CHAPTER ONE

THE BEGINNING, AND THE BARNET BASTILLE

 

"In my opinion, young lady, you deserve a good spanking."

It was a comment John Tyler had made to Ali Balcombe on more than one occasion before. Never seriously, of course: although he would have liked nothing better than to smack that pert little derriere of hers, he was at pains not to let her know it. It wasn't that sort of a relationship. In fact, it wasn't a relationship at all, at least not in the modern sense. They were simply friends, but more in the sense of uncle and niece than as equals. The age gap wasn't that great - just turned thirty, he was only a dozen years older than she - but as she had always observed, he always acted old. Responsible, mature and dignified, he said; she used other less complimentary words, but always with that mischievous twinkle in her lovely green eyes and the slight hint of a smile on her pretty face that betrayed the fact that she was teasing him. It was just such a tease that had caused him to make this comment. Normally she would answer something like this with a further tease, but this time for some reason her reaction was rather different. She put her hands on her hips, stared defiantly at him and said, "Are you man enough to give me one?"

It was a very blatant come-on, and somewhat out of character. In most ways she was demure, almost shy, and certainly completely platonic towards him. But they were alone, she having called round at his house to ask for some help with her college studies in accounting, which was the field he earned his living in, and he lived alone. Still, he hesitated.

"Don't tempt me," he prevaricated.

"I'll take that as a no, then," she said in mock superiority, and thumbed her nose at him.

John saw a way forward. He backed off and sat down in his armchair. "If you dare to put yourself over my lap, you'll find out your answer," he said, neatly putting the ball back in her court.

He expected her to make some further teasing comment or airy joke and move the conversation on, but instead she hesitated. Indecisiveness played over her lovely features and showed in her posture. She was not particularly tall, but her shape was excellent and she had the best bum and legs he had ever seen on a girl, the contours of which were, happily for him, often displayed because she liked to wear either shorts or tight tracksuit bottoms such as the black ones she had on today along with a light blue t-shirt that showed off a firm but not excessively large chest. Not an hour glass figure, then, but lithe and athletic. Perhaps best of all, she was unaware of her beauty, considering herself to be only average at best, which gave her a charming lack of ego and a natural character. A sporty girl who spent hours in the gym, she seemed free of any attachments to the boys, though he was quite sure she wasn't a lesbian.

"If I do, you'll be beastly to me," she observed coquettishly.

John relaxed slightly. He knew she wouldn't use a word like 'beastly' if she was seriously unhappy with the situation. "That's the general idea," he replied, keeping the ball in her court.

With trepidation, Ali stepped forward. My god, thought John, she's going to do it. Hesitantly, she moved round to the side of the chair, then without looking at him leaned over until her hands were on the carpet on the other side and then settled down onto his lap. The perfectly shaped rear beneath the tight tracksuit bottoms filled his vision, whilst her subtle scent teased his nostrils and her weight on his legs proved to him that this was not some blissful dream. He could feel the tension in her body. He put one of his hands on her delicious body to hold her in place.

"Tell me when you've had enough," he said challengingly. That would keep things from going beyond what she could deal with and at the same time dare her to take plenty. She didn't reply. He laid his free hand on her bottom, the first time he had ever been able to touch her there. She flinched. It occurred to him that actually it might just be the first time she had felt any male hand on her bum. Then he lifted his hand up, and felt her tense again, because she knew what would happen next.

Smack!

It was a very light stroke. Too light, he told himself: you need to be firm here. Even so, she twitched underneath his controlling hand, undoubtedly from shock rather than anything else.

Smack!

That was a much better one! Ali gasped. It wouldn't really have hurt, at least not much, but now she knew that this was not going to be make-believe.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

There was silence from Ali.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Still silence. But that bottom was so wonderfully vibrant beneath his touch: firm, yet soft and yielding, and so perfectly shaped that it was difficult to believe that he had not died and gone to heaven.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Still Ali remained silent, but he could feel her shaking slightly through his legs. What was causing the shaking he wasn't quite sure. It would be starting to sting a bit now, but she was no wimp. Humiliation? Embarrassment? Or sexual excitement?

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

John could have continued with this all day, but he didn't want to push it too far. His hand was beginning to feel the cumulative effects of smacking her, so her bottom would certainly be smarting by now. He helped her back to her feet, very aware that the next few moments would be critical. He could play things almost apologetically or be firm and strong. He decided the latter course was best.

"Have you learnt your lesson, young lady?" he asked with his best air of authority.

She rubbed her bottom ruefully. "You meanie," she said without real venom. "My bum's black and blue."

"Nonsense," he said airily. "Maybe a healthy red glow at the most. Shall we inspect the damage?"

"No thank you," she said tartly. Apart from the tight tracksuit bottoms, she always dressed demurely and wasn't one for showing her body off. "Can we carry on with the college stuff now?"

And that was that. She sat back down beside him - slightly gingerly, he noted - and carried on as if nothing had happened.

