The Correction of Debbie Donovan Ch. 01-02

Hammersmith" is intended to be a series of stories and novellas about the Hammersmith household and its servants (circa 1920-1970). The stories will have many reoccurring characters and settings, but will not be released in chronical order.

All characters are eighteen years of age or older.

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HAMMERSMITH

The Correction of Debbie Donovan

Chapter One: Caught

Silverwood Michigan September 1957

I knew I was in trouble, big trouble. My heart pounded as I got into the back seat of the Hammersmith's limousine, and they sandwiched me in tightly from both sides. My box, with all my stolen treasures lay on Mrs Hammersmith's lap. It was a nightmare that I knew was only going to get much worse when my father found out, and the police? Were they going to put me in jail, I couldn't go to jail. I had tried to lie my way out, and that hadn't worked, and there was no way I could run, so all that was left was to cry and beg. Believe me it wasn't hard to get the tears going.

"Please, please Mr. Hammersmith, don't tell anyone about this. I'm so, so sorry, I promise it will never happen again. I'll work for you for nothing until it is all paid back, I promise."

"Why would I want a thief working for me?" Mr. Hammersmith growled.

"And it would take years for you to pay it all back," Mrs. Hammersmith said looking at me sternly. "You have been a very naughty girl, Debbie, and you need to be punished."

"I know, I know," I wailed. "I've been soooo bad." I grabbed her gloved forearm. "But it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person. I can be good, I promise."

"Well perhaps you can be reformed, but that will not happen without proper punishment and repayment. That's what the police and your father will do; it's not our affair, you've caused us quite enough trouble already," She replied.

I couldn't bear the thought. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. Please, can't... you... punish me? I can pay you back by working around your house. I'll be your servant, I'll be your... slave... ma'am, if you can just keep this between us." I meant it; there was nothing these people could do to me that would be worse than what my father, or the nasty dykes in prison would do. She was silent, thinking about it, and I began to have a little hope.

After a while she said, "What do you think Tom? Do we have a responsibility to mend this wayward girl? Personally I don't trust her tears; I say we let the authorities get their hands dirty with her, we have better things to do."

I groaned in despair, then Mr. Hammersmith said, "Well perhaps we should discuss it at least, but not in the car. We'll take her home."

It wasn't a pardon yet, but at that moment I could have kissed him. "Oh thank you, thank you." I gushed.

"Now be still," Mrs Hammersmith said, removing my hand from her arm and placing it in my lap as we drove past the guardhouse and up the long drive into the huge garage of their mansion, Silvermill. One of their terrifying, foreign Amazon servants opened the doors of the car, and Mrs Hammersmith led me firmly by the hand through some hallways to a big, wood-paneled study with a fireplace. There was a big, dark desk, some big leather armchairs and a big leather couch. She sat me down in one of the armchairs. "Just sit there, and don't move," she commanded, and then tapped out of the room on her high heels.

I sat there for what seemed like forever; I would have prayed, but I didn't really want to bring God's attention in my direction. I was at their mercy. They were very rich; they owned half of Silverwood and that was just small potatoes for them; people said that Mr Hammersmith had big companies in Chicago and New York, all the local stuff was just of sentimental value because it had been handed down from Mrs Hammersmith's parents.

All of the townspeople bowed down to them, so if they told the judge to send me to jail, then the judge would send me to jail. I didn't really wonder why such rich people like them cared about my petty little bit of stealing, but I guessed it was just the principle with them. I had thought that I was just making a fool of the store manager, but really, I guess I was insulting much higher powers, and now I was going to have to pay for my stupidity.

Finally Mrs Hammersmith came in and I stood up to face her; she was almost a foot taller than me in her heels, and I looked up to her with my hands behind my back. She was a beautiful woman; much younger than Mr Hammersmith who I figured was about fifty, and she was probably about thirty-five or so. They didn't have any kids, so she had a fine trim figure. She had perfect white skin, and her hair was always beautifully set with every red-golden strand in place, her clothes were always crisp and of the very latest, most expensive styles from Paris and New York. Everyone treated her like a movie star, and I had admired her from a distance too, never imagining that I would ever be in her house, standing right in front of her, and her mad at me to boot.

