Cindy Ch. 01

Cindy Williams looked at herself in the window as she cleaned it for what must be the thousandth time, seeing herself and the mid-morning traffic beyond while the rich smell of ground coffee assaulted her senses. After four months working here she was sick of working in a tacky, second rate 'Starbucks'. The shadowy reflection in the window pulled her attention back, not that she felt any great admiration for the wavy image. Seeing a slightly over weight girl of twenty-two, with shoulder length, light brown hair, although she couldn't really tell from the reflection, but she knew what color it was.

There lay the seat of her discontent. Her hair wasn't brown or blond, more a sort of half and half like the rest of her body. She wasn't tall and willowy, like some of her friend, or short and cute like others. At five foot eight, a kind of half way between the two with neither of their redeeming qualities. She did have good legs, as her Mother kept telling her, but that didn't offset her small boobs. She knew guys liked girls with a big chest, and colored slightly wondering what they did with 'big' chested girls anyway. She imagined all sorts of things, probably all wrong. Her old boy friend didn't seemed particularly interested in her breast, wanting more to get his wandering hands under her skirt than anywhere else. Her life was like her body, neither one thing nor the other, and going nowhere in a hurry, just drifting from day to day with no direction.

She wanted something, but didn't know what, just something different. Her parents weren't much help in that department. At one time they'd been very strict, punishing her when she needed it, up to and including bare bottom spankings, but since she'd reached twenty-one they'd pretty much let her do whatever she wanted. She'd pushed the envelope, so to speak, just to see what they would do, like staying out later, going to parties, drinking, but they hadn't reacted, and for some reason she missed that. Wanting them to say something, or punish her some way, but they hadn't, so she drifted, and it showed in the reflection.

Cindy knew diet and exercise would get her waist line down, but couldn't keep up with it. One or two day was the most before making some excuse to herself for not going to the gym. Silencing the nagging voice in her head with promises of making it up with double the exercise tonight, or tomorrow, soon, quickly forgetting the promise. She sighed and started cleaning the next window on the world. In between her circling hand, she watched life going by, hating the smell of roasting coffee and curdled milk.

The pert-nosed face looking back made a mouse before she covered it with a squirt of 'Windex'. Nothing felt right this morning. Her bra felt tight, as did her uniform, and a quick look told her she'd probably get yelled at by 'old baldy', her manager for getting it dirty. Not that she worked up much enthusiasm to do anything about it. After the windows came the tables, piling dirty coffee mugs and plates into a plastic tray and hauling them to the kitchen, then back to wipe the tables down for some other inconsiderate jerk to dirty up again.

Working her way around the tables, Cindy spotted the same well-dressed man sitting at the corner table, the one he usually took. He came in every day about this time for a large mug of coffee, adding cream and sugar, rather a lot really. He'd sometime bring a book, or just sit and watch the traffic and people go by. Not that she was interested in him; she told herself, just curious about who and what he was. A lawyer taking a break from a case maybe? A real estate agent? No, scratch that, he didn't have that look, more on the stern side, not the forever smiling salesman type who tried to get all chummy, wanted nothing more than to get into her panties. One jerk boy friend was enough. The well-dressed man's salt and pepper hair cut in a swept back style; the side burns silver gray that gave him a distinguished look.

His face was neither young nor old, one of those lucky people who aged gracefully and slowly. He could be anywhere from forty to sixty for all she knew. He always put his dirty coffee mug and plate in the tray as he left, and his table was always clean. If he read one of the newspapers, he'd fold it up and put it back, not leave it there like some, and he always tipped. Not much, just a couple of dollars under the tacky advert sign on the table. Cindy appreciated that, not that she felt she'd eared it, as he didn't leave her anything to do.

