Fantasy Friday - Sampling the Goods

I can't tell you how happy I am that it's Friday! It's been a rough week at work and I'm very happy to have it behind me. I'm expecting this to be a lovely weekend, hope I'm right and that Nick agrees. 

This week I got a story from a fellow blogger - that's always special to me because I know they could have posted it on their own site, so a special thank-you to DelFonte.  She has sent a story that absolutely makes me shiver, I think you'll see why.  You can go to her site, A Place of Fancies, to read more of her writings, but she sent this as a way of introduction.

I'm a happily spanked wife with a longstanding interest in kinky/TTWD lifestyles - real or unreal - and I enjoy reading fantasies, writing stories and have via my blog an opportunity to share, ponder and rant a little.

Please enjoy...

Sampling the Goods.

As he opened the windowless door, a little bell rang out announcing their arrival. The first thing the couple noticed was the smell. An aroma of dusty varnished wood and tart oranges. It wasn’t unpleasant but the girl wrinkled up her nose and the man ignored it. He was familiar with the establishment.

She followed behind and closed the door. There was no shop front, meaning there was nothing on display or to show what was on sale. The small emporium was a square room with a long wooden bare counter at one end. About its walls were numerous shelves, rising up from the wooden floor to the dark ceiling. On the shelves were countless long thin boxes made from cardboard.  Rather like shoeboxes but the shape would not fit a shoe. She swallowed nervously.

The wizened old man appeared from nowhere, perhaps from underneath the counter. Almost dwarfish in size, he clapped his hands in delight at the arrival of the couple.  Long white hair trailed down the back of his neck and the crown of his head was quite bald. He wore a woollen waistcoat over his blue shirt, knitted fingerless gloves and black pinstriped trousers, which had seen better days.  His large grey eyes beamed and he held out a hand of welcome to the man.

“Mr Tolchard, what a privilege to have you here again,” he said enthusiastically. “It has been a little while, I do believe.”

“Mr Thistlethwaite, a pleasure to come here as always.”

The pleasantries were exchanged and Mr Thistlethwaite peered round the well-dress man to the girl. Short in stature with a long dark hair tied back, she fidgeted behind the taller man. Her grey skirt was short, resting just about her knees and the pull-up stockings underneath were white. Red high heel shoes and a thin skimpy white blouse finished off her appearance. Her eyes darted about the room, absorbing the rows of boxes. She knew what they contained; she just didn’t want to think about it too much.

“I see you have a new acquisition,” said Mr Thistlethwaite admiring the girl with pursed lips.

“Relatively,” acknowledged Mr Tolchard.

“What brings you here sir?” asked the other man.

“She’s been having a little difficulty adapting to my rules,” said Mr Tolchard. “So, I had in mind a thorough caning for her when she broke a rule and unfortunately, such a rule was broken.”

“I see,” nodded the little man. “You have a fine collection already, do you not?”

“Yes, but…” hesitated Mr Tolchard, “it seems appropriate to have something which suits us both. As you know I’m particular about my canes.”

“Indeed, indeed,” said Mr Thistlethwaite. He cleared his throat. “Would it be possible to inspect….

“Naturally,” said Mr Tolchard. “Casey come here.”

The girl tottered over and stood nearer the counter. “Sir?”

“The gentleman wishes to see the target area, lift up your skirt and bend over.”

She gaped a little, glancing back and forth between the two men. Behind her the shop door remained unlocked to the outside world. She had never shown her bottom to a complete stranger.

“I’ve only a thong on sir,” she pointed out quietly.

“So? Hurry up we haven’t all day,” he tapped his finger on the counter.

Casey shifted up her skirt until it reached her waist and then turned. As she bend down, she could feel the cool air move about her posterior. The skirt landed on her back and she gazed down at the floor while holding her ankles.

“I see,” said Mr Thistlethwaite matter-of-factly. “Very fine specimen. This is to be her first caning?” He eyed the plump round cheeks and judged their girth.

“Yes, as a punishment,” clarified Mr Tolchard.

“I think I have just the thing.”

He darted off, pulling over a small wooden ladder; he scurried up to reach a top shelf.  A film of dust came floating down about him as he pulled out a long thin box.

“Stand up Casey,” said Mr Tolchard flicking her bottom with his finger. 

