J and D Pt. 01

Author's note: This is an extract from a much longer work-in-progress in which the workings of The Company -- that cross-time, interdimensional organisation whose operations lie hidden behind humanity's history -- are revealed.

J was updating her weekly report ready to send up the line when D knocked on the door and entered her office. She saved the document to the company cloud and looked up. 'Yes?'

'I'm to give you this.' D handed J a slip of paper. She glanced at it.

'You've been sent to me for punishment?'

D examined his shoes. 'Yes,' he said.

'I see. For what offence?'

'Inappropriate touching.'

'Really? And whom did you touch inappropriately?

'G, Madam J.'

'I see.' G was a tall, statuesque young woman in the future projects department. She was very bright and extremely attractive, with proud breasts, a narrow waist and a shapely posterior. J was looking forward to getting to know her better once she had established her position as head of her new division.

'When did this inappropriate touching take place?'

'Ten minutes ago, Madam J.'

'And where?'

'By the photocopier. She was leaning over it to collect some briefing notes.'

'And her skirt had ridden up?'

'Yes, Madam J.'

'So that you could see her thighs?'

'And her panties, Madam J.'

'And you touched her bottom?'

'I did, Madam J. I gave it a couple of pats. Gentle ones. I didn't pinch her or slap her or anything.'

'How did she respond?'

'She told me to fuck off.'

'Very wise. So, in your opinion, did she welcome your touching her?'

'No, Madam J.'

'And did you think she inviting you to touch her?'

'I don't know. Her skirt was so short. And she could have knelt by the copier and not shown me her knickers. And she looked so delicious...she looked like a pin-up.'

'How old are you, D?'

'Twenty-three, Madam J.'

'So you are the same age as an adult. Don't you think you should be behaving like an adult? An adult has self-control and can resist impetuous impulses. An adult shows restraint.'

'Yes, Madam J.'

'You must understand that how a woman dresses is her own affair. Like G, I am wearing a short skirt today. Do you think you can touch my body without my explicit permission? Even if I were to bend over like G did?'

'No, Madam J.'

'I should hope not. You must understand that you bear the whole responsibility in this matter So, D, G has sent you to me?'

'No, Madam J. It was N. He saw what happened. G asked him to overlook my actions, but he said I needed to be taught a lesson.'

'That was kind of G, but it may well be that N was the wiser of the two. You do need a little instruction. So, I will now administer the physical sanction to you. Have you urinated recently?'

'On the way here, Madam J.'

'Good. We don't want any unfortunate accidents, do we?' J looked D up and down. He was a good-looking young man, dark and slim with evidence of regular gym sessions in his toned physique and broad chest. He had arrived at the Lisbon 1947 division only a week or so previously.

'Strip yourself naked.'

'Completely naked?'

'As the day you were born. You can put your clothes on that chair.'

D disrobed. He fumbled with his buttons and his zip. He was evidently extremely nervous.

'Stand and face the desk.'

H obeyed.

J stood up and removed her short navy-blue pleated shirt. She was wearing French knickers in raw silk underneath it. She held the skirt out to D.

'Put this on.'

'Madam J?'

'Do as you are told!'

'But it won't fit!'

'Yes, it will. Step into it. Pull it up and zip it up as far as you can. Higher.'

D pulled the skirt up over his hips. His waist was narrow and his abdominal muscles well defined. J stood behind him and pulled the waistband taut.

'Breathe in.'

There! The fastening clipped into place.

J stepped back. Good. Her skirt had moulded itself to D's form. It was so short that it revealed the undercurve of his buttocks.

'Very good, D. It suits you. Perhaps you have gained some idea of how it feels to wear a miniskirt. Turn to the left. Now to the right. Did you notice how the material moved across your skin? Pleasant, is it not? There is great freedom of movement when one wears a short skirt, but also the ever-present risk of committing an immodesty. Now you must bend over and grasp the corners of my desk. Please stand with your feet well apart.

'Splendid. The skirt has ridden up as G's did and you are displaying your naked bottom and thighs to me. Do you wax, by the way?'

'No, Madam J.'

'Remarkable. I hope you are beginning to understand how it is when you wear a short skirt, especially a pleated one, and you bend over. How exposed you are. How visible. Only this time you are about to receive punishment, rather than pick up some printouts from a photocopier.'

J removed her blouse, for freedom of movement, and took a long and flexible carbon-fibre switch from the middle drawer of her desk. She flexed it in both hands. Her lovely breasts were encased in a raw silk lace brassiere, matching her knickers. She wore no stockings.

'For the record,' J said, looking up at the camera over her office door, 'I am giving a course of PS to D for the offence of aggravated inappropriate touching -- aggravated as the offence was committed during Company working hours. In addition, he is being humiliated by being compelled to strip naked and wear an item of women's clothing.

'D, have you ever been caned? What form did your Introductory PS take?'

'I was tied to a post and flogged, Madam J. I've never been caned.'

'Ah -- you're in for a whole new experience, then. Please prepare yourself. You must lift your bottom up high and keep it raised during the whole procedure. Good, that's it.'

D arched his back and raised his behind. It was ready for the cane.

J stood behind D and used the tip of the cane to lift the hem of the skirt and position it halfway up his back. It hung down around his taut, firm belly. She did not want it to get in the way.

