Paying the Rent

A student struggles to pay the rent

 By Julie Baker 

My name is Jessica and I was born in Newcastle in 1991. I have a sister called Lauren who is just over a year older than me. We have always been very close to each other with plenty of shared experiences and rarely any secrets between us. We went to the same schools in Newcastle and often played in the same sports teams despite not being in the same school years. We eventually went to different universities, but even this didn’t stop us spending a lot of time together.

Physically, we very much take after our mother. She is tall and was very much a beauty in her day. We’ve inherited our slim, athletic body shapes from her, along with her blond hair and fair skin. We are obviously sisters in appearance with similar facial looks and we both have toned bodies with tight, firm bottoms and small soft breasts. I must confess that I have always been proud of my appearance, and I’ve always enjoyed showing my body off if the opportunity presents itself!

My sister and I were also quite gifted academically. My mother is a hairdresser and I’ve no doubt that she would be the first to admit that school was not her strongest suit. My father is a long distance lorry driver, but the school system failed him badly in his day. He didn’t get much encouragement from his parents when he was at school and left when he was 15. He did various manual jobs and then got his HGV license when he was in his early twenties. However, when he is away from home he reads some amazing books and when you talk to him he has views and ideas on a very wide circle of topics. There is no doubt that our brains come from our Dad!

Dad’s work tended to take him away from home for up to 3 weeks at a time. He has always been a softy with his girls and it has largely been left to Mum to establish the ground rules for Lauren and me, and to enforce discipline when required. Mum’s problem has always been that Lauren and I are inclined to argue and debate with her, and because we are quite smart, she quickly becomes frustrated. I suspect that this is what drove her to punishing us physically, given that she struggled to win any arguments with us!

When we were very young we would get the occasional slap on the legs but as we got older she would slipper us on our bottoms as we lay across her lap. This was always done over one layer of clothing and, to be honest, it stung a bit but the punishment was more about our shame rather than ever getting properly hurt. This changed when we became teenagers. Mum then used a heavy leather belt on our bottoms. I don’t know where the belt came from originally but it was kept in the bottom drawer of the dresser in our dining room. When required, we were told to bend over the arm of the leather sofa in the lounge and Mum would fetch the belt from next door.

These punishments were on a different level. Mum would come back into the lounge and fold the belt in half. She would then fold the buckle and loose end a further time to form a sort of handle. I will always remember the sound of the leather squeaking as she griped the end of the belt tightly in her hand. The belt was still applied over one layer of clothing but it packed a considerable punch. We got given between four and six lashes; I was always in tears by the end. After Mum had finished with us we were always sent to our bedrooms to reflect and calm down. Once in my bedroom my routine was to strip naked and inspect the damage in my full length mirror. I would be able to see the imprint of the belt on my skin, enabling me to accurately count the number of strokes that I had suffered. I would then slip under my duvet and gently rub my poor bottom until the soreness subsided.

Mum never gave us the belt or the slipper while Dad was at home. He must have known that we were chastised in this way but any punishments were saved up until the day after he went to work. Waiting for those days only made the punishments worse. My very last belting at home occurred in the summer before I went away to university. Smoking was not allowed at home. I don’t smoke now but back then I would enjoy an occasional cigarette. Generally this was done away from home but on odd occasions I would have one at home leaning out of my bedroom window. This day I was doing just that shortly before going to bed. Unfortunately Mum spotted me when she went into the back yard to put the bins out.

She went ballistic and I was ordered downstairs to be punished. I was wearing my lovely ivory coloured satin nightie that Mum and Dad had given me a few weeks before. It was mid thigh, although by the time I was bent over the arm of the sofa the back had ridden up so that it was just covering my bottom. Mum followed the normal routine of fetching the belt and I saw her preparing it ready to use it on my bottom. I’m telling you about this particular belting because Mum deviated from her normal format in one crucial detail which maybe had an influence on how events unfolded further down the line.