She grabbed my cheek and pinched it hard. "You are a lucky little girl," she said. "Mr Hammersmith sees potential in you and thinks he can make a decent citizen out of you. So as long as you behave, and do as you're told, we will not go to the police."

"Oh thank, you, thank you, ma'am. I will behave; I will be good. Just tell me what to do."

"You will tell your parents that you met me today and that I hired you to help me with the typing of my latest book, you can tell them that I heard about you winning the typing contest at school. You will work here every night from seven until ten, and there will be some travel and weekend work as well. I will pay you a dollar an hour."

As I babbled out my thanks she took me to the front door; "Show up tomorrow night, well-scrubbed and dressed as if for school, and don't you dare be late. Now run along home," she commanded and gave me a good hard slap on the butt to send me on my way.

So the next night, just after seven o'clock, I stood once again in the dark paneled study with the fire burning in the grate. The housekeeper, Miss Steeple, a short, slightly stout, middle-aged woman with carefully permed, dark hair and pointy-rimmed glasses, brought me there and closed the door behind me.

Mr and Mrs Hammersmith were sitting in the two armchairs waiting for me; I think my mouth really dropped open when I saw Mrs Hammersmith; her long, reddish-gold hair had been shorn off and dyed a darker, less natural looking red. Last night it had flowed down to her shoulders, and now it came only to her ears and in short bangs that slanted across her forehead. It really spooked me; it seemed such a crazy thing to do to such magnificent hair. I didn't know what it was all about, but I prayed that it didn't have anything to do with me. They told me to sit down, and I sat on the couch with my legs crossed at the ankles and my hands in my lap. Mr Hammersmith stood up. He towered over me; I am only five foot four and he must be about six-six.

"You are a bad girl Debbie, you have always been a bad girl," he said. "Don't try to deny it, I have made a fortune because I know people, and I know you. You are smart, bold, and immoral; you want things and are willing to do whatever it takes to get them. These are not necessarily bad characteristics if they are properly trained, however, if you continue on your current path you will certainly end up in jail, the poor house, or a mental institution."

I blushed hot red because his words were true and I felt exposed in front of him. I bit my lip and lowered my eyes as he went on.

"I can save you; I can change your path from one headed for shame and poverty to one where you can have your heart's desire. In your dreams who do you want to be Debbie?"

I shook my head. "It's silly, impossible," I said.

"You want to be a movie star don't you?"

I nodded. That was it exactly, that's what I dreamed hopelessly of becoming; I wanted desperately to be rich and famous and desired.

"If you follow my direction, and obey my commands to the letter, it can happen." He said firmly.

"I'll do whatever you say Mr Hammersmith, I just don't want to get into any more trouble," I said, and I meant it.

Chapter Two: Little Slut

"Miss Steeple, will you come in here please," I called out. Debbie flinched at the loudness of my voice. The door opened immediately and Miss Steeple came in. She wore a black lace dress that fell to her ankles above four inch black heels. The neckline was cut several inches down her ample bosom and uncovered shoulders bare of any straps. "I will require your expertise in the correction of this young woman," I said.

"Of course sir, it will be my pleasure," she replied with a wicked smile as she removed her pointy-rimmed glasses and let them dangle from the chain around her neck. The den had three couches facing each other in an open rectangle with a desk and chairs off to one side; I sat on the red leather couch at the short end of the rectangle with Dianne standing behind me. Debbie stood at the open end of the rectangle, head lowered, hands in her lap. Miss Steeple came around to stand in front of her looking her up and down.

"What do you think will be a suitable punishment for this little thief?" I asked.

"Little slut," Dianne hissed from behind me.

"To determine the punishment we must understand what motivates her crimes. What sins animate her wicked behavior?"

"Lust!" Dianne declared coming around the couch and moving behind Debbie. "Look at those bedroom eyes, little whore's eyes, she can't hide what's behind them. And look at her clothes; the sweater done right to the top, but oh... so... tight," she said, running her hands over Debbie's tits from behind, making the girl start and look up.

The girl wore a dark blue, full length skirt, tight at the waist that billowing out moderately; above that she wore a tight sweater of a darker blue with a round white collar. Her decent sized tits, did fill the sweater out nicely, and at the moment her nipples poked through wonderfully.

"Look at the little slut!" Dianne demanded and grabbed the girl's bold nipples and pinched them making her gasp. "She's ready to get down on her knees right now and suck your dick, Tom."

