A girl finds a new job with unusual terms and conditions
By Julie Baker
My name is Hannah, I’m 31 years old and I’ve lived most of my life in Birmingham. My Mum and Dad are both teachers and I did well at school, gaining good enough A Level grades to be able to study history at Durham University. Sport has also been a big part of my life playing a good standard of hockey through the winter and county standard tennis during the summer months. I would say that I have a confident, outward going personality and I’ve never been short of friends of either sex. I’m reasonably tall with a slim but muscular build. I have a dark complexion with jet black hair and my fiends often tease me that I have a hot, Mediterranean style make-up!
I’m certainly quite impulsive and, if I had to be self critical, I possibly didn’t always make the best long term decisions during my teens and early twenties. I loved studying history at school but taking this to degree level at university was one example of a poor choice. The work load was phenomenal! I came out with a 2:1 but I hit the graduate job market at the wrong time and ended up back in Birmingham living with my parents and doing bar work. After a few months I managed to get taken on by one of the national clothes retailers but not on a graduate scheme. It was a long way short of ideal and I certainly didn’t have enough money to move into a place of my own.
Another poor choice around this time was going out with a boy who I’d met in my time at the bar. His name was Garry. He was good looking and was on a graduate training scheme with one of the big accountancy firms. He seemed to have plenty of money and had a flat of his own near the city centre. I’d had a few boyfriends over the years but nothing that had really lasted. Finally I thought that I had fallen in love. Unfortunately my parents didn’t like him. We had several rows at home over Garry and one day, in a fit of rage, I packed my bags and left home to move in with him.
To start with it was brilliant. We were both working and sharing the bills. We spent all the money that came our way and we were blissfully happy. Our sex life was fabulous and I think we thought that the good times would roll on forever. My career never seemed to progress but he became a qualified accountant and his earnings were starting to climb nicely. After five years of living together he asked me to marry him. I was barely in touch with my parents so I really had nobody to talk to. Something deep inside me was telling me that marriage would be a mistake, but how could I turn him down? He might have chucked me out of the flat and then I’d have nowhere to go.
I accepted and we were married in a registry office three months later. Garry’s younger brother came along as his best man and my best friend Sally from work was the only other person present. It was a Friday afternoon in late summer and afterwards the four of us went into town and got absolutely hammered. Not a great portent for the years ahead of us. Somehow the frisson that held up together before our wedding seemed to disappear. We were alright together for the first few months but the spark in our relationship had gone after a year. Garry spent quite a bit of time working away from home and our sex life nose-dived.
We didn’t argue much and to be fair he never physically abused me. It simply turned into a cold relationship mainly held together out of convenience. I did wonder whether he was seeing somebody else, but I convinced myself that he was simply working hard and that it would come right between us given time. One thing we both agreed on was that we didn’t want children. Thank goodness!
The end came in classic fashion. One Sunday, Garry had gone out for a training run. He had left his mobile behind and I idly picked it up to put it in the bedroom only to discover that he had left it on and it was still live. He always turned it off if he didn’t have it with him and I didn’t know his pass code. I couldn’t resist the temptation. I looked in his emails but they were all work related. He had no texts, as I knew that he deleted them as soon as he had read them. So, nothing of interest and I laid the phone down on his bed side table and turned to go back into the lounge. Then there was the sound of a text dropping into his inbox. I picked up the phone and read it.
‘You still OK for tomorrow night? Can’t wait. My panties are wet just thinking about it’. It had come from ‘Emily’.
My blood ran cold. I knew there and then that this was the end of Garry and me. No way back from this. By the time he got back I had loaded all my worldly possessions into my small car. I confronted him and he wasn’t denying anything. 30 minutes later I was sat in a cafe on the outskirts of Birmingham, tears running down my cheeks and no idea where I was going to go next. I phoned Sally. She still lived with her parents and she quickly established that I could temporarily go and stay with them. What a mess!
