From: willmac@pixi.com (theshadow)

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking

   Subject: Vicky's bad week-Shoplifter punished-pt 3

   Date: Mon, 07 Aug 95 21:05:54 GMT

   Organization: Pacific Information eXchange, Inc.

   Message-ID: <406kqn$e5l@rigel.pixi.com>

   Wednesday

   At five minutes before four the next afternoon, Vicki found herself
knocking for the second time on the door of Jameson's office.  Obeying the
muffled call for her to come in, Vicki slipped into the office and closed
the door behind her.

   Jameson was seated at his desk, poring over a stack of printed forms. 
He glanced up when he heard the door click shut.  "Ah, Miss Wilkins," he
said, "I'm glad to see you're so prompt.

   We'll go downstairs as soon as I finish these, so you may as well get
ready."

   Vicki kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned her sundress and pulled it
over her head.  Wearing only the emerald green bikini that had gotten her
into this mess, she stood uncertainly

   for a moment and then sat down in one of the shabby chairs facing
Jameson's desk.

   The chair was covered in a coarsely woven material that felt scratchy
wherever it touched Vicki's skin--and given the skimpy size of the bikini,
that included a considerable

   proportion of Vicki's bottom.  Her rear was still a little achy and
tender this afternoon, but she'd been able to sit through her classes
without squirming too obviously, she thought.  She'd even

   managed to sit at the table and chatter through dinner last night, as
though she had no concerns beyond those of any other graduating senior.

   Vicki wondered how today's punishment would be administered and what it
would feel like.  Vicki had no doubt that this afternoon's spanking would
hurt, but she hoped it wouldn't be as much worse than yesterday's as that
had been worse than the day before.  The first day would have been a hand
spanking, if she hadn't refused to strip all the way.  The second day was
that horrible paddling.

   She still couldn't understand why it had hurt so much more yesterday
than it had the day before; with the way Jameson had pulled the sides of
the bikini bottom into the middle of her

   behind, she'd been almost as bare the first day as the second.  And
unlike the first day's paddling, which had left no marks on her skin at
all, last night and even this morning the skin of her

   bottom had been mottled with dozens and dozens of reddish dots, almost
as though she really had been stung by swarm after swarm of insects, just
the way it had felt while Jameson was using the

   paddle on her.

   Thinking about her mottled bottom reminded Vicki of how it had looked in
the mirror the night before.  Excusing herself after dinner, she had gone
to her room, ostensibly to study, but

   she'd been careful to lock her door.  She had dragged her desk chair a
few feet away from her full-length mirror, and, placing her pillow over the
back of the chair to pad it, she had bent

   over the back of the chair, her bottom toward the mirror and her legs
spread.  It had been awkward, but she had managed to get a pretty good idea
of how she had looked to Jameson in the afternoon.

   Her rear had still been pretty red then, and she had stroked and
squeezed the widely spread cheeks with both hands.  Her fingers had parted
the silky tangle of hair between her thighs until she could see her secret
place clearly.  She wished she knew what to call that place, but the only
words she'd learned, like "vagina", "labia", "clitoris", and so forth,
sounded more like a sex-ed book than like the parts of her body she'd
explored last night.  She had overheard bits of giggling

   conversations among other girls who used other terms that Vicki thought
probably referred to their secret places, but she wasn't positive--and she
would rather make do with the textbook words than find out later that she
had misunderstood what the other girls had been talking about.

   The fingers of one stroking hand had crept down to spread her labia,
which were damp and slippery inside.  The slipperiness seemed to suck first
one of her fingers and then two deep into

   her vagina, and within seconds Vicki had found herself first squirming
and then writhing frantically as she bent over the chair.  She had told
herself to stop, or at least to go lie on

   her bed, but her fingers and her hips were no longer controlled by her
mind.  Even when the pillow slid off onto the floor and the top of the
chair back dug painfully into her stomach, Vicki

   had been unable to stop her gyrations until violent orgasm had surged
through her, leaving her dangling weakly over the chair.

   "All right, Miss Wilkins, let's go." Vicki jumped as Jameson's voice
interrupted her reverie.  Blushing, she got to her feet and tugged at the
bikini bottom, which seemed to be stretched uncomfortably through her
crotch.  Jameson opened the back door of his office and led her down the
chilly concrete stairway.  He opened the door of the security room and
stood to one side to let her enter first, then closed the door and flipped
the switch on the doorframe.

   Without waiting for instructions, Vicki stripped off the bikini, tossed
it onto a chair and turned to face Jameson.  He marveled at how much she
had changed in two days.  Monday she had been tearful, pleading, appalled
by the thought of being nude in front of him.  Now she had stripped without
being told to, and stood facing him, feet comfortably apart, her arms
crossed not to conceal her tits but to support and display them.  He hoped
that her apparent lack of fear didn't mean that she was no longer afraid of
his filing charges against her, because with that fear would go both his
leverage and his safety.

