A Day in the Life

A woman is diverted from important preparations

By Jane Fairweather

Mrs Miles was fiddling with the lamb chops for the elaborate evening meal that she was getting ready for her husband’s guests. She was well aware it was not unlikely, if all went well, that her husband would be promoted from regional manager to something rather higher up in his company. “National sales manager” had been mentioned, she was well aware, though what that entailed she was not too sure. Certainly it meant more money, but also she suspected more time with her husband wandering the country and not at home with her. There had even been a broad hint that it might be helpful if she was prepared to move the family lock stock and barrel to London, or somewhere near it.

However, she had made it clear that she loved this house in the country near Bath, where they had lived happily for over ten years, and indeed where she had grown up. She was not going to give up this place that she loved, with its couple of acres of good grazing and stabling for several horses, for anyone, even though she was well aware that her husband had already acquired several occasional girl friends in his sojourns in hotels, with whom she suspected that he slept, though he only ever told her the fact that he had enjoyed pleasant conversations with these creatures. At least he was honest enough to tell her of their existence and leave her to guess at the rest!

Their sex life had been more or less none existent for some years and she felt quite happy without it, but she knew sex mattered much more to him. Sooner or later this uneasy compromise was quite likely to break down and she would find herself a divorcée. Still, as long as she could keep this house that she loved she should get by. For income she could always go back to nursing, she supposed, though it was quite a few years since she had worked. No doubt there would be at least some maintenance.

The door-bell went and she cursed and rubbed her hands rapidly on her apron. Then, since they were still greasy, she ran them quickly under the tap and dried them. Still, she was not that displeased to see Sue and Peter Kline, the young couple, at the door.

Sue was ravishing with lovely auburn hair and a rather dashing cloak she had somewhere or other acquired, not to mention the rather tight trousers that young women had lately taken to wearing, which in Mrs Miles’ view exposed things to male view that no girl should show, but nevertheless Mrs Miles liked Sue.

Peter had the modern long hair which, having grown up in an age of military service, Mrs Miles disapproved of, at least in principle, but in reality she rather liked his curls and beard. And he was such a slim, nicely proportioned young man. Mrs Miles found it endearing too that he had ambitions as an artist and was trying ‘to make it’. Well he had been to Art School and so what would you expect? But give him a few years and he would no doubt be holding down a good job rather well, or maybe running his own company like his father. Certainly Sue would not want to carry the financial burden for ever. But Sue, she knew, was very happy at the moment teaching infants at the local village primary school.

“I hope you don’t mind us calling, Mrs Miles. We are looking for Rosy. We thought we’d come and see her.” Peter was saying.

She assured them that of course she did not mind and, saying that Rosy would be back sometime in the next half hour, ushered them into the kitchen, adding they could chat to her while she got on with her cooking. Sue and Peter genuinely liked Mrs Miles and she genuinely enjoyed the innocence of the young, so they spent a happy half hour chatting. She teased them about Sue’s clothes and Pete’s hair and remarked that if trousers went on being fashionable for girls and girls went on getting more and more forward, then no doubt the cane for young ladies would creep on to the agenda at school.

She almost added “again”, for it had been not that uncommon when she was a girl. She noticed that Sue shivered rather deliciously at this. No doubt like a lot of young women she had a thing about it! And Peter, she observed, looked a touch embarrassed. She wondered if he thought this line of conversation was improper or he had embarrassing feelings about doing things to his young wife that he did not quite want to recognise. Rather like her own feelings about pretty young female backsides, she thought, which she also had problems about. Be that as it may, there was the awkward problem of Rosy’s behaviour of the day before to deal with. She hoped that she could get Sue and Peter to go before dealing with that. But deal with it she would, and she was not leaving it another day, for that would be unfair to Rosy. A certain amount to time for repentance was good, but too much was unfair, she was quite sure of that.

“What is that on the top of your kitchen cabinet, Mrs Miles?” Peter was suddenly asking.

“Oh my old cane!” She found herself having to reply. “I used to have it to frighten the girls with when they were younger, not of course that I ever used it. Now I keep it there to unhook the top window over the sink when I want to close it and Mr Miles is not here. I cannot quite reach it, you see.”

She hoped devoutly they had swallowed the lie. She had caned her younger daughter’s hands only a few weeks ago for persistent failure to do her homework after numerous letters from the school and it seemed to have had some effect. And, as it so happened, Rosie was for the high jump this very afternoon for leaving that stable door open. This could easily be very embarrassing! Most people, she was well aware, were inclined to think that caning daughters was a touch cruel, though Rosie and Anne had always seemed to take it in their stride and Rosie had once even said she preferred the quickness of it, but if it got round the village it could be extremely embarrassing.

“Oh can we have a look?” Said Sue unexpectedly.

