by Stanlegh Meresith
"Good afternoon, Madam." The receptionist sat behind a large, modern pinewood desk, before which stood two shiny steel-framed chairs, the seats upholstered in red velvet. The desk was neat, uncluttered save for a red telephone, some pads of paper and pens.
"Hi," said Jessica, taking in the smell of leather that pervaded the place, wondering about its source. She was nervous and embarrassed. She surveyed the walls, noting the erotic figure drawings, the two canes forming an X above the receptionist's desk and the two large paddles on either side. To the left stood a blackboard on an easel, a mortar board with tassels perched on a corner. Chalked on the board were a list of implements and prices. Her heart skipped like a schoolgirl but she feigned nonchalance. She saw "cane... birch... riding crop ... paddle... tawse... hairbrush... slipper... hand" and prices per "six of the best".
"Is this your first visit, Madam?" asked the middle-aged woman neutrally.
"Yes, it is," croaked Jessica.
"If you would like to fill in your requirements on here..." The receptionist slid a pad of carbon-copied forms and a biro across the desk. "I think you'll find everything is made clear."
Jessica nodded gratefully, sat and pulled the pad towards her. Centred at the top was the company's name: "Seat-Warmers Unlimited" with the mission statement in italics below it: "Discipline with discretion". The page was divided into four sections. The first listed the implements she'd seen on the blackboard along with several others such as carpet-beater, gym shoe, bath brush, spoon. Adjacent to each item was a box to indicate number of sets of six, though she noticed "hand" came in sets of twelve only. The prices seemed very reasonable at £5 per set, with "birch" costlier at £8, though there was a minimum charge of £30.
A second column of boxes invited the client to indicate by number the order in which the sets were to be administered. Jessica felt heat rising through her middle and wished she wasn't by nature so quick to blush. She was suddenly very conscious of the woman across the desk and what she must think. She felt faintly ridiculous sitting here getting moist with excitement contemplating a mere form. She crossed her legs and then cleared her throat at exactly the same moment as the woman.
"Why don't I give you a minute to think things over?" Jessica looked up and smiled awkwardly but gratefully as the receptionist got up. Just then the phone rang. The woman smiled an apology and picked it up.
"Good afternoon," she said politely. She listened for some moments before rolling her eyes. "No madam, I'm afraid we don't supply any kind of vehicle upholstery ... no ... no ... I'm sorry ... I can't really help you there... erm, you probably don't want to know... thank you, goodbye." She seemed to have brought the conversation to an abrupt end. She smiled apologetically again and disappeared through a door on the right.
Jessica listened carefully but heard no sounds save the faint hum of the building being itself. She turned her attention back to the form.
The second section listed different settings such as parental home, spousal home, school, workplace, prison, with miscellaneous (please specify) at the end. There was then a space to indicate what type of special clothing was required (£10 rental) if any.
Next, the client was invited to select a "wielder", the choices divided first into male/female, then age groups 30-45 and 46-60. It was stated that the wielder would conduct a five-minute interview to ascertain the client's exact wishes prior to entering into their role.
Thereafter a series of bullet points made clear some terms and conditions. Clients were warned that the full fee must be paid in advance and that no refunds were made in cases where a customer's "eyes are braver than their bottom". Furthermore, if under-ordering, the client must return to reception to complete a separate form. Finally, an indemnity clause made clear the client's complete responsibility for any "damage caused, be it bruising, swelling or abrasions, however serious."
Jessica took a deep breath, squirmed a little on her seat and picked up the pen. She'd come this far. Everything seemed well-organised and sensitive. There was no way she was leaving here without some of that damage on her backside, which was now tingling in anticipation of its starring role.
She made her choices: two sets of the slipper to ease her in; two with the birch to enjoy its subtlety while she was still fresh; two with the paddle; two sets of the riding crop; and to finish her off (she hoped) four sets of the cane. She chose the school setting and ticked the box for renting clothes. Next she chose a male 46-60 - reasonably confident of a healthy chap, strong of arm and sure of aim. She was just appending her signature at the bottom when the receptionist reappeared.
"Ah! I see you've made your selections, Madam?"
"Yes," said Jessica, looking up guiltily.
"May I ask first if you require any special clothing?"
"Er... yes," responded Jessica, passing the pad across the desk. The woman sat down and quickly scanned the form, jotting a figure at the bottom.
"That'll be £76 please, Madam." Jessica gulped. Had she been too greedy? Were her eyes braver than her arse? Fee paid, the woman handed her a copy of the form.
"If you would like to follow me...?" She got up and led Jessica through the door on the right. They entered a long carpeted corridor with three doors on either side at generous intervals. They stopped at the first door on the right which the woman held open for Jessica.
"You will find everything you need in here, Madam."
"Thank you," replied Jessica entering the well-lit room. Several racks of clothes on hangers stood in rows.
