The Correction Of Debbie Donovan Ch 01 02

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.

Debbie returned her eyes front, her darling lower lip trembling.

"Greed," Miss Steeple went on. "She wants more than her share. When she gets something she likes, she wants more of it."

"Envy," Dianne said coming around to stand beside Miss Steeple. "She wants what her betters have, and she'll to do anything she can to get it. Isn't that right Debbie?" she demanded.

When the girl didn't respond Dianne slapped her hard on the cheek. She gasped and started to lift her hand to the red spot.

"Keep your hands at your sides or I'll have them tied," Miss Steeple growled at her.

Her hands dropped instantly back to her side.

"I asked you a question, slut," Dianne snapped.

"Yes, I want what my betters have," she said meekly.

Dianne took the girl's face in her hand and squeezed her mouth. "Yes...

My Lady

. In this house you will address me as My Lady, you little whore."

"Yes My Lady," she replied immediately.

"What else," I asked; "Sloth?"

"Oh no, she has those sleepy, hooded eyes, but she's not lazy; she'll work hard for what she wants," Dianne said popping the top three buttons of her blue, floor-length dress as she circled the girl.

"Gluttony?" I asked.

"No," Miss Steeple replied firmly; "Gluttony dulls the senses and she likes her senses sharp."

"Pride!" Dianne declared.

She ran one of her long fingers roughly around Debbie's parted lips. "She tries to hide it, but look at the arrogant tilt at the corners of her mouth. She thinks she's better than others, she thinks she's something

special

. Don't you girl!"

"Yes My Lady."

"So, quite a bundle," I said. "Envy, greed, pride and unfulfilled lust, what's the treatment?"

"For envy she must be tormented with what she cannot have until she has earned it; for greed she must be given what she wants until she learns the limits of excess. For pride she must be humiliated. And for lust, she must learn how to properly release her desires upon an object worthy of her lust," Miss Steeple replied.

"Duration?"

"Until she is corrected, however long it takes."

"Very well, proceed," I ordered.

"We will need to teach her some basic discipline before any real correction can begin," Miss Steeple said.

"Yes, obedience is what this girl needs to learn," Dianne agreed as she ripped her dress open to the waist, exposing her fine white skin at the bottom of her wide banded brassiere.

Miss Steeple walked over to the bookshelves, opened a cabinet, and took out a two-foot long, black riding crop. When she returned to face her, Debbie was breathing heavily and sweating, her eyes lowered, her arms at her sides, and her body tense all over.

"Look at me!" Miss Steeple demanded placing the riding crop under Debbie's chin.

The girl looked up, eyes wide, trembling with fear and excitement. "In public you will address Mr Hammersmith as "Sir, or Mr Hammersmith," in private you will address him as "Master". In public you will address Mrs Hammersmith as "Ma'am or Mrs Hammersmith", in private you will address her as "My Lady"; in public you will address me as "Ma'am", in private you will address me as "Mistress." Every time you are spoken to you

will

respond; do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Speak up!"

"Yes mistress," she said a little louder.

"Unless told otherwise you will stand up straight, head down, arms at your sides. When you are spoken to you will look at the person speaking to you," she laid the crop against the side of Debbie's face, "You will respond to...

every

... command without hesitation or complaint; you will do...

exactly

... what you are told, no matter what it is, do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress."

The frightened, yet eager girl stood directly in front of me about six feet from the couch with Miss Steeple on one side and Dianne on the other. Miss Steeple stood eyeball to eyeball with Debbie, while leggy Dianne stood a whole head taller than either of them.

"Take off your sweater," Miss Steeple commanded and Debbie immediately began fumbling with the buttons.

"Hurry up slut," Dianne commanded.

As she watched, Dianne pushed her dress and slip to the floor, picked them up and tossed them off towards the desk. She wore a white, open-bottomed girdle that rode high on her waist so that the top was only a couple of inches below the lower band of her brassiere; it was split upwards at the front exposing the full length of her shaved slit. High, nude stockings were attached that came almost to the bottom of the girdle.

There was no blouse beneath Debbie's tight sweater, just a wide-strapped white brassiere, with firm cups that pushed together some cleavage. The upper part of the cups were sheer clearly showing the darkness around her thrusting nipples.