I had to do some serious thinking. I had a short term roof over my head and a job to go to on the Monday morning. But that was as good as it got. Everything else seemed to be problems with no obvious solutions. I got through Monday and that evening I sat on my laptop desperately searching the internet for some sort of suitable accommodation. I eventually ended up on a website with jobs that included the offer of live-in accommodation. One advert stood out from the others. It was from a ‘professional gentleman’ who was looking for a live-in housekeeper in Solihul. This is an upmarket part of Birmingham and he was offering a self-contained flat, all food and bills paid plus a monthly salary of £1000. I wondered how this might fit in with my job, but I was desperate and rang the mobile number supplied. Within minutes I had an interview fixed for the following evening.
When I got to the house I was greeted by John at the front door. I was 28 and he looked as though he might have been mid-forties, but we immediately got on well. He explained that he was a corporate lawyer and that up until two years ago he had lived in the house with his wife and his mother who had a self-contained flat at the back. His wife had died two years previously from breast cancer and six months later his mother had also passed away. There were no children from the marriage but the nature of his work meant that he needed someone to cook, clean, keep the garden going and generally look after his domestic affairs.
By this stage, I’m thinking that this is too good to be true! OK, I didn’t do 3 years at a top university and rack up a substantial student debt to become someone’s live-in housekeeper. But I was desperate and at the very least this seemed to be an opportunity to gain some breathing space. However, I was clearly not the only one to think that this opportunity was too good to be true.
“I’ve got nine other people lined up for an interview this week, Hannah,” he told me. “If you are still interested then I’ll phone you on Friday to let you know if I’m going to offer you the job. Is that OK with you?”
“Yes, I’m keen to come here, John, and hopefully you will think I’m suitable,” I replied.
“There is one other thing that I must tell you before you go,” he said. “I quite understand if you are not happy with this and, if this is the case, either tell me now or send me a text before Friday. I will give you very clear instructions about what your duties are and how things should be done. However, if you don’t manage to meet my standards on any occasion then I will give you a choice. You can either leave within a week or I will physically punish you. Is that clear?”
“Do you mean corporal punishment?” I stammered.
“Yes, Hannah, you’ve got it. Nothing too severe, but enough to remind you that you have fallen short of the standards set. For minor transgressions, I would slipper your bottom between four and eight times. For more major or persistent lapses, I would use the cane on you.”
“Is that legal?” Was all I could manage.
“Yes, of course it is,” replied John. “You know the deal in advance and ultimately we are two consenting adults. I completely understand if you can’t accept this but this is the way I run my household. I promise that I won’t make you do anything additional that you are not comfortable with. I rarely use the cane although I must admit that would be a more traumatic undertaking for you. A slippering will certainly sting a bit at the time but you’ll end up with nothing worse than a red and slightly bruised bottom for a few days. Have you not been punished this way before, Hannah?”
“No, never,” I replied. “I’m sorry, you just caught be by surprise. I’m certainly not counting myself out here and now. I think I’m OK with this but I’ll give it some thought and text you if I really can’t face the ordeal. Just so that I’m fully in the picture, could I see the slipper and cane that you’d use on my bottom?”
We were sat either side of his kitchen table. John got up and went over to a dresser that stood by the door. He reached up and produced a long slender cane with a crook handle from the top of the dresser before showing me a white canvas tennis shoe from one of the drawers. He handed both to me. The cane looked horrible and I dreaded the thought of it biting into my bottom. I figured that if I was careful I could avoid this fate and I could see that the shoe applied firmly to my bottom would be painful but with no lasting damage. I thanked him and left.
I fully intended to send that text. I couldn’t help thinking that there was a sexual element to this and having just got myself out of one bad situation did I want to jump into another. But in every other respect, John seemed to be so nice and respectable. I needed somewhere to move into fast and I would actually be better off financially, given that my salary was all spending money. I also figured that I had nothing to lose and the worst that could happen was that I’d be back at Sally’s for a few more days further down the line. Yes, I’d need to pack in my job at the shop, but I could get another without too much difficulty if I had to.
The text never got sent. When my phone rang early on the Friday evening I could feel my heart pounding off my ribs.
“John here.” I could here his smooth firm voice. “The job is yours if you want.”
