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CHAPTER 4
The house which Dawson drove to was large. He already knew that the owner was wealthy and the request had been a total surprise to him. Dawson parked up and knocked on the front door.
A middle-aged man opened the door, and welcomed Dawson inside. The man led him to the study, a large room lined with bookshelves and a highly polished floor. Two chairs faced the oak desk, and on the chairs, facing away from the door, were two females, dressed in the uniform of the local high school.
“And these are my problems. Meet Daphne and Isobel, my daughters. As I told you, they are unruly, have no regard for authority and show wilful disregard for the wishes of both myself and my wife. They are, in short, wanton.”
“But, Mr Eccleshalll, as I said on the phone, that is typical of eighteen year-old sixth formers today. I fail to see how I can help you.”
“You can help by correcting their attitudes, Mr Dawson. These two girls are now one step away from being hauled in front of a magistrate and bringing disgrace to the family name. I understood you were a corrective action therapist and that is precisely what they need.”
“And you know the nature of the therapy?”
“I do, and it is high time they experienced it.”
“Well, I need your consent and the girls' consent in writing.”
“That will not be a problem. They both accept what is going to happen.”
Up to this point the girls had not spoken and had continued to look across the desk. Now they turned to face their father and his guest.
“Will it hurt?” The girl with the long dark hair asked.
“All therapy hurts,” Dawson replied.
“In that case, we want our parents to go out while we receive our punishment,” the girl with the shorter dark hair added.
“Nonsense, your mother is out, and I intend to see Mr Dawson do his job properly.”
“But, Father, …”
“There will be not ‘buts' about it. I am going to watch. Now, Mr Dawson, without further delay, do you have a form for us to sign?”
“Yes, in here.” Dawson opened his attaché case and withdrew it. The girls signed it, as did their father.
“Well, we'd best get started. In your own time, Mr Dawson.” The father of the girls walked round the desk and sat in his leather-upholstered chair.
“Right, girls, stand up, and walk behind your chairs, facing your father.”
The girls did as they were told without speaking.
“Now, raise the back of your skirts above your waist and tuck them in so they can't fall down.”
The dark blue skirts were raised, revealing two pale bottoms, covered with the school's regulation white knickers. The girls were clearly twins, and their backsides were almost identical.
“Right, we're big girls now, so your punishment will be on the bare. Remove your knickers.” As he spoke, Dawson walked behind them, admiring the action scene.
“What about our private parts?”
“You should have thought about that before you were so unruly. Now, no further talking, get those knickers off.”
“Do as you are told, Isobel.” Their father stared impassively at his daughter's predicament.
“Thank you, Mr Eccleshall, but I must insist that you leave all the directions to me. It is evident these unruly children have no respect for you. It is better they learn that respect from one person, or in other words, me.”
“Fair enough.” Eccleshall sat back to watch the show.
“Right, Isobel, as you had the temerity to question my instructions, we will begin with you. Daphne, go and face the wall over there. Stand with your feet about twenty-four inches apart, and put your hands on your head. Do not turn round to look. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good, and while we are about it, you will both address me as ‘sir' from now on.”
“Yes, sir,” she repeated and walked over to the wall. From her position, her pale buttock cheeks were on full display. They would not be pale for long.
As she walked to the wall, Dawson removed the two chairs from the desk.
“Right, Isobel, bend over the desk, spread your legs wide, and reach forward with your hands. Mr Eccleshall, please take your daughter's hands and ensure she can not break free. This is a preliminary therapy designed to make you girls think twice before misbehaving again. We will move onto the respect therapy later. Right, Isobel, I am going to warm up your buttocks with twenty strokes of the paddle. Stay as still as possible.”
With that Dawson walked round to the side of the girl and delivered the first swat of the black, leather paddle right onto the middle of her cheeks. It landed with a resounding ‘crack!' and the girl howled. She struggled against her father's grasp, but he held her firmly in position. The second swat landed directly on top of the first, and a third landed a little higher. Daswson paused, and rubbed her cheeks with his free hand, as if inspecting the damage. Satisfied, he released three more swats in quick succession, each landing mid cheek across both buttocks. The tears were now flowing freely down the girl's face and she was sobbing loudly.
“Crack!” The seventh stroke landed lower down her cheeks, biting into fresh, pale flesh. As he delivered the eighth stroke to the same place, Dawson watched as the flesh turned pink. With satisfaction he noticed the fiery pink tinge that now covered most of her backside. The next two swats landed just on the top of her legs, bringing fresh howls of pain and more pink flesh. The girl was now gasping for air, as she continued to resist her father's vice-like grip.
The next four strokes were concentrated on the girl's right buttock. They turned her pink flesh into a darker, bruised-red colour. Then Dawson treated her left buttock to the same treatment.
“Right, release her hands Mr Eccleshall. Isobel, you have two more strokes to receive. You are not to move, or flinch in any way. If you do, the stroke will not count. Do you understand?”