I’m not sure if she was concerned about damaging my nightdress or whether she wanted to make a particular point, but before she started she raised the back of my nightie, exposing my bare bottom. She then proceeded to lay on six hard strokes of the belt onto my naked flesh. I’m not sure if it was the lack of that thin covering or the fact that Mum hit me harder than normal, but that was easily the most painful experience that I had ever had with that belt. I was properly hurt but, I have to confess, strangely energised by the experience at the same time. As I lay under the duvet I could feel my whole body glow in a not unpleasant fashion.

Lauren had gone off to Leeds University the autumn before that last spanking. I went to York University to study Geography a year after Lauren had left home. That first year in York was simply brilliant. Initially, I would see Lauren most weekends, either in York or Leeds, but it wasn’t long before I had acquired, so I thought at the time, a rather nice boyfriend called James. He was also studying Geography and by the start of the summer term we decided that we would get a one bedroom flat to share for our second year. We found the perfect place just outside the city walls, between the city centre and the university campus, which was a couple of miles further out.

The flat was above a florists shop on the end of a brick built terrace of five shops in total. Our bedroom and kitchen were at the back and we had a good sized living room/dining room at the front with a small shower room above the stairs between us and next door. It was therefore incredibly quiet and reasonably affordable, given that we were sharing the rent.

Unfortunately, by Christmas our relationship was beginning to unravel. From being madly in love, we rapidly deteriorated to the point where we were barely on speaking terms. Obviously I would like to blame James, but in reality we were simply not compatible. He was sleeping on the sofa and I was absolutely aching for a way out of the situation. Just before the holidays James told me that he had been offered a room in a friend’s house and that he would go, so long as I took on the rental of the flat on my own.

I should have negotiated some sort of financial settlement with him, but I was desperately unhappy with the setup as it was and managed to convince myself that I could just about manage the rent on my own. However, by the following February I realised that I was getting myself into real financial difficulties. I phoned Lauren, burst into tears and asked if she could come over the following weekend to try to find a solution.

“Don’t worry, Jess. I think that I can help,” was all she said at the end of our conversation.

A couple of days later she was sat in the front room of my flat.

“So, Lauren, what’s your great idea to get me out of this mess?” I opened up with.

“OK Jess, here is how it is. You know that we have never had secrets from one another? Well I’ve been keeping a massive secret from you and everyone else over the last year. You know when you started to go out with James last year, it coincided with me seeing less of you at weekends? Well, it also coincided with me getting into a group of friends who organised spanking parties. To start with, it was just a few university friends who came together via Facebook, but it soon widened out into events all over Leeds. I feel a bit embarrassed telling you this, but I absolutely love it! Then the penny dropped that I should be charging the men who wanted to spank my bottom. I therefore got my name and contact details onto a ‘spankee’ website and now men are paying me £140 per hour for the privilege of spanking my bottom. I don’t have any suitable premises so I mainly meet my clients in hotel rooms that they are paying for. I maybe only see two or three men each week, but it is fun and the money is great.”

I was totally gobsmacked. I really didn’t know what to say.

However, she was off on one and hardly paused for breath.

“And you have the perfect premises here. You have your own private entrance, on-street parking outside, an isolated sound-proofed room and a beautiful, young body to offer. It’s a license to print money! To cap it all, you are not totally new to getting corporal punishment. Mum saw to that for us! What do you think Jess?”

There was a stunned silence. It was probably for 30 seconds but it felt like 5 minutes.

“I don’t know what to say, Lauren,” I said eventually. “I certainly didn’t see that one coming!”

It took a bit more time before I had ordered my thoughts.

“Well, it’s a fact that I need to do something to get out of this jam. You are right that we are not new to getting our backsides spanked. Funnily enough, that side of it really isn’t a problem for me. How do you know what sort of people are going to turn up?” I asked.

“You don’t,” replied Lauren. “All I can say is that, so far, they have all been fine with me. Some I have seen once, and I’ve now got three clients who come to see me regularly, but they have all been quite respectful and have stuck within the boundaries that we agreed at the outset. Nothing is guaranteed, but it’s no more risky than meeting anyone over the internet. I’ve got a panic alarm, but I’ve never had to use it.”

“Do they pay with cash?” I inquired.

“Yes, cash only, as I assume most of them are petrified that they might be traced. I always ask for payment at the start of the session and I make sure they know the terms in advance.”

