A Strict Seduction (19 page)

‘I'm sorry, monsieur…' she whispered, her voice hot and breathless. She parted her legs slightly and bent over, sticking her bottom out more to get a better view of it in the mirror. Her eyes had been filled with tears, but now she seemed more interested in how she looked.

‘So you should be, my girl,' he said softly, almost indulgently. ‘Now, what are you going to do next?'

‘Next?'

The house downstairs was still a mess, and there was no way that Edward planned to clean up after her. The cane was on the bed, the object of her fascination had yet to be applied to her pert and punished behind. ‘I want you to clear up the mess you've made in this house,' he told her simply. ‘The kitchen, bathroom and sitting room look like they've been hit by a bomb. Clear it all up.'

‘Oui, I will clear it all up, monsieur,' she promised eagerly. She looked up and caught Edward's eyes in the mirror. They looked at each for a moment and then she turned away, her face blazing red with embarrassment again.

‘Good. I'll inspect it all when you've finished, and if it's not up to scratch you know what to expect,' he warned her.

‘The bamboo?' she guessed hesitantly.

‘That's right,' he smiled, walking across the room to pick up the thin cane. He could see that it held some symbolic power for her, that she feared it as much as she was fascinated by it.

‘Shall I begin now?' she asked.

‘Yes, but remove your skirt and knickers completely, I want you to remember why you've been punished.'

Mercedes smiled. ‘But I do, monsieur,' she sighed, rubbing her bottom with her hands. For a second she sounded grateful, there was none of the belligerence or defiance he had expected from her.

She posed herself in the mirror, examining the marks on her body, pressing her fingers hard against the reddest parts of her bottom. She unclipped her skirt and it fell to her ankles, leaving herself naked apart from the flimsy covering of her T-shirt. As she walked out of the room Edward watched her go, her punished flanks rippling sexily as she walked. She was showing off, and the quick cut of the cane made her yelp with pain. The red stripe cut a distinct track across the curves of her derrière. She almost jumped out of the room, clutching her painful bottom tightly, her first taste of the cane making her move like lightning.

The phone call to Paris got through at once, and in moments he heard Jennifer's cheery voice. ‘How's Mercedes coming along?' she asked brightly.

‘I've finally had to take her in hand,' Edward admitted, smiling to himself.

‘I see,' Jennifer said, pausing for a moment. ‘How did she take it?'

‘She's downstairs cleaning up after herself, with her bare backside smarting from a good spanking.'

‘I see,' Jennifer repeated. ‘Do you think she'll be good from now on?'

Edward laughed. ‘Not if the way she's been studying the cane and the belts is anything to go by. I expect that the next week's going to get very interesting.'

‘I'm just sorry I'm not there to see it,' Jennifer sighed dreamily.

‘Don't worry,' Edward promised her. ‘This exchange trip was your idea, and it's not entirely Mercedes' fault things have turned out this way.'

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. ‘Will I get the cane or the belt?' Jennifer asked.

‘Both,' he promised her.

Later, as he walked downstairs with the cane in hand, he imagined the anticipation and excitement that Jennifer would enjoy for the next week, thinking of the punishment to come as soon as she was home. Her backside would be tingling before the first touch of the belt or the cane.

In the sitting room Mercedes was sprawled out on the couch, belly down, her pert backside a bright pink and sticking up in the air, as she watched the opening credits of yet another Australian soap opera. Her long limbs were spread nonchalantly across the sofa, and he could see the tinge of dark hair between her thighs and visible from behind. Young and wilful, impetuous and individual, the bare-handed spanking had not been enough. Her pretty backside would have to take a lot more correction if things were to change. The cane almost twitched in Edward's hand, readying itself for action. It was going to be a
very
interesting week ahead.

Staying Over

I looked at Jan and smiled shyly, my face turning red when she returned my smile with one of her own. The more I blushed the more she seemed to enjoy my discomfort, until I turned away from her, certain that my face was a red blaze of colour. Jan always did that to me; she could reduce me to a mumbling, shy, adolescent embarrassment whenever she liked. She was older than me. I put her at around thirty, very attractive, funny, intelligent and more sophisticated than I could ever be. Added to which she was my husband's boss's wife and a near neighbour of ours, though her massive house was a mansion compared to our little place a few streets away.

The memory of our first visit to Jan and Peter's house was still very fresh. It was the first time I had met them and I was terrified that I'd do or say the wrong thing and land my husband, Chris, in trouble. In the event Jan was wonderful. She put me at ease at once, made me feel very welcome, and by the end of the evening we were firm friends. Except that she could turn me into a silly schoolgirl at will. All it took was a certain look, a comment or turn of phrase, and I'd be blushing furiously, much to her obvious enjoyment.

We were at her house, just the two of us, because our husbands were away, out on Territorial Army manoeuvres somewhere in Germany. Usually when Chris was away I'd stay on my own, but this time Peter had suggested that I stay the weekend at their house. It was only Jan's phone call that had persuaded me to stay with her; she seemed so bubbly and eager that I hadn't the heart to say no. Besides which, both of us liked a good natter and she had a lot more gossip to tell me, especially about business, and I was keen to hear from the horse's mouth how my Chris was really doing at his job.

‘Come on, Susan, there's no need to look so embarrassed,' she laughed, waving her glass of white wine at me, ‘I was only asking.'

‘I know, but it's just that…' I let my voice trail to silence. She had been talking about sex again, teasing me because she knew how embarrassed I got talking about it. She was sitting on the sofa opposite, shoes off, feet up, cradling the glass of wine while we talked. Even at home she looked fabulous; very long shapely legs, lithe body, looking relaxed and comfortable. I was sitting in the armchair, dressed in long floppy skirt and loose top, and not looking half as good as she did, despite the fact that I was just out of my teens and a lot younger than her.