He smiled at her if their eyes met, nothing more, just a quick nod, as if to say a silent good morning. She noted he dressed well, usually a suit or sports jacket and sharply pressed slacks, clean shirt and brightly polished shoes. It spoke well of him, showing he was careful in his dress and manner. The few times she been close enough to hear him order, she found his soft English accent intriguing in a Euro kind of way. Like some of the more well mannered news announcers on television. He was tall, about six-one or so, well built but not muscular, with a square jawed and slightly rugged, suntanned face, as if spending time outdoors. The salt and pepper moustache gave him an almost military air, but she couldn't say why. He was definitely the fatherly kind, with probably a daughter and grandchildren somewhere, yet he didn't wear a wedding ring.

This morning, he'd come in, ordered coffee and a roll, taking them to his favorite corner seat, and began reading a book. Cindy worked closer, cleaning one table after another, even though they didn't need cleaning. Out of curiosity, she wanted to smell his after shave, and worked the tables towards him, but he took no notice of her.

"Can I get you a refill?" She heard herself ask, blushing slightly. She had no idea where that came from, as she hadn't planned on saying anything to him. It just came out.

"Why yes, I'd love another cup. Thank you for asking." His soft British accent smoothing out the words in a lilting kind of way.

Cindy almost dropped the mug as she grabbed it, her hands shaking slightly. He'd looked up at her, bright, sea green eyes seeing into her soul. He smiled, one side of his lips moving up more than the other. It was a nice smile, and Cindy felt herself color as she walked back to the counter, feeling self conscious and telling herself not to stumble. Her uniform felt tight, more revealing, the hem a little higher than necessary. Ducking out of sight and a deep breath brought some measure of composure, enough to refill the coffee mug and return it to his table without spilling it.

"Can I get you some cream and sugar?" Her eye flicking up to meet his, feeling their impact again as she carefully placed the mug on the table. He smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, yes." The word softer, more precise than her ear was use to.

Cindy knew his eyes followed her as she walked over to the condiment counter to retrieve a jug of half and half and a handful of sugar packets. She self-consciously smoothed her skirt and apron, hoping he wouldn't notice the smudges, her big hands and feet, her slight overweight, that she was too short, her hair not blond... She shook herself. Why should she care what he thought? Smiling, Cindy brushing the silly thoughts away and walked back to the table with her precious burden. He nodded his thanks and returned to the book, yet walking away she knew his eyes were on her.

God, he was old enough to be her father for heaven sake. Old Spice! That's what he was wearing. His after shave was old Spice, just like her Dad! So? A voice in the back of her head asked. She quelled the thoughts racing through her brain, like what he saw when he looked at her.

'Damn! This is silly,' she muttered, dismissing the whole thing as nothing more than daydreaming brought on by boredom.

The last of the dirty coffee cups and plate clattered into the dishwasher, and Cindy pulled the stainless steel door shut with un-necessary force and hit the start button. The washer rumbled into life, and the high pressure hiss of the spray bars cleaning the cup and plates drowned every other sound. Wisps of steam crept out from under the door, and wiping her hands Cindy walked back to the front of the coffee shop.

A pang of disappointment shot through her, seeing the empty chair, and the man gone. Feeling puzzled why she feel that way at all, and walked over to his table to wipe it down. As usual, the tip was there under the advertising stand, but this time it was five dollars. Cindy smiled in thanks and tucked it in her pocket. A book on the window shelf caught her eye, and realized the man must have forgotten it. Picking it up she glanced at the long title, not really reading it. The book was obviously expensive, not some cheat paperback edition, but she wasn't much for reading.

With the book tucked under her arm she headed for the kitchen, eyeing the clock. Thank god, it was almost the end of her shift in purgatory and she'd be out of here for the rest of the day. Changing into jeans, thin sweater and tennis shoes; she clocked out, the book tucked safely under her arm. Somewhere the vague idea of returning it, either today, or tomorrow when he came in crossed her mind. She wasn't about to leave it laying around the coffee shop for anyone to take or throw away.

