Gotcha

Parp... Parp... Parp... Parp... Jen groaned as she rolled over. One thing that was certain, however long she was kept as Wendy's slave, pet or whatever else she might become, she would never, ever, get used to being wakened by that damn siren and the flashing lights that went with it. Despite the temptation to tuck her head under the pillow and hope it would all go away she knew that the only way to stop it was to get out of bed so, wiping the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and pushed the covers aside. As with the previous day the siren stopped the moment her feet touched the floor, which implied, as with the previous day, that she was being watched. With an ironic wave to the CCTV camera she stood up and went over to the toilet. As she sat relieving herself she wondered again exactly who it was who was doing the watching. Juanita would surely be far too busy preparing breakfast but any of the other three was a possibility and she could imagine each of them in their own way getting a kick out of it. For Jen it was all part of the dehumanisation; there are, after all, few more private acts than going to the toilet and having to do so under the cold glassy stare of the CCTV camera worked to strip from her any last shreds of dignity she might aspire to.

She washed her hands and used the mirror above the basin to examine, as best she could, the bruising that remained on her buttocks. The worst of the damage was subsiding and it didn't hurt so much anymore but there were still plenty of marks to show where Fran had struck her. As for the damage to her sphincter, it still felt as if she would never mend and she did her ablutions with care. She was still twisting and turning, trying to get a decent view in the small mirror, when Juanita called her to breakfast.

As Jen went to the kitchen she was feeling much more confident than the day before. Sure, she was still stark naked, sure she knew that there were plenty of ways in which she could trip up and find herself in trouble, sure she knew her freedom was not something she was going to regain in a hurry but this was not the vast unknown it had been and, in Juanita, she felt she had a friend. When she got there she was the first to arrive and she went over and gave Juanita a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Juanita, thanks for being so nice to me last night."

"De nada, Chiquita." Juanita replied with a smile. "The Mistress, she no so bad for you eh?"

"No, Juanita, she wasn't so bad. Umm, that bacon smells nice."

"Hey, No touch! You sit, drink your coffee, leave me to cook."

Smiling to herself Jen went over to the breakfast bar and poured herself a cup of coffee from the percolator.

When Sally arrived she was curiously subdued and sat down with hardly a word. Jen offered her some coffee, which she accepted, and the two of them supped their drinks in silence. When Juanita brought over the cooked breakfasts there were only two of them; evidently Fran was not around that day, and, as the two women ate, the only sound was the clink of cutlery against the dishes. From time to time Jen would catch Sally looking at her, looking with an intensity that was disturbing. Jen remembered what Juanita had said the night before; it looked as if Sally's jealousy was going to be a problem, a problem to add to all the others Jen was facing.

With Breakfast finished Jen and Sally went to their separate rooms to get ready. Jen noted the pile of clothes on the bed but she was more interested in the shower. Wendy had promised hot water, had she kept her word? Jen adjusted the temperature control to roughly half way, set the flow to maximum and, within seconds, was rewarded by a torrent of piping hot water. She fine tuned it to as hot as she could take and slipped in. This was bliss, luxuriating under the flow, turning this way and that to feel the hot water hammering against her skin, massaging it clean. She reached for her hair shampoo and poured out a generous dollop. Today wasn't going to be a quick rinse under freezing water, today she was going to enjoy every second as she massaged the rich lather into her scalp.

By the time she got round to washing her body she realised that she had spent so long over her hair that she'd better get a move on. Even so, she soaped herself thoroughly from top to bottom, enjoying the shower. For the fist time since her capture she felt fresh and alive, ready to face anything the day might throw at her. When, at last, the water finally started to run cold she got out of the shower, towelled herself down and she was busy with her make up when Sally arrived.

"Come on slowcoach," Sally said. "If you keep her waiting you'll pay for it."

"Coming, coming. Two more minutes." While Sally waited, Jen finished off her make up as quickly as she could before going over to the bed and the pile of clothes. They didn't look quite as neatly folded as she had remembered but there wasn't time to think about that, she could appreciate that Sally was right about not keeping Wendy waiting. She put on the stockings and reached for the blouse when...

"Oh my God, I can't wear this!" The blouse had a bright red mark right across the front. From the looks of it the mark was lipstick.