Taking up a position behind D and to his left, J let the cane rest across the crown of his backside. D trembled slightly. She could not help noticing that he was a little aroused, despite the imminence of his punishment. Perhaps he had taken up this position before, in a sexual context, exposing himself to the attentions of a lover. His scrotum was drawn tight. Good -- J did not want to cane his testicles, not even accidentally. Not this time.

She did, however, intent to beat him soundly. She pulled the cane back and swung it. The instrument whistled through the air and struck D's bottom with a sharp crack.

D gasped. He breathed in -- a long deep breath -- and exhaled slowly. A straight white line appeared across his posterior. It rapidly turned red. J struck him again, slightly lower. D gasped. A second line appeared, below the first one. After a pause of a few seconds to let the sensation register, J delivered a third fierce stroke above the first one. D shook, and he took another deep breath as he processed the pain. It was the worst he had ever endured.

Two more strokes, and after the second D shuddered and writhed. He panted. Perhaps he cried No, no, no sotto voce.

'Keep still,' said J. 'And keep your bottom up. There will be many extra strokes if you do not obey me.' She lashed D for the sixth time.

'Oh! Oh God! Please no more!' For the first time, tears fell from D's eyes and splashed on the floor.

J examined D's backside. Six parallel strokes, precisely applied, with the latest turning red and some purpling around the first. D lifted his hand from the desk, hoping to give his smarting backside a calming rub.

'Keep still. I have not finished.' J lashed D's behind with greater force than she had yet used, cutting across the lines of the first six strokes. D yelled, 'Stop!'

'Shut up! How dare you speak to me like that! Do you want me to give you additional strokes? Then be quiet and take your punishment like an adult. Learn from it.'

Another lash, again crossing previous ones. Red spots sprang up where the welts overlaid one another.

J was not modest. She knew well what a delightful figure she was presenting to the camera. Perhaps she should also have removed all her clothes and let the watchers admire her lithe naked body as it reached and stretched and brought the cane down.

Lash, lash, lash, each stroke spaced out so as to allow the sting of the previous one to be absorbed fully by its recipient. J was getting into her stride.

D felt that he was slipping away, falling into a hell of agony. His behind was blazing with an unquenchable fire. He was completely at the mercy of J and her cane; helpless, drifting on a sea of anguish. And as he floated, he entered a new awareness. His position -- it was, as J had noted, the position of one who offers himself or herself to a lover, or a succession of lovers, for penetration from behind. Had he been a woman, he would have been inviting the entry of an erect phallus into his vagina or anus, desiring the deepest, most forceful penetration. Perhaps his female analogue would be penetrated simultaneously and successively by many phalli, in rectum, vagina and mouth. She would be owned by them. As a male, he could also hope to be entered and owned by many penises, whether real or artificial, into his mouth and his behind, and also that his manhood would be grasped by hands or mouths unknown. Perhaps he would penetrate the anus of another man or woman, prone beneath him while he received the gift of J's discipline. To fuck and be lashed at the same time... The thought was greatly stimulating.

D rocked back and forth, moaning, while the rain of blows fell upon him. He desired J to enter his behind with a cruel phallus, while yielding himself completely to her bitter cane. He kept his bottom high, lifting it to meet the descending lash. He knew it not, but his cries of "stop" had changed to soft moans of desire for more -- more cane, much more cane, cane without limit. I will bleed for you. J.

Each lash brought agony, but it also sent a surge of pleasure rushing through his loins. He penis grew large, thick and rigid, half concealed by J's borrowed skirt. I am a pain-slut, he thought, and I never knew it. Oh J! What you have taught me! I am your bitch -- I yield myself utterly to you! His organ began to throb. And soon -- all too soon -- his pleasure climaxed, and he ejaculated copiously, covering the carpet in front of J's desk with sticky white matter and spattering all over the skirt. The orgasm took him bodily, and he broke his position in front of the desk and rolled over onto the floor, clutching at himself. J's cane caught him across the side, and he screamed.

'J, J! Don't stop! Please whip me all over. All over my body. I want your marks. I want to wear your whip-marks all over me. Please carry on with the punishment. Cane me, cane me!'

J gave him a cut across the shoulders, and D's head jerked back and he cried out, 'Again!'

'Stand up,' said J, 'and place your hands on your head.'

D got unsteadily to his feet. His penis was still dripping and far from fully limp. J lashed him six times across the belly and lower back and gave him a dozen last cuts across his upper thighs. He stood, panting. His penis rose and he ejaculated once more.

'This is absurd,' said J. 'You have ruined a perfectly good skirt and made a mess all over my new carpet. As recompense you will wear it -- and nothing else -- for the rest of today. You will make no attempt to hide yourself. When you sit, it will on your bare buttocks with your legs spread wide apart and the skirt tucked up behind you. You will allow the skirt to ride up at every opportunity and you will bend over whenever necessary and expose yourself. I want everyone to see your punishment marks and the sticky white stains on my skirt. Be sure that you show them to everyone you meet and explain how it was that you got your welts. Now get the hell out of my office and go back to work.'

Well, thought J, that didn't work out as I expected. It looks as if physical punishment may not be a deterrent in this case.

She returned to her report. Best not to miss this deadline for fear of the potential consequences...