The Bottom Line (4 page)

‘This is outrageous,' Helen complained, ‘but if it's part of your game I suppose I'd better play along with it. And where am I supposed to stand while you amuse yourselves with me? Or do I have to bend over and touch my toes?'

‘First of all,' said Carla, ‘you have to take your pyjamas off.'

‘Take them off?' gasped Helen. ‘Are you telling me I have to be naked? Do you lot think you're really going to watch me get my pyjamas off and then thrash my bare bum?'

‘That's exactly what we think,' said Carla, very calmly. ‘As Dolly told you, we've all been there and you'll soon get over it.'

‘And would you really give me a bad report if I refused?' Helen demanded.

‘Not exactly,' Carla replied. ‘But word would get around that you weren't part of the team, that you considered yourself superior to the rest of us, and there's no room for that in our business; we all have to work together. You're not asked to strip off because we're all lesbians. Some of us are, some of us aren't, and quite frankly we don't care either way. No, it's more a case of having no secrets, of everyone trusting everyone else. We have to know that you'll instinctively do what's best for the team.'

‘What nonsense,' Helen snapped. ‘You just want to see if I can take it, don't you?'

‘Okay,' Carla conceded, ‘there's an element of that to it, too. But it's mostly a game and nobody gets seriously hurt.'

‘Hm,' sniffed Helen. ‘I'm surprised you don't invite the guys from the flight deck along so they can get an eyeful.'

‘They can come if they want to,' Carla told her. ‘In fact Louise got three strokes of the cane from the second officer for going onto the flight deck without permission. And he didn't half lay them on, so consider yourself lucky.'

‘It seems like I have no choice,' Helen said. ‘So come on then; just get on with it.'

‘Just one or two more things you need to know first,' Carla continued. ‘First of all, you do as you're told during the punishment. You take whatever position I decide. If we have to hold you down the punishment is increased. You can make as much noise as you like but you're not allowed to change position or rub yourself until I give permission. Have you got all that?'

Helen reluctantly confirmed that she understood, whereupon Carla motioned to two of the girls to reposition two pieces of furniture.

‘Right then,' Carla told her. ‘Take your wrap off and kneel sideways in the armchair with your arms stretched over the side and your hands resting on the stool.'

Helen slowly slipped the wrap from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. Then, even more slowly, she walked to the armchair, knelt on the cushion, turned sideways, leaned across to the stool and rested her hands on it, so her bottom was raised and taut.

‘That will do very nicely,' Carla told her. ‘Now you can stay like that while the girls draw lots for the batting order. The anticipation will do you good.'

There were rustling noises as Helen held herself in position, then Bridget came into view again. ‘Looks like I've got first whack, Helen,' she said, lowering Helen's pyjama trousers until they were round her ankles, ‘so we'll just get rid of these, shall we?'

‘You sound like my doctor,' Helen said sarcastically. ‘Just get on with it, please.'

She felt the paddle being rested on her left buttock for a few seconds, and then withdrawn. When it landed again it felt as though she'd been slapped not exactly playfully but not exactly seriously, either.

The next stroke landed on the other buttock, and very quickly afterwards the third landed across the middle and appreciably harder, though not hard enough to cause any serious discomfort.

‘Karen next,' Bridget announced, ‘and she's a lot more powerful than I am.'

Helen shrugged mentally as well as physically and waited. The first stroke was again on the left cheek, and Bridget was right. Had Helen not been warned she might well have straightened up with the shock, and as it was she uttered a low gasp, braced herself on the stool and waited for the second blow. It came after quite a long wait and was equally hard, but this time she was ready for it and took it in silence. Karen then seemed to spend an age positioning the paddle, but Helen realised it was all a deliberate part of the process. When the anticipated third stroke landed right across the middle of her buttocks she inhaled sharply, gripped the sides of the stool even harder, and said nothing.

‘Well done, Helen,' Karen said in grudging admiration. ‘You'll be all right.'

There were further noises and then Dolly said, ‘Just a warning, Helen, I do it differently. You'll get my three strokes in quick succession, so are you ready?'

Helen nodded, held on tightly and stoically received the promised strokes from Dolly without a sound. They were delivered close together but in the same pattern, and Helen realised this was Dolly's way of minimising the severity of the punishment.

Now there was only Louise to come, and it occurred to Helen that the batting order was exactly as Carla had given it when describing the forthcoming punishment. She had no doubt that this had been carefully prearranged, but Louise interrupted her thoughts.

‘Here we go then, Helen,' she said, and Helen again felt the paddle being positioned against her flesh. It was moved around several times, withdrawn and then firmly applied, landing with a crack that caused Helen to gasp again. The next blow, on the other buttock, was equally resounding and Helen knew that the last one would be harder and more painful still. She held on tightly, shimmied her bottom a little in a show of bravado and almost bit her lip as Louise delivered the last of her three strokes.

Then she heard Carla telling her she could get off the chair and pull her pyjama bottoms back up. ‘You did very well, Helen,' Carla told her. ‘But we'll see how resilient you are when you really get thrashed. Meantime, I think you're allowed another glass of champagne. It might help to numb you a little bit.'

Louise fetched Helen the drink, which she gratefully down in a single gulp. There was then a rather awkward pause, interrupted by the ringing of Carla's mobile phone. Carla moved into the dressing room to take the call, and although the murmur of conversation was unmistakable, Helen was unable to make out precisely what was being said - but she soon found out.

‘That was Mike,' Carla said as she reappeared from the dressing room, looking at Helen as she spoke. ‘He says he's sorry but he can't make it tonight. That ought to please you; no males present.'

