Our story began here.
Jeanie was first to breakfast the next morning and asides from a casual wince as she eased herself onto the dining room table; there was not the least hint of the previous night’s ‘discussion.’
“Good morning Mr Beauchamp,” she said brightly as Gordon entered the room.
He didn’t comment on the fact that she had managed to pronounce his name correctly or that she was up on time.
“Good morning Miss Meadows,” he replied warmly.
She grinned at him and reached for a slice of toast.
“No kippers this morning,” she said cheerfully as if that was a good thing.
“No,” Gordon replied carefully, wondering just how long it had been since Jeanie had sat down for breakfast. “They have been on the ration since the second week you arrived.”
“Oh,” Jeanie pulled a face as if to say ‘silly me.’
“There will be an egg each and perhaps some bacon on Sunday,” Gordon said positively.
“Oh wowzer,” Jeanie mumbled through a mouthful of toast.
“Oh wowzer indeed,” Gordon agreed, now amused to be indulging in what he guessed might be ‘hep-talk’ or some kind of jazz slang.
By the time Megan joined them at the table Jeanie was already on her second slice of toast.
After the usual morning greetings Megan began to babble on about a dance at the local church hall.
“Are you going?” she asked Jeanie.
“I don’t know,” Jeanie said hesitantly, looking nervously at Gordon.
“A church hall dance on a Thursday?” Gordon expressed his surprise, “But surely the curfew…?”
“It’s a morale booster for the troops. A special request from district commander I heard; something to do with Polish airmen. I don’t know,” Megan shrugged distractedly. “The factory girls have been told to clear out by 9.30 if their digs observe the curfew.”
“I see,” Gordon frowned.
He didn’t approve, but still, if it was for the war effort…
“I don’t suppose Daphne will be joining us,” Megan continued as she piled into the toast.
“She says breakfast is bad for her figure, besides it must take her simply hours with all that make-up and clothes,” Jeanie gushed. “It must be so wonderful to have worked in a theatre. Do you think she was famous?”
“Well I have never heard of her,” Megan snorted, adding, “I think if she had been terribly well known she would have been accepted into ENSA or be in one of Lawrence Olivier’s pictures. Not working in a silly old factory in the back of beyond,” oblivious to the open aspersions she cast on Gordon’s factory and home town.
Jeanie shot a glance at Gordon, embarrassed for him on account of Megan’s rude remarks.
“I rather think that we should leave Miss le Strange’s business to her don’t you?” Gordon said crisply.
“Oh yes Sir,” Jeanie said eagerly, her eyes wide.
Megan smirked and cast a sideways glance at the now meek Jeanie.
“Can we presume you will be up on time from now on?” Megan teased.
Jeanie blushed and sucked in her cheeks.
To change the subject and put Megan in her place a little he said, “Mrs Berkley had to rush off after making breakfast and won’t be back until this afternoon, so can I ask you to clear the dishes after breakfast Megan.”
“Oh, yes of course,” Megan said with a tight smile.
“I’ll help,” Jeanie gushed.
As he got up to leave Gordon smiled at the reformed girls’ helpfulness and wondered how long it would last.
*
Gordon had never kept close tabs on the women in his house. He was their employer and landlord, not their keeper. The curfew was an advisory one for the town to assist the authorities to combat saboteurs. It also served to prevent the small town from being overrun at night by nearby troops drawn to the hundreds of single women billeted there.
But still, it was his house and 10 o’clock was quite late enough for a woman to be out at night, especially when they had to work the next day. So when he heard an odd sound at the back of the house he went to investigate.
He knew that Jeanie was in bed and had no doubt that Daphne le Strange was too. As it was now almost eleven he had presumed that the same could be said for Megan. But then he remembered the dance.
He flicked a switch and the light shot a sure searchlight-sure beam down the back hallway. Transfixed in the glare was Megan; one foot in and one foot out of a downstairs window.
“Ah Mr Beauchamp, you scared me,” she said sheepishly.
“I scared you?” he frowned, “Was there something wrong with the door?”
“I lost track of time. I didn’t want to disturb you,” Megan said in false bonhomie as she dropped onto the floor.
“You did disturb me and…” he eyed a vase in pieces on the floor, “You have broken a rather expensive antique into the bargain. Why are you late young lady?”
“I’ll pay for that,” Megan said hastily, her Welsh accent suddenly very broad.
“What with, the next 10 years of your wages?”
“Ooh, I’m sorry,” she wailed.
“Have you a good reason for being back an hour after curfew? After all this is my house and I have a position to uphold,” Gordon growled.
“There was this Polish Flight Sergeant, a pilot see, a lovely man… he has shot down nine 109s and a Stuka…” Megan broke off as she realised that Gordon wasn’t impressed.