“Yes, arrghh, owwww, sir.”
“Good, and you are not to move at the end until I say so.”
Dawson walked round the girl and aimed the paddle to come down between her glowing cheeks. He raised the paddle and brought it down.
“Thwack!” It sounded as the flat blade separated the girl's buttock cheeks, the end of the instrument rubbing harshly against the girl's sex. She howled loudly but managed to maintain her position. With her stomach already flat against the table, and her legs pressing against the cold wood, she had nowhere to move, and her body took the full force of the stroke.
The second swat followed soon after, landing in the same place, intensifying the pain and making the girl howl even more loudly. Dawson stood back and admired his work. He knew the girl was longing to tenderly rub her buttocks and try to take the sting away. He knew also that he would not let her.
“Right, Isobel, you can stand up. Put your hands on your head and join your sister over at the wall.”
It took the girl several seconds to straighten up. She winced as she reached the vertical but did not dare to touch her buttocks. She dutifully put her hands on her head and walked her dark-red arse over to the wall.
“Right, Daphne, it's your turn. Come over here and assume the position.”
The girl did as she was instructed, tears already visible on her cheeks. Her father grabbed her hands and smiled at her. Dawson walked behind her and spread her legs further apart until her stomach rested on the top of the desk and the tops of her legs pressed into its side. Her pretty, tiny, pale bottom was in the perfect position for the hiding of a lifetime.
Dawson spent the next five minutes administering the exact same pattern of punishment he had delivered to her sister. In contrast to the first girl, Daphne did not try to break from her father's grasp, and though she howled with each stroke, and tears flowed freely down her face, she made no movement. After the strokes had been delivered her pert, pale bottom, was as fiery-red as was her sister's.
“Stand over by your sister, and both of you keep your hands on your heads.” Dawson completed the first phase of their punishment, and sat down for a moment. He was flushed from the exercise, and inside his pants he was as stiff as a pole from the thought of the two virgins he had just treated.
“As I said, he continued, that was to teach you about the folly of being unruly and disobedient. I trust you have learned your lesson, because if I have to deliver punishment to you again in the future for this, it will be far worse for you. Now, we will move on to teach you respect. My methods are unique, and you can be assured that they are often successful. Respect, I believe, is born out of a willingness to submit to the will of others, and it is your wilfulness that I intend to break with the next part of your therapy. Isobel, as you have had the longest to recover, we will start with you.”
“Before you do, Mr Dawson, “Eccleshall interrupted, “I can see you are good at what you do. I have other things to get on with. Please call me when you are finished.” Eccleshall stood up and left the room, his daughters looking forlornly after him.
“Right, Isobel, come over here and lean over the back of this chair.” The girl did as she was told. Dawson spread her legs open and lashed her legs to the back legs of the chair. From his position, as he bent to secure her legs, Dawson had a perfect view of the young woman's sex.
“Now grab the front legs of the chair.”
The girl did so, and felt Dawson touch her buttocks.
“Okay, this will be cold for a moment, but don't worry, it will soon warm up.” The girl felt the cold cream on her arse, and felt Dawson rub it in gently. He moved lower until he touched her labia, still rubbing the cold cream into the girl's skin. When he had reached her bud he stopped, added another blob of the cream to his finger and gently and meticulously covered her clitoris with the white cream. The girl moaned as he touched her, but Dawson knew what would happen in a moment.
Soon the cram took effect, sending burning heat into the flesh it had made contact with, exciting and arousing the girl at the same time as torturing her genitals.
“Excellent. So now you are learning respect. When you have learned it, we will apply the antidote. Until then, I have a dozen stripes of the cane for you.”
Dawson extracted the metal cane from his case and extended it to full length. The girl was writhing over the back of the chair, her labia and clitoris swollen by the cream, swollen with her arousal, swollen with the need for the release she could not find. The cane landed across her already fiery buttocks, cutting a thin stripe into her badly bruised flesh. The pain seared through her body, making her howl in pain and frustration, her genitals murderously demanding a climax to her arousal. The second and third strokes landed and the pain intensified. The fourth stripe cut across the first three, and blood began to seep from one point along the bruised area. Dawson focused on this, adding two more strokes across the same area, opening the wound further until the whole area was a mass of smeared blood.
Still, with the pain burning through her body, the girl's sex was demanding the release she could not attain. She needed the release, needed it badly, yet something was holding her back. Then Dawson changed direction with the cane. Now he brought it down directly between her legs, so each fresh stroke landed on the already swollen labia.
She yelled, screamed and grasped frantically at the chair legs, but still she could not find the release. The tenth and eleventh strokes added to those previously administered, and the torture became unbearable. The final stroke landed, bringing a fresh howl of pain from the girl.
Dawson stopped and waited. Her abdomen was still performing some kind of contraction, and though she was sobbing loudly, her body contortions were more reminiscent of a young woman desperately seeking a climax that would not come.
