JOSIE

BY YOCOPYCAT

[ part 3 ]

“Come in, Jim,” said Pam. “Josie is waiting for you. She is not very happy.” She locked the street door behind us, put the key in her pocket and patted it. “We don’t want the fucking little brat to make a bolt for it if things get heavy.”

She led me into the living room, and there indeed was Josie, Pam’s eight-year-old step-daughter. And indeed she was not at all happy. In fact she was crying. She stood in a corner, naked, facing me, standing stiffly upright with her hands clasped behind her head and her feet apart. She was waiting for the beating she had been promised for the things she had said about me touching her up the previous week, and would have been there since her return from school if Pam had followed my instructions to the letter.

Pam and I had arranged her punishment for Friday, which it now was, because there was no school until Monday and marks should have faded by then. If not, Pam had said, she would keep Josie off school for a day or two. Josie had heard all that and understood it all too well.

So there she stood, awaiting my pleasure, fearing the worst, and crying.

“Hullo, Josie,” I said. “Are you sorry for what you said?”

“Yes. Yes I truly am. Please don’t beat me very hard.”

“Oh but I must,” I said. ”I must beat you very hard. We can’t have you going around talking about me.”

I walked over to her and bent down and she raised a tearful face for the kiss. I was glad to see that what I had said about it being rude not to return a kiss had sunk in.

I planted the bag I had brought with me on the floor beside her and opened it. The first thing out was what had already become the usual bottle of wine, which I handed to Pam. Next was a slipper, which I slapped into the palm of my hand before presenting it to Josie to kiss, then a hair brush, which made an even nicer sound, and then a broad leather belt. Her big blue eyes were getting wider and wider, and at the sight of the belt her tears flowed faster.

“Oh no!” she gasped. “Oh please no!”

“I have to use it,” I explained, ”you have to learn not to talk about me.”

Pam came and examined the belt. “Not bad,” she said, “but wouldn’t a whip be better?”.

“Well, yes, but I don’t have one.”

“We do,” said Pam. “I still have her father’s. May Josie leave the corner to fetch it for you?”

“Certainly.”

Josie ran off and came back with an evil looking whip. “She knows all about this,” Pam said. “Her Father liked to use it on her.”

“Oh!” - the very thought of any abuse the child had had at the hands of her late father excited me – “and what would that be for?”

“Oh, not for anything in particular, you know, it was just he liked to whip her sometimes when he had had a drink or two. Just to keep her respectful towards him he said, which it certainly did. She was quiet as a mouse when he was around, in case he noticed her.”

She had opened the bottle. It was red wine, so did not need chilling, and now she handed me a glass.

“He hung the whip over the fireplace and he would chase her all over the fucking house with it. He would tie her hands first, see, so she couldn’t protect herself or lock herself in the bathroom or run out into the street or anything. Sadistic bastard, he was, but better he take it out on her than me, eh? She did belong to him, after all.”

And now, I thought, so far as Pam is concerned, Josie belongs to me, and I am a sadistic bastard also. Poor kid!. “Yes, well, that seems a good way to teach her a lesson,” I said approvingly. Josie, back in the corner and listening to this, was getting more and more agitated.

“The other way, which he tried once or twice, was to tie her down over a chair, bottom up. But he complained it wasn’t as much fun as trying to get at her cunt with a whip when she was on the run. He specially liked chasing her up and down the stairs.” She paused to assess my reaction. “Problem was,” she continued, “how to secure her hands without her arms getting in the way. In the end, he made a special belt for that. We still have it. Shall I put it on her for you to see? I’m pretty sure you’ll like the fucking thing. Come on, Josie, you can model it, it’s in your room.”

She took Josie by the hand and dragged her away. The two of them went upstairs, and a few minutes later the most erotic creation imaginable walked down. It was Josie, still naked, but with her arms held at her sides, unable to be lifted. A piece of rope was tied round her waist and her wrists were tied to that. It held them near her hips. It was the simplest method of bondage I have ever seen, but the most effective. She could walk but not use her arms or hands at all, and her whole body was exposed to the whip. She looked really smart at attention in the corner, to which she had retreated..

“What do you think of her hair? asked Pam. Josie’s gorgeous long golden locks, normally almost waist length, had been coiled up cunningly on top of her head. Pinned there, I suppose. “Her father kept it short. He said it got in the way when he whipped her.”

She looked more naked now, I saw. “Yes,” I said, “I’ll have it short too. You have it done and I’ll pay you back.”

“OK,” said Pam, as I walked round Josie, stroking Josie’s smooth trembling flesh to see her shrink from me. “Dinner’s ready. The whipping will have to wait, if you don’t mind.”

So we sat down. I cut up Josie’s food and fed her, gave her a sip or two of wine. I talked to them both as if nothing special was about to happen, how did you do at school, Josie, got any boy friends, that sort of thing. And all the time I was red hot with anticipation. The meal, as a meal, was delicious and went well with the wine I had brought. I could get used to Pam’s cooking even if she didn’t put so juicy and defenceless morsel as her step-daughter at my disposal.