Casey went to stand again behind her companion. Her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment. She watched as the little man laid the box on the counter and slowly lifted the lid. Inside, lying in a swathe of tissue paper was a long thin cane. Its mellow colour and length were the first characteristics she noticed. She watched as he took it out of the box, held it tightly at one end and waved before Mr Thistlethwaite’s nose.

“The Whipper Snapper,” said Mr Thistlethwaite proudly.

Mr Tolchard swished it through the air with a fast swipe.  Casey could feel the breeze it created even from a few feet away. She bit her lip and saw how it moved quickly in his hand.

“A good sting to it, I should imagine,” said Mr Tolchard. “Perhaps too much.”

“Indeed, indeed, maybe,” said the little man. He scrambled about his shelves for a second time and returned with a smaller box. From inside Mr Tolchard retrieved a thicker, shorter cane.

“Bamboo. The Gardener’s Friend. Very popular with the outdoor type.”

“Mmmm.  Firm and stiff.  I’m more of a study man, as you know, not the shed,” smiled Mr Tolchard.

“Indeed, indeed.”

For the third time he disappeared in the depths of his small shop. There was much banging, dragging out of boxes, tossing of lids and examining contents. Then he returned with another long box.

“Something different for you, I think Mr Tolchard,” said shopkeeper. He laid the box on the table and removed the cane with an elegant flicker of his wrist before handing it to his customer.

“Lovely grip to it. Silicone handle?” Mr Tolchard swished it through the air and landed it on the counter with a loud whack.  Casey jumped behind him and eyed the cane with concern.

“What’s it made from?” asked Mr Tolchard.

“Oh trade secret,” said shopkeeper tapping his nose with a finger. “Something special. It’s fresh in. Called the Crimson Fire 2000.”

“This is going to be a difficult decision.”

“Indeed, indeed. May I make a suggestion? Why not try them all out?” said Mr Thistlethwaite leaning forward on to the counter, he whispered. “Out back, you know?”

“Excellent suggestion as ever,” smiled Mr Tolchard.

Casey’s eyes opened wide and she took a small step backwards. He did not look at her, his back remained to her and she watched in amazement as the two men collected up the three canes. Here? Now?

“Is she looking a little pensive?” asked Mr Tolchard of Mr Thistlethwaite. “Fidgety?”

“A little. Oh, she just rolled her eyes sir, most unbecoming for a young lady to do, don’t you think?”

“It is an issue, I must say.”

The little man was ready to lead them to the back of the shop, but Casey did not want to move. She stood rooted to her spot on the floor.

“Casey, come,” he held out his free hand. “Nothing to fear, Mr Thistlethwaite is very discreet and professional.”

Casey did not think that was the issue. It was the testing the canes out that made her pause. His hand gripped her elbow, vice like, and she was escorted to a narrow doorway behind the counter. Leading her down a dimly corridor they came to another door. Mr Thistlethwaite opened it, revealing a virtually bare room.  There were two items of furniture; a small table in the corner, upon which the canes were laid out, and a tall four-legged stool. Placed in the middle of room with thick sturdy legs and a flat top, Casey knew exactly what its purpose was.

“Now Casey, be a good girl and bend over the stool,” instructed Mr Tolchard.

“Sir, please… I,” she saw his face and realised it was futile. Approaching the stool she found it was the perfect height and she leant over its smooth seat.  Her hands reached down and grasped the lowest part of the legs while her feet remained flat to the floor.

“Legs a little more apart please,” said Mr Tolchard as he eased up the hem of her skirt. Her fine cheeks were exposed for a second time and he tucked the hem into the waistband.

“The Whipper Snapper?” asked Mr Thistlethwaite holding out the thin cane.

Mr Tolchard removed his jacket, laying it on the table and took the offered implement. Swooshing it through the air a few times he was pleased to see how it blurred and disappeared before his eyes. Stroking her buttocks with the edge of it, he noticed her knees were trembling slightly and her breathing was rapid.

“A few deep breaths Casey,” he reminded her and she inhaled sharply.

He tapped her bottom lightly at first, then a little firmer and it was like how he normally caned her. A string of bee stings smarting her skin.  Then he whipped the cane back and struck a line across both cheeks. She jumped up with an “Ouch!”