“What would I need to get going, Lauren?” By this stage, I knew that I was giving signals to my sister that this plan might be a runner.

“Well, I did give this some thought before I came, Jess. Here is what I would propose. First off, I’ll lend you £500. This will help with next month’s rent but you will also need to invest a bit in this project. First of all, get yourself booked in for a trip home next weekend. You will need to get your old school uniform back here to York. You were wearing it 18 months ago and it will still fit you perfectly. You will need to offer to dress up for your clients and the school uniform is far and away the most popular request. You could also offer them the classic student look of tight blue jeans and tee shirt, or alternatively that lovely blue summer frock that you often wear in warm weather. A few different types or knickers and thongs would give you more than enough options. Next, you will need to buy some spanking implements. I’ll give you the website for this, but I would go initially for a couple of crook handled canes, one thick and one thin, a leather tawse and a wooden paddle. I would then go to the local charity shops to get a reasonably heavy leather belt, like Mum’s, and some old shoes suitable for delivering a slippering. Some clients like to use a wooden spoon on me, but presumably you’ll have some of these anyway.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure mine are suitable for that purpose.”

“Never mind, that’s a detail. My point is that you will need to be able to offer a bit of variety as every client has different needs. You will then need to think of a name to work under, and create an email address. Next you will need to go and buy a basic smart phone with a number that you’ll keep solely for dealing with your clients. Some like to email, some like to text, and some prefer to phone you for a chat before committing. I suggest you then advertise on the same ‘spankee’ website that I work with, and create a Twitter account as this is another good way to publicise your services. All of this will cost money but I’ll guarantee that you’ll be getting it back very quickly.”

“OK, Lauren. I think I’m getting the picture. I can see that this is a way of bringing in some quick cash and I like the idea that there is nothing sexual involved. Will I be expected to spank them if they ask?”

“Some do ask, Jess, but it’s entirely up to you. Clearly this will involve some degree of undressing by them and it’s your call if you are comfortable with that. I’m OK with it, but you should think about it and make it clear what you are offering. So, what are you thinking?”

Even talking about it was setting the butterflies racing in my tummy. I was both horrified at the prospect of a strange man not only seeing my bare bottom, but also applying a cane to it, but another part of me was already enjoying the thrill and tension. I knew then that I would go for it.

“OK I’m in, Lauren. What happens next?”

Lauren had clearly got a plan before she came to see me.

“I’ll transfer you the £500 tomorrow and you get yourself organised to go up to Newcastle next weekend to get your school uniform. As soon as the money is in your account, get the canes, paddle and tawse ordered up off the net, and you’ve got a bit more time to assemble the other implements. I haven’t told you this before, but I met my boyfriend at a spanking party and I suggest both of us come to see you at the end of next week to organise your publicity.”

I had met Lauren’s boyfriend, Jack, on several occasions during nights out in Leeds and York. I instinctively both liked him and trusted him.

“Yes, that sounds fine,” I replied. “Thanks, Lauren. I’m really grateful for your help.”

“No problem, Jess. We’ll come up next Friday, unless you phone to say that there is a problem. The key things we’ll need are your outfits and spanking implements. Jack will bring his camera and that is all we will need. You will need to take a few spankings on the day, though, so be prepared!”

We both laughed. Lauren’s laugh sounded natural. Mine sounded nervous.

Everything went according to plan over the next week, and soon after my doorbell rang, just after lunch on that Friday, Lauren and Jack were sitting down in my front room.

“This is perfect,” enthused Jack. “The sun is streaming through your window and the light will be perfect for the pictures.”

Lauren then took over. “Here’s my plan, Jess. We need one really good photo for the spankees website. I suggest that you put on your school uniform and we’ll get a photo of you bent over the end of your dining table with your knickers down to your knees and the back of your skirt raised. You have a terrific bottom and that will surely bring the punters in. Then we’ll need a few shots for your Twitter account. This is more about telling a story. I suggest we get Jack to give you a gentle slippering to get your bottom warmed up and a little bit pink. I’ll take loads of pictures and we’ll be able to use some of them. Finally, Jack will need to give you a reasonably stiff caning. We will need some photos showing off your nice cane marks!”

