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Vicki learns a lesson - Part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
VICKI LEARNS A LESSON
Submitted By Mistress Kay
Monday
Vicki did a slow, graceful pirouette in the confines of
the dressing room, seeing herself from different perspectives in
each of the three full-length mirrors. She was, she told herself
happily, absolutely stunning in the emerald-green bikini. Danny
couldn't fail to notice her--not if she wore this to the senior
class swimming party!
The thought of Danny made her knees go weak. She saw the
top of the bikini in the mirror sprout little knobs as her
nipples hardened abruptly. Her face reddened at the thought that
a swimming suit could advertise her feelings so readily.
For four years--all her life, really--Vicki had
maintained what her teachers called a "wholesome" image. She'd
behaved in class, done her homework, made good grades, lettered
on the girls' track team, joined after-school clubs, never cut
classes, said "no" to booze and drugs. It had always been a
foregone conclusion that she would go to college after high
school, and in the past few months she'd received an almost
embarrassing variety of scholarships, based both on her
scholastic record and her civic contributions.
At the same time she knew, as a matter of calm certainty,
that she was the best looking girl in her class. Most of her
fellow students would agree that she had the prettiest face, but
a number of girls were commonly regarded as sexier. That was
because they tended to have dirty mouths and wore clothes that
her parents had taught her to regard as "trashy." Vicki had seen
those girls taking showers after gym class, and there was no
doubt at all that her breasts were fuller and rounder, her
stomach flatter, her thighs trimmer and her butt firmer, than
those of any of those "sexier" girls.
No one else knew that, because Vicki wore clothes that,
while attractive, did little to call attention to her figure,
just as her reputation as a good student and all around "nice
girl" tended to discourage boys' speculative attempts to get
inside her clothes. The last two years she'd dated a lot, going
out with a number of the most popular boys but never limiting
herself to one exclusively. Kissing, even French kissing, was
O.K., but she had never let a boy feel her, not even her breasts.
It wasn't that she was a prude, she was sure of that. She wasn't
determined to be a virgin when she got married, or anything so
extreme, but none of the boys she'd met so far seemed all that
special to her.
Until Danny. Danny who'd transferred to her high school
midway through senior year, Danny the third baseman, Danny the
soccer forward, Danny who washed his car on Saturday morning
wearing only ragged cutoffs. Vicki suppressed a giggle as she
remembered thinking, five minutes after she'd seen Danny washing
his car, that her pants were probably wetter than his!
The problem was that Danny had never seemed to notice her
as anyone special. He'd say hi to her in the hall, but he had
never asked her out, and she never caught him looking at her the
way a lot of the boys did. Vicki knew he'd gone out with other
girls, but he didn't seem to have anyone special either.
To get Danny's attention, Vicki was prepared to relax her
nice-girl image. (In fact, Vicki knew, if Danny suggested it she
was prepared to relax more than her image!) The senior swim
party looked like her best opportunity. It was two weeks away,
after senior exams but before graduation, and everyone would be
there. All she had to do was be more noticeable than any of the
other girls. The swim party would, in a sense, be her "coming
out" party, and no one who saw her wearing the emerald bikini
would ever see her again, no matter what she wore, in the same
way they'd seen her before.
Vicki was pretty sure her parents wouldn't approve of a
suit like this one--the bottom wasn't much bigger than the
top--and she felt guilty about having to deceive them, but they
weren't very likely to find out. What made her feel even more
guilty was that, for the first time in her life, she was about to
steal something.
The price tag on the strapless bikini was an even sixty
dollars, and Vicki had exactly $38.47. She'd brought several
cheaper suits into the dressing room and tried them on first, but
none of the others looked even half as good on her. Her mother
would probably advance her enough money, but not without asking
why, and Vicki decided that she would rather steal the bikini
than lie to her mother about why she wanted the loan.
Her purse seemed to be the only place to conceal
anything, and Vicki decided that if anyone got suspicious, her
own underwear would be less conspicuous in her purse than the
bright green of the bikini. She stuffed her bra and panties deep
into the purse, covering them with her hairbrush, her pocketbook
and a package of Kleenex, and quickly zipped herself into her
skirt and buttoned her blouse.
She was pretty sure that no one was using the dressing
room next to hers, so Vicki took the hanger on which the bikini
had hung and dropped it over the partition separating the two
rooms. It landed with a soft "thud" on the carpeted floor, but
there was no other sound. So far, so good.
Vicki gathered up the other suits and their hangers and
stepped out of the dressing room. A sales clerk was ringing up a
purchase at the counter twenty feet or so away, but she seemed to
be paying no attention to the dressing rooms. Vicki walked over
the counter and waited until the clerk had finished with her
customer.