The street outside was hot, the air muggy and filled with the stench of exhaust, traffic sounds battering her ears, the smog making her cough as she walked the block and a half to the parking lot and her car. If you could call it that. She called it the 'beast', an old, ugly, dirty blue AMC Gremlin. It ran, just, and that was about all it did. The radio didn't work, and she strained her arm cranking the drivers-side window up and down. The passenger side window was permanently stuck half open, but it didn't matter, the AC had packed up long ago, so she didn't mind the window being stuck, except on cold mornings. Turning the key, she heard the starter motor grind its way around the flywheel. With a groan of protest at being disturbed, the beast reluctantly came to life, complaining loudly at her need to go home. It left a trail of blue smoke as Cindy nursed it on its way. Thanking whatever god that watched over old cars, she made it home one more time. The beast wheezing and spluttered in its death throes as she killed the ignition, like some tired old man on his death bed, as with one last gasp the engine stopped.

The rest of the day went its usual boring way, with dinner with her parents, the news, a game show that bored her silly, then up to bed. Showering and changing into a pair of sensible, white cotton panties and a thin tee shirt with no bra. She flopped on the bed with a feeling of ease until the book caught her eye and picking it up, she reread the gold colored words on the leather spine. A blush spreading up her face, fingers trembling at seeing the title. 'The History of Corporal Punishment in the Twentieth Century', but it got her curious as well. At first she just flipped thought the pages, stopping here and there to read. Unlike most scholarly books, this one had full color photographs, and once or twice she snapped the book shut, her mouth a big 'O' of surprise.

"Oh my lord!" She muttered, cheeks glowing red, slowly opening the book again as if it were going to bite her.

Many pictures showed females of different ages being punished in a variety of way. Some over the knee, getting a bare bottom spanking with a variety of instruments, such as paddles, straps, brushes. Others of them bend over something, and having their bottoms punished with canes, straps, whips, and riding crops. Most were nude or semi dressed, while a few were dressed in some sort of costume. A few showed young female at private schools, strapped down in different devises, or bend over chairs, couches, gym equipment, all in various stages of undress, to completely naked, taken at the moment of punishment. Swallowing carefully, Cindy began to read, learning the wide variation in philosophy behind corporal punishment. For some it was strictly discipline, heightened by the individuals administering the punishment need to add to the punishment by making the female in question take off part, or all of her clothes.

The degree and severity of the punishment also depended on the individual administering the punishment, and for what offence the individual was being punished. There didn't seem to be any relationship between the offence and the degree of punishment. For some, an infraction of some rule was sufficient for a caning, or whipping, while other, in what Cindy considered a major infraction, the individual was mealy put across someone lap and spanked, with or without an instrument as she'd been on several occasions. This also varied by region, school, or type of institution of learning. One part intimately detailed the correct steps in applying an over the knee spanking to male and female children or young adults, paddles, brushes or straps optional, and the correct positioning of the individual over the knee or lap. This included instructions on trapping the legs between the spankers to prevent kicking and possible injuries to either party. One particular step detailed the need to administer, what in the book was called, a pussy spanking, to young females as an extra form of punishment for crime the of masturbation. That made Cindy turn bright red, as this was accompanied by graphic picture of the punishment, and that of the young woman's pleading, tear streaked face. It wasn't until she got about a third of the way through the book that Cindy realized that much of, and the degree of punishment was also dictated by the needs of the individuals as well.

The book emphasized the need to extraction from the person a confession of guilt in the matter, and agreement they needed punishing, and to what degree. That surprised her, as she'd never thought about it that way before. Wondering what she would have said to her Mother or Father if they'd asked that question before they punishing her. Cindy shivered, thinking of the humiliation she might have felt if she'd been asked how hard she should be spanked for some transgression or other.