“Have you learned respect yet?” Dawson asked as he released her legs. As he did so, he sniffed the musk that came with a woman's arousal. He looked up and saw the faint trickle of liquid oozing from the girl's vulva. She was on heat, aroused beyond her comprehension and unable to reach release. She was, in short, suffering total torture.
“Yes, sir,” she gasped. “Please, sir, can you help me? I need something, this is killing me.”
“I know, but you have to wait, it's all part of the therapy. Now, go and stand back by the wall and keep your hands on your head.”
“But, sir, I can't take any more,” she sobbed again, still gasping, her abdomen still in the throes of contraction.
“Well, it won't be for long. Do as you're told. Daphne, come here.”
The girls swapped positions and Daphne was strapped into position while Isobel stood facing the wall, trying desperately to dampen the arousal between her legs. She failed and was almost oblivious to the torture that her sister was now sharing.
Again Dawson rubbed the cream into her buttocks and between her legs, ensuring a plentiful coating covered the girl's vulva. Then he waited until the cream had started to arouse the girl before he administered the dozen strokes of the cane, exactly as he had done so on the girl's sister a few minutes previously. Just as with her sister, Daphne longed for release. The pain of the cane only added to the intense sensations she was experiencing, yet for all her desperation to find the climax she needed, it would not materialise.
Then, after a couple of minutes, though it seemed longer, she joined her sister back at the wall.
“Right, you girls, look like you need to come. Believe me, you will. The cream is designed to arouse you, but it also releases a chemical which prevents you from climaxing. That chemical takes a little while to wear off. Until then, you will stay like this. When the chemical wears off you will both definitely find release. Okay, you might as well sit down while you wait. Come, sit down on these chairs. Now, I trust you have learned respect.”
“Yes, sir,” they both responded as they hobbled over to the chairs. Their legs were already weak from their arousal.
“Oh God, its happening” said Isobel after she'd been sitting down for a minute. “Oh, fucking God, its happening.” She reached her hand between her legs and furiously massaged her clitoris. As she did so, she gasped loudly, unable to control herself. “Aw, that's right, that's right, fill me, fill me, fucking fill me. Oh God, I'm cumming, cumming, cumming. Arrggghhhh,” she groaned as her body convulsed in the final stages of release. She slumped back in her chair, exhausted.
Only as she recovered from her torture did she realise she was totally exposed. Her hand had raised her skirt and her fingers were still inserted in her vulva. Now, hugely embarrassed, she withdrew her fingers and covered her intimate parts, her face blushing bright red with embarrassment.
Her sister had been watching her with some intrigue, yet dealing with her own acute state of arousal. Dawson turned to look at her now, knowing the moment of release was almost at hand. As he looked at Daphne, Isobel also turned to watch, as if waiting for a spectacle to unfold.
They were not kept waiting for long. Daphne's body was already contracting from the intense arousal and now she started to gasp. Unlike her sister, she grabbed the sides of the chair, gripping them for dear life. Undeterred, Isobel reached forward and lifted her sister's skirt.
“Might as well feel as embarrassed as I do,” she said. Then she reached forward and touched her sister's clitoris with her middle finger.
“You like me doing that, don't you?” There was fire in her eyes as she intently watched her sister reach her climax.
“Fuck, its happening. I can't stop it, its burning me, arrgghhh, ow, no, please, help me, I can't stop it, arrgggghhhhh!” She grabbed the chair ever tighter and lifted her arse from the seat. With a gush she came, liquid dribbling down onto the seat. Isobel, though, was not listening to her.
She carried on rubbing her sister's bud while she remained semi-standing, her pubic area thrust out in front of her. Dawson watched, intrigued, and realised the sisters were more familiar with each other than their father would know. He watched as Isobel continued to stroke her sister's fanny, bringing her to renewed arousal. Only when she had climaxed a second time did the girl remove her finger. This time, Daphne sank back onto the chair, breathing heavily.
“That, young ladies, was a reckless thing to do and quite unfitting for young ladies of your breeding. For that you will both receive a further six strokes of the cane. Now bend over the backs of your chairs.”
“Oh no, I can't take any more.”
“Then you should not have behaved so lewdly. If you do not do it quickly I will increase the punishment.”
Within five seconds both girls were sprawled over the backs of their chairs. Dawson wasted no time, administering six strokes to each already-fiery behind, cutting open the wounds that had bled previously, ensuring the girls would not want to sit down again that evening.
“Right,” he said when he had finished, “Daphne can go and get your father.”
The girl did as she was instructed and within five minutes Dawson had been paid for his troubles and was standing back at his car having assured Eccleshall that he was always available if the girls proved to need further punishment, though he doubted they would.
Dawson drove away slowly, his second appointment of the evening beckoning his attention. Although the erection under his pants still burned ferociously with desire, Dawson knew that the next appointment needed his full concentration. It was not his last appointment, but he knew he had to be on the ball for this one.
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