"Oh she's full of lust," I agreed, still sitting calmly on the couch. "But lust is not a sin; it is a cardinal virtue; only repressing it is a sin."

"Greed," Miss Steeple stated. "Keep looking at me girl unless I tell you otherwise!" She continued to study her with a keen eye; "Yes, this girl wants more than her share. When she gets something she likes she wants more of it."

"Envy," Dianne said coming around to stand beside Miss Steeple. "She wants what her betters have, and she will to do anything she can to get it. Isn't that right Debbie?" she demanded.

The girl didn't respond right away and Dianne slapped her hard on the cheek, she went to lift her hand to the red spot but Miss Steeple snapped, "Keep your hands at your sides or we'll have them tied."

The girl obeyed; "I asked you a question, slut," Dianne growled.

"Yes, I want what my betters have," she said meekly.

Dianne took her face in her hand and squeezed her mouth; "Yes... My Lady. In this house you will address me as My Lady, you little whore."

"Yes My Lady," she replied immediately.

"What else," I asked; "Sloth?"

"Oh no, she has those sleepy, hooded eyes, but she's not lazy; she will work hard for what she wants," Dianne said circling her again as she undid three buttons of her own blue, floor-length dress exposing the white material of her stiff brassiere and the swelling of her heaving breasts.

"Gluttony?" I asked.

"No," Miss Steeple replied firmly; "Gluttony dulls the senses and she likes her senses sharp."

"Pride!" Dianne declared. She ran one of her long fingers roughly around Debbie's parted lips. "She tries to hide it, but look at the arrogant tilt at the corners of her mouth. She thinks she's better than others, she thinks she's something special. Don't you girl!"

"Yes My Lady."

"So, quite a bundle," I said. "Envy, greed, pride and unfulfilled lust, what is the treatment?"

"For envy she must be tormented with what she cannot have until she has earned it; for greed she must be given what she wants until she begs for mercy. For pride she must be humiliated, and then made to earn real pride; and for lust, she must learn how to properly release her desires and be given a worthy object for that lust to serve. All of this we can do," Miss Steeple replied.

"Duration?"

"Until she is corrected, however long that takes."

"Very well, proceed," I ordered.

"We will need to teach her some basic discipline before any real correction can begin," Miss Steeple said.

"Yes, obedience is what this girl needs to learn," Dianne agreed as she ripped her own dress open to the waist, exposing her fine white skin at the bottom of her wide banded brassiere. Miss Steeple walked over to the bookshelves, opened a cabinet, took out a two-foot long, black riding crop, and then returned to face Debbie who was breathing heavily and sweating, her eyes lowered, her arms at her sides, and her body tense all over.

"Look at me!" Miss Steeple demanded placing the riding crop under Debbie's chin; the girl looked up, eyes wide, trembling with fear and excitement. "In public you will address Mr Hammersmith as "Sir, or Mr Hammersmith," in private you will address him as "Master". In public you will address Mrs Hammersmith as "Ma'am or Mrs Hammersmith", in private you will address her as "My Lady"; in public you will address me as "Ma'am", in private you will address me as "Mistress". Every time you are spoken to you must respond; do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress."

"And speak up!"

"Yes mistress," she said a little louder.

"Unless told otherwise you will stand up straight, head down, arms at your sides. When you are spoken to you will look at the person speaking to you," she laid the crop against the side of Debbie's face, "You will respond to... every... command without hesitation or complaint; you will do... exactly... what you are told, no matter what it is, do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress."

The frightened, yet eager girl stood directly in front of me about six feet from the couch; Miss Steeple stood to the side so I could have a clear view, and Dianne stood to the other side. In her heels Miss Steeple stood eyeball to eyeball with Debbie in her two-inch heels, while leggy Dianne in her three-inch heels stood a whole head taller than either of them.

"Take your sweater off," Miss Steeple commanded and Debbie immediately began fumbling with the buttons of her sweater.

"Hurry up slut," Dianne said as she pushed down her own dress and slip to the floor, bent down and picked them up and tossed them off towards the desk. She wore a white, front panel, open-bottomed girdle that rode high on her waist so that the top was only a couple of inches below the lower band of her brassiere; it was split upwards at the front exposing the full length of her shaved slit. High, nude stockings were attached that came almost to the bottom of the girdle.