The next chapter dealt more with punishment between married couples, or partnerships of one sort or another. Here it went more into to bondage and discipline aspects, with pictures of bondage equipment, restrains, harnesses, and punishment devises. With one hand inside her panties, the other flipping pages as she read, Cindy found herself completely aroused. It wasn't long before she was just looking at the pictures, panting and moaning softly as she looked at young woman locked into restraint frames, being whipped, spanked, paddled, and strapped. With a squeal of pleasure, she climaxed, shutting her legs quickly on her hand, less it escape before she'd finished. The fire and ice feeling washed over and though her body, leaving her wanting more. She was tempted, having had multi orgasms before, but relented and lay back, relaxing in a warm foggy afterglow as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

She didn't sleep well, as her dreams were full of forbidden images, things she wanted/didn't want to happen. At one point she awoke in tangled sheet, panting for breath, excited and scared, hearing the echo of the long moaning 'Noooooo' in the darkness of her room. For a moment she tried desperately to remember what it was she was crying against, but it drifted away from her reaching mind like early morning mist as the sun raises, intangible, and just beyond reach. She did discover she'd gone to sleep clutching the book, and sometime during the night had rolled over on it. Several pages were folded, and pulled partially loose from the bindings.

"Oops." She muttered, trying to straighten the pages.

She bit her lower lip and winced, thinking of what its owner would say when he saw it. Closing it carefully on the straightened pages, she placed it on the bedside table; her fingers caressing the leather cover a moment, eyeing the clock, then the book again. If she stayed up and read more, she'd never get enough sleep. Then she'd be late for work, old baldy would start yelling at her, maybe fire her. Then she'd have to explain to her parents why she got fired, and on and on, so with a wistful sigh, she straightening the sheets and blankets and settled down instead. For a while, she was half afraid to switch the light off and sleep, half longing, half fearing she'd dream and see again what she was afraid of seeing.

At last she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, awaking the next morning feeling restless but edgy. She showered and dressed, again forgetting to do her exercises until she was in the 'beast' heading for work. Her pug nose pulled into a mouse of annoyance. Chiding herself, and promising to do better tomorrow.

The morning went slowly, ever though the coffee shop was busier than usual and old baldy kept yelling at her to work faster. There was no way she or the other two girls could, but that didn't slow the string of complains from baldy. Only at Noon did she know why the morning was dragging, her 'Old Spice' man hadn't shown up for his morning coffee break. Her cute nose wrinkled in annoyance, not at him, just the fact he hadn't show up. All she wanted to do was return the book, wasn't it? She hadn't realized she'd been waiting expectantly for him, until he didn't show. Cindy colored slightly and quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had, amidst the clatter and bustle of the coffee shop, and she bit her lower lip and giggled. She shouldn't be thinking what she was thinking, but there again, what was she thinking? She shook her head, stirring her long hair around her shoulders to chase away the thoughts. She shivered suddenly at the touch of her on her bare shoulders, never really noticing until now how sensual it was.

At three she clocked out with a sigh of relief, changing and dropping her sweaty uniform into the laundry bag, thankful the day was over. Dressing, she was about to close her locker door, when she saw the book on the top shelf. She hesitated, wondering if she should take it home and read some more, or... She let the thought hang in the air. She could take it around to wherever he worked and give it to him. Idly, she opened it, flipping through the paged, seeing the lurid pictures flipping passed. It really wasn't a consideration, as she didn't have a clue where he worked... A small white card fell out, a page marker maybe, until she picked it up, seeing the neatly printed names and address in bold copper plate.

MASTER'S RARE BOOK AND MANUSCRIPTS

231 Wayward Lane. Old Town Close.

Richard Masters. Owner.

It listed the phone number, and for a moment, Cindy nibbled her lower lips, thinking. Should she just call him and tell him she'd found it? That didn't really have any appeal. Wait until he came back it? That might not be right away. So what remained? Take it to his shop, store, or whatever you called a rare book place. She shivered slightly and shook herself, not knowing why then nodded, as if agreeing with herself, deciding to take it around and give it to him personally. That made her feel nervous, but tucking the book under her arm she left the coffee shop and headed downtown to Wayward Lane. This turned out be to a narrow cul-de-sac with small shops on either side. The cobblestone drive wasn't meant for vehicle traffic, just pedestrians, making it seem old world and quaint. Just the kind of place you'd expect to find an antique book shop. 'Master's Rare Book and Manuscripts' lay nestled between a millenary shop, specializing in hand made corsets, French knickers, lace and satin creations that ordinary people could never afford, and an upscale hair stylist-cum-beauty shop.