"School outfits are on the left, Madam. Sizes are indicated and all clothing is dry-cleaned after use. There are lockers by the door here to store your own clothes. If you need anything, I'll be at my desk. When you are ready, please ring this bell here..." She indicated a buzzer on the wall by the door, "...and Mr Wilkinson, your wielder, will be along for your pre-session interview. Is everything to your satisfaction, Madam?"
"Yes, yes, thank you," said Jessica, impressed with the efficiency of it all. The receptionist closed the door behind her and Jessica started to explore the clothes racks.
Everything was clearly labelled and easily accessible and in ten minutes she was admiring herself in the full length mirror helpfully provided: white knee-length socks, blue pleated skirt to just above her knees, a white blouse buttoned up to the collar where a red and green striped tie was neatly knotted. She'd chosen a blue school blazer that matched the skirt, with a crest embroidered on the breast pocket. She'd kept her own sensible black shoes and white knickers that encased the lower curves of her buttocks tightly but snugly. A delicious nervousness had accompanied the undressing and dressing up and she was now quite flushed and sweaty with that paradoxical combination of joy and dread. Heart thumping, she pressed the buzzer and opened the door. In a moment she heard a door opening down the corridor and steps approaching. She stood back for a moment not wanting to see or be seen.
A tall man, broad-shouldered and quite handsome appeared in the doorway. Perhaps 50, he had neatly parted short brown hair, greying at the temples. He was casually dressed and spoke gently in a deep voice. He introduced himself and invited her across the corridor into a small windowless room with a table and two chairs. He had the other copy of her form on which he made notes as he quizzed her, sensitively and intelligently she felt, about the details of the scenario she wished to enact. Jessica's excitement died down considerably while they talked straightforwardly as two adults discussing details such as severity and safe word. He seemed at ease and familiar with her desires. Where have you been all my life? she thought as she admired the strong chin and the crow's feet that fanned out from the corners of his greenish brown eyes.
"Right, I think I've got it," he said, standing up. "Give me a couple of minutes to get togged up myself. Then come along to Room 5 on the left. Knock and wait. OK?"
"OK," said Jessica brightly, still gazing admiringly at those increasingly intoxicating eyes. He smiled briefly and departed.
Sitting there dressed as a teenaged schoolgirl waiting to present herself to an almost total stranger to be spanked repeatedly on her buttocks, Jessica felt ridiculous again. But excitement was welling up once more as she shifted in the unfamiliar clothes: the tightness of the collar, the socks on her calves, the identity imposed by the blazer, all drew her into the role she yearned to play.
And play it she would, she determined, to the hilt. She was very, very naughty and now she must pay.
A squadron of butterflies were fluttering in Jessica's stomach, flapping their tiny wings in force. Those duelling partners, excitement and fear, thrust and parried their way up and down her spine. She straightened her skirt, brushed down her blazer and adjusted the knot of the school tie. All ready? Can you ever be? Here I go, she thought, as she made her wobbly-legged way down the carpeted corridor to Room 5.
Knock and wait, he'd said. She knocked, too timidly, so she knocked again more firmly. No sound from within. Her heart was doing its own much bolder knocking on the doors of her ribs and her palms were clammy. She wiped them on the seat of her skirt, and continued to rub, pressing harder, giving her buttocks a squeeze. Massaging this way, she felt like a boxer's second, preparing his man for the fight: twelve rounds in a Championship spanking. She listed in her mind the sets she'd ordered: slipper, birch, paddle, crop and cane. She shivered, wondering again if she'd been too masochistically ambitious, too greedy.
Suddenly the door opened and Mr Wilkinson, attired now in dark suit, mortar board and gown, towered over her. He was wearing glasses with thick black frames and an angry expression.
"You're late, Richards! How dare you be late for detention! Don't you think you're in enough trouble after your disgraceful conduct this week? Eh, girl? Speak up!" This barrage, accompanied by a piercingly severe gaze, brought Jessica instantly into role and set her heart thumping wildly.
"Sorry, sir," she muttered, looking down.
"Sorry you will be, young lady - very sorry indeed, I can assure you, by the time I've finished with you. Now get over there and take the middle desk at the front."
She was in a classroom, lit by two large windows ahead of her, between which stood a tall cupboard. Facing the end wall to her right were six pupil desks arranged in two rows before a low dais where the teacher's table stood with a blackboard behind it. The walls were adorned with maps and pictures, and lined with bookcases of sets of texts, and chairs and benches. In the corner on the right she noticed two full length mirrors, one stand-alone like an easel, the other appended to the wall.
Jessica walked over to the middle desk, her sensible shoes noisy on the wooden floor. She lowered the hinged seat and squeezed into the space between the back and the lid of the desk. She placed her hands before her on the sloping desk and looked around. On the blackboard, written in chalk, she saw "Detention - Jessica Richards" and the date. To the left, hanging from hooks by their crook handles, were six canes arranged by size and length, the longest and thickest on the right.
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