John assumed that this would be a one-off, and cherished the memory of spanking that superb bottom. But a few days later she called again for more help - they had agreed she would come for help twice a week - and from the start she went out of her way to provoke him. This time, instead of daring her to go over his lap, he grabbed her slim wrist and pulled her over him and gave her a second spanking, every bit as energetic as the first. When he had finished, she climbed back off him and with a chastened demeanour but no comment returned to what he was showing her about her studies.

"I think," he ventured later in that session, "that it would help if I set you a few questions as a sort of test at the end of each lesson. You could do them ready for the next lesson. It would be a check to make sure you've understood everything."

She nodded. "Yes, I think that would help," she agreed.

Now for the try-on, he thought. "Of course, I'll expect you to go over my lap for some more attention to your bottom if you don't pass."

She didn't look at him, but said quietly, "fair enough." Again she had surprised him by agreeing; he had expected her to argue and had been ready to back off.

"Shall we say eighty per cent as the pass rate?"

She nodded, and that was that. He set the questions, trying to be fair and give her a chance but not make it too easy. She handed it in at the start of the next lesson, but despite his own eagerness he left it until near the end of the lesson before marking it. It wasn't bad, but ... seventy-five per cent. She stood up and put herself over his lap without complaint.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Time to up the ante, he decided. He ran his hand over her tautly stretched tracksuit bottoms, loving the feel of the firm young flesh underneath. "You know," he said conversationally, "I think these trackies are giving you far too much protection."

"They're honestly not," came her somewhat breathless voice from her head, which was only a few inches off the floor.

"Nevertheless, I think they need to come down."

There was a startled silence from Ali. "No, please," she said, but there was not enough conviction in her voice.

"I'm having to work altogether too hard here to get any effect," he argued.

Again there was a pause before she replied. When she did speak, there was a tone of defeated surrender in her voice that he'd never heard from her before. "I can't stop you," she said.

It wasn't true, of course. She could easily refuse, or even get up if she so chose. What she was doing was telling him that he could go ahead. So he did. Slipping his fingers into the elasticated waistband of her tracksuit bottoms, he pushed them firmly down. She even co-operated by lifting her hips up so that he could do it. A pair of demure white knickers came into view, tightly stretched over that perfectly formed bottom. Lowering her tracksuit bottoms didn't actually reveal that much, just the tops of her thighs, a small amount of the lower curves of her cheeks, and her lower back just above the waistline, but they made him feel deliciously in control.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

When he finally released her, he noted that her face was redder than usual as she hastened to pull her tracksuit bottoms back up to cover herself once more. But she made no further comment.

Next lesson, after again scoring seventy-something per cent, she allowed him to lower her tracksuit bottoms without protest, though the panties she wore were if anything even more demure. But the lesson after that, her test paper was distressingly good. Even applying the strictest marking, he could not bring the score below ninety per cent. As her teacher he was delighted with her progress, but as a man he was naturally disappointed.

"Looks like no spanking for you today, then," he observed.

"Thank goodness for that," she replied archly.

"Rubbish! You enjoy every moment of it."

"Huh! Having you brutally beating my poor little bottom? I don't think so," she replied haughtily.

A daring idea began to form in his mind. He sat back in his chair. "So you can relax for today, then."

"Absolutely. Next week too, I bet. I'm really getting to understand the work now."

"So no more spankings, then?"

"Doesn't look like it," she replied smugly.

"You'll miss them."

"I don't think so."

He let that hang for a moment. "Well, I tell you what. I've an idea for a bit of a challenge for you, and an adventure too. Something rather different."

She eyed him suspiciously. "What sort of challenge?"

He smiled, taunting her. "You won't know unless you take the plunge. Simple deal: I'll take you somewhere for a day; somewhere where I can ... shall we say, deal with you more effectively. All you have to do is agree to surrender completely to my orders from the time I pick you up to the time I drop you home. Absolutely complete compliance: no deals, no limits, and no complaints afterwards."

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that meant to be a good deal?" she asked archly.

"It'll certainly be very tough, and more than a bit painful. It'll be quite an endurance test."

"OK," she said quietly.

The simple agreement took the wind out of John's sails. "Are you sure?" he managed. "You understand clearly the rules?"

"Total surrender, from the time you pick me up to the time you drop me back home," she repeated tonelessly. "No deals, no limits, and no complaints afterwards. What was the phrase you used? Absolute complete compliance."

"And you agree?"

"I've just said so, haven't I? No need for any discussion. Let me know the date and I'll get the day off." She terminated the conversation firmly, and when he came back to her with a date several days later, having made certain arrangements, she simply said the date was fine and refused any further conversation on the matter. When he pointed out to her that she would be really jumping into the deep end, she just shrugged and affirmed flatly that she would keep to what she had agreed. But now that he had said this, she would not be able to complain that she hadn't been warned. He began, as if in a delightful dream, to make his plans, starting with a phone call to book a rather unusual room.

 

***

 

The day came.

For the sake of discretion, he picked Ali up not from her house but from a few streets away. She got into his car without comment. She was wearing the same light blue t-shirt and black jogging bottoms that she had worn the first time he had spanked her.

"How are you?" he asked conversationally.