‘What difference does it make?' muttered Helen, conscious now of a spreading - and actually quite pleasant - warmth in her bottom.

‘It makes this much difference,' Carla answered. ‘He's going to miss the main part of tonight's performance, so if he wants to see how well you stripe he'll have to find some other occasion.'

‘You'd better tell him not to count on it,' Helen snapped.

‘No? Well, we'll see, won't we?' Carla said. ‘You've got ten minutes' recovery time before we move to round two, so if you want to go to the bathroom, now's your chance. Or have another drink if you want one. They're all on the house.'

‘Thanks,' said Helen, ‘I'll manage.' She had decided she was going to adopt the stoic position now, refusing any diversion or any palliative. She'd show Carla who was really in charge, and in the meantime she went over to talk to Dolly, who sympathised with her and advised her not to antagonise Carla.

‘She can be quite vicious, you know,' Dolly warned. ‘She's usually okay with us, though Louise is wary of her, as I expect you've gathered. But we once had a stroppy passenger we threatened with the police if she wouldn't accept Carla's punishment. She'd picked a fight with Bridget and scratched her face, and Carla told her that she could take her punishment or face a trial. She chose the punishment but we had to hold her down while Carla gave her six with a riding-crop. Her bum was purple and yet you could see every stripe separately.'

Carla interrupted their talk. ‘Louise,' she called, ‘fetch the suction-bar, will you?'

For the second time Louise disappeared into the dressing room, this time reappearing holding a rounded length of wood with a rubber attachment at each end. Carla turned her attention to Helen.

‘I want you to go and stand in the bathroom doorway,' she said, and Helen did as she was told.

‘Good,' said Carla, and Louise took the strange object to the door, pressed one rubber cup against the inside of the frame, adjusted something and then manoeuvred the other rubber cup into position. When she was sure the contraption was level she pressed something and Helen heard a slow hiss of air.

‘Now,' said Carla, ‘get undressed.'

Helen slipped out of her pyjama bottoms again, wondering why she'd been allowed to put them back on only to take them off again.

‘No,' said Carla, ‘I said get undressed. Fully undressed.'

Helen unbuttoned her pyjama jacket, shrugged it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She was feeling more brazen now, and silently challenging Carla to do her worst.

‘That's better,' Carla said. ‘Now hold the bar, then step backwards until your arms are fully extended.' Once she had satisfied herself that the position was right, she called upon Louise to pass her the tawse.

‘This is going to hurt,' she told Helen. ‘And maybe you'll remember tomorrow which side of the trolley your station is.'

Helen didn't answer, but waited. She felt the tawse being measured against her and then nothing for a few seconds. Then came a flash of pain as it landed, and had she not been well warned she would have released her hold and massaged her martyred flesh. The second blow, on the other buttock, was equally painful but more endurable because the level of pain was now predictable. But she felt as if the third stroke, right across the centre of her bottom, almost cut her in two and she was unable to prevent herself from crying out.

‘That's better,' said Carla. ‘I knew I'd get to you
eventually
.' The fourth and final blow fell at the very moment Carla ended her sentence, and while it was less severe than the previous ones it caught Helen completely by surprise to the extent that she instinctively released her grip on the bar and had her hands halfway to her buttocks when she realised what she was doing.

‘Well, well,' said Carla. ‘So the ice-maiden has melted at last. But I don't remember giving you permission to move. What do you think, girls? Ought we give her another stroke?'

‘Yeah,' came a voice, predictably that of Louise. ‘Go on, she broke the rules.'

But nobody else agreed and Carla's next words told Helen that, despite the near failure at the end, she had succeeded in passing the test. ‘You're in a minority of one, Louise. I'll tell you what; there will be one more stroke and Helen can give it to you. How's that?'

‘Thank you, Carla,' Helen whispered wearily, ‘but not tonight. I'll save it for some special occasion.'

Carla laughed. ‘You and I are going to get on, I think,' she said. ‘When you get back to your room Dolly will rub some soothing cream into your bottom. It'll relieve the pain and stop you from bruising. I usually put the new girls with Dolly to look after.'

The girls returned to their rooms, and Dolly sat in her bed and beckoned Helen to lie over her lap, her soothing fingers and the cream working their magic on her aching bottom. If it seemed to her that Dolly's fingers strayed once or twice, sometimes into the valley between her cheeks and sometimes between her legs, she decided to say nothing. The next twenty minutes or so made up for all the pain and humiliation, and in fact it seemed quite natural that she didn't get into her own bed at all, but accepted Dolly's invitation to curl up inside a welcoming embrace, her head cushioned on Dolly's large breasts, through the crêpe-de-chine nightgown at first, but soon against the soft, naked flesh.

For the second time that day she was unsure what her dominant emotion was, but she knew that, from the warm glow that permeated her bottom, to the sensual softness beneath her cheek, life had taken a decidedly interesting turn. Tomorrow might be another day, she thought to herself as drifted into sleep, but it would never again be
just
another day.

 

 

 

‘Hello, Graham,' she said, ‘it's been a long time. You'd better come in.'

Barbara had changed very little in the six years since I'd last seen her. Her black hair was still short and wavy, as I remembered it. Her face, although still rather plain, remained a tribute to her beautiful skin and to her upturned mouth, which suggested that a smile was never far away. It was difficult to judge her figure within the confines of a loose shell-suit.

She led me into her living room, which was sparsely furnished but very clean and in beautiful taste, as I would have expected. I looked around, a little unsure of myself, as she stood and looked at me. Then I took my coat off, uninvited, and offered it to her, but she threw it carelessly over an armchair and said, ‘Aren't you going to kiss me hello?'