“Yes, of course!” She responded, realizing that it was just as well that her face was red with the heat of the cooking, for she was blushing furiously.

Sue could not quite reach the cane. Peter, who was two inches taller than Sue, and had longer arms, reached up, got it down and handed it rather gingerly to his young wife.

“It is quite small, isn’t it?” Observed Sue, swishing it experimentally. “Is this like what you used to get, Peter? I am surprised it hurts so much.”

“Did you used to get the cane, then Peter?” Mrs Miles enquired, genuinely surprised, for Peter struck her as having been a good, biddable boy.

“Three for being bottom of the class and four for smoking. And it hurt a lot. It really stings. I think it was about this size.”

“You were bottom of the class, Peter?” Said Mrs Miles, genuinely intrigued.

“Yes, regularly. I used to spend all my time painting and drawing. They only tried it once though. After that they gave up.”

“Does anyone feel like giving me just one, just to see if it really hurts?” Sue was saying.

“Oh don’t be silly Sue, it hurts. I could not hurt you like that!” Peter was saying.

There followed an odd altercation between husband and wife. Sue, it seemed, was genuinely keen to undergo this male rite of passage and Pete, it seemed to Mrs Miles, was equally keen to deny it her.

“Oh she just wants to see what it’s like. I had it as a girl on my hands and my floppy drawers and was always rather proud of it. Give me the cane Peter.”

Mrs Miles more or less took the cane out of the young husband’s hands. Then she carefully and systematically bent her victim over and made her touch her toes. She stood back and looked for a second while ostensibly taking aim. The brown trousers were extremely tightly stretched and you could see the girl’s crotch very clearly, not to mention her rather small and probably very thin nylon pants. She glanced at Peter and realized he was sharing the same view, but rather surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye, as if he did not feel it was quite proper to look. She drew the cane back and let fly, neatly bisecting the girl’s behind. There was a squeal to end all squeals and the girl’s hands jumped from her toes to the seat of her trousers with quite remarkable speed.

Mrs Miles realized uneasily that the girl was crying and clutching her bottom. However, Peter produced a hankie. Sue calmed down quite quickly and began to giggle through her tears.

“I told you it would hurt!” Said Peter severely.

“It was an experience though.” Sue replied rather haughtily through her strange mixture of giggles and tears. “And thank you, Mrs Miles. If I need anyone caning I will ask you, not that we use the cane at Millington Primary.”

“Where ever did you learn to cane like that?” Asked Peter sounding quite cross.

“Oh, beginner’s luck, dear!” Said Mrs Miles. “I had the cane half a dozen times, and numerous spankings, but that was my first time the other way round.”

To her relief this seemed to be accepted.

Shortly after the front door bell went again. It was Rosy, who had forgotten her key as usual.

“Can we get it over with, please Mother!” She begged, “I’ve been dreading it all day.”

“Peter and Sue are in the kitchen waiting for you. I can’t really do it now!” Mrs Miles protested.

“Give them a cup of tea in the front room and say I need to change and I’ve got something I need to talk about with you in private, which is more or less true. I so want to get it over with.”

“I will tell them you are having a telling off, just in case you cry.”

“Fair enough, though I don’t usually cry.”

Rosy departed upstairs to her parent’s bedroom at the back of the house, where her punishments always took place, gritting her teeth.

Mrs Miles returned to the kitchen and explained to her guests: “My daughter and I are going to have a few words about Gambol getting out onto the road because she left the stable door open. We’ve been putting it off for a while. There’s never seemed to be the right moment. I hope you don’t mind. I will make you some tea. I don’t think we will be more than twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour. But it seems a pity to send you away when you’ve come specially to see Rosy. Perhaps I should have said when you first came.”

“No, of course we quite understand and we will wait.” Peter and Sue said in the same breath, much to Mrs Miles’ annoyance, who was hoping they would do the sensible thing and depart.

*         *          *

“Poor Rosy!” Sue declared rather vehemently, after Mrs Miles had shut the door. “Personally, if I had the choice I’d take the cane from Mrs Miles rather than be bawled out.”

“Oh don’t be silly!” Peter exclaimed. “I’ve heard this from other girls who don’t know what it is like. But you of all girls should know the cane hurts! Have you forgotten what just happened?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten!” Said Sue crisply. “But believe me, a sore bum hurts a darn sight less than a sore mind.”

*         *          *

“You let a valuable horse run on the road and only the fact that someone who knew about horses happened to be around saved us from a serious accident, quite possibly a court case and certainly the loss of a very valuable animal.” Said Mrs Miles, waving the cane in her daughter’s face and feeling angry enough not to care if some of the noise penetrated down to the front room.

“Yes, Mother, I do know. I am completely in the wrong, and I am sorry, but PLEASE could we just get it over with? It’s been hanging over me since yesterday afternoon!”