"Fine, thank you," she said very tersely as she did up her seat belt.

He looked at her. "Nervous?" he asked.

She hesitated. "Yes," she said shortly.

He smiled. "Well, I suppose you should be."

"Let's get going," she said, again shortly.

He let the clutch in and moved off. "We've got a couple of hours' drive, so sit back and relax. What did you tell your parents?"

"That I'm going to a friend's for the day. As it happens, today was a day I didn't have to go into college anyway. They won't ask any questions." Today was Friday.

"And you know the rules for today," he said.

"I know the rules for today," she confirmed in a flat voice.

"Tell me," he prompted.

She took a breath. "I have to obey and comply completely, all of the time from now until you bring me back home," she said quietly.

"With what limitations?" he pressed.

She looked out of the car's side window. "None," she said, unable to keep a slight shake from her voice.

John decided to leave it on that final word. Ali lapsed into silence and was uncommunicative throughout the journey. Tension was palpable, but John didn't mind. She stared ahead, her hands clasped together in her lap perhaps rather more tightly than they would normally be, her pretty face a stone mask. John noted that she had an iPod with her, but didn't use it.

He drove to the north of London, coming off the M25 and taking the road to Barnet. Ali still didn't speak; even when they turned into a tiny car park surrounded by some small industrial units and squeezed the car into just about the only parking space available.

"Wait here while I get the key," he told her. He went to the adjacent unit and found the man he wanted busy working. The man was friendly enough, but there was little need for chat. John paid the very reasonable booking fee and was given the key. He went back out to the car where Ali still sat and opened the passenger door for her.

"Let's go," he said breezily. "Can you bring my bag from the back seat? Mind the puddles."

Ali picked up the light holdall and got out wordlessly, stepping gingerly to avoid the mud. John gestured to a door and they went over to it. He unlocked it and went inside, taking the bag off her and closing and locking the door behind her. They were in a small, dark hallway. To the right was a small room decked out as a classroom. Ali looked into it with curiosity, but it was not their destination.

"Take your shoes and socks off," John ordered, putting a business-like tone into his voice.

Ali looked slightly surprised, but did as she was told, putting her trainers neatly against the wall with her white socks tucked into them. Her bare feet were sexy, John thought: not dainty, because she was an athlete, but pretty nevertheless.

"Put your hands together behind your back and turn away from me."

Again looking bemused, though also clearly nervous, she obeyed. John unzipped his holdall and took out a pair of steel handcuffs. There was a loud click as he secured the first cuff on one of her wrists. She almost jumped in surprise, but did not struggle or resist as the second cuff went on. Her hands were now locked together behind her back, the chain connecting them no more than six inches long.

"Turn back to face me."

She shuffled round, the lovely green eyes wide with surprise and, yes, fear. But she still said nothing. John took another pair of cuffs, this time with a slightly longer chain between them, and knelt down and locked her ankles in the same way. She would be able to shuffle now, but not walk properly.

He studied her, silently. The green eyes were wide and apprehension played over her pretty face, but still she said nothing. Well, right now that was her choice, but it would not be for long. He reached into the holdall again.

"Open your mouth," he ordered her.

Again confused by the unexpected, Ali obeyed, displaying her even white teeth. John deftly inserted a ball gag, then pulled her head forward so that he could secure the strap round the back of her neck. Once again he stood back and admired the now helpless girl. She was looking very nervous indeed now, almost shaking.

Time for her to see where she would be spending the afternoon. John opened the door at the end of the short hallway and pushed her inside.

Ali's eyes opened wider. The room was a dungeon, very effectively and atmospherically laid out and certainly well equipped. Chains, cuffs, whips and canes hung from the wall. There were two sets of stocks, one for head and one for feet, a bench, a wall cross and many other bondage devices. As Ali looked around in bewilderment, John led her across the room, knowing that her bare feet would find the stone floor ice cold. The far wall had two cells build into it, one of them with a bench to sit on, the other with only just enough room to stand between the bars and the stone wall. John chose the latter and, turning her around so that she faced the main room, pushed Ali firmly into it and closed and locked the metal grille. This was not a prop: the walls were solid and the metalwork worked into the stone. Ali was quite helpless and she knew it. She could not sit down or turn around; her back pressed against the stone wall, her front tight against the metal bars. Even if there had been a bench in there, she did not have room to sit down.

Deliberately ignoring her now, John moved around the devices, preparing them. He had been here before, but not too often, so he was only partially familiar with the equipment. He had a sequence already planned and went round, setting up each stage in turn. His intention was to move Ali from device to device in security, so that she would never be free at any time. This was for effect rather than any concern that she might bolt: he wanted to keep her dominated in body as well as mind.

His preparations complete, John strolled back over to the wall cell. He noted that Ali had already learnt that she needed to suck in from time to time to avoid dribbling around the ball gag. The gag was red and her lips wrapped around it as if she was kissing it, though he was sure that was not her intention. She could not close her lips and certainly could make no intelligent sound, but it was not forcing her jaw wide enough to make it ache. That was no bad thing, because she was going to be gagged for some time.