Chapter 9

With her arse still aglow from the caning that she had recently received from Master Sam in his office, Mabel moved quickly through the department store where she as employed as a security guard trying to get to the ladies changing room as speedily as possible. Everywhere she went, members of staff grinned or turned away from her, their tongues wagging and fingers pointing as she passed. She wanted to cry out aloud that the regrettable early hours incident hadn't been her fault, that she couldn't have prevented it but, deep in her heart, Mabel knew that this was not true and that she'd allowed her rival, Elizabeth, to get the better of her and now she was going to have to live with the consequences of this even as she planned her revenge...

Arriving at the changing room, Mabel was dismayed to discover that there were at least eight of her colleagues inside, mostly chatting but some smoking as well. Opening her locker, Mabel wondered just how she was going to get changed without them spotting the tell tale marks of her recent canning upon her buttocks. But she needed have worried for, almost immediately, the women all filed out of the room leaving the space to the guard. 'So that's how it's going to be?' Mabel thought even as she realised ha she'd instinctively coloured up since she recognised that four of the women had been in the group that had discovered her tied helplessly in a chair near the staff entrance to the store this morning, naked from the waist down and with a vibrator taped into position deep in her vagina. Even as she recalled the event, Mabel cringed internally with the humiliation even while her pussy twitched and demanded attention from a caring, caressing finger...

Not wanting to anger her father by sleeping in late again, Elizabeth made sure that, tired as she was, she was down at the breakfast table before her father had even poured his coffee. Desperate to persuade her old man not to go ahead with his plans to force her into a quick registry office marriage to her fiancée, Andrew, her plan was to be as nice as pie to the old boy and, to that end, she beamed him her best smile as she wished him a bright 'Good Morning'...

But to no avail for her father had his head buried deep behind the pink pages of the Financial Times and he only grunted a disinterested reply back to her. Sighing, Elizabeth helped herself to some corn-flakes before nodding a greeting at her mother who had just entered the room.

As usual, the meal now proceeded in silence apart from the rustling of the newspaper and the gentle chinking of cutlery. Until, that is, Elizabeth's mobile woke into strident life as it gaily played the theme to Mission Impossible. Frantically Elizabeth tried to fish the device out of her pocket and switch it off as her father, disapproval etched on his face, folded his paper and slammed it down onto the linen covered table. "What is that infernal racket?" he demanded to know.

"Just a text message arriving, daddy," his daughter said as she tried to placate him thumbing the phone into silence at last.

"Well, read it then and, in future, have the courtesy not to bring that thing to the dining table with you!" her father warned her.

"Yes, daddy," a chastised young woman replied as she briefly scanned the screen to see that it was from Master Sam who, the message said, wanted to see her at lunch time in the South London pub where they had met previously. Unfortunately for her, Phillip Hamilton-Jenkins was now in a bad mood and Elizabeth knew that this was not a good time to raise anything important with him. As her old man stood, she tried to smile up at him. "Have a good day at the office, daddy," she offered, only to be met by a snort.

"Don't forget that I'm out playing bridge tonight, dear," Elizabeth's mother suddenly broke in.

"Again?" demanded an exasperated Phillip.

"It's only once a month, dear..." the older woman sighed.

Again, that snort was his only comment upon this statement by his long suffering wife before his own interests pushed themselves to the fore again. "Have the servants make a good meal for me then - steak, I think. And a nice bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape."

"Yes, dear," agreed his wife, a little nervously, as her husband headed for the door...

Unlocking the front door to her house, Mabel let herself in pleased that her husband was out at work for the day which meant that she wouldn't have any awkward questions to answer should he see the state her backside was in! Stripping off her clothing, Mabel examined herself in the mirror, peering over her shoulder to do so. Looking at her red striped buttocks, she understood just why they were still so sore and, reaching for a jar of cold cream, she began to rub the smooth, white mixture into her stinging flesh. Finally satisfied, Mabel lay on her bed as she began to remember how much she had both enjoyed and hated the situation that she had found herself in this morning. Parting her thighs, she closed her eyes the better to recall the humiliation she had felt upon being discovered in such a compromising situation and then she slid a finger up along her moist crack, a shudder of pleasure cascading through her body. And then, as she continued to play with herself, Mabel began to fantasise about all the rotten, painful and degrading things she was going to do to Elizabeth bloody Hamiltion-Jenkins...

Having once again used the ladies toilet at Charring Cross station to change and the local rail company's left luggage facilities to store her everyday clothing, Liz approached the pub ready for her rendezvous with Master Sam. She was now wearing her dog collar, a thin see-through blouse, a micro mini skirt, a pair of high heels and precious little else apart from some rather brazen make-up since she knew this outfit would please her Master and, as she suspected that he'd know by now what she'd done to Mabel in the store, she needed to placate him as much as possible.

Arriving at the pub ten minutes earlier, Liz was just a little surprised to find that Master Sam had beaten her to the appointment and was already sitting at a pavement table in the warm sunshine, a pint in his hand, his uniform cap sitting on the table before him. As Liz arrived, Sam nodded briefly towards a stool beside the pub wall with a drink place in front of it that looked like half a pint of flat cider. Taking a seat on the stool, Liz parted her knees acutely aware that, as she was facing the street, many of the passers-by would be able to see right up her very short skirt, should they wish to stare - and, this being a rough part of town, many wanted to and had no inhibitions about it either. "Drink," commanded Sam briefly.

Picking up the glass, Liz took a goodly sized sip from the glass before her only to start coughing and spluttering immediately. "What - what is this stuff, Master?" she finally managed to gasp out.

"Whisky. Half a pint of pure whisky and you're going to drink it all."

"But Master, I don't like whisky!"

"I don't care if you like it or not, you're going to drink it, starting right now!" he reiterated.

Pausing for only a second to gather her courage, Liz took a mouthful and swallowed immediately so that she didn't have to taste the awful stuff for a moment longer than she had to. As the whisky ran down her throat towards her stomach, Liz felt an unpleasant burning sensation not dissimilar to the one she had been forced to suffer when Master Sam had inserted that chilli into her vagina. "But Master Sam, this must have cost a fortune!" she protested.