Allyson Ch. 04

Having gotten word from Hannah that Paul had been to see Allyson John left work early. He had his suspicions. He thought somebody had been seeing her, and somebody had tipped over the apple cart regarding the judge. Who else but Paul? Yes Paul was a problem. He had to be dealt with.

Meanwhile back at the house, after Paul left Allyson continued with her usual routines; cleaning, scrubbing, and just generally trying to keep busy. If what Paul had intimated was at all true then just maybe John had changed; maybe he'd return to the 'old John' she'd grown to love and adore. She stopped, looked in the mirror and persuaded herself, yes, it could happen.

She'd just finished the beds when she heard the front door. It had to be John! She was sure of it. She put her cleaning apparel aside and ran down the front stairs.

The house had two sets of stairs; there were the front stairs for everyday use, and there was a back set. It was the back stairs Allyson was expected to use when at work, which lately meant all the time.

Yes, it was John! She was convinced he'd come home early because he loved her. In her excitement Allyson ran head long down the front stairs. She got to the bottom just as John walked in the living room.

He looked at her as she reached the bottom step. She looked like the wrath of god, her nylon work uniform was stained, her hair was a knotted mess, shoe laces untied, and she was out of breath, perspiring, breasts pressing out and up through the zippered top of her uniform. He was angry as hell, "What are you doing young lady?"

Allyson, oblivious of the rule she'd just broken answered, "I heard the front door, and thought it might be you. I wanted to get down as fast as I could."

A stone faced John replied, "You know you're not to use the front stairs."

She hesitated. His comment caught her completely off guard, "But I wanted to get down and see you."

"Well you see me. So why did you break the rule?"

"I was excited. I knew it was you."

"You broke a rule."

"I know. I didn't mean to. Gee John, I'm sorry. I wanted ..."

"Come over here," he pointed to floor in front of his feet.

Allyson ran to the place he pointed and knelt on the floor, "I'm sorry John."

John frowned down at her, "Are we sitting properly?"

When Allyson was being criticized or lectured she was expected to kneel on the carpet or floor, head bowed, eyes downcast with her hands clasped neatly in her lap. She whispered obsequiously, "No." She quickly made the appropriate adjustments.

With her eyes fixed resolutely on the tops of John's wing tipped shoes she couldn't see the sadistic smile on his face. Had she, she would have known how frightening her future, if nothing was done, was to become. He asked, "Tell me Allyson, why do we have rules?"

She stammered out, "Well we have rules to make things..., life I mean, more efficient."

This was fun for John. He asked, "Yes, and what else?"

Allyson recovered a little. She looked up coquettishly, batted her eyes and answered, "Rules give us routines. They give us clear cut ways of doing things."

John wasn't amused, "Eyes down. And what else."

She slumped. Being cute wouldn't work. He might really be mad. If that was the case she had a disheartening premonition of what really might be coming. She decided to try the soft sincere apologetic approach, "Rules are good for discipline."

John thought, 'this was good', a little more and I'll have her where I want her. He looked down and gave her one of his Olympian stares, "Allyson when you ran down the front stairs dressed as you are in your work uniform, all stained and sweaty, were you exercising good judgment? Were you showing self-discipline?"

Allyson didn't like the direction of things. She had to come up with something plausible, "Well I guess no, but I..."

John held up a hand, and turned his head.

This wasn't funny. She smelled of whiff brimstone. She tried again, "I..."

He cut her off, "What if I'd brought a client home? What if I had someone I wanted to show you off to? How do you think they would have reacted if they saw your clumsy display of poor judgment and childish lack of discipline? Look at yourself; you're a mess; dirty uniform, mussed hair, scuffed and untied shoes, soaking wet with sweat, and your bosoms are half out of your dress. What do you have to say about that?"

Allyson worked to adjust the top of her uniform, "John I've been hard at work, and..."

"And?"

She knew she couldn't alibi or offer any explanation. His mind was made up. He liked beating her up with trivia; she dare not defy him, "And I'm just sorry."

John had his apology. Now he could take it to the next level, "Sorry! Sorry for what? Being a mess, or for breaking an important rule."

"I...I guess for breaking..."

He interrupted, "For breaking a rule? But look at you! You look like a filthy pig. A pig! You hear me? A pig!"