‘I'm only teasing,' she smiled, swinging her long legs over the side of the sofa. Her skirt rode up and I was treated to a glimpse of bare thigh and a flash of black lacy panties. For some reason my heart was racing and I suddenly feared that she had seen where my eyes had been, and that she'd know I had been eyeing her long smooth thighs.

‘I thought we were going to be talking about the office,' I said, changing the subject rather sharply.

‘Oh that,' she sighed, walking barefoot across the room to get the bottle of wine, ‘who wants to talk about that boring old thing?'

‘Is it true that Peter's got a new secretary?' I asked innocently.

She laughed as she poured herself another glass of white wine. ‘You mean the delectable Miss Fairfax?'

‘Is that her name?' I asked, in my best butter wouldn't melt in my mouth voice. I had heard all about Miss Fairfax from Chris, who described her as a hot young thing with less skirt than brain, and who was lusted after by every man in the company. Her speciality seemed to be low-cut blouses and dresses which allowed her to show off her ample cleavage, for which most men were eternally grateful and were willing to forget her nasal twang and terminal stupidity.

‘Naughty, naughty,' Jan cautioned, wagging a finger at me. She offered me the bottle but I declined, afraid that a second glass of wine would go straight to my head and loosen my tongue even more.

‘I don't know what you mean,' I laughed. For the first time that evening I began to feel comfortable. We were about to have a real cat eat cat session, with Delia Fairfax as our mutual victim.

‘I know all about Miss Fairfax,' she assured me, returning to her seat. ‘All breasts and no brains, or at least that's what all the guys are saying. Though I don't hear them complaining when she has to bend over to pick up her work and they get an eyeful. Does your Chris complain?'

That stung, sort of. ‘Well, she's not Chris's secretary, is she?' I sniffed.

For a moment I was certain I'd overstepped the mark. Jan's face seemed to darken, her eyes narrowed menacingly and I was sure that a storm of invective was on the way. I held my breath but the moment passed, her smile returned and I could breathe again.

‘There's one good thing you can say about Delia,' Jan said, ‘and that's that she responds well to a firm hand.'

‘What do you mean?' I asked, confused by the unexpected remark.

Jan sipped from her glass, looking at me with her pretty blue eyes, which scanned my face looking for meaning in my blank expression. ‘Just that she understands the need for discipline sometimes, not like a lot of young girls these days.'

I wasn't sure whether there was a barb in there directed at me. ‘You mean you've met her?' I asked, deciding not to take the bait.

‘Of course, Susan,' she replied blithely. ‘You don't think I'd let a pretty little thing like her near Peter without first seeing what she's like?'

‘No, of course,' I agreed. I wished I had as much say in things as she did, but then being the boss's wife certainly had its advantages. ‘So,' I asked, ‘what's she really like?'

Jan laughed again, her blue eyes sparkling, her red lips parting over even white teeth. When she laughed like that, so natural and attractive, I used to feel a sudden stab of emotion deep inside me, something that I was only vaguely aware of.

‘She's as busty as the men say, and as flighty too, but she's harmless really. I'd say she's just a bit younger than you, though perhaps not as pretty, and certainly not as intelligent.'

I blushed, I couldn't help it. ‘Thanks,' I mumbled. ‘Chris never says those sort of things to me.'

‘Do men ever?'

‘No, I suppose not. Though I wished he'd stop drooling so much whenever he talks about Delia Fairfax…'

‘Back to Delia again,' Jan sighed, shaking her head sadly. She lay back on the sofa again, crossing her legs and letting me look at her smooth, tanned skin.

‘Well, I'm sure she doesn't
have
to dress in those skimpy outfits,' I complained, suddenly angry. I realised that my glass was empty and just then I desperately fancied another drink. I stood up and saw that Jan was glaring again, obviously annoyed with me.

‘It seems to me,' she said slowly, ‘that you're jealous of her, and it does you no good at all.'

‘Why should I be jealous? Because I don't flash my whatsits every chance I get?' I was getting angrier and angrier, and forgetting that Jan's husband had the power to fire and hire Chris. I ignored the icy look and crossed the room to pour myself some more wine.

‘That's not a very nice attitude,' Jan said coldly, dropping the temperature in the room by half a dozen degrees. She still looked beautiful though, her diamond earrings adding sparkle to her face, her prominent lips pursed and pouting. It confused me; the fact that she could look so attractive when she was angry, and the fact that I was noticing how good she looked.

I picked up the bottle shakily and began to refill my glass. The neck of the bottle was dappled with droplets of condensation, and I watched it slip from my hand, falling in slow motion with a sickening finality. The bottle smashed hard on the mahogany of the coffee table, not smashing, but bouncing on the polished surface and then falling to the floor. The deep scratch, almost a dent, in the table was a crescent that stood out a mile away. If that were not enough I stood, completely dumb, and watched the cool white wine pour into the thick pile of the carpet, waves of yellowy liquid glugging out and soaking into dark patches.

‘For God's sake pick it up!' Jan cried, racing across the room.

I couldn't say a word; the sight of the bottle emptying on the floor transfixed me. My horror was absolute, the scar on the coffee table was leaping out at me and grabbing me by the throat. It wasn't wine spilling out on the floor, it was my future seeping away.

Jan grabbed the bottle, but it was almost empty. She glared at me angrily, and if looks could kill then I was a dead woman for sure. She pushed me out of the way but there was nothing she could do, the damage had been done, and done by me.

‘I'm sorry,' I whispered, amazed to find that the power of speech had returned at last.

‘Sorry? Sorry? Is that all you have to say?' she screamed, absolutely livid.

‘I'm sorry, I'll pay for the damage of course…' I said quietly, backing away from her slowly.