“What would your father have to say about that Miss Jones?” Gordon barked.
Megan bit her lower lip and dipped her head.
“I expect he would think I wasn’t too old for a good hiding,” Megan admitted. “I only had a dance… well… and then I sort of lost track of the time see.”
“You know what happened to Jeanie last night don’t you?”
“Oh Sir, please Sir… oh,” Megan wailed.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put you across my knee for damn good spanking here and now,” Gordon was furious.
Megan couldn’t answer.
“Come with me at once, Miss Jones,” Gordon ordered as he led the way to his study.
By the time Megan caught up with him he was already sitting in the armless chair holding the brush.
“Ooh Sir,” she groaned as she walked dejectedly over to him.
She was somewhat ungainly, not to say undignified as she flopped over his lap, her circular hips giving way to an ample circular bottom angled up at him.
“Skirt,” Gordon said sharply, surprised at her ready compliance.
Megan got to her feet and quickly shed herself of her skirt and slip. She was about to drop her draws when Gordon pulled back over his knee.
“I’ll see to that,” he muttered, again amazed at her compliance and lack of modesty.
This was to be a business-like affair he realised and in the spirit of getting an unpleasant task over with, he shucked down her cotton under things and quickly addressed the pale moon of her bottom with the brush.
“I’m so sorry Sir,” Megan said miserably.
“I trust the good sergeant didn’t get this familiar with you,” Gordon mused aloud.
“Oh no Sir,” Megan was shocked.
“If I were to write to your father, I trust he would not disapprove what I am about to do?” Gordon said brusquely and tapped her bare behind setting it to wobble a little.
“Oh please Sir, don’t tell my Da, I’ll be a good girl.” Megan’s voice was shrill with panic.
“Very well,” Gordon sighed and brought the brush down with a splat.
Megan kicked and wailed throughout her spanking, although none of her protests dissuaded Gordon from turning Megan’s Welsh mountain-top white bottom as red as an English rose.
“Oh Sir, I’m sorry, so sorry,” she cried and boo-hooed for Wales.
Gordon spanked her hard for a good five or ten minutes before setting her on her feet. He had to avert his eyes as she made no attempt to cover the abundant dark triangle of her sex as she did a punitive dance for him.
“Go and face the wall until you are calm enough for bed,” Gordon snapped.
She didn’t need telling twice.
“I trust there is no bad feeling between us,” Gordon said as he put the brush down on his desk.
“I hope not Sir,” Megan sobbed into the wall, “I’m sorry about the vase.”
“We can forget that now,” Gordon sighed, “I only hope you have learned your lesson.”
“Oh yes Sir, honestly Sir I have,” Megan sniffed.
Gordon waited for a good 15 minutes before dismissing her. By then Megan had pulled herself together and even managed to offer Gordon a small rueful smile.
“Good night Sir,” she said meekly.
“Good night Miss Jones,” Gordon replied indulgently.
After she had gone he made one final check of the back window and turned out the lights.
The opening of the front door took him by surprise.
“Oh, good night Mr Beauchamp, what are you doing up?” Daphne le Strange said in a tone of idle curiosity as she breezed through the door.
“Miss le Strange, I thought… where have you been?” Gordon was taken aback.
“Been? What is that to you? I have been to that wretched dance,” Daphne said imperiously. “Quite dreadful really, not a proper officer among them. You know I had to dance with a Warrant Officer 2nd Class.”
“Oh,” Gordon said indulgently, “Weren’t there any Warrant Officers 1st Class present?”
“You know I don’t know,” Daphne frowned as if considering the point and then she added conversationally “There was the colonel of course and a rather rum major from the Home Guard, but they were both… shall we say… a little wrinkled.”
It was all Gordon could do not to laugh and suddenly he was envious, jealous even, of all those young men who had flirted with this elegant creature that night. Still, she was late and behaving like a hopelessly spoiled brat.
“And none of these military gentlemen suggested you should come home before the curfew?” Gordon said pointedly.
“Oh that,” Daphne said dismissively, “Surely that’s just a guide for the other girls.”
“You know, I have already had cause to spank Megan for being late,” Gordon said pointedly.
He had no intention of doing the same to the more mature Daphne. She did have a point of sorts. But he found her manner rather irritating and he hadn’t yet got over his annoyance at the warrant officer she had danced with.
“Really, how theatrical of you,” Daphne said snootily, “I hope she learned her lesson.”
“I rather think she did,” Gordon said folding his arms. “You know you are not too old to go across my knee.”
Daphne flushed a little and licked her lips. Then as nonchalantly as she was able she strolled towards the staircase to make good her escape.
Gordon’s eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement and his visage took on a determined look. One should never flee an old dog, he thought.