And this is what we did. Jack was clearly delighted to play his part, but he was both professional and sympathetic when needed. I felt a little embarrassed showing him my bottom at first but I soon relaxed and actually quite enjoyed getting the slippering. The cane was incredibly painful, though, and there were a few tears at the end of that part. Nevertheless, we ended up with a great photo of me over the end of the table and about 20 other perfectly usable pictures, including a lovely one of me standing in the sun by the window in my summer frock. I was looking over my shoulder and lifting the hem to partially reveal my bare bottom, complete with cane markings.

Lauren came back the following week to get me on the spankee website and to set up my Twitter account. I had decided to call myself ‘Submissive Jessie’. The website entry was quite straight forward. Lauren and I composed a short piece about myself and what I was offering, and included both my new phone number and my email address. We attached the photo of my unmarked, pale skinned bottom bent over the table and paid the initial fee. We then opened up a Twitter account in my working name and put up my first tweet introducing myself as a novice spankee. We posted the same picture of my bottom and Lauren suggested following this up over the next few days with various tweets about my services, including hash tags on key words, along with new photos.

Lauren also gave me a taste of every implement that I had assembled during that visit. She tried the tawse on both my hands and my bottom, and everything else was used on my bottom only. There was no doubt that the cane was the most painful, and Lauren confirmed that it was likely to be most men’s favourite. She advised asking clients to be careful with this implement, especially the thin whippier version. However, she also confirmed that the more I was spanked the less I would bruise, and the more resilient my skin would become. She said that she easily coped with three sessions per week, but she advised me to stick to one client a week to start with. Men generally preferred to start with an unmarked bottom if at all possible.

It didn’t take long for the first contacts to start rolling in. I quickly learnt that there would be the inevitable time wasters who were simply looking for a free thrill, but it wasn’t difficult to spot these, and within a week I had my first firm booking; 2.00 pm on a Tuesday afternoon for an hour. His name was Greg and he agreed to pay me £160 in cash. I got him to text me that morning and then phone me an hour before our appointment so that I could give him my address. He asked me to greet him in my normal student attire of jeans and a sweatshirt, but asked if I would put on my school uniform later. I was happy to confirm that this was fine with me.

I was incredibly nervous in the minutes before he arrived. I repeatedly went to the loo and each time I looked at my bottom in the mirror to check for marks and reassure myself that it was looking good. I put on my best fitting Levis and a white silky thong beneath so that I would be showing no pantie lines. I wore a matching bra, white cotton blouse and a dark blue crew neck sweatshirt. White socks and trainers completed the student look. I had already laid out all of my spanking implements on the table. Two canes, the tawse, the paddle, the leather belt, a couple of long wooden spoons, a white plimsoll and a smooth soled open toe sandal.

Greg looked to be about 40 when he arrived, with a slim build and a very kind and caring manner. He appeared slightly nervous himself, but I made him a cup of tea and we were soon relaxed in each other’s company. We talked about student life in York and then he asked me about my experiences of being spanked, which implements I enjoyed and how well I coped with being physically punished. I was quite honest with him and described how I was spanked with a belt at home and that this type of work was new to me. Lauren had warned me that eventually I would likely have to take the lead.

“So, Greg, do you want to start off by giving me the slipper over my jeans?” I asked when we had finished our tea.

“OK, Jessie, that sounds good to me. Six of the best, but I’ll go easy on you. Can you stand up and bend over so that you are touching your toes?”

Suddenly, he was acting much more confidently. He selected the plimsoll and, after a pause, presumably to admire the target, he gave me six reasonably firm smacks on my bottom in quick succession.

My spanking career was underway! The stinging in my bottom built as the slippering progressed and I was rubbing hard as I stood up. He gave me a gentle squeeze and gently rubbed by bottom with his right hand. I was fine with this.

I had hung my school uniform on the back of the door. After he had released me, I was still massaging my bottom when Greg gave me further directions.

“Can you put on your school uniform, Jessie, and I’ll give you the cane when you have recovered from the slippering, if that’s OK with you?”