“Casey, what did I tell you about holding position?” he shook his head disappointed.

“Sorry sir, I will try harder,” she leant back down.

Another swish and sharp sting across her pale cheeks. Her feet shuffled but she remained still.

“It’s certainly flexible,” commented Mr Tolchard, “But…. it leaves only a light impression.”

“Indeed, indeed.” Mr Thistlethwaite took the first cane from his customer and handed him the next one.

“The Gardener’s Friend then sir?”

Casey eyed the thick cane out of the corner of her eye as Mr Tolchard twirled it in his hand.

“Definitely stiffer, will make a nice thud,” he raised it to his side and landed it firmly on her backside.

“Oh Sir!” she gasped. There seemed to be a pause before the blow took shape. Not the sting this time but a hard line of pain. Shuffling her feet about, she saw him prepare for the next sampling.

It landed heavily like a rod of steel, “Oh no, not that one sir,” she said with a slight wail.

“Maybe not,” reflected Mr Tolchard ignoring her, “Perhaps a little too stiff.”

“Indeed, indeed. Try the Crimson Fire sir. Such a different experience.”

The third cane flexed like the Whipper Snapper while having the thickness of the bamboo.  He could sense its weight and the grip was a perfect fit for his hand. Lining it up against her bottom he lifted it a short distance and brought it down with a fast swipe.

“OW!” she leapt up and immediately rubbed her bottom.

“Oh no Casey, that was clearly an infringement. Rubbing your bottom, heh?” he tapped the seat with the tip of the Crimson Fire.

“I’m sorry sir,” she whispered removing her hand and repositioned herself over the stool.

“Six strokes for moving and touching yourself,” he told her.

“Please sir, not here,” she said pitifully.  In the corner of the room stood the little shopkeeper hands folded across his chest and head shaking slightly from side to side. Casey was ashamed of her predicament but she became even more ashamed of her attitude. He had brought her here, to the tiny shop, as a special occasion. She had done nothing but complain and it was not a good attitude.

“Sorry sir. Please give me six strokes,” she said grasping the stool legs tightly.

“Good girl. Count them,” he told her as he placed his cool hand on the lower part of her back, making sure she was firmly in place.

“One sir,” she screeched and kicked her leg back.

“Two sir,” she gasped and her bottom jiffled slightly.

“Three sir,” she grunted and pressed herself against the stool.

“Four sir,” she muttered and shut her eyes tightly.

“Five sir,” she said barely audible and unmoving.

“Six sir,” she whispered with a moan.

Each stroke was a blazing fire across her cheeks. He created a neat batch of tram-lines across her buttocks, lined up perfectly.

“Magical isn’t it Mr Tolchard?” said Mr Thistlethwaite.

“Indeed,” said Mr Tolchard running his finger along the cane. It felt warm and alive. He rubbed his hand down over her buttocks and felt the same fire emanate from her.  Between her legs, she glistened slightly.

“I’ll take this one,” he handed it to Mr Thistlethwaite.

“Excellent choice. I shall wrapped it up for you.”

She said not a word as Mr Tolchard helped her to her feet and put on his jacket. Her skirt dropped back down and her eyes glittered under the dangling bare light bulb.

“There,” he said, “Not so bad heh. Now we can go home and administer your punishment with the appropriate implement.”

Her eyes widened. “Sir, you’ve just punished me, haven’t you?”

“Silly girl. That was a correction. Consider it a warm up.”

She scampered behind him as they returned to the shop proper. While he exchanged money and goods, she tried hard not to rub the blazing lines on her buttocks. Maybe her first real caning wasn’t too bad. It had been a strange experience, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on or understand.

“Let’s go,” he said picking up the long box containing the Crimson Fire 2000. “After your punishment, we can move on to your next lesson. Can’t we?”

As he walked past her to open the shop door and he noticed her lips curled up slightly at the ends.

“Good-bye Mr Thistlethwaite,” he called back into the shop and the little man waved as he began to unpeel his celebratory orange. Another satisfied customer.

~o0o~

Now you can see why this story made me shiver - canes and I just DON'T mix.  I just wish Nick felt the same way.  DelFonte, I do thank you for the story.  Even with my feelings about canes it was great. I hope others are writing - please send your stories to elisspeaks@yahoo.com