I worked a week’s notice and the following Friday I turned up at John’s house in my old car, along with pretty much everything in the world that I owned. John was totally charming and I was soon settled into my new flat. He explained that Monday to Friday he would get his own breakfast in the morning and wouldn’t expect to see me until he came home in the evening. I would need to do all the shopping, prepare him an evening meal, keep the house clean and maintain the garden. Beyond that, my time was my own. I was free to eat his food at all times and normally he would expect me to eat my meals in the flat, although he might on occasions ask me to join him.
And this was how our lives both separately and together developed over the following months. My tasks were all detailed on a number of neatly typed A4 sheets and in the early days John would usually invite me to join him on a Friday evening for food and a chat. I could cope fine with the work inside the house but it was the garden that proved to be the hardest part to get fully right. One person’s carefully weeded flower bed is another person’s unkempt mess. I sort of knew that eventually John would find a reason to give me the slipper.
One Friday evening, John was asking why I hadn’t found time to brush up the leaves in the garden.
“You’re doing fine, Hannah, with all the household duties, and you and I are hitting it off nicely. The only area that we are not seeing eye-to-eye on is the garden. I’m feeling the need to reinforce my message. I’m afraid it’s time for you to experience my slipper on your bottom. As it’s your first time I’ll give you four over a single layer of clothing.”
“OK, John,” I replied. ‘Please go easy and you’ll need to tell me what to do.”
As it was autumn I had my jeans on. In my experience most men fully know what underwear a girl is wearing, even if they have no obvious way of finding out. I always wear a thong beneath jeans, so that no lines are visible, and normal panties below a dress or a skirt.
“Stand up and face the door, Hannah,” he instructed. “I then want you to bend over and grab your ankles. I want you to hold this position until I’ve finished with you. I’ll tell you when you can get up and then I want you to go to your flat for an hour to recover. I then want to see you back in here. We can have a glass of wine and put it behind us. All clear?”
“Yes, John,” I replied. I would have to say that the whole situation made me feel very nervous and uncomfortable. Presenting my bottom to John for punishment was something I knew would happen, but I hadn’t particularly seen it coming that evening. With my head lowered, I could still see John go to that drawer in the dresser and remove the canvas shoe. Judging by its size, it was an old one of John’s with a faded white colouration and a zig-zag patterned sole. John gave me a few taps either to warm me to the task or to take better aim. I wasn’t sure.
The first blow exploded into my bottom and a loud crack reverberated around the kitchen. What a shock I got! If this was him going easy I certainly didn’t want a full on slippering! I shot up and my hands clasped my poor buttocks.
“Christ, that hurt,” I spluttered.
“Hannah,” John’s voice purred, “If you break position again I’ll repeat the stroke. Bend over again please. Three more to come.”
By the end, my bottom felt as though it was on fire. I was conscious of letting out a small yelp after each one, and by the end a few tears were escaping to run down my cheeks. Here I was, 29 years old, getting my bottom spanked like a naughty schoolgirl. I was soon back in my room and it was several minutes before my breathing returned to normal. My head was spinning and it was difficult to order my thoughts. I didn’t feel any antagonism towards John. He said that he would slipper me if I didn’t maintain his high standards, and I certainly was less than perfect on the gardening tasks. Also, I was left with an unfamiliar glow which I can’t anticipated. Not at all unpleasant!
John was fine when I went back through to see him and we spent a pleasant couple of hours chatting and dispatching a bottle of his rather delicious Sauvingon Blanc. The garden turned out to be my achiles heal though. My punishments were not regular or predictable, but Friday evening was mostly when they would take place. It maybe averaged a slippering every three or four weeks and they would tend to be either four or six whacks with the tennis shoe. I clearly remember the first time I got the slipper during the following spring time when I had gone from wearing jeans to my summer dresses.
John was not happy with the way I was looking after the lawns, and one Friday he told me after supper that I was going to get six of the best. His policy, I knew, was to spank over one layer of clothing which fitted with him allowing me to keep my jeans on, given that a thong provides no extra protection to that area. As usual, I bent over while John fetched the shoe. I was half expecting it, but it was still a bit of a shock when I felt John lift the back of my skirt, laying it down my back towards my head. I knew then that he had a view of most of my bottom and that my thin lacy panties would not be absorbing much of the impact from his shoe.