Mrs Miles reflected that with all this cooking to do it was indeed advisable to get this over with. She instructed her daughter to wriggle out of the black pencil skirt she was wearing, which she thought was far too thick for the cane to penetrate. This took some while and perhaps trousers might have been easier, she reflected. Then off came the panty girdle that Rosy had on under her pink half slip.

“How thick are your knickers?” She enquired abruptly.

“I’ve only got briefs on, Mother.” Rosy’s voice sounded half pleading.

“Show me.”

The girl reluctantly pulled up her half-slip to reveal very thin and skimpy pink nylon briefs, and some rather dashing suspenders, which made her Mother think that Rosy was getting to a certain age.

“If I cane you on those briefs you will certainly swell, so you’d better keep your slip on.”

“Yes Mother, thank you.”

“Bend over the end of the bed in the middle.”

Rosy moved to the end of her parents’ double bed and bent over the quite high middle of the semi-circular piece of brown polished wood. It was, her mother reflected, the fifth or was it sixth time she had seen her daughter in that position. The slip was quite tight and the shadows of pants, stockings and suspenders were all visible. She reflected Rosie’s round tight buttocks were different to Sue’s much thinner ones, which had a large cleft between them and there was much less to see than there had been with her previous victim.

She let fly the first stroke as near the middle of her daughter’s bottom as she could make it and was rewarded with a loud squeak. She caned her victim slowly and deliberately and very hard, and all within the couple of inches of the lower buttocks and the upper thighs. Each time the victim let out a noise, which was not quite a scream. The bottom wriggled rather grotesquely and the legs kept lifting off the ground. She stopped after six, knowing she had inflicted a considerable amount of well deserved pain.

“Well that is almost certainly your last caning. You will be nineteen next week.” She said to her daughter, who was still face down across the bed as she put the cane down on the chest of drawers; she did not want to meet Sue and Peter with it during the return to the kitchen.

*         *          *

“Oh there you are, Rosy! We were just going to give up on you.” Said Sue well over half an hour later. “Poor thing! You look as if it was a really bad lecture.”

“Well I cried enough! Six of the best and all that, you know!” Rosy responded.

She gratefully lowered herself into the softest of the arm chairs, noticing there had been almost no reaction to the statement that she had been very soundly caned, but in all probability it was either what they were expecting or they thought it was a joke.

She shrugged her shoulders and added: “But god knows I deserved it. Poor Gambol could have been killed and goodness knows what else, and all because I left that wretched stable door open.”

They spent a quiet couple of hours chatting about completely different things and then Mr Miles put his head round the door and asked very nicely if Sue and Peter would mind going home as important guests were coming.

On the way home, the young married couple kept asking themselves if Rosy really had been caned, which seemed to have an odd fascination for both of them.

“She did say six of the best,” Said Sue. “And I think she meant it. She had been crying enough. But I did not like to ask outright; it might have embarrassed her.”

“Nonsense!” Said Peter. “Mrs Miles is such a nice woman and she said quite clearly in the kitchen she has never caned anyone. Well, except you, which was a joke of course.”

“But Mrs Miles loves horses.” Retorted Sue. “And I bet it is one of the few things that would make her really mad enough to really whack somebody. And I thought Rosy was wriggling on her bottom the whole time we were talking to her.”

“So why didn’t you ask her if she had really been caned?” Demanded Peter with more than a touch of irony.

“Because it would have embarrassed her horribly!”

“Girls!” Said Pete in a tone of disgust.

“I wonder what six of the best is like.” Said Sue thoughtfully. “One was bad enough! Still it was an experience.”

“Anyone would think,” her husband remarked rather archly. “That you really wanted to find out, Sue.”

‘Who knows? I might enjoy finding out,’ thought Sue to herself. ‘If, my love, you have the courage to help me, or indeed Mrs Miles. I wonder if she would help me?’

However, the young wife said not a word of this aloud, but diverted the conversation elsewhere.

*         *          *

Be that as it may, there was a very strange end to the evening that had nothing to do with Pete and Sue.

The managing director and his wife had arrived. Giles, the husband was beginning to go grey and was a good deal older than his wife. Vi, the wife, was probably around thirty and was wearing a very elegant white dress that clung extremely closely to her very pretty behind. Mrs Miles took one look at it and compared it with interest to the two other younger female bottoms that she had had occasion to observe at close quarters earlier that afternoon.

The evening went on and Mrs Miles noticed the obvious rapport she had with Vi. They both giggled at the same jokes despite their age difference and quite apart from the girl’s backside Mrs Miles found herself delighted by Vi’s gorgeous golden hairdo, towering above her head in a most elaborate confection by some very skilled hairdresser.

Vi was not too proud to help her hostess in the kitchen, or possibly instructions had been given to leave the two men drinking by themselves in the sitting room; certainly there seemed to be a great deal of very male chat.