"John I'm..."

"Don't alibi. You can't explain or lie your way out of this one. You've been bad, very bad. Tell me, what would you have done if I had brought company?"

Allyson was in trouble. John was on a roll, and there wasn't anything she could say or do. Of course he was right. He was always right when it came to things like this, when it came to her. She had no right to disagree or in any way defend what she'd done. Even when she was right she was wrong. There was no argument; she'd been bad, she knew it. The front stairs weren't for her. She wasn't allowed. She gulped and stammered out, "I...I guess they would have been...well...surprised."

These were moments John had come to cherish; Allyson at his feet, degraded, helpless in the face of his awful logic. He would proceed to engineer her further degradation, reduce her sense of personal worth, strip away her self esteem, denude her of that last morsel of confidence. God how he loved this, "You mean embarrassed. And listen to yourself. You're supposed to be a college graduate, a woman with some poise, some sense. You're stammering and stuttering like some twelve year old child. When are you going to grow up? No wonder I've had to rely on Hannah. You're just too damned childish, too damned backward. I'm engaged to a ten year old child."

Allyson knelt there in awkward silence.

He snarled, "Well! Speak up!"

A crushed and enfeebled Allyson replied, "Yes I guess... I guess...John...I'm sorry."

It was time to drive it home; force her to acknowledge her incompetence, her inadequacy, "You guess so?"

Genuinely scared she tried to answer, "I mean...I guess," She was upset. She realized she'd made a mistake, and John was really angry. He might punish her, "Oh I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Please John forgive me." She leaned forward, she reached out and touched his knee, "Please John." She looked up pleadingly; sad imploring green eyes looking up at angry brown eyes.

Down came another series of emotionally crushing blows; mental shocks intended to bludgeon her into intellectual impotence, pulverize her into complete dependence, "So you're a sorry housekeeper, a sorry girlfriend, and just an all around sorry little miss."

It wasn't about the stairs anymore. He had something else in mind. Casting her eyes downward again she pleaded, "Oh John, I didn't mean to break the rule. I didn't mean to be so messy."

In the past this was when he'd release her from her torment, end the tongue lashing with a paternalistic pat on the head. Then sometimes a little more self effacement followed by a few forgiving words and a warm smile. Not today. No compassion today! Today he was out for worshipful obeisance, complete contrition. "But you did and you are."

She tried to cling to some measure of rationality, "Yes I guess. I mean yes I did. Oh, yes I am. John I'm so sorry."

John wouldn't have it, "A sorry little maid; Allyson you're just a sorry little maid aren't you?"

She gave up on touching the knee. She knelt on the floor wringing her hands, afraid to look at him. Tears were seeping out of the corners of her eyes, "Yes I guess I am."

Her final degradation came calmly, cruel in its somber gentleness, "Guess what, come on, and say it."

"I'm a sorry little maid," she looked up at him again, begging, "John please."

It was time for her final humiliation, the nadir. He reached down, and with his right hand he tucked up her chin so she had to face him, "You know you have to be disciplined.

She was in tears, "Yes."

She started to cry. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his legs, "John please!"

He pushed her away, "Go to my office, take off all your clothes, and wait for me."

Her disgrace had been complete. The last residual locks of self respect had been sheared away. Allyson got up and started to run for his office.

John loved these moments. He shouted out, "What? You're just leaving?"

Allyson ran back and knelt down again, "May I be excused now?

"What?"

She'd forgotten to say please, "May I pleased be excused?"

"Yes you may be excused."

She whimpered, "Thank you John." Then she leaped to her feet and ran back to John's office.

John took off his sport coat and undid his tie. He walked leisurely back to his office. All his sadistic fantasies were bubbling to the surface; he'd humiliate, degrade, punish.

Allyson reached the office. She rushed about making certain everything was in its place and there was no dust on anything. She didn't want to get in more trouble now; especially if John might be planning to do something nice later, after the punishment. Oh she hoped, she prayed, 'Make the punishment short and the something nice long.'