I didn’t detect any let up in the severity of the punishment, though. Six firm strokes onto my almost bare bottom. I was shrieking with the pain but managed to keep a hold of my ankles. I was properly crying at the end but he took a few moments before he told me that I could stand up. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as he no doubt took his fill of my shapely bottom. On his word, I was up clutching my buttocks and ran out of the room. Once again, though, we followed this with a perfectly pleasant evening together.
This pattern continued throughout the summer months. I would have to say that I did everything I could to avoid the punishments but there was no doubt that as the months went by I got more tolerant of the pain and my bottom took less time to recover. I would also have to say that there was a side to the beatings that I secretly came to enjoy. The lifting of my dress, the feeling of that shoe touching my bottom and that lovely afterglow all contributed to a change in how I regarded these episodes.
There was also no doubt that John was an attractive man; a lean, athletic body, a powerful job and clearly a high earner. I didn’t see much of him at the weekends when he would often be away playing golf, cycling with his friends or watching his beloved Wolves. He seemed to be popular socially but while I lived in his house there was never any sign of a girlfriend. I concluded that it must be too soon after his wife’s death for any serious relationships to develop.
During that summer I also occasionally thought about the cane on top of the dresser. Sometimes, during the week when John was at work, I would reach up and fetch it down to look at it. I would weigh it in my hands, swish it through the air and imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end. It wasn’t difficult to work out that it would be quite a step up from a slippering and I wondered if I would ever qualify for this more severe type of punishment. As the autumn approached, I concluded that John was satisfied infrequent slipperings were enough to maintain my standard of work.
One Thursday near the end of September changed everything. I hadn’t been slippered for several weeks and I was well on top of the garden work which, as stated, was the chief source of aggravation. It was raining that morning so I decided that I would give the sitting room a thorough clean. I was rushing because I had arranged to play tennis with a friend in the afternoon when the forecast promised sunny intervals. In my haste, I managed to knock a glass bowl off one of the side tables and on impact with the wooden floor it shattered into a thousand pieces. I was annoyed with myself as I am not naturally clumsy. Anyway, I cleared it up and went to the tennis club without giving it too much thought. When I got back I showered, put on my prettiest summer frock and waited for John to return from work.
I had cooked him a nice supper and we ate it together at his kitchen table. When he had finished, I told him about the glass bowl. I could tell immediately that he was not happy.
“That was a wedding present from my wife’s parents,” he informed me. “That’s a shame, but I suppose these things happen.”
There was a bit of an awkward silence. I looked down at the table waiting for him to speak again.
“I’m going to cane you for this, Hannah,” he said eventually. “I cane girls bent over the back of the sofa in the sitting room. Please go through there and get yourself ready. Before you go, though, please remove your panties and leave them here on the table.”
My heart began to race at the implication of this request.
“Oh, John,” I stammered, “Surely that isn’t necessary?”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. To me, this is a serious error and only a caning will suffice. I know normally you retain a layer of clothing, but the cane is totally different. However hard I hit you with the shoe, I know that I can’t really do you any lasting damage. The cane is different. I need to see the affect I’m having on you. Don’t worry. I’m experienced in using it. It will be painful but it will soon be over. Please do as I ask.”
I got up from the table and put both hands up my dress, searching for the elastic in my knickers. I eased them over my bottom and down my thighs until they were able to drop around my ankles. They were my best white satin panties. I bent down, took them off and placed them on the end of the table. The sight of them, bright white against the dark wood, is a picture that will be with me for evermore. I turned and went through to the other room. As I left the kitchen I could see John stretching up to the top of the dresser.
John’s sofa was a brown leather Chesterfield style piece with a characteristic low rolled back. I wasn’t difficult to work out that John wanted me over the back of it with my feet on the ground, my arms over the cushion below and my bottom perched on the highest point, perfectly presented for his cane. As I prepared myself, John came into the sitting room cane in hand. He came up behind me and lifted my skirt. This was the first time John had seen my totally naked bottom.
“OK, Hannah, I’m going to give you six strokes of the cane. Please keep still and stay in position. You may find it helpful to grip the far edge of the cushion. This will help you stay down and will give you some release from the pain. I will tell you when you can get up. Your bottom is actually quite small. I will try to space the cane strokes out so that they don’t overlap. This will be better for you, but I can’t give you any guarantees. Is that all clear, Hannah?”
