a flick of her dark fringe or a stare from her impudent brown eyes. They had, I think, held her over a tall stool with her pants undone and pulled down to her ankles.
From the gasping and protests I concluded that one of them was fiddling with her as she was secured. They could not, of course, unbutton themselves and do what they wanted in this situation. Yet it was impossible to believe that they would not play "dirty girl" between her legs with their fingers and between the cheeks of her backside.
The laughter and smiling stopped. One groom spat lightly on the rubber gym-shoe heel. There was a whack! and a smack! To judge from the sharp intake of breath, it had stung her hard, for her pale bottom- cheeks were jumping and quivering like spanked jelly under the impacts.
One could tell that Noreen was biting her lip not to cry out, as if seeking to deny the groom his triumph over her. He, on the other hand, was grinning back at her, sensing his victory in her tensing seat-cheeks and loud, uneven breath. She held out as the gym-slipper tanned her twice more, and then let out a long gasp.
"Now the first cheek all over again, Noreen," smiled the groom. "No, don't squirm your seat like that, you young trollop! We'll see to it that Mr. Charles's cane has something to work on!"
I gathered that even when the discipline was finished there was further hostility. A sound of struggling was caused by one groom working the singlet up in order to play with Noreen's tits. The other positively could not draw his fingers away from between her legs and bum-cheeks.
At last they brought her in, wearing only the white singlet, which ended at her waist. In the customary manner, she was made to stand in the corner with her back to the room like a spanked schoolgirl in disgrace. She was not permitted to speak until spoken to, nor to move until ordered to do so. I was to keep her there in that posture until it was convenient for me to complete the discipline. Her wrists were strapped together in front of her, but she was not otherwise restrained.
So I sat there and read the racing column over and over while I smoked a pipe and drank another glass of hock and seltzer. Or so it appeared. In truth, for the next half hour or more, my eyes peeped over the edge of the Sporting Times. I simply could not draw my gaze from the deliciously provoking view which a young slut like Noreen offers in this situation. To keep her waiting was also a means of heightening the drama-comedy or tragedy, according to one's view. They had left the stout, leather belt of her riding jeans strapped tightly 'round her waist, narrowing her there and emphasising the proud swell of her hips and seat.
What was rather appealing was the way in which she stood with head bowed, the dark hair just lifted clear of her collar at the back. I was able to admire her strong and straight young back, the firm robust young thighs, the cheeks of her well-made bottom, still blushing deeply from her tanning and marked in several places by the muddy print of the gym-shoe heel.
I noticed that, as a half-hour ended, Noreen grew increasingly restive. How shall I describe it? Her thighs seemed to shift and tense together a little. The cheeks of her bottom pressed together spasmodically, reducing her arse-cleft to a thin, tight line.
I stood up and walked across to reprimand such wilful disobedience. "You were ordered to stand still, Noreen! Since you seem to find such difficulty in obeying a simple command, we must enforce that instruction with the cane! Perhaps that will cure you of fidgeting. Bend over! Right over! Do you hesitate, you young slut? Obey the command! At once!"
Rather awkwardly, as it seemed to me, and breathing audibly, Noreen bent to touch her toes. I went down on one knee behind her and my hands made a brief but intimate examination of her strapping young backside. Then I turned away to take the cane from its cupboard.
As I did so, I heard from behind me the sound of a loud and vulgar raspberry. I swung 'round. I must admit that Noreen, her mouth open in alarm, did not look like a girl who had just pressed her tongue between her lips and blown off that street-urchin rudeness. Yet I can hardly believe that my ears deceived me at such close range! Moreover, the young strumpet certainly showed open defiance. Though her pale, firm-featured face was suffused with consternation, she had straightened up and was standing with one hand pressed to her behind. I had certainly given no permission for such a change in posture.
"Very well, Noreen," I said quietly, "if you will have it so, you will. I should very much like to give your backside a long session with the pony-lash tonight. Unfortunately, such extreme discipline must be approved by Miss Martinet. Be assured I shall apply to her in the morning. Tonight you shall have the cane."
In order that I might enjoy the retribution fully, I thought it prudent to require her to pull her pants up and to have her escorted to the stable-block, well out of earshot. Would I not be approved of by those passing admirers who had seen the strapping young wench standing slack-hipped as a whore? When the grooms had secured her on all fours over the padded birching stool, would not those admirers have stood agog at the same sight? The pale-blue jeans seat was splitting tight over the strong, well-made cheeks of Noreen's backside. A flick of her dark hair and she was staring back with the same firm-faced impudence which had greeted their admiration of her in this pose.
I undid her at the waist and pushed the pants to her knees, adding one more strap to pinion her sturdy legs together just at the base of her thighs. My finger teased the rear pout of her vaginal lips. My hands fondled the pale, sturdy swell of her bottom-cheeks. My fingers fiddled remorselessly between those cheeks for several minutes, despite the tensing and shifting of her seat.
"Thirty-six strokes of the bamboo across your behind, Noreen. That is your allotted penalty for a week's misconduct. After that, we must add something for your disgraceful conduct in the other room."