   "I trust," Jameson addressed her sternly, "that you remember the lesson
in obedience you received yesterday, and that you won't force me to repeat
it." He stared hard at her, hoping

   to see evidence that her attitude wasn't as confident as it seemed, and
was elated to see her body stiffen as she remembered that final fierce
paddling the day before.

   "Oh, no," the girl stammered, "I mean, yes, I remember, and no, I don't
want to be spanked like that again, not ever." Despite the girl's stance,
their was a tremor in her voice, and she shivered as her skin erupted in
goosebumps.

   "Good," Jameson nodded.  "Well, then, today I don't want to have to
touch you."

   "You mean you won't, I can, you're not going to spank me?"

   There was eager hope in the voice, but Jameson thought he detected just
a trace of disappointment in the girl's eyes.

   "I mean just what I said--I'm not planning to lay a hand on you.  You
will stay here, however, and I am certain that you will be very much aware
that I am here also," Jameson responded.  "Come over to the desk.  Stand
against the front, facing the chair."

   The girl complied quickly, even spreading her feet wide apart so that he
didn't need to force her to do that.  "You are to stay in that position
until I tell you to move.  You may rest

   your arms on the top of the desk if you wish, but you are not to move
your legs.  Is that clear?", he demanded.

   She nodded and leaned forward until her forearms rested on the glass
desk top.  The position thrust her ass back from the edge of desk
provocatively, and it was all Jameson could do to

   keep from drooling.  He walked around to the back side of the desk and
stooped to open one of the lower drawers, from which he drew a leather
strap about 30 inches long and three inches wide.

   He had looked long and hard before he had found it in an antique store.
It was a razor strap, the kind that once had hung from every barber's
chair; they were used to hone the edge of a

   straight razor, although many of them found other uses as well, as
Jameson knew from his boyhood and Miss Victoria Wilkins was about to learn.
Although the leather had been abraded and thinned by tens of thousands of
razor strokes, it remained heavy and exceptionally supple.

   "You have learned what wood can feel like, Miss Wilkins," Jameson told
her as he straightened up and kicked the drawer shut.  "Today you will
learn about the feel of leather."

   She turned her head to follow the strap as he walked around the desk and
took a position behind and to the left of her waiting ass.  He was pleased
to see the mottled appearance of the

   previously unblemished skin; yesterday's paddling hadn't left any major
bruises, but each hole in the face of the paddle had left its own mark each
of the dozens of times the paddle had touched

   her.  He noticed that her upper thighs were marked, too, but his eyes
were drawn inexorably to the tight young pussy they framed.  Despite the
chill that had shaken her a few minutes earlier, her

   snatch was damp, either with sweat or with something else, and Jameson
again felt the all-but-irresistible urge to run his tongue over those
burgundy surfaces.

   The girl was still looking over her shoulder as he raised the strap. 
Her asscheeks clenched in anticipation, squeezing the lips of her cunt
together at the same time.  "Please," she whimpered, "don't spank me as
hard as yesterday."

   "I assure you, Miss Wilkins, that this won't be like yesterday," Jameson
responded as he swung the strap.  He was aiming for the base of her left
cheek, but the strap landed two

   or three inches higher.  The force of the leather impacting on the
girl's bare ass flung her forward against the edge of the desk, and she
cried out with a mixture of pain and surprise.  The

   knotted muscles in her buttocks relaxed as she rocked back from the
desk, and Jameson lifted the strap to swing it again.

   Vicki had watched Jameson pick up the strap and step behind her with
both curiosity and relief.  She could see that the leather was thick and
heavy, but she could also tell by the way it dangled from his hand that it
was very soft.  She was sure that it would hurt less than the paddle,
probably even less than a hand spanking.

   Even so, when he started to swing the strap toward her she had felt her
rump tighten up, as though hard muscles could somehow shield her exposed
bottom from the leather.  It hadn't

   done any good--the hissing strap burned her behind, and its weight and
speed drove her forward against the square edge of the glass desk top.

   Before she really had time to think about how much the leather hurt
compared to the paddle, the strap smacked into her again, this time on the
right side of her bottom.  She cried out again, her eyes beginning to fill
with tears.

   Unlike the paddle, which had burned like fire the instant it struck, the
leather strap only stung a little bit at first--but the sting seemed to
echo around inside Vicki's tush, growing stronger and stronger as it
resonated.  She was only beginning to feel the full effects of the first
lash when the strap bit into her for the third time.

   "AIEEE!", Vicki wailed.  Jameson had swung the strap upward, catching
her just below the fullest part of her left cheek, and Vicki could feel the
whole mass of her left buttock lift and then fall back as the hissing
leather coursed over it.  The next stroke came straight down on the upper
surface of the same cheek, and her knee buckled as she howled with pain. 
Another upward swing of the strap brought her back to her toes.

   Tears streaked Vicki's face and dripped from her chin to splash on the
glass desk top as the scourging continued.  She wanted desperately to obey
Jameson's command that she stay in the

   same position, to avoid making him angry again, but each lash seemed to
magnify the hurt of each of the previous ones as well as adding its own. 
Finally, Vicki could stand it no longer, and let herself be driven to the
side by a horizontal stroke of the razor strap.

