Our story began here.
In the days that followed Daphne was studiously polite whenever she met Gordon on the stairs. In fact the only sign that anything had transpired at all were the amused looks that Megan batted back and forth between Daphne and him; a sure sign that she had overheard everything.
Usually a stern look from Gordon ended such appraisal, although Daphne herself did not give the slightest hint that she had noticed.
It was over a week later that Gordon and Daphne passed each other in the hall; the most they had seen of each other in days.
“Miss le Strange,” Gordon said stiffly as he inclined his head a little.
Daphne averted her eyes just a flick, perhaps remembering that he now knew her real name. Then she replied with a simple, “Mr Beauchamp.”
Gordon inwardly winced at the cold exchange and stood back to let her pass. As she did so, he could not help noticing that she left even more space between them than was necessary. She had almost reached the foot of the stairs to head up to her room when Gordon decided to seize the initiative.
“Lovely day,” he blurted.
Daphne paused and licked her lips as if she were considering a reply.
“I… eh, wouldn’t know, I haven’t been out,” she said tentatively.
He nodded as an awkward silence fell between them.
“I was… thinking of going out for a walk. In the sunshine as it were,” he proffered hesitantly.
“Oh well,” Daphne shook her head in surprised puzzlement, continuing, “Well, enjoy your walk Mr Beauchamp.”
“Why don’t you come with me? It seems such a pity to be cooped up in your room.”
It might have taken her less than a second to reply, but to Gordon it was as if a bomb had been dropped and he was waiting to see where it would land.
Then all she said was, “Thank you Mr Beauchamp, I’ll get my coat.”
*
They walked in silence for what seemed like hours as they took the hill path overlooking the town. Gordon knew nothing of the theatre or where to begin asking about her other interests. He also doubted very much that she would have the least interest in the army or the factory; the only two subjects that he knew anything about.
Then as is often the way they both chosen the same instant to break the silence.
“Do you…?” she began.
“Were you…?” he said over her.
They both laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, indicating that she should continue with his hand.
“Oh I… I was only going to ask…” she couldn’t now remember, so ploughed on with, “…have you always lived here?”
“I was born in the house where we live,” he said simply with a shrug. “I served in India for a brief time before the last war and then I was posted to Flanders. My leg brought me home. I was lucky I suppose. I have been nowhere since.”
“Oh I am surprised, you seem such a… well-travelled man,” Daphne said pleasantly.
“Oh I have been around a bit. Before the war I used to go up to London for the season. Paris too sometimes,” he said dismissively.
“Oh Paris, I have always wanted to go,” she burbled like a mountain spring.
Gordon was taken aback at how girlish she was once she dropped the stuffy theatrical façade.
“It makes me furious to think of those people there now,” Daphne continued, suddenly angry.
“Those people?” Gordon realised he hadn’t really been listening.
“Those…” she could scarce get the words out, finally she spat, “Nazi people. Oh the poor French.”
“Well absolutely,” Gordon said indignantly sharing her rage. “That popinjay clown and his evil posturing… but I tell you who really gets me mad, it’s those Whitehall types. Gammy leg be damned, I should be out there with my regiment.”
“Of course you should,” Daphne agreed emphatically. “Where are they at the moment?”
“North Africa, the last I heard,” Gordon explained.
“Oh gosh how exciting,” Daphne was enthralled.
The two of them crossed the ridge that dropped into Green Man’s Copse, scarcely noticing the view as Gordon regaled Daphne with tales of his time in India and France.
*
Gordon was awake and listening intently for what had disturbed him. An owl called out to him with a single hoot and opening one eye like that wide old bird he saw a rectangle of moonshine in on the floor.
The rattle-scratch was loud in the night and for a moment Gordon thought of mice. Then he recognised the hard click of a key in the front door lock.
Megan, he thought grimly. She had no shame. Unlike Jeanie, whom he had only spanked twice in recent weeks, the Welsh girl was quite willing to gamble with her bottom two or three times a week. That was his assumption anyway, presumably he only caught her a fraction of the time she got back late from seeing her Polish Flight Sergeant or else she wouldn’t do it.
It is time I investigated in something like a belt she says her father uses, he thought wearily as he dragged himself from bed.
From the top of the stairs he saw no light, although there was definitely someone in the hall by the front door. He could hear it painfully slowly eased shut. Then as he reached the end of the landing he heard a tiny creak on the stair.
The staircase bulb was dim, but it was bright enough to catch the culprit, Gordon thought grimly as he flicked the switch.
“Ah… Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne said sheepishly. “I was…”
As her voice tailed off he could see that she was holding her shoes in one hand had grasped the hem of a long evening gown, presumably so she wouldn’t trip.
“Miss le Strange, it is a quarter to one in the morning, where the devil have you been?”