“You… you wouldn’t dare,” Daphne began to bluster.
“Miss le Strange, I think you really have this coming don’t you,” Gordon said humorously as he took her by the arm and half led and half tugged her to his study.
“Mr Beauchamp, I’m not a child… I… Mr Beauchamp please, what are you going to do?” Daphne sounded quite shrill now.
Gordon toppled her easily across his lap and admired the smooth round of her behind lost as it was in the folds of her elegant dress.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Daphne spluttered, but her voice was heavy with doubt.
Gordon threw over the skirt and lifted into her back to reveal Daphne’s slip.
“Now Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne struggled for a tone somewhere between reason and denial.
The slip followed the skirts so that Gordon could look upon Daphne’s pert bottom bursting from the silk pre-war dainties.
“Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne squealed.
“In deference to you being a lady, if you moderate your tone, I will let you keep these up,” he said pinching at the silk so as to tug threateningly on her final veil.
“You… I… Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne gathered up the last of her dignity, “I’m sorry I was late but…”
“You seem to think you are better than the others,” Gordon said pointedly.
“No I…”
“No?” Gordon broke in to her bluster, “Then why shouldn’t you get the spanking you so richly deserve too?”
“But I… please,” there was a surrendered desperation in her voice now, and she sighed, “Mr Beauchamp… oh.”
Gordon brought the brush down with a determined sweep of his arm and Daphne yelped.
“Oh you… ah,” she shrieked again at another impact.
Gordon put some more weight into his swat.
“Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne growled angrily.
“Miss le Strange,” Gordon spanked her again.
“Mr Beauchamp,” her grunt was strained.
Gordon spanked her in long hard sweeps as he held her effortlessly in place.
“Puh,” Daphne spluttered and then began to cry.
Gordon ignored her and spanked even harder.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Daphne sobbed.
Gordon let her go.
It would do her dignity no harm to be sent to the corner he thought but Daphne broke into louder wailing sobs and fled the room.
Not my best courting technique, he thought bitterly, but then, what else could I do?
*
Gordon didn’t know why, but he sat in his study for a long time after Daphne left. He realised that the precious Miss le Strange was not just a silly girl like the others; she would never forgive him now. Her dignity and pride wouldn’t allow it. But why did he care so much? After all she was just a spoiled city girl who broke the rules.
Suddenly there was a small wrap at the door.
“Who… I mean come in?” Gordon called out.
It must be Megan or Jeanie wondering about the noise, he realised. Then Daphne crept into the room.
“Mr Beauchamp,” she said with as much dignity as she could manage, but her demeanour was rather meek. “I left… rather suddenly. Well I… I should have apologised properly. You were quite right, I broke curfew, which is unforgivable in war time.”
“That’s quite alright Miss le Strange, I think we both learned something,” Gordon said in an even voice.
“Yes,” Daphne said licking her lips nervously.
He noticed her hand stray to her bottom and she had obviously been crying some more.
“Also I…” Daphne continued, “At school I was taught to thank one’s… that is to say, when one is chastised… I should have thanked you I believe, as is the custom.”
“I think it is understandable under the circumstances,” Gordon said politely.
Daphne nodded.
“Anyway, I am sorry and thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he said, very conscious of the irony.
She blushed and made to leave while he wracked his brains for something to say. Daphne was never going to be all sweetness and light about this in the morning as Jeanie was. Then she paused, perhaps just as desperate to put things right between them.
“Mr Beauchamp,” she began, “Mr Beauchamp, my real name is Davis, not le Strange.”
“A stage name no doubt,” he said, puzzled by her admission at this time.
“No,” she continued, “I was never an actress. I just wanted to be. I was… I was a stage manager’s assistant and on occasion, a make-up artist and dresser.”
“I see,” Gordon replied, although he didn’t at all.
“I know I put on airs… oh God, I don’t know why I am telling you all this.” she gasped and looked at the ceiling in a semblance of the confessional, “But it was all I had. But, I… I wanted you to know that I am not better than the others. I know you think I am, but… the truth is I am not good enough for you.”
“That’s not true and your words prove it,” Gordon said kindly.
Daphne looked at the floor and blushed, her hand again straying to her behind.
“Or are you trying to tell me that you are not too good to have your knickers taken down for a good spanking when you need it?” he tried to make light of it, but it sounded pompous and stern somehow.
But she smiled.
“I suppose I am, Mr Beauchamp,” she laughed.
“Perhaps you should call me Gordon,” he said.
It was the best gesture he had.
“If you are going to be spanking me, then I think I should stick to Mr Beauchamp,” she laughed again.
Her face lit up like sunshine.
Then in a quiet voice she added, “At least for now.”
To be continued…
[Thanks to TipTopper for the improved image quality]