   "I didn't tell you to move, Miss Wilkins," Jameson thundered.

   "I know, I'm sorry," Vicki cried.  "I just can't help it, it just hurts
too much!  Please, I beg you, just spank me with your hand."

   "We've already discussed the rules, Miss Wilkins.  If you don't have
enough self-discipline to do as I tell you, then I'll have to restrain
you." Jameson dropped the strap onto the surface of the desk and walked
around it.  He rummaged in the drawer from which he'd taken the razor strap
and emerged with several short strips of leather.  They had metal buckles
and looked, Vicki thought, like extra-wide dog collars.

   "Get back where you were," Jameson ordered curtly.  Vicki slunk back to
the middle of the front edge of the desk.  Jameson seized her right ankle
roughly and jerked it sideways until her

   foot slammed into one of the short legs that supported the front of the
desk, then whipped one of the dog collars around her ankle and the desk leg
and buckled it tightly.  He repeated the process

   with her left ankle, then stood up, walked to the back of the desk
pulled the chair out and sat down.

   Vicki kept her eyes downcast.  She was afraid to look at him.  She
wondered why he wanted to rest, but she was sure that he was going to do
something awful to her for disobeying again,

   and now she couldn't run away to stop the pain, even for a few
seconds--although maybe that was just as well, she thought.  At least she
wouldn't be able to do anything to make him angrier.

   Her thoughts were interrupted when Jameson jerked her left arm toward
him, bending her forward across the desk.  Vicki flinched as her left
nipple touched the cold glass surface of the

   desk, but he held her hand tightly while he buckled another of the
leather straps around her forearm.  He must have run the strap through some
kind of ring on the back edge of the desk,

   because her arm was now immobilized.  Just as quickly she found her
right arm fastened tightly, separated from the left by a couple of feet.

   The position was extremely uncomfortable.  The front edge of the desk
top bit deeply into the fronts of Vicki's thighs, just below her crotch,
and both arms were forced just as

   painfully against the back edge.  Her breasts just grazed the top of the
desk, but her nipples had hardened and elongated so much from touching the
cold glass that no matter how she squirmed, she was unable to draw her body
up enough to avoid the contact.

   "I'm sure you wish now that you had stayed in position, Miss Wilkins,"
Jameson remarked as he stood up, "and you'll wish it even more before we're
through today.  But I'll help you keep

   your mind off the little discomforts you're feeling now." He lifted the
razor strap from the desk and walked behind her.

   Vicki felt more terrified than she had at any time since she had first
been taken to Jameson's office.  With all of the spankings she'd had up
till now, she'd at least been able to see him, or feel when he lifted his
arm.  But now all she could do was look down at the desk, knowing that
Jameson was somewhere behind her, not touching her, but about to inflict
enormous pain on

   her helpless bottom.

   Jameson wasn't surprised that the girl had to be restrained.  He doubted
that he could have held still, when he was her age, for the kind of
strapping she was getting--or could now, for that matter.  Not that he'd
had any recent experience.  The last time he'd had a real licking with a
razor strap was probably when he was about 13, but he doubted that it felt
much different at any age.  The leather was really deceptive; it seemed
soft and harmless, but with the right kind of muscle

   behind it, the strap could be about as painful as anything.  Except a
cane, of course--but that was for tomorrow.

   He surveyed his trembling target.  The girl's legs weren't spread quite
as wide as he would have liked, but there was nothing but the inner legs of
the desk to which he could have tied her ankles, and he could see a small
rectangle of the desk framed by her thighs and her tantalizing little cunt.
The girl would have been more comfortable if her waist and the desk top had
been at the same height, but he doubted that she would notice her stiff
back after another few minutes.  She wouldn't be able to move much forward
or backward or up and down, but she had

   enough slack for some sideways movement, and Jameson guessed there would
be plenty of that as soon as she felt the strap again.

   The luscious asscheeks were already marked with some wide pink stripes
from the initial 15 or 18 lashes, as though a painter had begun outlining a
picture on canvas.  Now it was time

   to begin filling in the blank spots.  Jameson grinned at the analogy as
he selected an unmarked area on the right cheek and raised the razor strap.

   His aim was good.  The strap landed high on the outer surface of the
girl's right asscheek.  She gave a sharp cry of pain and swung her hips
hard to the left in a vain effort to dodge the force of the heavy leather.
Jameson gave her a backhanded swat that cut across the middle of both
cheeks, provoking another scream and a swing of hips back to the right.

   Jameson continued thrashing the helpless buttocks, changing the
direction and rhythm of his swings at random.  After a series of downward
diagonal slashes, alternating left and right, that had the girl howling and
begging, he stopped for several seconds, watching her hips twitch and jump
within the limits of her bonds as she tried to anticipate where the strap
would bite into her next, and then launched a new series of horizontal and
upward strokes.  By the time the strap had slapped down 25 or 30 times the
girl was sobbing uncontrollably, crying out only at every third or fourth
lash, and Jameson decided it was time to give her a rest.