"Well, you'll have to. We're late already and anyway there isn't another one."

"But... But..." However, Jen could see the logic, there really was no alternative, she was late and there was no other blouse; she would have to wear this one, however bad it was. As fast as she could she finished getting dressed and followed Sally out to the garage, her earlier exhilaration from the shower replaced by a feeling of panic. When they got to the car she got in the back and, in a desperate attempt to hide the damage to her blouse, tugged her jacket round her as close as possible

When the car pulled up in front of the house Wendy was already waiting with a look on her face like thunder. She stormed over to the car and Sally barely had enough time to get out and open the door for her.

"And which one of you is responsible for keeping me waiting this morning?" Wendy demanded of Jen as the car pulled out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry, Mistress, I couldn't..." Jen realised she would have to own up.

"I am not in the slightest bit interested in hearing whatever pathetic excuse you try to come up with. You will not keep me waiting under any circumstances. Now stop cowering in the corner and sit up properly."

Jen sat up and, as she did so her jacket opened showing the bright red mark across her blouse.

"And what's this?" Wendy demanded. "What on earth persuaded you that coming to work with your clothes disfigured like this was in any way acceptable?"

"Please, Mistress, it was like that when I found it this morning. I didn't do it." Jen was now genuinely scared and felt like a naughty school child in front of an unforgiving head mistress.

"Like that when you found it? I don't believe you." Wendy pressed the button that wound down the glass screen between the front and back of the car.

"Sally" she demanded "do you know anything about the red marks on piglet's blouse.?"

"No, Mistress," Sally replied. "On the contrary, I can guarantee the blouse was spotless when I delivered it this morning."

Wendy pressed the button again and the screen rose once more.

"Well, it would appear that in you we have a sluggard, who can't get out of bed on time, a sloven, who mistreats the clothes she is given to wear, and, worst of all, a bare faced little liar who tries to wriggle out of it when she's caught red handed. I have no idea what gave you the impression that I would tolerate any of these but you are going to learn that I don't. Now, pull yourself together and stop snivelling."

Jen had, indeed, started to cry. She hadn't meant to but her nerves had been on edge ever since she had found the mark and Wendy's disapproval was all that she had feared. How brief, how fleeting was her earlier exhilaration from the shower; once again all her self confidence had been destroyed and she was left feeling lost and alone. As the car swept along the road Wendy ignored her, pulling a file from her briefcase and studying it. Jen stared out of the window, biting back the tears. Twenty minutes later they arrived at the office and Wendy stopped to talk to Sally as she got out of the car.

"You had better bring this in through the service entrance." Wendy pointed at Jen, her voice dripping with contempt. "I'm not having her walk through reception looking like the dog's breakfast, she can come in the back way and, when you've done that, could you sort her out a clean blouse."

"Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress." Sally was, as ever, the efficient chauffeur. She got back in the car and drove round to the underground car park to leave the car in Wendy's reserved place. As Sally took Jen through the entrance to the service lifts she couldn't help smirking.

"Ooh, Madam is cross with you. If I were you I'd slip an exercise book down my panties, oops, I forgot, you're not wearing any. I wonder what she'll use? A cane perhaps or a riding crop? Whatever, that cute little tush of yours is going to be red raw before the day is over, you can bet your bottom dollar on that."

By the time the lift got to the fifteenth floor Jen was thoroughly sick of Sally but she was too dispirited to do anything about it; having her harp on and on about the upcoming punishment was just another thing she was having to put up with. At last it was over, the lift had reached the top floor and Wendy's office. Jen tried to sneak in as unobtrusively as possible but Wendy was waiting for her.

"Come over here," she said as soon as Jen entered. Jen went over next to Wendy's desk and, without being asked, knelt down and bowed her head.

"Very pretty, but it won't get you out of anything. Do you see this paddle?" Jen looked up to see Wendy pointing to a leather paddle with a wooden handle which lay on her desk. "Every hour, on the hour, you will come over to my desk, bend over, and ask to be punished with as many strokes of the paddle as the hour on the clock. In ten minutes it will be eight o'clock and you will ask for eight strokes. At nine o'clock you will ask for nine strokes, at ten o'clock ten strokes and so on. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Please, Mistress, it was a mistake, I didn't mean to be late and I've no idea where the mark on my blouse came from." Jen was desperate.

