OK, it’s high time we caught up with our English tourists and their rather shy but curious maid.
If you haven’t read part one or part two yet, then please do – else you won’t have a clue what’s going on!
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Richard Wallace stood, stripped of all his clothes, with his nose in the corner of the hotel room while his wife counted to ten. The young African maid Dupé was counting too, silently. She had never seen a grown man spanked. She had never seen a grown man naked.
Richard's agitation increased with his wife's count. By the time she reached the number eight he had begun shifting from foot to foot, and Dupé thought for a moment - was afraid, she had to admit it - that he was about to give in, and she would be deprived of her promised role. But the man did not give in. He could not.
"Please, Em," groaned Richard in an anguished tone.
"Please, ma'am," his wife reminded.
"Please, ma'am," echoed Richard.
"Nine," said Emily.
Finally the Englishwoman, after an exaggerated pause that Dupé thought would never end, uttered a curt "ten". As she did so, the naked man's hands dropped suddenly to his crotch and he swivelled awkwardly on the spot, revealing a face the colour of chilli pepper and probably as hot, and he gingerly stepped forward towards the two women as though treading on broken glass.
Emily let him get all the way to the bed before lazily extending one hand and using a perfectly manicured fingernail to draw a semicircle in the air. Her husband stood uncomprehending for a moment before turning to face away from them once more.
"Back you go," said Emily mildly, and he did, reclaiming his position in the corner. "Hands on your head," she said, and a second later they were.
"Now try again," said Mrs Wallace.
He really did look as though he was trying, thought Dupé, as Richard Wallace's hips twisted back and forth in an agony of conflict. It was as though he were tethered to the wall by the very part of himself that he was so reluctant to expose. Finally his wife exhaled noisily through pursed lips and said, "My patience is at an end, Richard. I suppose Dupé will have to fetch you after all, since you're being impossibly silly. I'm quite sure she has seen naughty bare boys before."
If only that were true, thought the maid, her heart would not be beating so hard. Still, she had already been given Mrs Wallace's blessing, and she was pushing herself to her feet almost before the older woman had said "Dupé, if you wouldn't mind..."
In a few strides she was standing just a foot behind the man - close enough to detect the faint smell of his perspiration, and indeed to watch a drop of it trickle down the small of his back and disappear between his bared buttocks. Close enough to touch him. And my God, she was actually doing it, her small dark hand reaching up and encircling his pale wrist. "This way, Mr Wallace," she had intended to say, but her mouth was dry and she knew that the tremor in her voice would betray her. So she simply applied a little light pressure, and almost miraculously the man turned as though released from a spell - turned and stood there fully exposed, defeated, with no more defence but to tell himself that this would all be over soon.
Oh Lord, thought Dupé. Nineteen years old and suddenly there is no more secret. So this is what it's like to see a man undressed. Then she walked him over to where Emily was sitting with a raised eyebrow and an undisguised smirk.
"Not such a big boy now, are you?" said Emily. Leaning forward to take both of his hands, she waited until he was forced to meet her gaze and told him, “I do love you, you know, in spite of your little tantrums and your antiquated world view. But we are going to drag you into the current century. Kicking and screaming as necessary.” Then she briskly tapped her thigh and instructed "Over you go."
The maid returned to her chair while Richard leaned forward and draped himself awkwardly across his wife's lap, the bedsprings creaking softly as he added his weight to hers and placed his hands upon the carpet. Dupé slyly attempted to catch his gaze as he positioned himself, but it was locked steadfastly on his splayed fingers and she knew he was trying to pretend that she was not there. And so she cleared her throat a little more loudly than was necessary, and then began to sing softly - perhaps to herself, perhaps to Emily Wallace, perhaps to the oh-so-haughty man now draped so humilatingly across his wife's lap - the lullaby her mother had taught her as a small child.
The jackal and the lioness both sit beneath the sun
But he must watch and wait while she devours the wildebeest
If he should try to eat before the lioness is done
He knows the lioness will gladly add him to her feast.
They say the male, he rules the world as far as he can see
But she has all the power that her lion mate possesses
A man is not a lion 'til he proves himself to be
And many men are jackals, and must yield to lionesses.
Mrs Wallace smiled absently and traced slow, careful circles over her husband's pale pink buttocks with the back of the clothes brush while Dupé sang. She seemed in no hurry, and Dupé was sure that - unlike her ignorant pig of a husband - she knew enough of the language to pick up its meaning.
When the song reached its end and the young girl looked shyly up at the beautiful Englishwoman, Emily said "Shall I tell you something funny, Dupé? On the dresser at home I keep a big, heavy hairbrush of which I'm very fond - Richard rather less so. It hasn't been used to brush hair in fifteen years, but it still comes in handy at least once a month. Richard assured me that I wouldn't need to pack it, which is why we've had to rely on your services this afternoon." She reached over to stroke the back of her husband's neck, almost affectionately. "Just think, sweetheart," she said with mock regret, "If you hadn't persuaded me to leave her at home it'd be just you, me and our old friend Betty Blister about to have this little discussion. It's really your own fault that we're having to improvise - and thus that we have company."
For the second time Dupé wondered if she shouldn't be somewhere else. "I should go, ma'am," she offered, but without conviction. "Not at all," smiled Emily, transferring her hand to the maid's bare arm where Dupé could feel the dampness of the man's sweat upon her fingers. "In fact, I forbid it. We've spent two weeks enjoying your wonderful African traditions, and it'd be a terrible shame if you were to miss out on one of ours."
Dupé suspected she was being teased a little, although not unkindly. "You don't mean that all..." she giggled.
"Well, not in every household," smiled Emily, "more's the pity. There are a good many English men who would benefit from some old-fashioned discipline, even if they're think they're too big for it - which, of course, they usually do until they're shown otherwise. Make no mistake, Dupé - Richard would like to believe he outgrew this kind of punishment thirty years ago. But that only makes it all the more effective. As you're about to see."
Emily raised the brush to shoulder height, and her husband's glistening bare bottom tensed visibly as if in anticipation. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned her head towards the maid, an amused smile playing across her lips. "Do you know what makes for a good, memorable spanking, my dear?"
Dupé would have replied had she not been so intently holding her breath. She shook her head, no, but the other woman had already turned her gaze back to the soft flesh presented for her attention. Emily's mouth tightened in concentration and she slowly drew in her breath. "It has to really, really hurt," she said.
And then she began.