   "Five minutes," he told her, tossing the strap onto the top of the desk
beside her.  The girl gave a long, shuddering groan.

   "Please," she implored, "no more.  I've learned my lesson.  Even without
the first spanking, I would never have taken anything again.  You just keep
hurting me more and more, for no reason."

   Jameson didn't respond, and Vicki knew he wasn't about to change his
mind.  In fact this spanking wasn't as bad as the one yesterday had been,
but she hoped that if he thought she found

   this even worse, he might not whip her too much more.

   The strap did hurt, of course--it hurt a lot!  But it was nowhere near
as bad as that awful paddle; if she had to choose between ten spanks with
the paddle and twenty with the strap,

   she'd choose the strap in an instant.  Besides, when he wasn't actually
using it, like now, the memory of the way the strap kind of curled around
her bottom made her wish she could touch her

   secret place the way she had after the spanking ended yesterday.

   The thought reminded her of the way her secret place had looked in the
mirror last night, and then of the view Jameson must have of it now, and a
sudden thought alarmed her.  Thank

   goodness he hadn't hit her there with the leather strap--that would have
to hurt something awful!  Vicki wished she could stand up straight, or
close her legs, or do something to protect that

   part of her body.  Suppose he let the strap hit her there, even by
accident!  She began to struggle against her bonds with all her strength.

   "Getting restless for some more, are you, Miss Wilkins?", Jameson asked
mockingly.  He lifted the thick strap from the desk.

   "Oh, no, please, no more," Vicki entreated.  She clenched the muscles in
her bottom as tightly as she could, trying unsuccessfully to protect the
most sensitive part of her body from the blow she knew was coming.  She
heard the hissing of the leather a split second before she felt it.  To her
dismay, the strap cut across the very tops of her thighs, barely touching
the lower edge of her bottom, only millimeters from the area she was trying
to shield.

   "NO!", she shrieked.  "Don't spank me down there, please." The strap
snapped across the inside of her left thigh, midway between crotch and
knee, and then again, an inch higher on

   the inner surface of her right thigh.  Vicki screamed and twisted
frantically in the restraints, finally standing on her toes as the lashes
crept inexorably higher.

   Just as Vicki was concluding that the next stroke would to prove her
worst fears accurate, and hoping that she would faint quickly from the
pain, Jameson decided that he had tormented her enough and lashed her
instead across the fullest part of the left side of her bottom.  He
repeated the same stroke several times, and Vicki cried out with each, but
her cries reflected relief more than pain.

   Vicki continued rolling and swinging her hips, managing occasionally to
avoid at least part of the force of the prolonged strapping.  Her cries
were real, but so was her sense of reprieve now that Jameson was
concentrating the lashes on her behind.  She could even make herself think
about going home and reliving today's spanking in the privacy of her room.

   Finally Jameson stopped and dropped the strap beside her on the desk. 
This spanking had gone on at least as long as the previous days', and Vicki
waited for him to begin unbuckling the

   dog-collar straps to let her go.  She was startled by his voice.

   "We would be through for the day, Miss Wilkins, if you had not forced me
to restrain you.  As it is, however, we will take a short break and then I
will have to give you another lesson in obedience."

   Remembering how terribly that final flurry of spanks had hurt the day
before, Vicki began to plead.  "You might as well relax and save your
breath, Miss Wilkins," Jameson interrupted her.

   Vicki fell silent, trying to focus on the pain in her wrists and her
lower back as a distraction from the throbbing in her bottom, which she
knew would get a lot more intense before she could leave.  At least the
glass was no longer cold where her breasts touched it; her body heat had
long since eliminated that discomfort.

   She tensed as she heard the razor strap slide across the desk.  Much as
she wished this spanking were finally over, it hadn't been as bad as
yesterday's, and no matter what Jameson did

   now, it couldn't possibly be as painful as when he'd bent her over his
leg and used the paddle on her.  Vicki closed her eyes and tried to force
herself to relax.

   The strap swung straight upward, raking across the tender flesh between
the halves of her bottom.  Vicki howled with pain and renewed terror. 
Lunging from side to side she tried to make

   the lashes land on the muscular facets of her bottom, but Jameson
unerringly caught the inner face of first one cheek and then the other,
spreading them wide apart and raising new crimson stripes

   with stroke after stroke, each one slightly lower than the last.

   Vicki yelled at the top of her lungs for Jameson to stop, but she felt a
sickening certainty that this time he would not relent--that the end of the
strap would reach lower and lower until it touched her labia, and lower yet
until it curled completely around her secret place.  Still she struggled
and writhed, until her wrists and the fronts of her thighs were raw from
rubbing against the edge of desk top and her nipples had left long streaks
of sweat on the glass top of the desk.

   When it finally came Vicki felt almost numb, as though she'd been struck
by a small bolt of lightning.  The strap flew upward, searing the insides
of her thighs before it cupped her secret place.  She could feel the very
tip of the leather curl against her pubic bone.  She thought it hurt,
probably hurt unimaginably, but it was hard to tell because of the tingling
surge of electricity that rushed through her body.