"I'm sorry," Vicki said. "None of these really seems to
be 'me'. Should I put them back on the hangers?" The sales
clerk thanked her for offering but said that she'd had more
practice and could do it quickly, so Vicki left the tangle of
cloth, plastic and wire on the counter and started toward the
front of the store. Her heart was pounding, and she expected at
any second to hear someone shout "stop, thief!"
The dreaded shout never came. Vicki stepped out the
front door and shuddered with relief. Involuntarily she looked
back into the store and saw a young man walking calmly toward
her. "Excuse me, miss, didn't you forget your purchase?", he
asked politely. He stopped several feet away from her.
"No," Vicki responded, walking toward him to avoid
raising her voice, "I tried some things on but decided not to buy
anything."
"I don't want to embarrass you," the young man said
apologetically, "but would you mind opening your purse for a
moment?"
Vicki felt her face turn scarlet. Thank God, she
thought, that I decided to wear it. She stepped closer to the
young man and handed him her purse. He opened the clasp and
began removing the items on top. Then he lifted her bra and
panties out and looked at her questioningly.
"Those are mine," she croaked, blushing furiously.
"Please put them back."
The young man complied, and replaced the other things
he'd taken from her purse, but he didn't hand the purse back to
her.
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come with me to the
manager's office," he told her. He sounded a little less polite
now. Without waiting for a response from her, he turned and
started walking toward the back of the store.
Vicki felt a nearly irresistible urge to turn and run
outside the store, but where could she go, what could she do?
The man had her purse, her car keys, and he would know who she
was and where she lived as soon as he looked in her wallet. She
forced her rubbery legs to follow the man.
He strode the length of the department store without
looking back until he had pushed through a swinging door marked
"Employees Only." He held the door open briefly for Vicki, then
knocked once on a closed door before turning the knob and
ushering Vicki into a small office. He closed the door behind
her and took her purse over to a desk at the side of the office.
"This is Frank Jameson, the general manager of the
store," he told her, nodding toward the man seated behind the
desk, and then backed out of the office and closed the door
quietly. Jameson said nothing, but opened Vicki's purse and
began spreading its contents out across his desk. When he came
to the bra and panties, he pushed the other items to one side.
He straightened the bra and laid it out in the middle of
his desk, cups upward and shoulder straps toward himself. Then
he smoothed the panties and placed them flat on the desk,
waistband toward the bra and about the same distance away as they
would have been if Vicki had been wearing both. Vicki felt as
though she, and not just her underwear, had been stretched flat
on Jameson's desk for him to gaze at.
When Jameson finally spoke, his voice was as cold as his
expression. "Why were you carrying these in your purse?", he
demanded, gesturing toward the lewdly arranged lingerie.
"I-I was going to a swimming party," Vicki stammered,
"and I wanted to change into those later."
"So you're wearing your swimsuit now?", asked Jameson.
Vicki nodded weakly.
"Let's see it." Jameson's words were a command, not a
request, and with trembling fingers Vicki unbuttoned her blouse
and pulled it open. Suddenly the emerald cloth seemed too
insubstantial to protect her from Jameson's leering eyes.
"Show me the rest of it," Jameson snapped, and Vicki
wondered whether he wanted to see the rest of the bikini or the
rest of her body. She thought about lifting her skirt to let him
see the bikini bottom, but somehow that seemed even more
degrading than taking the skirt off, so she unzipped it and let
it fall to the floor.
Vicki stood silently as Jameson made a complete circle
around her. She was sure that the brilliantly colored cloth had
turned as transparent as Saran Wrap under his probing inspection.
"Where did you get this bikini?", he demanded sharply.
"I got it here, a couple of weeks ago," Vicki answered.
It was her first outright lie, but she had a faint hope that
Jameson would accept it, even if he knew the suit had come from
his store.
Jameson's eyes gleamed. Suddenly, with a movement faster
than Vicki would have thought possible from someone of his bulk,
Jameson's hand snaked out and caught the front edge of the
bikini's waistband and rolled it halfway down. She cried out in
surprise and pain as his fingers jabbed through the flimsy cloth
into her abdomen, and then her heart sank--for there, nestled
among the upper wisps of her pubic hair, was the bikini's $60
price tag, still attached by its nylon filament!
"This suit," Jameson told her, jabbing at the tag with
his other index finger, "was just put on display yesterday." He
pulled his hand away and let the bikini snap back against her
skin.