Eventually Mrs Miles, with a good deal of help from Vi, had brought forth her splendid concoctions and they had been consumed with much praise and much wine. Now they were getting drunker and drunker and the conversation was getting sillier and sillier.

“Number of men who claim to have spanked their secretaries! Maybe so, but I never have.” Said Giles. “On the whole, women don’t get punished, more is the pity. Same with school girls of course.”

“He does seem sure, doesn’t he!” Vi said with a twinkle to Mrs Miles.

“We do very occasionally use corporal punishment on our daughters.” Hiccoughed Mr Miles, for which his wife could have cheerfully killed him.

“Well I don’t suppose a bit of smacking does much harm.” Observed Giles ponderously. “But they never get a real licking, do they? Just not done with girls, is it?”

“No reason why they shouldn’t get it.” Observed Mr Miles.

Mrs Miles felt a very strange impulse and whispered to her new found friend that she would like to powder her nose and did she want to come? They slipped out and the men barely seemed to notice their passing.

She took Vi’s hand, led her quietly upstairs into the main bedroom and without saying a word showed her the cane, swishing it a little.

“I bet you’ve never had that!” She observed. “My daughter took six with that this afternoon. She’d been really naughty, let a horse out on the road, but I was really proud of her the way that she took it.”

“Really?” Said Vi, taking it and swishing it with interest. “I don’t suppose you’d show me what it is like? I’ve always wanted to know. Giles sometimes spanks me because it turns me on, but he always says no to the cane. Hurts too much, he says. But if your daughter can take it, I bet I can.”

Mrs Miles first reaction was that she dare not remove Vi’s dress. What would the men think if they came up and found them like that? So she led her victim to the stool by the dressing table and bent her over with her hands on the stool. She let fly hard a couple of times and Vi said: “Ow!” Then Vi stood up and said firmly they needed to take the dress off to get the full effect.

“It is like having fucking armour on, though it tingles a bit.” Said Vi, though her friend noticed that she was rubbing her bottom slightly.

Mrs Miles almost refused, but then decided she wanted to go through with this, so went and locked the door. Then she returned and between them they got Vi out of her dress. Vi raised her arms and very neatly pulled her very pretty green silk slip over her head, doing some damage to the hairdo in the process, but not perhaps as much as she might have done. Mrs Miles noticed enviously that her friend had no girdle of any sort, but was wearing rather full and surprisingly old fashioned directoire knickers, plus very elegant black bra, plus the usual (if expensive) stockings and suspenders. She bent the victim over the stool again and administered six sharp swishes. The victim rose to her feet with tears in her eyes and peeled her knickers down before looking in the dressing table mirror. There were six quite respectable welts and several minor ones.

“I could take six more bare, dear.” She announced.

Her friend found this quite hard to administer, for she was terrified of being too severe, but she managed it.

“Cream, please dear!” Said Vi with some feeling.

This was rapidly produced and rubbed in as a joint effort by the two women.

*         *          *

A good hour later, Mrs Miles crept downstairs to the front room and found the two men still very drunk and chattering.

“Vi’s dead to the world on our bed.” She announced. “Suddenly went out like a light.”

Giles suddenly seemed to come to life.

“You can take the appointment as definite, Mr Miles, Ron, I mean. Start in a month. Like to get to know my senior appointments at first hand. Nothing like getting drunk with a man. And I like my wife to know the wives. Place a lot of value on my wife’s view and she obviously gets on very well with you, Mrs Miles. I’ll phone for my car, if you don’t mind showing me where the phone is.”

She wondered if Giles realized just how well she and Vi had just got on, but there was no way of knowing.

She went upstairs, woke a completely naked Vi (who had indeed fallen asleep, but for nothing like an hour) and helped her back into her clothes. The only sign that anything had occurred was the brief but passionate kiss that Vi gave her hostess just as they were about to leave the bedroom.

The car arrived and the managing director and his wife departed.

Mr and Mrs Miles made themselves a cup of tea before going to bed.

“You got on alright with Vi then?” Said Mr Miles.

“Yes, I really liked her. I am sure we will see one another again.”

“Be a bit careful with her. I’ve heard it said she really likes women.”

“I saw no sign of it. She just wanted to go to sleep.” Said Mrs Miles, keeping a straight face.

“Well that’s not a surprise after all that wine and brandy, is it?” Observed Mr Miles. “Obviously hasn’t got a good head, that woman. Not like you, my dear. Incidentally I hope you weren’t too hard on Rosy. Looked a bit fraught.”

“She took it like a trooper and I think she felt guilty as charged. Anyway it will be her last punishment. End of an era, I suppose.” Mrs Miles concluded, noting that three remarkably different female posteriors were drifting in front of her eyes and it was definitely time to go to sleep, and quite probably she had found another use for her parents’ cane.

The End

© Jane Fairweather 2016

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