   The strap began teasing her, slapping fiercely at the sensitive areas
between the cheeks of her bottom and then returning, without warning but
with equal severity, to fling itself against the outer folds of her secret
place.  Her brain reeling with the confusion of signals her nerves were
sending, Vicki could manage no more than a strangled gasp of a cry at each
stroke.

   Jameson gave her a final lash that covered an area as wide as the strap
from mid-thigh to coccyx, and then let the strap dangle in front of him. 
He didn't know exactly what to make of the last few minutes; the girl had
seemed earlier to be absolutely terrified that he might whip her pussy, but
when he'd laid the strap on her all her fuses seemed to blow at once. 
Either she'd liked it, which seemed hard to imagine, or else he'd really
hurt her.

   That thought troubled him, though not because he was concerned about the
girl's pain--she had that coming.  Jameson was worried first that she might
decide to tell someone, which could mean a great deal of trouble for him,
and second that she might not show up for the remaining sessions, which
would be a major disappointment.  Maybe he'd better look at the videotapes
as soon as she left, and see if he could tell any more about what had
happened.

   Jameson walked around to the back of the desk, opened the drawer and
tossed the razor strap inside.  Then he unbuckled first one of the girl's
arms and then the other.  She groaned and

   began massaging her wrists.  Good--that didn't seem like the response of
someone who'd really been driven round the bend.  He stood up and went to
release the ankle straps.

   He had just unbuckled the second strap when the girl stretched her legs
wide apart, slid her feet back and flattened her torso on the desk top with
a groan.  From his kneeling position, Jameson found himself looking past
her red-streaked thighs to her spread-lipped pussy.  He felt himself
hardening, and slipped a hand into his pocket to adjust the position of his
cock as he got awkwardly to his feet.

   "You can't stay here today," he told her gruffly.  "I have to leave the
store for a while, and this room must be locked."

   Vicki slid backward off the desk top with a groan.  She had hoped to
spend a few minutes alone in the security room, the way she had yesterday,
but things would have to wait until she

   got home.  She eased the lower part of the bikini over her aching
bottom, slipped into the top, and followed Jameson up the drafty stairs to
his office.

   Jameson watched her put on her street clothes over the sweat-stained
bikini.  "I'll see you at four tomorrow, Miss Wilkins."

   Vicki nodded and left his office, her feelings still confused.  She
ached all over, her joints from the awkward position in which she'd been
tied, her poor bottom from the spanking she'd received, and her secret
place from both the strapping and from the tingling shocks that had
convulsed her.  She knew that she would spend a long time this evening
reviewing today's session in her mind.

   From: willmac@pixi.com (theshadow)

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking

   Subject: Vicky's bad week-Shoplifter punished-pt.4

   Date: Mon, 07 Aug 95 21:10:54 GMT

   Organization: Pacific Information eXchange, Inc.

   Message-ID: <406l42$e5l@rigel.pixi.com>

   Thursday

   When Vicki arrived at Jameson's office she found an envelope, addressed
to "Miss Victoria Wilkins", taped to the outside of his door.  She ripped
it open with a pounding heart.  It must mean that Jameson wasn't there, so
maybe she wouldn't get her spanking today!  She found herself both pleased
and a little disappointed by the thought; she'd been psyching herself up
all

   day and didn't want to have to do that again.  Besides, tomorrow was
supposed to be the last day, and if Jameson didn't spank her today he might
want to give her a double session tomorrow.  Vicki didn't see how she could
stand that!

   With shaking hands she unfolded the handwritten note and read it:

   "Miss Wilkins: I have had to leave the store for

   a few minutes but will be with you shortly.  You know

   the routine.  Go into my office and lock the door

   behind you.  Leave your clothing there and then wait

   for me in the security room."

   "F.J."

   Vicki stuffed the note and its envelope into the pocket of her chinos
and tried the doorknob.  It was unlocked, and she entered the empty office,
shut the door and twisted the deadbolt.

   She pulled the tail of her blouse out of the waistband of her slacks,
then unbuttoned it and dropped it on one of Jameson's chairs.  She stepped
out of her loafers, unzipped her pants, and

   quickly added them and her socks to the pile on the chair.

   She wondered if Jameson expected her to take the bikini off here too. 
The note had said "clothing", but Vicki decided that meant just her outer
clothes.  It would be embarrassing

   enough to meet someone in the stairwell dressed only in her swimsuit;
she couldn't take a chance on running into someone stark naked!

   Closing the back door of Jameson's office quietly behind her, Vicki made
her way down the cold cement steps.  The door into the security room had
been propped open with a rubber

   doorstop, and she peered quickly into the room to be sure it was empty.
Vicki picked up the doorstop and let the door fall shut behind her.  She
started to flip the switch on the doorframe as

   Jameson had done, but it was already on--so either the door was locked
now or else the switch wasn't a lock.