Vicki began to sob. "All right," she choked, "I took it,
this morning. I didn't have enough money with me, but it was
just perfect, and I really needed it. I'll find some way to pay
for it."
With tears streaming down her face, Vicki stepped out of
her skirt and stumbled over to Jameson's desk. She found a
Kleenex among the things Jameson had pulled from her purse and
dabbed at her eyes. Jameson said nothing.
"Please," Vicki pleaded, "I've never stolen anything
before and I'll never do it again. Let me give you the money
I've got now and I'll bring the rest no later than the day after
tomorrow."
"I'm afraid that's not our policy, Miss . . . ." Jameson
opened her wallet and glanced at her driver's license.
"Wilkins," he finished. "Shoplifting costs us so much every year
that we've made a firm policy of turning anyone we catch over to
the police, and making sure they're prosecuted with maximum
publicity, in order to deter other thieves."
Vicki began to cry again. "Oh, no," she wailed. "I'm
graduating in two weeks. If you prosecute me, I'll get
suspended, they won't let me graduate, I'll lose my scholarships.
And it will just kill my parents! Please don't do that!"
"It's a little late to be thinking of those things now,"
Jameson responded. He listened to Vicki's weeping and pleading
for a minute or two, and then asked her "Would you like to know
how we knew you had stolen the suit?"
Vicki nodded, not sure why that made any difference now,
but willing to do anything to delay her inevitable doom.
"Come with me to the security office," Jameson
instructed, and opened the back door of his office. Vicki
followed him out the door and down a flight of stairs that led to
the basement under the store. The stairwell was drafty and Vicki
could feel goosebumps springing up all over her barely covered
body.
Jameson led her through an unmarked door and into another
office. This one was considerably bigger than Jameson's, and
nicer as well. The walls were paneled, the floor thickly
carpeted. The furnishings included a sofa, several easy chairs,
a huge desk with glass to protect its wood surface, and wooden
shelves stacked with electronic equipment, including a whole row
of what looked like small television sets. Below them was one of
the largest television screens Vicki had ever seen.
"Those little TV screens," Jameson told her, "are hooked
to cameras above each of our dressing rooms."
Vicki was horrified. "You mean you sit here and spy on
people trying on clothes?", she demanded.
"I don't," Jameson answered. "We have a woman who
monitors the cameras for the women's dressing rooms part of the
time and a man who monitors the men's area part time. I only get
called when they see something like this."
Jameson punched some buttons and snow appeared on the big
TV screen. The snow turned into some wavy lines, and then the
picture cleared.
Vicki gasped as she recognized herself on the screen.
She watched herself remove first her blouse and then her skirt.
She saw her breasts spring into view, and then the dark thatch of
her pubic region. The camera was well above her, but every
detail was shown in perfect clarity, even the little mole on the
right side of her bottom. She felt nauseous as she watched her-
self trying on each of the different suits, stripping it off and
putting on the next, until finally she put her clothes on over
the green bikini.
"My God, that's outrageous," Vicki hissed at Jameson
after the screen had gone dark.
"We will, of course, have to give that tape to the
police," Jameson observed, "to prove to them that we had good
cause to detain you. And I'm sure it will be very effective
evidence at your trial, too."
"Oh, no," Vicki moaned in horror. In addition to all of
the other humiliations she had foreseen, God only knew how many
people would see her totally naked on the tape. Half the cops in
town would get copies to show on their VCR's at home, and
everyone would know about it.
"Please," she begged, "there has to be some way, I mean,
I'll do anything you say to make it up to you, but please, please
don't go to the police."
Jameson looked at her for perhaps two minutes, though it
seemed like two hours to Vicki, without saying a word. Finally
he sighed. "Look," he said, "you're a thief, and as far as I'm
concerned you deserve all the things you say are going to happen
to you. There's no way I'm going to let you just walk away from
this."
Vicki broke into despairing sobs again, but stifled them
when Jameson continued speaking.
"On the other hand, I suppose if you get kicked out of
school you'll probably wind up on welfare, living on my tax
dollars and stealing besides, and I don't need that either. So,
Miss Wilkins, I'll give you a choice."
"What kind of choice?", Vicki asked hesitantly. Not that
it mattered a whole lot, because anything had to be better than
being turned over to the police.
"You can take your punishment publicly, through the
'system', or you can have it privately, right here," Jameson
replied.
"What do you mean, what sort of private punishment?",
Vicki inquired.
"A spanking, Miss Wilkins, that will be as painful to you
as being prosecuted publicly--that you will remember the rest of
your life, and will remember especially clearly if you ever think
of stealing anything again."