At last it was over, and Josie went ever so reluctantly back to her corner. There were tears in her eyes again.

“I have a neighbour to visit, if you don’t mind,” said Pam, moving towards the door. “I don’t like to see the fucking little brat whipped, as it happens.” She took a ball gag from a drawer and fixed it in Josie’s mouth, the elastic strap around her head, mostly under the cascades of blond hair. “Something else her father had to do before a whipping, because of the neighbours. Be as severe as you like, Jim, as long as I don’t see. And you, Josie, you know the kitchen and my bedroom are out of bounds when you are being whipped.” She turned to me. “Too many breakages,” she explained. “Bye now.”

I picked up the whip and turned towards the corner, but Josie was scrambling between my legs already, making for the stairs. I was quick enough to close my legs before she got away, and there, immediately, was a prime target, ass up and heaving about.

I managed to get in a couple of swipes, but they convulsed her so much that she was able to wriggle free. She dashed for the stairs. This was fun!

Her desperate progress up the stairs without the use of arms was exceedingly erotic, and it was easy to get in a couple of lashes between the legs. The response was volcanic as she scrambled franticly to the top and dashed for the bathroom. She got behind the door and tried to keep it closed by leaning on it. Hopeless, of course.

I whipped her round the bathroom walls and into the bath and all over the floor and out again, into her bedroom, where she flung herself face down on the bed, sobbing and defeated, totally at my mercy. She would obviously prefer to be whipped on the back than the front, and of course I did that, but then I rolled her over and whipped the rest of that delicious squirming little body. Then I rolled her off the bed and shoved her towards the stairs and caught her between the legs several times on her way down. She collapsed in a heap at the bottom and it was easy to get her started up again. She was tiring a little and the target was even easier.

I chased her up and down the stairs and round the house for another twenty minutes or so, and then I had had enough fun for one night. I stood her panting in her corner and removed the gag.

“You didn’t hurt me!” she exclaimed in amazement. “Well, not much!”

“No,” I said. All I had done was tickle her up a bit, but I suppose she had expected more at any moment. That was a big enough turn-on. I am not into unnecessary cruelty. “I decided not to this time.”

“This time?” she asked, round eyed.

“I don’t think you will tell anyone about me or what I do whether I whip you properly or not.”

“Oh I won’t, I won’t!”

“Then you are forgiven, but if you ever do talk to anyone about me or you make me angry about anything I shall come and truly whip you properly, except it will be double because you didn’t have this one. Now, where is my kiss?.”

The feel of her in my arms with her arms still bound was delicious, and now the kisses of relief were far less inhibited. Lips opening a little, but no tongue yet. After a while I set her on her feet. “I think I shall spank you now,” I said.

“Oh but you forgave me!”

“Yes, but you are my little slave girl and I can beat her whenever I want.”

“Oh!”

“Of course it will be much harder when she has been naughty. And maybe less hard if I get some nice kisses.”

“Is your little slave girl called Josie?”

“Yes.”

“Is she your favourite little slave girl?”

“Yes.”

“And if she kisses you it makes you happy?”

“Yes.”

“And if you are happy you don’t beat her so bad?”

“Right,” I said. “And I shall make some rules for her. Here is the first one – no panties at home on Fridays. Now, if my favourite little slave girl is around, she should come over my knee for a bad spanking.”

“Well,” said Josie solemnly, “she should have a chance to kiss you first, so it won’t be really bad.” She came and gave me a smacking kiss before scrambling onto my lap as meek as could be. Spanking her naked buttocks with her hands held fast in that primitive bondage was a true delight, especially when I tried out the slipper. Judging by her reactions, it was pretty effective. One can hit quite hard, I feel, without being cruel.

There was Pam at the door. We both stood up.

“Why Jim,” she exclaimed. “Doesn’t look like you got your money’s worth or the little fucker wouldn’t be standing up.”

“I have my methods,” I said. “I am quite happy with her. Do you have the rent for next week?”

“Fat chance!,” she said. “It’s dinner again next fucking Friday, if that suits you? Do I need to put Josie in the corner?” Meaning Josie for the rent, as previously arranged between two ruthless people. There was no pretence between us any longer.

“No,” I said. “I’ve given her the rules.” I pointed to the slipper, hairbrush and belt. “I’ll leave these though, I haven’t used all of them yet. And I suggest you put the whip back over the mantelpiece, so it’s handy in case I decide to use it.”

“Right,” she said. “The nails are still there.” And, in fact, she had it up immediately.

“Josie,” I said, “I have to go home now but I will come to see my favourite little slave girl next Friday. Remember the Friday rule and give me the hairbrush or the belt when I come, because I expect I shall want to beat her. And polish the whip every single day and especially on Fridays. Now, you may kiss me goodnight.”

The kiss was the best yet. Enthusiastic but amateurish, as was to be expected. She was obviously going to take what I had said about kisses very seriously. It was a theme I intended to develop considerably over the next few months.