   Vicki stripped off the green bikini and crossed the room to sit on the
sofa.  Her tush ached some whenever she sat on it, but it was a deep kind
of ache, not near the surface, and it

   didn't really bother her.  She gazed across the room at the glass topped
desk, and immediately pictured herself, as she had the night before, bent
awkwardly over it.  She saw her bare bottom

   and the lips of her secret place, and could feel the weight of the
leather strap as she drew it back and swung it toward the waiting cheeks of
her own behind.

   She felt the muscles in her tush bunch under her as she imagined the
heavy strap slapping hard against her skin.  Just as it had in her room the
night before, her hand slipped

   unconsciously to her crotch, and Vicki moaned as her fingers slipped
between her labia and touched the gooey warmth of her secret place.

   Jameson, watching the videotape monitors in next room, began to breath
raggedly as the girl started masturbating.  It was exactly what he'd
guessed would happen, after watching the tapes from the three previous
sessions last night and seeing how she'd spent her time alone in the
security room after Tuesday's paddling, but he still found the scene almost
unbearably

   stimulating.

   The girl might do a lot of screaming and begging while he was working
her ass over, but the sessions really seemed to turn her on.  Thank god
he'd remembered to turn on the video

   recorders before she'd come down to the security room!  He waited until
the girl was writhing and bucking on the sofa, her fingers plunging rapidly
in and out of her gash, before slipping into the hallway and walking into
the security room.  He stopped abruptly and stared at the girl in pretended
shock and amazement.  It took her a second to register the fact that she

   was no longer alone, and then she jerked her fingers out of her cunt and
sat motionless.  Her entire body turned a shade of scarlet he wouldn't have
imagined possible, so dark he could

   barely distinguish her wine-colored nipples and areolas from the
surrounding skin of her boobs.

   "Well, Miss Wilkins," Jameson said with mock anger, "you really had me
fooled.  I had thought you were being punished, but now I see you've really
been enjoying our little sessions.

   Obviously you need something a lot more severe than what you've been
getting up till now."

   "Oh, no, Mr.  Jameson," Vicki said with horror.  "I haven't enjoyed the
spankings at all, they hurt terribly.  It's just that, well, I'm not used
to sitting around naked, and I started thinking about something else.  I
know I shouldn't have been, uh, doing what I was, but please don't do
anything that hurts more." She burst into tears.

   "I don't know whether to believe you or not," Jameson responded, "but
I'm quite sure you won't feel like playing with yourself when I'm finished
with you today." He opened the desk

   drawer and removed the restraining straps he'd used the day before. 
Clutching those in one hand, he walked over to the sofa and seized the
sobbing girl by the arm.  He pulled her to her feet dragged her over to the
desk and pushed her down on top of it.

   "Get on the desk and lie face down," he ordered.  The girl climbed onto
the desk and started lie lengthwise atop the glass surface, then stopped
with a gasp.

   "It's too cold!", she exclaimed, still on her hands and knees.

   "You'll be quite warm in a minute, Miss Wilkins," Jameson assured her,
seizing her arms and pulling them out from under her.  She protested loudly
as the full length of her body contacted the glass desk top, but he held
her wrists firmly as he passed one of the restraining straps through a ring
attached to one corner of the desk and buckled it tightly around her
forearm.  He repeated the same steps with the other arm at the other corner
of the desk.

   "Please," she implored him, "I'll hold still today.  Let my arms go, and
I'll just lie here."

   "I don't think that's very likely, Miss Wilkins," Jameson commented
grimly.  Sobbing again, the girl tried to get her knees under her as he
moved to the other end of the desk, but Jameson

   caught her ankle with one hand and quickly strapped it to a corner of
the desk.  When he finished buckling the fourth strap, the weeping girl lay
spreadeagled, face down on the desk,

   essentially unable to move.  The solid, creamy hillocks of her ass,
barely tinged with pink, jutted upward, inviting his attention, and Jameson
intended to give it in full.

   He walked behind the desk and pulled the wide center drawer out as far
as he could.  Wedged into it diagonally, with a slight bow to accommodate
its length, was a birch cane--another trophy from days spent in antique
shops.  Jameson had heard that they were still used sometimes in British
schools, and no doubt there were some that maintained firm discipline in a
few homes in this country, but the only one with which he had had "first
hand"

   experience had long ago disappeared.  Even now, the memory of how that
one had seared his ass and the backs of his legs made him wince.  Victoria
Wilkins was about to have an experience that,

   like the strapping he'd given her yesterday, very few--too few--of her
generation had ever had.  Jameson was willing to bet that if she decided to
jack off tonight, or tomorrow, she wouldn't do it sitting down, or lying on
her back either.

   He flexed the cane and lifted it out of the drawer, then walked around
to the end of the desk nearest the girl's head.

   "Today, Miss Wilkins," he informed her, "your punishment will be
administered with this cane." He showed it to her, bending it and then
whipping it sharply downward to let her hear the "whirr" as it sliced
through the air.  Then he moved to the front of the desk and rested the
cane across the twin summits of her asscheeks for several seconds, watching
the muscles twitch as goosebumps spread across the skin.  Then he raised
cane to roughly the height of his head and brought it down sharply.