Vicki was both shocked and relieved. She'd been
expecting Jameson to demand that she have sex with him, and she
thought she probably would have agreed; as loathsome as the idea
was, it would have been less ruinous than the alternative. But a
spanking! Vicki couldn't remember the last time she'd been
spanked, though she recalled that she had received a few
spankings as a small child, for running into the street, poking
things into electric sockets or really dangerous behavior like
that. Being spanked like a child would be humiliating, but it
was better than what she'd feared, and certainly better than
having that tape spread all over town.
"Well, Miss Wilkins," Jameson interrupted her thoughts.
"Which is it going to be? Public discipline or private?"
"Private, please," Vicki whispered.
"All right," said Jameson. "Then let's get a couple of
rules straight right now. First, the kind of spanking I'm
talking about will take more than one session. Today is Monday,
and we'll start today, but I want you back here at four o'clock
sharp each afternoon this week; our last session will be on
Friday. Is that clear?"
Vicki felt the muscles in her bottom tighten
involuntarily. This was going to be worse than she'd thought,
but what other choice was there? She nodded to Jameson.
"You'd better be on time," he continued, "because if
you're five minutes late I'll think you've changed your mind, and
your file will go to the police." Jameson looked to be sure she
was listening.
"Second rule," he went on. "When you come here each day,
you are to be wearing that bikini you have on now--I want to be
sure you remember the connection between the crime and the
punishment. Do you accept those rules?"
Vicki nodded mutely, and Jameson walked over to the sofa
and sat down. "Good," he said, "let's get started. Take your
clothes off."
Vicki shrugged out of her already unbuttoned blouse but
begged to be allowed to leave the scanty bikini in place.
"I don't see what you're so concerned about," Jameson
told her. "I've already seen you on television, wearing nothing.
Besides, I'm not going to spank you with your clothes on."
"Please," Vicki pleaded, "I'll take the top off . . . ."
She matched her words with the action, exposing her breasts for
the first time--intentionally--to a man other than her doctor.
"But let me keep the bottom on. No one's ever seen me, down
there, I mean, and you couldn't see anything on the tape."
Her face and upper body were crimson with embarrassment,
and Jameson finally relented. He stood up, walked over to the
big desk and reached into one of the lower drawers. "You can
keep the bottom on," he said. "However," he interrupted her
thanks, "instead of spanking you by hand, as I had intended, I'm
going to use this."
He held up a black paddle-shaped object. It was a little
more than a foot long, with a round handle like a tennis racquet.
The "business end" was maybe two inches wide and seven inches
long; one face of the paddle part was smooth while the other was
perforated with holes about the size of a pencil.
Jameson returned to the sofa and sat on the edge. He
beckoned to Vicki, who walked shakily toward him, arms folded
across her chest. When she came within reach, Jameson grabbed
the waistband of her "monokini" and pulled her around to stand
beside his right leg. "Down," he instructed, "across my knees."
Obediently Vicki draped herself over his lap so that her
pelvis rested on Jameson's right leg and her breasts just cleared
the outside of his left leg. His arm rested heavily across the
small of her back, just above the bikini bottom. Her hands were
touching the carpet and she felt the blood rush to her head. She
tried to picture how she looked from Jameson's position, and
started trembling as she recalled how much of her bottom the
bikini left uncovered. Maybe she should have taken it off, she
thought, and avoided the paddling that was about to start.
Her fear was reinforced when Jameson rested the smooth,
cold face of the paddle on the right cheek of her bottom, partly
on the bikini and partly on her skin. Vicki sucked in her breath
sharply as she felt the paddle lift off her behind.
The paddle returned to the spot it had left, but it was
moving with all the speed and force Jameson's beefy arm could
give it. He watched with satisfaction as the firm roundness of
the girl's half-covered asscheek flattened under the thick
paddle.
"OWW!", Vicki yelled as the pent-up breath burst from her
lungs. Her eyes filled with tears as the pain suffused her whole
right buttock. She wasn't sure she could make herself come back
for five days of this, even if he only gave her one a day, and
that didn't seem likely.
The paddle landed again, this time in a symmetrical spot
on the left side of her butt. Again Vicki yelled in pain, but
Jameson paid no attention. He began peppering her backside with
a steady series of blows, moving randomly from spot to spot but
concentrating on the areas that were left uncovered by the skimpy
bikini bottom. Low and outside, he grinned to himself, but still
a strike.
He wished the girl hadn't been so squeamish about taking
off her pants--he would have loved to feel the sting in his hand
as it landed on her exposed ass, and he knew he could have
spanked her nearly as hard bare-handed as he could with the
paddle. On the other hand, if she hadn't been so virginal he
probably couldn't have conned her the way he had.
