Intention and Design

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consentual or reluctant sex.

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I would welcome comments from all readers, for this my first post. I have been experimenting for sometime and built a limited catalogue of stories I am ready to offer for criticism. I do hope you enjoy this first piece and I look forward to posting later stories for your opinions. Please do not ask for what happened next in this story. I am sure you can imagine it for yourself.

Bernice being eighteen years of age would normally change from her school uniform before going to work. Today was not a normal day. With exams completed , and the summer drifting out before her, she had not even been into school. Today was different. Today she had purposely dressed this way. It was how Andrew at the solicitors thought of her. The young girl who would breeze into the office spending hours picking his encyclopaedic brain whilst helping her mother clean.

He was an earnest man, ten years her senior with a gentle wit and shy demeanour. He had been relaxed with her in her tom boy days. She would dress in jeans and tee shirt, hiding her developing body. It had allowed him to forget she was a girl hurtling towards womanhood. They had joked and teased, having mock fights, innocent simple, tickle tumble games. Bernice had grown up. She wanted him to notice the change. Her fondness for her adult friend, leading her to want something more intimate and less innocent than before.

She had shortened her uniform skirt to suit her intentions. Adding discrete makeup to give maturity to her face. The carefully chosen underwear from the exclusive lingerie shop, gave an added dimension to her already firm round bust. The only regulation thing about her lingerie was the colour, white. The many calls, and toots from passing vans suggested her clothes would create the required impression. She breezed into the solicitors office to commence her mother's cleaning work, whilst she holidayed in Ireland.

Most of the office had left for the night. There would only be Andrew working late. Andrew always worked late. His boss Miss Jackson ruled over him with a rod of iron. She found Bernice a distraction. So it was only when she helped her mother clean of an evening, she had any time to chat. Being conscientious and a little afraid of Miss Jackson. Andrew's conversations were often conducted from behind a mound of books or a flickering computer screen. Bernice hadn't minded it meant she could study him. The same way her friends had studied film and T.V. stars. He was very handsome, slim with fine boned features. A light crop of fine blond hair topped his head, leaving the always pink tips of his ears exposed. He had a patient calm voice, when explaining and interpreting things her frantic mind could not comprehend. He was always tolerant with her like a parent with a child. Bernice was no longer a child. She hoped he would find in her the woman, not the fresh faced girl.

At sixteen she had lost her virginity to one of the boys from the school rugby team. Her fresh face and full figure had attracted lots of willing attendants since then. They were nice but frequently disappointing. She knew more about the workings of their body than they. Now she wanted someone who would teach her. She wanted Andrew to be her body tutor.

The offices were thick with residual heat, where windows had recently been closed. She slipped her mothers apron over her white blouse. Then started cleaning the ground floor as fast as she could. Andrew worked at the top of the building. When his office was cleaned it would be his signal to leave. Tonight he might be a little later.

The surfaces of the desks stuck to the perspiration on her arms, as she hurriedly dusted and polished. The heat of a photo copier startled her, as her bottom grazed against it. The brush reminding her just how short her skirt was. She gave a cry as she caught her breath. Looking up she saw Miss Jackson watching her.

'On your own tonight?' The brunette asked looking remarkably cool in her light linen suit. Like Andrew she was slim, with delicate hands and features. Keen bright blue eyes, immediately captured Bernice's attention. She hadn't expected her to be working late tonight, normally she would be gone.

'Yes. Me mam's gone over to the folks in Ireland. So I'm covering for the next couple of weeks. I've started putting some money together, for September and the University.' Bernice replied in her most polite accent. She was a girl with spirit. Sometimes she felt it was better to appear a little humble, especially with someone as clever as Miss Jackson.

'I had forgotten you were still at school. We normally see you in jeans. Your governors are very lenient, lax almost. Your uniform is a bit revealing for a young lady. I certainly could not have entered a class with makeup on my face. I would have been made to scrub it off.' Miss Jackson said a note of disapproval in her voice.

'You have to have a little rebellion miss. We sort of pushed the boundaries with the skirt to be a little fashionable. After all we only get one pass at life. I expect you were the same when you were younger.' Bernice couldn't help the slight reference to their ages. Miss Jackson appeared much older than her 30 years. Always dressed in older clothes, almost prim, like the old maids her mother spoke of in Ireland.