There was no blouse beneath Debbie's tight sweater, just a wide-strapped white brassiere, not too wide, with firm cups that pushed together some cleavage and were partially see-through especially the darkness around her nipples that still poked out fiercely.

"Fold it neatly and put it on the couch beside you," Miss Steeple instructed.

"Are you wearing a slip?"

"No mistress."

"You... are... a slut!" Dianne exclaimed as she came and sat on my right thigh and started to grind her pussy into it. "No blouse under your sweater so that your nipples can poke out; no slip under your skirt so the boys can get their hands up between your legs. Do you let the boys stick their hands up your skirt?"

"No My Lady."

Miss Steeple gave her a swift, sharp whack on her right nipple with the riding crop; "Don't you dare lie to us Debbie," She said.

"I... I... I've tried, My Lady, but they all get scared and run away. All the boys I know are big babies," she stammered, and then she showed a trace of a wicked smile. "They wouldn't know what to do if they got up there anyway," she added.

Dianne liked that and ground her pussy harder into my leg. "You little hussy," she said, in an appreciative tone. "Proceed Miss Steeple, let's see what she's got besides that smile."

"Take your skirt off," Miss Steeple commanded, and Debbie's hands immediately went behind her back to unzip, and then she pulled the skirt down and let it fall to the floor. She bent down and picked it up and folded it neatly and put it with her sweater. "Good, you are learning," Miss Steeple said.

She wore plain, large white panties underneath a wide, white garter belt the top of which covered her belly button and the bottom, classically curved, framed the triangle of her pud; garter straps about four inches long held up nude stockings. Dianne got up off my leg leaving a wet mark on my suit pants and went up to Debbie again; circling her. She gave the back of her brassiere strap a snap, bent down and ran her fingers along the edge of her panties, caressed the nylon on her leg.

"Not bad stuff; bought with money stolen from us, no doubt. Well, if you're good we'll get you some very nice things."

"Thank you My Lady."

"How shall we take her?" I asked.

"First the desk," Miss Steeple replied. She swished the crop in front of Debbie's face making the air sing and the girl start; "I'll bet you know the drill," she said. "Bend over the desk!"

Debbie turned and did as she was told; "Reach out and grab the edges," Miss Steeple gave her sharp little whacks in the armpits; "really stretch out those arms, mash those tits of yours hard into the wood."

Dianne pulled the girl's panties down to the bottom of her butt cheeks. "And head up you naughty little girl, I want to see your sweet little curl bounce," Dianne commanded as she moved around to the other end of the desk and leaned her elbows casually on it so that her face was only about two feet from Debbie's.

"You've been spanked before haven't you," Miss Steeple said.

"Yes, Mistress, many times," Debbie replied in a small voice.

"Well I want you to understand that this is the least of the punishments you might receive. This is just for quick correction and to focus attention; we have many other ways..."

"Many, many ways," Diane interrupted as she reached out and enfolded the girl's hands in her own so that they were both stretched across the desk from opposite ends.

"...to hurt you," Miss Steeple concluded.

"So many, many ways, Oh you can't imagine," Dianne said shaking her head with a little giggle.

Miss Steeple took the broad, black leather strap from the cupboard; "Strap!" she said and laid it across Debbie's ass with a loud flat slap.

"Wooden ruler!" this made more of a cracking sound and made Debbie twitch.

"Crop!" this distinctly whistled through the air before it smacked her soft white skin causing her to gasp a little and close her eyes.

"Keep looking at me you naughty little whore," Dianne said smiling and licking her lips; she gave Debbie's wrists a little tug pulling her tighter against the desk.

"Switch!" this one made a very nasty thwacking sound and Debbie moaned a little, but didn't say anything. "Do you know them now?" Miss Steeple asked.

"Yes Mistress," she replied raising her head a little and trying to look back over her shoulder.

"Oh, very confident, she must have a very special, sensitive little bum," Dianne said still holding her wrists while grinding her own pelvis into the desk, "test her out."

There was a whistle and a slap; "Crop, mistress," Debbie called out immediately.

"Very good," Miss Steeple said.

"Very, very good. I want to have some of that special bum, it must be something to touch. I think I'm going to lick that special little white bum," Dianne said.