“Yes, John,” I replied.
“Are you ready?” He asked. I could already feel the cane resting on my skin.
“Yes, John,” I said again.
As with being slippered for the first time, the initial cane stroke was a considerable shock to my system. There are only two noises with a slippering; the crash of the implement into my bottom, and my anguished cries or yelps. With the cane there are three noises. The same two, plus the swish of the cane as it passes through the air. This noise gives you a split second warning of what is about to happen. It isn’t helpful. That first one was the worst and I quickly learnt I learnt that no amount of slippering prepares you for your first caning.
I must admit that I was somewhat noisy. It was the only way that I could cope! I let out a sharp cry after each stroke and by the second half my fingernails were digging into the leather cushion. I was really thinking that I wouldn’t be able to see it through. And then it was over. My whole body was heaving as I gulped in huge lungfuls of air between gentle sobs. John didn’t tell me that I could get up and my legs felt like jelly. I would probably have struggled to stand in those first few moments.
“Are you OK, Hannah?” I heard John ask in a low, soft voice.
“I expect I’ll survive!” I replied in as light a voice as possible. “That was seriously sore. Is it a bit of a mess?”
“Not too bad,” replied John. “Do you want me to rub some cream into it?”
“Yes please, John.”
“OK, stay where you are, Hannah.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him go back into kitchen and then I heard the rattle of the cane as it was placed back on top of the dresser. I then heard him go upstairs to the bathroom, and he was soon back at my side in the sitting room. He removed the top off a bottle and soon I could feel the cold liquid on my skin. John’s strong hands were then working over my bottom, rubbing the cream into my welts. It was wonderfully soothing. I then felt his hands rubbing the insides of my inner thighs and before long he had found my sweet spot and I was becoming seriously aroused. By this stage I was making low moaning noises to encourage him to keep going.
At that point it had been well over a year since I had last enjoyed the touch of a man and I had quite forgotten that exquisite mix of anticipation and nervousness during the early stages of a sexual encounter. The caning had been tough to take but I suspect that it had given me an endorphin rush coupled with a heightened flow of blood to that part of my body. The result was a massive desire for John to do whatever he wanted with me.
His hands left my body briefly and within a moment I felt him come deep inside me. He was gentle with me but it wasn’t long before I felt that I had finally arrived in heaven! Afterwards we lay naked in each other’s arms on the rug in front of his sitting room fire.
Eventually he spoke. “Hannah, will you sleep with me in my bed tonight?”
“Of course, John,” I replied.
I didn’t spend another night sleeping in that flat on my own. John and I shared a bed from that day onwards and on a lovely spring day six months later we were married. It was a big wedding at a country house style hotel on the edge of the city and we had just over two hundred guests. My parents, who it must be said were massively disappointed with how my life had been spiralling downwards, adore John and looked so happy on my second wedding day. They knew nothing of the requirements that went with the position of John’s housekeeper and, the way things have turned out, it doesn’t matter what brought us together.
John told me recently that he got over thirty applications for his job. He only offered the opportunity to females between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five, and only thirteen actually turned up for an interview at his house. Of those thirteen, four contacted him to say that they weren’t prepared to run the risk of corporal punishment, which left the total of nine final contenders. He said that I was the prettiest girl and the only one to show interest in seeing his implements of punishment. That was good enough for him!
We have been married for a year now and I couldn’t be happier. We have a daughter who is a few months old and another baby on the way. I have never asked John why he didn’t have children with his first wife, but it is obvious that he is completely smitten with his first born and is a total natural with all aspects of childcare. What is also amazing is that from the day of the caning John has treated me totally as an equal. Yes, he still spanks my bottom on a reasonably regular basis, but it is a welcome part of our love making. I couldn’t be happier.
There is a simple moral to my story. Never give up on the thought that there might be something nice around the next corner. One of the ‘benefits’ of being with John is that I get to go with him to all the Wolves games at Molineux! He says that I got what I deserved in life because, in his view, ‘I was prepared to put myself in the penalty box’. This is where the action is and you never know what opportunities may come your way.
© Julie Baker 2018