'I expect I did. I just don't remember ever wearing anything, which so compromised my decency. I suppose it's just a question of background.' Miss Jackson said finishing with a smile, which revealed her even white teeth clenched at the jaws. She leant her head back, out of the office and called back up the stairs.

'You won't be late Andrew. I'll meet you in the restaurant at eight.' There was no reply. Miss Jackson quickly tossed her head and looked back to Bernice. 'He's engrossed. I must be off. I expect you have a lot to do.' She turned and was gone.

Bitch. Bernice thought slamming her fists into the air. She had it all planned until Miss prim and proper stuck her oar in. Bernice quickly sprayed some more polish around filling the air with the wax smell. She raced around with the old vacuum cleaner. A visible dust cloud rising from the machine. Already she feared, she would look a mess. She could feel the dusty powder coating her skin. She hastily hauled the machine through the downstairs rooms, colliding with doors as she went. Now everyone was gone, she dropped the lock on the front door. She didn't want intruders breaking in. She didn't want anyone disturbing her and Andrew.

As Bernice climbed the stairs to Andrew's office, she felt she had established a new cleaning record. She looked at the boys watch on her freckled wrist. She had an hour. Miss Jackson could wait if she had to. She considered her arm. The watch didn't look very feminine. She took it off placing it in the apron pocket. She felt her skin dirty and grained. Quickly she dashed along to the toilets, doused her arms and face, then towelled herself down. She had pink blushes to her cheeks, and throat. The rest of her skin was white like cream. The mixture of the dark and white made her special. Like a pretty porcelain doll. The make up to her eyes and lips was still in place. She ran the tip of her finger along her eyes, tidying any smudges. She discarded the apron hanging it over the door to the ladies toilet. It was covering too much of her. She undid two buttons on the front of her blouse, so it gaped just above her cleavage.

You'll notice me now. She thought to herself. I'll have your eyes popping from their head. She thought of the look on his face when he saw her like this. Considered the view he would have of her young ripe body. She would lean close to his broad shoulders. His slender fingers, delicate like a woman's would brush the back of her hand. Her hair would accidentally brush his face and he'd kiss her. Cautious at first. His lips would stroke her cheek, her forehead, then her mouth. His eyes questioning her. Silently her body would surrender in reply and he'd fall on her with passion. She became weak at the thought. Steadying herself and her pounding heart she entered into Andrew's room.

The big desk was piled each side with papers. His leather swivel chair, was turned with its back to the door. So many times she had entered into the comfort of this room. The thick law books filling the shelves behind his desk, the ordered dishevelment of paperwork and files. Bernice closed the door, walking in calling her greeting.

'Good evening Andrew. It's just meself tonight. I've filled out a bit since I entered here as a scrawny teenager.'

'So I noticed.' The swivel chair slowly turned as Miss Jackson seated made her reply.

Bernice stopped in her tracks. The shock draining her face. Wherever had she come from? She waited for the floor to open up, propel her back to the ground. Why was this woman here? She was meant to be meeting Andrew later.

'Lost for words young lady? The cat got your tongue? Were you going to talk about your expanding mind in these moments alone with Andrew? Or had you something else to discuss?' Miss Jackson fingered the frill of her thin jersey blouse, tracing the contour of her own breasts with the tip of her trailing finger.

'I had in mind a lot of things. Andrew is my unofficial tutor. We talk about school, music, college, life really. He has seen the world, he has a lot to teach a girl like myself ' Bernice replied placing a hand across her exposed cleavage.

'Forgive me. You do not give the impression of someone lacking in worldly knowledge or experience. I should imagine in the matter of life you may have an advantage over Andrew. Still, I'll expect you'll want to get on. You have done so well at cleaning the rest of the building. It won't take you long to complete the task.'

Bernice was tempted to ask what had happened to Andrew. Why had Miss Jackson created the deception? She didn't want to upset her. Certainly not ruin a perfectly good little earner for her mother. So she bit her tongue and started to clear the waste paper bin. She felt suddenly vulnerable. As she bent to work she realised just how ridiculously short her skirt was. It had not been intended to be practical, just an instrument of seduction. She felt Miss Jackson's eyes follow her as she worked. She became more nervous, working quickly to get the job done.

