Authors Note: All characters are over eighteen years of age.
Chapter One: Caught
Silverwood Michigan September 1957
Debbie
I knew I was in trouble,
big
trouble.
My heart was pounding like crazy as I sat in the back seat of the Hammersmith's limousine, sandwiched between that elegant, powerful and
angry
couple. The box with all my stolen treasures lay on Mrs Hammersmith's lap.
It was a nightmare that was going to get much worse if my father found out. And what about the police? Would they put me in jail? Oh no, I couldn't go to jail!
I'd tried to lie my way out, and that hadn't worked. There was no way I could run, so all that was left was to cry and beg. Believe me it wasn't hard to get the tears going.
"Please, please Mr. Hammersmith, don't tell anyone about this. I'm so, so sorry, I promise it will never happen again. I'll work for you for nothing until it is all paid back, I promise."
"Why would I want a thief working for me?" Mr. Hammersmith growled.
"It would take you
years
to pay it all back," Mrs. Hammersmith said looking at me sternly. "You have been a very naughty girl, Debbie, and you
must
be punished."
"I know, I know," I wailed. "I've been soooo bad." I grabbed her gloved forearm. "But I'm not a bad
person
, ma'am, really. I can be good, I promise."
"Perhaps you can be reformed, but that's for your father and the police to handle. It's not our affair, you've caused us quite enough trouble already," she replied as she firmly removed my hand from her arm and looked out the window.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no! Please, can't
you
punish me? I can pay you back by working around your house. I'll be your servant, I'll be your
slave
ma'am. Can't we keep this just between us?" I pleaded.
I meant it; there was nothing these people could do to me that would be worse than what my father, or those nasty dykes in prison would do. She was silent, and I began to have a little hope.
After a while she said, "What do you think Tom? Do we have a responsibility to mend this wayward girl? Personally I don't trust her tears; I say we let the authorities deal with her, we have better things to do."
I groaned with despair, then Mr. Hammersmith said, "We should discuss it at least, but not in the car. We'll take her home."
It wasn't a pardon yet, but at that moment I could have kissed him. "Oh thank you, thank you." I gushed.
"Now be still," Mrs Hammersmith snapped catching my hand before I could touch her again and placing it back in my lap.
We drove past the guardhouse, up the long drive and into the huge garage of their mansion, Silvermill. One of their terrifying, foreign Amazon servants opened the doors of the car, and Mrs Hammersmith led me by the hand through some hallways to a big, wood-paneled study with a fireplace. There was a big, dark desk, some big leather armchairs and a big leather couch. She sat me down in one of the armchairs.
"Sit there, and
don't
move," she commanded, and then tapped out of the room on her high heels.
I sat there for what seemed like forever. I would have prayed, but I really didn't want to bring myself to God's attention after all I'd done.
I was at
their
mercy. They were very rich; they owned half of my home town of Silverwood and that was just small potatoes. People said that Mr Hammersmith had big companies in Chicago and New York, and all the local stuff was just of sentimental value because it had been handed down from Mrs Hammersmith's parents. All of the townspeople bowed down to them, so if they told the judge to send me to jail, then the judge would send me to jail.
I was shocked that such rich people cared about my petty little bit of stealing from one of their dinky little stores. Maybe it was a principle with them or something. I'd thought I was making a fool of the store manager, but I was insulting much higher powers.
Now I was going to have to pay for my stupidity.
When Mrs Hammersmith finally returned I jumped to my feet to face her. She was almost a foot taller than me in her heels, and I looked up to her with my hands behind my back. She was a beautiful woman; much younger than Mr Hammersmith who I figured was about fifty. She had perfect white skin, and her hair was always beautifully set with every red-golden strand in place. They didn't have any kids, so she had a fine trim figure.
Her clothes were always crisp and of the very latest, most expensive styles from Paris and New York. She was treated like a movie star or a queen around here, and I'd admired her from a distance like everyone else, never imagining that I would ever set foot in her house.
I was terrified, but strange as it might seem, I was also
thrilled
to be there. God, I was in her house, standing close enough to touch
Mrs Hammersmith
. She might be furious with me, but at least she knew I existed. Even if she beat the crap out of me, I kinda felt I was lucky to be there.
She grabbed my cheek and pinched it hard.
"
You
are a lucky little girl," she said. "Mr Hammersmith thinks he can make a decent citizen out of you. So as long as you behave, and do everything you're told, we will not go to the police."