“I…” she croaked and pointed forlornly to some unnamed place beyond the wall.
Gordon’s jaw tightened as he thought about whom she might have been seeing and what they might have…
“Miss le Strange, what the hell… what is this is outrageous behaviour?” Gordon rasped angrily.
Daphne quailed and swallowed hard.
“The colonel,” she squeaked.
“A married man,” Gordon bellowed.
“No I…”
Gordon tied another decisive knot in his dressing gown belt and swooped down the stairs like some great avenging bird. It was a small matter to swing Daphne over his shoulder and carry her down stairs to his study.
“I am going to give you the spanking of your life my girl,” he growled as he dropped into his chair and hauled up Daphne’s dress.
He was outraged to see that her stockings were unencumbered by any petticoats or slip and her knickers were of the saucy French kind.
“I thought you were a lady,” he groaned in disappointment, “Even after what you told me. But even Megan would not…”
Incensed now he dragged Daphne’s underwear down her thighs and only momentarily fazed by glamour of her tight round bottom, he began to belabour her with his hand.
“Ow, please Mr Beauchamp I can explain,” she wailed.
Gordon was furious and ignoring her he spanked her in a paddy for several long minutes until Daphne was hiccoughing tears and her make-up ran in black rivers down her eyes.
“So you little… the colonel eh?” Gordon paused for breath.
“I left him… I mean… I had to walk back…,” Daphne sobbed.
“What?” Gordon sat up.
“He told me… that…” Daphne sobbed, “That his wife knew some theatre people,” she heaved another sob, “But it was a lie, there was just the two of us.”
Gordon felt a fool and let Daphne drop to the floor where she hastily covered herself, although made no attempt to pull up her knickers, which still dangled off one foot.
“Are you alright, I mean, did he…”
“I’m fine, I… was such a fool,” she wailed.
“That bastard, just wait until… I’m sorry… I-I just couldn’t bear to think of you with him.”
“It’s my own fault, I deserve to be spanked,” Daphne sniffed.
“I suppose you do at that,” Gordon said pointedly.
“You walked you say? Why didn’t you get the bus, it runs until…”
Daphne blushed and looked down.
“What time did you meet him?” Gordon growled.
“Nine thirty,” Daphne mumbled. “And I was late,” she admitted.
“So you never intended to be home on time?”
Daphne shook her head.
“And you went to see this man, all smiling and flirting to get preferment in the theatre?”
Daphne replied with a small nod.
“I see,” Gordon said tartly, “In my… dismay and haste, I neglected to spank you properly.”
Daphne opened her mouth to protest and massaged her rear. But Gordon reached for the hairbrush on his desk and beckoned her.
“But…” Daphne gasped.
“You know what happens now Miss le Strange,” Gordon said.
“Look, this is completely ridiculous, can’t we…?” Daphne blustered.
“Come here.” Gordon cut her off.
“Gordon, please,” Daphne wailed.
His name on her lips was a punch in the chest, albeit a welcome one, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded.
“When my wife was wilful, I had a cane,” he warned, “Shall I fetch it now?”
Daphne got unsteadily to her feet and took half a step forward. It was enough and he pulled her easily across his lap and bared her bottom for another spanking.
The rifle-crack volley that followed was carried all the way upstairs where Megan and Jeanie were listening. The keening cries in hoity-toity tones left no doubt as to the identity of the hapless girl being spanked and Megan considered creeping down to watch.
“Gordon please, I only wanted… I mean a factory, I hate it,” Daphne sobbed, before screeching, “Oh heavens, oh God, aahh,” as the brush continued to assail her bare bottom.
“A factory is honest work, but no wife of mine is going to work in a theatre,” Gordon snapped.
The spanking paused.
“Wife?” Daphne said in surprise.
“If you’ll have me,” Gordon said, equally taken aback by his outburst.
“Oh yes, oh Gordon, oh yes,” Daphne gushed trying to turn herself over his lap.
“You stay there Daphne,” Gordon ordered, “You’re not going anywhere until I am done.”
“Yes Gordon,” Daphne replied dreamily, and then wailed, “Ooh,” as the spanking resumed.
“By the time I am done with you, you really will be standing up for breakfast.”
“Yes Gordon,” Daphne sobbed.
“I might even test out that cane before you get off to bed, so no more nonsense understand,” he said sternly as he let the brush swipe down for few more good spanks.
“Ugh, yes Gordon,” Daphne grunted.
By now he allowed himself to enjoy the splendour of his future wife’s bare bottom and he really was in no hurry. Their first kiss would come only after she had thoroughly learned her place in the corner. Well perhaps, their second he amended, as the brush struck home and extracted another healthy squeal. In any case, there was still much to be done at this end.
The End.