"Fold it neatly and put it on the couch beside you," Miss Steeple instructed. "Are you wearing a slip?"

"No mistress."

"You

are

a slut!" Dianne exclaimed straddling my right thigh and starting to grind her pussy into my leg.

"No blouse under your sweater so that your nipples can poke out; no slip under your skirt so the boys can get their hands up between your legs. Do you let the boys stick their hands up your skirt?"

"No My Lady."

Miss Steeple gave her a swift, sharp whack on the right nipple with the riding crop; "Don't you

dare

lie to us Debbie," she snapped.

"Owwwww, ahh, ahh... I... ah.. shhhhiii!" Debbie exclaimed in pain and surprise, but had the presence of mind not to try to touch herself.

"Ah..I... I've tried, My Lady," she panted getting control of her breathing. "But. but... they all get scared and run away. All the boys I know are big babies," she stammered. A bit of wickedness twitched at the corners of her mouth. "They wouldn't know what to do if they got up there anyway," she added boldly.

Dianne ground her pussy harder into my leg. "You little

hussy!

" she exclaimed with delight. "Proceed Miss Steeple, let's see what she's got besides that insolent smile."

"Take off your skirt," Miss Steeple commanded, and Debbie's hands immediately went behind her back to unzip. Without hesitation she pulled her skirt down and let it fall to the floor, then picked it up, folded it neatly and put it with her sweater.

"Good," Miss Steeple said.

She wore large, plain, white panties underneath a wide, white garter belt the top of which covered her belly button and the bottom, classically curved, framed the triangle of her pud. Garter straps about four inches long held up nude stockings.

Leaving a wet mark on my pant leg, Dianne stood up and began circling Debbie again. She gave the back of her brassiere strap a snap, bent down and ran her fingers along the edge of her panties, caressed the nylon on her leg.

"Not bad stuff; bought with money stolen from us, no doubt. Well, if you're good we'll get you some very nice things."

"Thank you, My Lady."

"Do proceed, Miss Steeple," I prompted.

She swished the crop in front of Debbie's face making the air sing and the girl start; "I'll bet you know the drill," she said. "Bend over the desk!"

As Debbie turned to do as she was told, Miss Steeple gave her sharp little whacks in the armpits. "Reach out and grab the edges, really stretch out those arms, mash those naughty tits hard into the wood," she commanded.

Dianne pulled the girl's panties down to the bottom of her butt cheeks. "And keep your head up you wicked girl, I want to see that sweet little curl of yours

bounce

." She moved around to the other end of the desk and leaned across it so that they were now face to face.

"You've been spanked before haven't you," Miss Steeple said.

"Yes, Mistress, many times," Debbie replied in a small voice.

"Well, I want you to understand that this is the

least

of the punishments you might receive. This is just for quick correction and to focus attention; we have many other ways..."

"Many,

many

ways," Diane interrupted as she reached out and enfolded the girl's hands in her own.

"...to hurt you," Miss Steeple concluded.

"So many, many ways, Oh you can't imagine," Dianne said shaking her head with a little giggle.

Miss Steeple took the broad, black leather strap from the cupboard; "Strap!" she said and laid it across Debbie's ass with a loud flat slap.

"Wooden ruler!" this made more of a cracking sound and made Debbie twitch.

"Crop!" this distinctly whistled through the air before it smacked her soft white skin causing her to gasp and close her eyes.

"Keep looking at me you shameless little whore," Dianne said tugging on her wrists to pull her tighter against the desk.

"Switch!" This one made a very nasty thwacking sound and Debbie moaned. "Do you know them now?" Miss Steeple asked.

"Yes Mistress," Debbie replied raising her head trying to look back over her shoulder.

"Oh, very confident, she must have a very special, sensitive little bum," Dianne said pulling on her wrists and grinding her own pelvis into the desk, "test her out."

There was a whistle and a slap; "Crop, mistress," Debbie called out immediately.

"Very good," Miss Steeple replied.

"Very, very good. I want to have some of that special bum. I think I'm going to lick that special little white bum," Dianne said.

Dianne told me later that a wide-eyed look of fear passed over the girls face when she heard that; more than the fear she'd shown for the strap of the switch.

"I want some of the crop too, Miss Steeple. Give me five good ones," she added still gripping Debbie's wrists and holding her with her eyes.