"Did I ask for your excuses? No, I didn't. I asked if you had understood. If you continue to disobey, if you continue to talk back, I will up your punishment. I strongly suggest that you get back to your desk and get on with your work and, for God's sake, stop whining."

Jen tried to pull herself together but it was hard. She was getting used to having to do whatever Wendy demanded but she was pretty scared of what was coming. Giving Mr Hong his blow job yesterday had been distasteful but at least it hadn't hurt. Her buttocks were still bruised and battered from Fran's ministrations so even the lightest taps were going to be really painful, and she was in no doubt that Wendy was not going to go softly on her. She fired up her PC, logged on and started her electronic diary. It didn't take long to set a repeated appointment, every hour, on the hour, titled 'See Wendy'.

She had hardly finished doing this when the first appointment flashed up on the screen. This was it, she was going to have to offer herself, and, however much both parties knew the score, she was going to have to at least pretend that she was willing. On unsteady legs she got up and went over to stand beside Wendy's desk. Wendy was on the phone and appeared not to notice her so she had no clue as to how she was supposed to stand, or rather, not stand. Wendy had told her to bend over and ask for punishment, but, again, how was she to position herself? Facing Wendy was obviously wrong but facing away was a bit too like waving her butt in Wendy's face. Riven by indecision, torn by trepidation, Jen tried this way and that before Wendy turned and gave her an exasperated look so she just bent over where she was, ending up sideways on to Wendy, straight legged, with her hands upon her knees.

Without breaking her phone call Wendy swung round in her chair, reached out and nudged Jen into a better position; her legs further apart, her head further down, her hands on her shins rather than her knees, and her skirt tucked into its own waistband holding it up and open at the back.

"... Look, Julie, I've got to go. Things to do, people to see. I'll catch up with you when we're over on the West Coast... See you, bye." Wendy finished her call and, putting down the phone, turned her attention to Jen. "Well, piglet?"

"Please, Mistress, may I have eight strokes of the paddle?" Jen remembered Wendy's instruction that she should ask for her punishment.

"And what did you do to deserve punishment?"

"I was late, Mistress." That one, at least was true.

"And..."

"I marked my blouse, Mistress." That one was harder; Jen still couldn't understand where the mark had come from.

"And..."

"I lied, Mistress." Jen burnt with a sense of injustice, it was bad enough that she was having to go through this painful and humiliating experience, but she hadn't lied, she really didn't know where the mark had come from and any attempt to explain this to Wendy just made things worse. The sheer injustice of it all rankled.

"Well, if you behave like a naughty little schoolgirl you'll get treated like a naughty little schoolgirl. Perhaps this will help you change your ways."

With a resounding 'thwapp!' the paddle landed across Jen's buttocks. It stung, really stung, but was still manageable, and Jen was able, just, to hold back both the cry of pain, and the tears that wanted to follow. Thwapp! The second stroke was half way down her right thigh; thwapp, the third matching it on the left. Her teeth clenched and her eyes screwed tight shut Jen gripped her calves as the blows continued, hanging desperately on to her self control, fighting the instinct to straighten up, to protect herself, to cry out or, simply, to cry.

"Thwapp! The last stroke fell and Jen's backside felt like it was on fire. Wendy reached out and ran her fingers across the Jen's skin, tracing the line where thigh meets buttock; somehow the light, delicate touch was as painful as the paddle had been and Jen winced as the fingers traced out the bruised and battered flesh.

"What do you say, piglet?" Wendy's voice was soft and gentle.

"I... I don't know, Mistress." Jen was seriously perplexed.

"Aren't you grateful, grateful that I spend my time and energy teaching you the error of your ways, helping you become a good little piglet?"

For a moment Jen was truly shocked; was she really expected to be grateful for being abused like this? However, in this bizarre world she had been thrown into, this world where she was a possession, a slave, a pet, where every aspect of her life was controlled by the whim of her 'owner', it would seem that gratitude was required.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"That's better. You can stand up now, no, you may not touch your backside, I find it best if the lesson is left to sink in naturally. Oh, and keep your skirt tucked in like that, it will help concentrate the mind. Now, back to your desk, I'm sure you have plenty to do."