"Oh thank, you, thank you, ma'am. I
will
behave; I
will
be good. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it," I sobbed with relief.
"You will tell your parents that I hired you as a typist for my latest work, you can tell them that I heard about you winning the typing contest at school. You will work here every night from seven until ten, and there will be some travel and weekend work as well. I will pay you a dollar an hour," she said.
As I babbled out my thanks she took me to the front door; "Show up tomorrow night, well-scrubbed and dressed as if for school, and don't you
dare
be late. Now run along home," she commanded and gave me a good hard slap on the behind to send me on my way.
#####
The next night, right at seven o'clock, I was met at the door by Miss Steeple, the Hammersmith's prim, big breasted housekeeper. She gave me a stern look over the top of her pointy-rimmed glasses, her mouth pinched with disapproval.
"Come," she said, and without another word led me to the study where I had been the night before.
Mr and Mrs Hammersmith were sitting in the two armchairs waiting for me. My mouth dropped open when I saw Mrs Hammersmith; her long, reddish-gold hair had been shorn off and dyed a darker, less natural looking red. Last night it had flowed down to her shoulders, and now it came only to her ears with short bangs slanting across her forehead.
It really spooked me; it seemed like such a crazy thing to do to such magnificent hair. I didn't know what it was all about, but I prayed that it didn't have anything to do with me. They told me to sit down, and I sat on the couch with my legs crossed at the ankles and my hands in my lap. Mr Hammersmith stood up. He towered over me; I am only five foot four and he must be about six-six.
"You are a bad girl Debbie Donavan, you have
always
been a bad girl," he said. "Don't try to deny it."
I nodded, feeling tears starting in my eyes. It was true, all true.
"I know you," he said looking down at me. "You are smart, bold, and immoral, these are not necessarily bad characteristics if properly trained, however, if you continue on your current path you will certainly end up in jail, the poor house, or a mental institution."
Blushing red and hot, I bit my lip and lowered my eyes. I felt naked before him.
"I can save you. I can change your path from one of shame and poverty to pride and success."
I was startled by his confidence, amazed that he believed I could be saved. I looked up at him, aching for his approval.
"I'll do whatever you say Mr Hammersmith, I just don't want to get into any more trouble," I said, and I meant it.
Chapter Two: Little Slut
Mr Hammersmith
Debbie flinched as I loudly called out, "Miss Steeple, will you come in here please."
The door opened immediately and Miss Steeple came in wearing a black lace dress that fell to her ankles above four inch black heels. The neckline was cut several inches down her ample bosom and left her uncovered shoulders bare of any straps.
"I will require your expertise in the correction of this young woman," I said.
"Of course sir, it will be my pleasure," she replied with a wicked smile as she removed her glasses letting them dangle from the chain around her neck.
The den had three couches facing each other in an open rectangle with a desk and chairs off to one side. I sat on the red leather couch at the short end of the rectangle with Dianne standing behind me. Debbie stood at the open end of the rectangle, head lowered, hands in her lap. Miss Steeple came around to stand in front of her looking her up and down.
"What do you think would be a suitable punishment for this little thief?" I asked.
"Little slut," Dianne hissed from behind me.
"To determine the punishment we must understand what motivates her crimes. What sins animate her wicked behavior?" Miss Steeple replied thoughtfully. Sin and punishment were her favorite topics.
"Lust!" Dianne declared coming around the couch and moving behind Debbie.
"Look at those bedroom eyes, little whore's eyes, she can't hide what's behind them. And look at her clothes! The sweater done right to the top, but oh... so...
tight!
," she said, running her hands over Debbie's tits from behind, making the girl start and look up.
The girl wore a dark blue, full length skirt, tight at the waist then billowing out modestly. Above that she wore a tight sweater of a darker blue with a round white collar. Her decent sized tits filled the sweater out nicely, and at the moment her nipples poked through wonderfully.
Debbie gasped as Dianne grabbed her bold nipples and pinched them.
"Look at the little slut! Look how excited she is! She's ready to get down on her knees and suck your dick right now."
"Oh she's full of lust," I agreed, still sitting calmly on the couch. "But lust is not a sin, only it's repression."
"Keep looking at me girl unless I tell you otherwise!" Mrs Steeple snapped as Debbie's frightened yes began to wander.