'You don't mind my being here do you Bernice?' Miss Jackson queried from the depth of the leather chair. Her legs were stretched out in front of her crossing at the ankles. Narrowing the walkway behind where Bernice had to clean. Her expression was very calm, relaxed. Her features implacable. Yet Bernice felt her eyes drawn to the flutterings of the manicured fingers, as they toyed with the frill of the soft jersey blouse. Smoothing down the front, lingering over the breasts. It became such a distraction Bernice almost didn't reply.

'I'm sorry Miss. I'm not used to working to an audience. Andrew is normally working. We sort of chat as we go along.'

Bernice decided she could probably ignore the shelves. Miss Jackson would want to get away. Instead she started wiping over the desk. Polishing the smooth surface. She saw her flushed face shining back. The bobbing of her breasts inside her shirt. She caught the look of Miss Jackson's eyes and realised she was watching the same.

'I'll go and get the hoover now. You may find it a bit noisy.' Bernice stood straight and made towards the door.

'Don't bother. That thing creates more mess, than it clears. These shelves are one hell of a mess. They are full of dust. No wonder Andrew's always coughing. You've got plenty of time. While he's away why not give the place a spring clean.'

Bernice looked at all the gathered dust. She was going to get filthy. She didn't want to mess up her blouse. She continued to the door to fetch her mother's apron.

'Where are you going child? I said I'd like you to clean the shelves.' A new firmness entered Miss Jackson's voice. Bernice didn't like the tone. But she still turned politely to answer.

'I'm just going to fetch me mother's apron miss. I don't want to get me school shirt messed up. I haven't got many more times to wear it. It would be a pity to spoil it now.' Bernice started again but Miss Jackson called her back. Bernice was surprised by the sharp sound. Turning she was startled by the piercing blue eyes.

'No need to protect your blouse. Just take it off. It's a hot evening. You're perspiring already. Your body will clean easily.'

Bernice hesitated. She didn't want to rile the woman. At the same time she was uncomfortable with the way she looked at her.

'Take it off girl. Now. There's work to be done.' Miss Jackson stood hand on hips. A darkening furrow creeping across her brow. Bernice realised she had just received an order. For all her spirit she had no will to disobey. Turning her back on Miss Jackson she unbuttoned the shirt. Easing it shyly from her shoulders, she folded it upon a chair. Bernice looked down on her chest. The white uplift bra, cradled the cream flesh. A fine lace frill just covering the pink circle of her young nipples. The delicate fabric pressing the swelling cups together like two sleeping babies in a cot. Miss Jackson was watching her again.

'Another piece of fashion rebellion I take it. You have expensive tastes in your revolt. A little provocative for a girl still at school. I presume you go to a state mixed sex school. They are always more liberal.' Miss Jackson came closer touching Bernice's shoulders. Testing the thin shoulder straps.

'Very fine. This is something I would prefer to wear myself. When I wanted to improve my figure for a man.' Bernice stood trembling as Miss Jackson spoke. She felt trapped by the inquisitive touch. She felt the delicate fingers slide along her shoulders tracing the edge of her shoulder blades.

'This is certainly not the thing to impress younger men, or even boys. They don't appreciate refinement. They don't have the time to stop and admire. They barely have the time to get your knickers down, before their cocks are pumped up ready to come. But then breasts like yours, might slow them down. They would want to stop, look and grope before getting their grubby fingers inside your panties. I expect you've had some of those haven't you? Little boys fumbling inside your panties.' Miss Jackson queried her voice dropping lower as her lips came close to Bernice's ear.

Bernice was trembling as Miss Jackson's warm breath teased the hair of her inner ear. She wanted the woman to release her, let her finish cleaning and go. All her planning had been wasted. Miss Jackson's hand slid down her spine. The fingers massaging the dip in her back, above the waist band of her skirt. A slow fear crept up her. Burning the cheeks of her face. She could turn break the hold. Something made her stay. Despite herself she felt her nipples stir within her bra. Press against the luxurious covering.