Gingerly, carefully, and fighting the urge to rub her bottom, Jen went and sat back down again. With her skirt tucked up she was sitting directly on her chair and it felt as if she could feel every fibre of the seat cover, the normally soft material harsh against her battered skin. But it was far more than that. Going without panties or bra had made her feel vulnerable, but now, with her skirt up and her bare backside direct against the chair, she felt exposed as well. Were anyone to come in to the office, her nudity would be below the desk and she would appear to be appropriately dressed, but she felt naked and defenceless. Much as she tried to concentrate on her work the fire from her buttocks demanded attention; every nerve ending seemed alive and, somehow, incredibly, the pain was countered by a different sensation, a tingle, a flutter, a tiny itch from her groin. Could this really be turning her on?

Jen was ploughing her way through the schedule for the upcoming West Coast trip and completely immersed in her work when the diary reminder popped up on her screen; five minutes to nine o'clock. Nervously she continued typing but made four mistakes in as many words; she couldn't concentrate knowing that she was going to be paddled again in five, no make that four, minutes time. Still, at least it wasn't as bad as the flogging that Fran had given her; she'd taken the eight o'clock punishment without crying out, let alone screaming, and the after effects, as the heat of the punishment faded, had been interesting. She glanced again at the clock, eight fifty nine, time to go.

Tottering a bit on her high heels Jen went over and, as far as possible, arranged herself as she had been before. As soon as she bent over, with the way her skirt was tucked into it's own waistband and the way she was posed with her feet wide apart, she was acutely aware of how she was displaying her all to anyone who might enter. She was beginning to appreciate the way in which the lack of underwear, the constant nudity back at Wendy's mansion and the way in which her body was repeatedly being exposed was reinforcing the way in which her body was no longer hers. It was Wendy's diktat which decided how and when she would be on display, it was Wendy's whim as to whether her 'private parts' remained private and it was Wendy's wish that she should be naked far more than she was clothed.

"Ah, piglet, nine o'clock already? Doesn't time fly? Now, what do you say?" Wendy put down the file she was working on and turned to the inverted woman bent over beside her.

"Please, Mistress, may I have nine strokes of the paddle?"

"And why do you deserve nine strokes, little piglet?"

"Please, Mistress, I was late, I was slovenly and I lied to you." The injustice of having to admit to crimes of which she was innocent still rankled but Jen bit it back and braced herself.

"Yes, indeed. Late," thwapp, "slovenly", thwapp, "liar." Thwapp. Wendy punctuated her indictment with three swift blows of the paddle. Jen, expecting the more measured pace of her earlier spanking was taken by surprise and nearly lost her balance as her body jerked in response. She'd barely recovered before, thwapp, thwapp, thwapp; three more blows struck making her cry out. There was a pause, a long pause, and every fibre of Jen's being wanted to scream 'Just get on with it!' until, without warning, the last three blows fell. For a moment Jen could only concentrate on keeping herself together. The paddle was gentler than the cane, or crop, or whatever Fran had used and the damage was more dispersed but Jen's buttocks were once more aglow with a deep fire that centred on her rear but was spreading throughout her loins. She was just regaining control of herself when she felt Wendy's fingers brushing gently between her thighs, teasingly brushing her pubic hair.

"Thank you, Mistress." Jen managed, her concentration distracted by the tingling that Wendy's fingers were causing.

"You're far too bushy, very unkempt. We need to get this trimmed. Remind me to get that organised," Wendy said in a matter of fact tone. "Ok, that's enough, back to work."

Jen straightened up and returned to her desk. Once again her skin seemed super sensitive, and, along with the inner fiery glow that was spreading from her backside, Jen could still feel in her mind the tingling sensation of Wendy's fingers as they brushed against her pubic hair. Whilst she would never, ever, admit to being turned on she had to admit that the effect of the paddling wasn't all unpleasant, the initial fire left an afterglow which tingled and tingled. She turned back to her work, anything to distract her from the thoughts that were forming, thoughts that she didn't want to admit to.