Jameson knew that if he'd turned her over to the police
she could have copped a plea to a minor misdemeanor and gotten
nothing worse than probation, maybe even a deferred prosecution
so the charges would be dropped if she stayed out of trouble for
a year. The school wouldn't have found out, because minors'
names were never released. And of course he couldn't have turned
over the videotape--he couldn't very well let the public know
that he was taking movies of naked girls in the dressing rooms!
He'd accumulated quite a collection of those movies; it
was incredible what people would do when they thought no one was
looking, especially if you gave them enough mirrors to see all
sides of themselves at once. Jameson had thought many times
about using shoplifting charges as leverage to get some broad
down here, even bought the paddle and some other toys in
anticipation, but he'd never before found one who was both scared
enough and beautiful enough to be worth the risk. Miss Victoria
Wilkins, whose gorgeous ass was now writhing under his paddle,
was the first, but well worth the wait.
Jameson's musings had not disrupted his rhythm. By the
time she'd received eight or ten spanks Vicki's yells had merged
into a continuous wail that rose to a wordless cry each time the
paddle struck. She began kicking her outstretched legs and
rolling her hips, hoping to throw herself off Jameson's lap, or
at least to dodge some the force of the blows, but he merely
tightened his grip around her waist and swung the paddle a little
harder.
After the paddle had landed a couple of dozen times
Jameson decided to give her a rest. Vicki was begging him
incoherently to stop, and Jameson was breathing a little heavily
himself. She lay sobbing and shaking across his lap for a minute
or more before crawling sideways onto the floor and then standing
up.
She touched her bottom gingerly with both hands and
looked at him pleadingly. "Please, can I go now? It hurts so
bad!"
Jameson snorted. "Don't be silly! We're a long way from
done. I just decided to give you a five minute break."
Vicki broke into renewed sobs, assuring Jameson that she
was sorry, that she'd learned her lesson and would never steal
anything again, and telling him that she just couldn't take any
more. When she saw that Jameson was adamant, Vicki said "Please,
just use your hand, then. I'll take off my bottom, just don't
spank me with the paddle any more, please."
Jameson was tempted to agree. He wanted to see her
totally nude, and he wanted to spank her bare-handed, but he
decided that it could wait until later in the week. Better not
to let her think she could negotiate her way out of anything. "I
don't care whether you take your bottom off or leave it on," he
told her. "You decided on the paddle, and that's what you're
going to get. And your five minutes are up."
This statement provoked a fresh round of protests and
wails from Vicki, but in less than a minute she was back in
position across his lap. This time, before picking up the paddle
he pulled the edges of her bikini bottom up and toward the
center, so only the crevasse between the cheeks of her ass
remained covered. This provided him with a much larger target,
milky white in contrast to the angry red of the areas he'd
paddled earlier.
Without any preliminary contact this time, Jameson
brought the paddle down with a sharp "SMACK" in the middle of her
left asscheek. Vicki howled in pain and rolled toward him in an
effort to hide the burning flesh from another blow. Jameson
spanked her equally hard on the other cheek, and Vicki obligingly
rolled the other direction and exposed the left side of her ass
to his next blow.
By the time Jameson decided to give her another rest,
Vicki's entire ass had turned a fiery red. Again she begged him
to let her leave, and again he refused. "I told you this would
be a spanking you'd remember for the rest of your life," he
reminded the sobbing girl as he pulled her across his lap for the
third time.
He had given her only a dozen spanks or so when he
realized that she'd had enough for one day. Although Vicki cried
continuously, and jerked each time the paddle struck, it was
clear that she no longer felt the pain of individual strokes.
Jameson gave her five more, bringing the paddle down on her
bruised buttocks almost as hard as he could, and then told her to
get up and get dressed.
Vicki pulled the bottom of the bikini back into place,
refastened the top, and began buttoning her blouse while Jameson
put the paddle back into the desk drawer. She wondered how she
could ever make it back up the stairs, but it proved to be easier
than she'd expected.
In Jameson's office she retrieved her skirt and put it
on, then gathered her panties, bra and other things from his desk
and put them back in her purse. Only then did Jameson speak.
"Tomorrow afternoon, four o'clock," he reminded her.
"Come straight to this office and knock on the door--and be sure
you're wearing that bikini!"
Vicki's began weeping again at the reminder that she'd
only experienced the first of five days of indescribable pain.
But she nodded through her tears before opening the office door
and going back into store that had changed so quickly from a
place of delight to one of dread.
(continued)
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