Fond hope; Allyson's fantasies of true love, of the doting fatherly companion, her own shining protective knight were about to be plunged into the nightmare of John's sadistic self hatred.His personal masculine inadequacies had finally taken complete control. She raced to the sofa, John's favorite seat in his office, and took off her clothes. She slipped out of her work shoes and socks; she placed them carefully beside each other under the sofa. She unzipped her blue nylon uniform, folded it, and set it on a nearby chair. She unfastened her chemise, laid it on the dress, and last pulled down her panties, placing them on the chemise. Completely naked she knelt on the floor in front of the sofa, head bowed.

John strode in slowly. He walked over and sat on the sofa. Allyson knelt meekly on the floor between his legs. He thought about this girl, how he'd come to meet her, how they ended up where they were. He remembered again how it all began back in college. She was such a mousy little thing. He first saw her when he was in the library. She was in one of those tiny semi-private alcoves busily doing something on her computer. She had stringy brownish hair, no make-up, and dark glasses. She was wearing a simple dungaree jumper, white blouse, tennis shoes, and white socks. He remembered thinking this was a good one on which to try out his ideas. John, like most men he supposed, fantasized about having his very own submissive little slave girl; someone totally dependent, someone ready to respond to his every whim. He recalled how he'd sidled up to her that day, and after a short conversation had gotten her name and phone number.

They started dating after that. She was easy to please. He'd guessed rightly; she was lonely, and not very socially astute. It was easy to take her, step by step, from simple introvert to total dependent.

In a few short weeks he changed everything about her. She wanted to be a doctor; he talked her out of that. She wore uncomplicated simple outfits, and maintained a casual life schedule. It was easy to move her from the trusting innocent girl to the helpless, hapless, totally submissive insecure child woman he had at his feet.

To say he never cared about her would have been only partially true. He cared about the control, the dominance, the manipulation. He cared about his ability to alter and change everything in her life. Did he ever love her; no never. Did he care what she thought; only that she thought what he wanted her to think.

He'd told her his parents didn't approve of her; that they'd investigated her past. In truth his parents barely knew she was alive. They believed everything he said. As far as they were concerned she was just some cheap off the street sexual squeeze he'd picked up. They hardly knew anything. For them she didn't exist.

As he looked down at her now he pondered what he should do with her. Certainly not marry her; maybe keep her around as a servant, which was all she was now anyway, a servant and sexual toy. He spoke calmly and slowly, "I hate to do this, but rules are rules."

Allyson nervously waited on the floor.

John unfastened his belt, took off his pants and underpants, walked over to the sofa and sat down, "Bend over my knees sweetheart."

Her first thought was he used an endearment. She tried to persuade herself he still loved her. She tried to convince herself this was for her own good. She pleaded with herself; John meant well. She got up and stretched herself over his knees. She pretended this was still about love.

He gently smoothed her head. He fondled her ears. He wiped his hand over her upraised ass. He used his hand to caress her lower back. He took his fingers and gently rubbed down the crease of her ass, that lovely creamy pink little ass. Almost tenderly he said, "Darling this is going to hurt me more than it will you."

Allyson knew the truth, but gave him the answer he expected, "I know I did wrong. I broke an important rule. I was a messy little maid. It isn't your fault. I'm sorry I made you mad. I'm sorry I make you have to hurt me. I'm ready for my punishment."

He gently rubbed over that splendid heart shaped ass again. He liked her ass and more and more he liked spanking it. He liked raising deep scarlet welts all over it. He liked it when she begged him to stop. He liked looking at the scarlet impressions his hands made when he hit her, "I'm going to spank you Allyson."

"Oh please John."

"No, I think you need a real lesson this time." He spit into the palm of his hand and hammered down with the first blow. There was a sharp smack as his hand slapped across her left cheek. He repeated the act on her right cheek.

The hard hot stinging smack made Allyson wince. Her butt involuntarily bounced, her muscles rippled, and she inadvertently tried to slide away, "Oh John, please, no."

He pulled her back in place, and slapped each cheek hard two more times. Each time she bounced as his hand impacted her soft flesh. After just three swipes angry red print marks started to emerge.

John stopped, "Now I'm going to ask you a question, and I expect an honest answer."

She hadn't started to cry yet, but tears were dripping down her cheeks. She sniffled, "Yes John."

"Has anybody been to see you this morning?"

Allyson wondered if he knew Paul had been there. She guessed not, "No I've been alone all morning."