   Vicki had suspected that she was in serious trouble from the instant she
had realized that Jameson had walked into the room without her hearing him.
Her fears had been confirmed when

   he had insisted on strapping her to the desk without even waiting to see
whether she would hold still.  She had inferred then that whatever kind of
punishment he had in mind was going to be much worse than she'd experienced
in the three previous days.

   What on earth could have possessed her to start fingering her secret
place when she had known that Jameson would arrive within a matter of
minutes?  She certainly should have known,

   from her experiences in her bedroom the last three nights, that once she
got started with that she would be totally oblivious to anything else
around her.  Now she was practically glued to the

   icy glass top of his desk, her breasts squashed flat as pancakes by the
weight of her body, unable to move to relieve even part of the pain.  And
any second now, Jameson was going to lift that

   cane off her rump and bring it whistling back down.

   Maybe it would have happened anyway--Jameson had hinted that each day's
spanking would be worse than the last--but why had she given him such a
clear reason to believe that she had

   been enjoying his punishments?  The fact was, of course, that she didn't
enjoy the spankings at all while they were happening, and what excited her
most when she thought about them afterward was the image of giving a
spanking, not getting one.  The only good thing was that unless he kept it
up for a really long time, that cane couldn't hurt all that much.  It was
too light to bruise her

   bottom like the paddle or the leather strap, and so small it could only
touch a tiny area at a time.

   Vicki's thoughts were interrupted by a heart-rending shriek, and it took
her several fractions of a second to realize that it had come from her.  In
the same instant her brain was penetrated by a blinding flash of pain from
her bottom.  It felt as though her lower body, from the middle of her rear
down, had been sliced off by a sword!

   She started to pull against the straps that held her ankles, but before
she could make her muscles obey her thoughts she heard the cane whistle
again and felt another streak of pain

   across her rear.  This time the sensation of pain came before the
scream, but the sound was just as involuntary as her first shriek had been.

   Vicki fought to catch her breath, to form some word of plea or protest
to accompany her next scream, but each time the cane cut into her backside
another wordless howl tore itself from her lungs.  She felt like one of the
rubber dolls she'd had as a child, with a little metal button that made a
crying sound whenever you squeezed it, and wondered hysterically if there
were buttons hidden in her buttocks that emitted a scream whenever the cane
touched them.

   She didn't really believe that, of course; the screams were her body's
involuntary reaction to the most horrendous pain she'd ever experienced. 
The sensations evoked by each stroke of

   the cane were like the distilled essence of pain, clear and crystalline,
in contrast to the crude, opaque pain caused by her previous spankings. 
Without conscious effort on her part, her

   body bucked and jerked, alternately slamming her knees, her sternum, her
hipbones and her frontal pubic bone against the unyielding surface of the
desk--all of which caused new aches and

   bruises but did nothing to interfere with the cane's unobstructed access
to every square inch of her bottom.

   Vicki felt on the verge of suffocating when Jameson finally laid the
cane down on the desk top between her knees.  She lay gasping, the muscles
in her legs and her buttocks continuing to spasm, for nearly a minute
before she was able to cry.  "Oh, god, stop, please stop," she sobbed. 
"You're cutting me to ribbons!  I can't stand any more, I beg you."

   Jameson grinned.  "I don't think you have much choice in the matter,
Miss Wilkins.  You're going to stay right where you are until I decide that
you've been punished enough for today."

   "Then please, use the strap, or the paddle--anything but that cane,"
Vicki entreated him.  "I don't care if you spank me twice as many times,
just so you don't use the cane on me any

   more."

   "I'm afraid that's not possible, Miss Wilkins," Jameson replied firmly.
I'm glad to know you're finding this painful; perhaps you'll keep this
experience in mind the next time you

   think about stealing something." He picked up the cane and walked around
to the end of the desk to which her feet had been anchored.

   Jameson gazed up the girl's long legs to her pussy and then to her
quivering asscheeks.  The once-creamy skin was marked with scarlet welts,
many of which had swollen well above the

   surface of her ass.  The welts were at slightly different angles but all
of them were more or less horizontal.  By changing positions he could leave
her with a nice checkerboard pattern.

   He could also give one of the video cameras an unobstructed side view of
her writhing, bucking body (although the one he'd mounted directly overhead
this morning was bound to be getting some terrific footage), and give
himself a good view of her beaver at the same time.

   He rested the cane in the middle of her right asscheek.  The girl
immediately renewed her tearful pleading, which he ignored, and her right
buttock went rigid and her thigh muscles

   bulged as she pulled helplessly against her bonds.  He raised the cane
high and brought it whistling down hard.  He let the cane drift several
inches sideways as it descended, and it created a

   momentary but deep furrow in the relaxed left cheek of her ass.  The
girl let out another of her unearthly screeches and rolled her hips
sideways by the inch or so she was able to move.