'How many lovers have you had my dear? How many notes in a shaky hand have been delivered to your desk? I had loads when I was your age. Paramours who would perform any task to please me. Slaves who waited for their turn to attend me and my friends in our rooms. Then girls are always more sensitive, more romantic. They all need someone to teach them and offer love.'

Bernice felt the words as Miss Jackson imprinted them upon her ear. Her skin was tingling. The trembling having travelled into her knees, making her quiver on the spot. What was this woman trying to say to her? What were her plans for Bernice? Bernice felt a honey glow mushroom from her centre, she was now uncertain of herself.

'I used to have to deal with girls like you. The rebels and the truants. The more adventurous, who wanted to run with life before they could begin to walk. Look at you eighteen and you know it all. A couple of fucks with some spotty youths and you think you are the big seductress. The greatest thing to spread her legs this side of the water. I sussed you girl. I sussed you when I heard your mother telling Andrew, you would be covering while she was away. I needed to know what was so special about you. What made you special to him. So I arranged for him to be away. So I could see what you had in mind. The way your are dressed its obvious what was on your mind. It takes more than a short skirt to make a woman. You're still a girl and I'll treat you like one. You've had one surprise tonight there'll be a few more yet.'

Miss Jackson flipped Bernice's shirt from the chair. She sat down pulling Bernice prone over her lap. Bernice felt the manicured fingers pressuring her into the linen covered lap, as the other hand rested on the top of her thighs.

'Let me go Miss. You can't do this it's humiliating. It's degrading. No matter what you think I am an adult and I dress the way I like. I love Andrew and he'll love me given the chance. You're spiteful sending him away. I'll find him. Tell him what you did. I'll tell everyone what you did. I'll have you struck off you old bitch.'

The hard slap upon her naked thigh made her wince. The second made her scream and cry, as the ferocity increased. Two more blows struck the stinging flesh, the noise resonating from the walls. Miss Jackson's hand came to rest, cool against the burning skin. As she waited the throbbing pain increased. Bernice stifled her own cries. Her eyes were damp but she wouldn't let the tears fall. Wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction. She was angry, she was cross. So mad, she would fight back.. The reality was slow to break on her. She could have slipped off. She could have walked away. She had accepted the simple pressure of Miss Jackson's hand. She felt the warmth spread through her again. Something inside her wanted more. She wanted the humiliation and the pain.

Throughout her life she had never been chastised. She had never felt the sharp shock of punishment. Bernice did everything she wanted. Not even her father had tried to rule her, though he had disciplined the boys. No one had told her what to do.

'You are girl. A simple wilful girl. You'll say nothing. You will tell no one. To do so you will have to admit what you are. A silly girl playing the tart in the hope of capturing a man. He'd throw you away like an old sock, if you don't understand the gifts you've got. You've got nice toys dressed up in a fancy wrapping. To play the game you've got know the rules. Know what you are playing with. The first rule is you've been caught You'll accept my punishment. Then I will make a woman of you.'

Bernice slumped into Miss Jackson's lap. She felt her skirt rise. Felt the hand resting on her back travel down over the taut satin stretched over her buttocks. The fingers slid over her proffered swell. They slid along the seam of her thigh. Gently weighting the flesh Miss Jackson tested the span with her hand.

The hard slap rippled through her body propelling her into the woman's lap. The second made her jerk even harder. The flat palm continued to rain down, striking each time un-tempered flesh. Bernice found her thighs being parted, once it seemed her whole bottom was inflamed. The smacks struck hard against the tender inner thigh, the pain increasing till it seemed she could take no more.

Tears ran down her face. The make up staining her cheeks. Her hair was wet from perspiration and tears as it hung about her face. She screamed, she cried accepting each stinging blow. Inside she felt a new excitement grow. A feeling she had never felt before. With each strike to her tender flesh, she pressed her groin against the linen covered thigh.

'You are a dirty little bitch. A scheming little whore. Tell me girl what are you? You must know what you are being punished for.' Miss Jackson recited. The flow of her hand having abated. The spanking slaps appearing more selective. Each guaranteed to bring a jolt to Bernice's body.