His hand came smashing down again and again on her little red ass, "Don't lie to me Allyson."

She cried out in pain. It was more than just the pain of the spanks, it was the humiliation of having to be bent over his knee and feel the swipes as though she were a child. It was her sense of helplessness, the vulnerability she felt remembering Paul had said something about Hannah having seen him, "Paul was here."

"Paul was here?"

"I'm sorry."

"Has he been here before?"

"No."

He smacked her again.

"Yes, once before."

He smacked her again, hard, "How many times?"

"Oh John! Please!" She was crying. She tried to reach back to cover her rear.

He gripped her tightly around the waist with one hand, and pushed her hands away with the other, "How many times?"

Crying she whimpered, "Today and one other time."

"So you lied."

"I'm sorry John. I didn't mean to."

"Allyson this is serious." He pushed her off his knee and on the floor, "This calls for more than just a spanking. I'm afraid I'm going to have to really punish you now."

Allyson was terrified; this could mean almost anything, "Please John I didn't want him to come. He just came. I told him to leave. John, I told him to stay away."

"You let him in didn't you?"

"No."

"No?"

"Well yes, but only for a minute."

"Allyson, get back on the floor."

She jumped down, knelt on her knees, and tried to cover her rear with her hands. She was really crying now.

John stood up and walked to the door, "Wait here."

Allyson nodded, and through the tears answered, "Yes John."

John walked through the hall and down the back stairs to an area they'd originally designated for his workbench. He'd never gotten around to setting anything up, but he remembered he'd brought one of his old fishing rods, an old fiber glass fishing pole with a casting reel on one end. Hell, his hand was sore anyway, what could be better than a good old fashioned fishing pole? It would give his hand a break, and would be something like an old time caning. He fumbled around with the boxes till he found it. He took off the reel, and swished it around in the air a few times. Yes, the whistle of the pole made just the right sound. This was just what he needed. He made his way back to his office.

Once John left the office Allyson made a quick inspection of her rear end. The sight of the big red hand marks on her behind was daunting. She knew they'd turn to ugly blue-black bruises in a few days. This was, by far, the worse, spanking John had ever given her. She knew in her heart this was not love, but she was caught up in something she couldn't explain away or control. She heard his footsteps down the hall. She waddled back to her spot in front of the sofa.

John walked back in the office. He swung the fishing pole in air; a deceptively soft swoosh filled the room.

Allyson saw the pole. Her eyes grew wide in terror. She knew what a pole like that could do. She'd been caned before when a child. She jumped from her spot on the floor, and ran to a corner of the room, "John! No!"

John walked slowly, almost casually to the corner where she was crouched. He smiled, "John! Yes!"

Allyson curled into a tiny ball in the corner. She held her hands upwards and turned her head down and away, "No, please, no." She was crying and sobbing unrestrainedly. She was on the edge of hysteria. She knew! Oh so vividly, so frighteningly, she knew.

John growled, "Get over by the sofa."

Allyson was paralyzed with fear. Pure, unadulterated terror swept over her. The monstrosity of the circumstances overwhelmed her. She didn't move, she couldn't move.

John's heart was pounding in his breast. His penis was rigidly erect. He'd never felt such a sense of power before. He leaned forward. He took the fiberglass pole and used it to lift her chin. In a low menacing snarl he said, "Go to the sofa."

Allyson's face was snow white. She lost all control. She peed on the carpet. No voice. No words, just gasping and crying. She cringed in the corner in utter and absolute terror.

John lost all control! He lashed down with the pole. Again and again he lashed down on her exposed back, her shoulders, on her lower waist. His was a berserk frenzied madness!

Allyson's conscious self retreated to another world, a world of relative safety. She still cried, she still wept, she sobbed, but Allyson, the real Allyson was gone. This had happened before, more than once. On more than one occasion she'd been beaten like this, in just this way, when she was a small girl.

Finally, after seven, eight, no ten savage swipes across the helpless girl's nude form John recovered his sanity. He looked at the awful thing he'd done. He'd beaten a poor innocent woman mercilessly. Her poor back and shoulders were a striped pulpy mass. What had he done?

Angrily John yelled at the helpless innocent at his feet, "Get out of here! Go to your room!"