   The resilient muscle of her ass bounced the cane back into the air, and
Jameson brought it down equally hard on the other cheek, provoking another
shriek and leaving another vertical welt.  This

   was a lot less work than the paddle or the razor strap, Jameson
reflected, especially when you considered how much more dramatic the
response was.  Maybe he should have used the cane from the beginning.  On
the other hand, if he'd used the cane the first day the girl would probably
never have come back, so he really had been wise to bring her along
gradually.

   Jameson found the girl's shrieks almost deafening.  He'd planned to give
her a second rest break and then a third session with the cane, but now he
was impatient to be through with her.

   He increased the tempo of his strokes, leaving furrow after furrow to be
replaced instantly with rising welts, until the entire surface of her
convulsing ass was a tight gridwork of blood-red stripes and her cries had
merged into a continuous scream, interrupted only by gasps for breath.

   He swung the cane a last time, then strode behind the desk, flexing the
cane to wedge it back in the drawer.  The girl lay sobbing and moaning, not
even moving as he unfastened each of

   her bonds in turn.  Jameson left her atop the desk, lit a cigarette and
crossed the room to sit on the sofa until her shuddering sobs had ceased.

   Then he got to his feet.  "You can obviously do what you want with your
own time, Miss Wilkins," he remarked, "but if you need something to keep
your hands busy tonight, I might suggest that you put some ointment on your
ass instead of playing with your pussy." He started toward the door of the
security room, then stopped and turned toward her.  "I'll be in my office
for a couple of hours, so you can take your time."

   Dimly Vicki heard the door close as Jameson left.  She lay motionless
for another few minutes, then bent her elbows and lifted herself until the
weight of her upper body rested on her

   forearms.  She didn't even try to move her legs; she was sure she was
paralyzed from the waist down.  Except that if she was paralyzed, then she
shouldn't be able to feel anything, and the

   sensations emanating from her bottom sure didn't feel like nothing--they
felt like the most burning, cutting kind of pain she'd ever known.

   Supporting herself on one arm, Vicki reached back and ran a hand over
first one buttock and then the other.  Both were blazing hot to her touch
and covered with ridges.  She looked

   backward over her shoulder and gasped when she saw the maze of dark
welts that criss-crossed her buns.  The sight brought fresh tears to her
eyes, and she collapsed with a groan onto the desk

   top.

   Why, oh why, had she ever let herself be tempted into stealing the
bikini?  She hated even the thought of it now.  And how was she going to
survive tomorrow?  She didn't see how she

   could tolerate being touched, let alone spanked, and Jameson seemed
determined to make each day's spanking worse than the last.

   Large tears splashed the desk top as Vicki slowly pushed herself
backward, the square edge of the glass sheet gouging her knees, her thighs,
the soft flesh covering her pubic bone and

   then her stomach as she slid off the desk.  Finally she felt the carpet
under her feet and pushed into a standing position.  She walked slowly
around the security room, her posterior throbbing

   with every step.

   She knew she should put the bikini back on and go get her clothes from
Jameson's office, but she dreaded the thought of pulling the tight bottom
of the swimsuit over her bruised behind.

   And once she got dressed, there would be nothing to do but go out to her
car and drive home, and she wasn't at all sure she could force herself to
sit down in the car.  As an experiment, she

   backed up against the edge of the sofa and gingerly transferred her
weight from her legs to her rear.

   It wasn't as bad as she had expected; the scratchy fabric was
unpleasant, but driving home would be bearable.  Sitting on the sofa
reminded Vicki of the shame she had felt when Jameson

   had walked in on her an hour earlier, catching her with her fingers
inside her . . .  Jameson had called it her "pussy", and that was one of
the words she'd heard whispered at school, so

   maybe she should start thinking of it as her pussy instead of just her
"secret place." She also knew that "ass" was another word for "bottom" or
"tush," although she was sure her parents

   wouldn't approve of her using the term.  Of course, her parents wouldn't
approve of her stealing from stores, either, so from now on, with Jameson
at least, she would think of him spanking her

   ass and not her bottom.

   Vicki found herself picturing how she must have looked to Jameson,
spreadeagled on the desk, with her ass just waiting for each stroke of his
cane, and before she realized what was

   happening the fingers of her right hand were probing the entrance to her
. . .  pussy.  A slight shift of posture sent another stab of pain through
her ass, though, and she jerked her hand away

   angrily and got to her feet.  What on earth was the matter with her? 
Jameson could decide to come back for some reason, and she'd find herself
ass-up under the cane again.

   Still annoyed with herself, Vicki pulled the strapless bikini top over
her head, slid it down to cup her breasts and adjusted the strap in back.
Then she eased herself carefully into the bottom of the suit and climbed
the empty stairwell to Jameson's office.  He was on the phone when Vicki
slipped in through the back door, and she struggled into her outer clothing
without a sound.

   Jameson was off the telephone by the time she finished dressing. 
"Tomorrow is your final day, Miss Wilkins," he reminded her.  "I wouldn't
want you to waste the punishment

   you've already received by failing to show up or coming in late."

   "Oh, I'll be here," she assured him, "assuming I can make it out of bed
tomorrow."

   "I'm sure you'll do just fine, Miss Wilkins," he replied frostily.

   