I had already told him that if he was going to use the cane on me he would have to go reasonably gently. I had also decided that I wouldn’t leave him alone in any of my rooms, but this meant that any changes of clothing would need to be done within his full view. I went over to the table and removed my sweatshirt and blouse, placing them on one of my chairs. I then took off my trainers, but left my socks on. I then lowered my jeans and hung them over the back of the chair. I removed my thong, which left me naked apart from my bra and socks. I could almost feel Greg’s eyes burning into the back of me. It wasn’t long before my bottom was once again covered, this time in my regulation navy knickers, and the rest of my school uniform was soon in place.

“Thanks, Jessie. That was lovely, thank you. You have a great figure.”

“Thanks, Greg. Where do you want me for the cane?” I asked.

Greg went over to the table and selected the thinner cane. My heart sank a little as I knew this one stung more than the thicker one.

“I would like you to bend over the end of the table, if that’s OK with you?” he suggested. He went on without waiting for a reply. “I’m planning to give you three strokes over your skirt and knickers, three more with your skirt raised, and the final three onto your bare bottom. Don’t worry, I’ll not be too hard on you,” he tried to reassure me.

I didn’t answer him and, with a pounding heart, I lowered myself on the table, legs together and bottom presented for Greg to cane. The first three strokes were not too bad as the cane fought to get any purchase through the pleated skirt. Then I could feel him lifting the back of my dress to reveal my knickers. The next three were considerably worse with only one thin layer for protection. I then felt his fingers inside my knicker elastic and soon they were being gently lowered until they were around my ankles. For the first time that day I felt the cane resting on my bare skin. He gave me a couple of taps and then the first one of this batch of three landed. What a shock! Much worse than the previous six and I let out a little yelp.

“You OK, Jessie?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” I replied. “Just.”

Two more strokes of that cane and, by the end, I was breathing deeply and struggling not to have a little cry. This I managed, but as I stood up I could feel a few tears running down my cheeks. I turned and faced him. He also looked a bit distressed when he met my eyes.

“You alright, Jessie? I’ve not hurt you too much, have I?” he inquired.

“No, I think I’m fine, Greg. Thanks for asking, though,” I replied.

“Can I have a look at the damage?” he asked.

I turned around and lifted my skirt so he could get a good look.

“A bit red and I can count six clear cane stripes on your skin,” he informed me. “I don’t think the first three made much impression.”

We chatted for a few more minutes and then his hour was up. He thanked me for being a great sport and handed me the £160 in £20 notes. He said that he would love to come back for another session, and he was soon gone. I sat on my sofa with a glass of wine in total silence, dressed still in my old school uniform, and just reflecting on what had happened to me in the last hour. My bottom was throbbing still from the onslaught, but my whole body felt tingly and energised. I was hooked. I needed the money but I also loved the nervous tension and thrill of taking the pain.

Within two months I had paid back Lauren and moved into profit. Greg came back to see me roughly every six weeks and I soon had more clients than I could reasonably cope with. I edged up my rates for new clients slightly, and this led to some balance in the demand for my services. Lauren was right, and when I got into the swing of it I could happily cope with about three sessions per week.

I kept on that flat for my final year at university, and by the time I graduated I had a pretty healthy bank account. In those eighteen months, I had the odd client who was not particularly pleasant, but I never felt in any danger and I didn’t offer follow up sessions to anyone I didn’t like. This side line maybe hampered my ability to date anyone for the rest of my time in York, but not one of my student friends had any idea of the work I did to make ends meet.

Time has moved on. I closed down my business after I graduated and left York. I am totally happy with what I did, but I have never had any desire to return to that part of my life. I do now have a steady boyfriend and I’m a qualified accountant working in the banking sector in London. My boyfriend likes to give me a spanking from time to time, but he knows nothing of my past paid work. Only Lauren, Jack and my York clients will ever know about how I got to pay my rent on that student flat.

The End

© Julie Baker 2018

Julie is happy to correspond with readers via Twitter @JulieBaker_cane, or email: julie.baker_cane@mail.com


Tags: