Chapter and Worse
When Vikki Hart, the 'Chapter and Verse' bookshop’s perpetually un-punctual assistant clerk, muddles a book order for the formidable Lady Isabella Armstrong, her manager concocts a delicious staff-improvement plan. She is dispatched to make the delivery in person, and soon discovers that Lady Isabella adheres to a strict, old-fashioned philosophy. With stinging sincerity, Vikki is the one who ends up in receipt of an unexpected, but sorely needed delivery! In Chapter and Worse we learn that more than just books can be... well-read.
from 📚 Contemporary Comeuppance
St. Alban's, April 29th 1970:
The shop bell clattered with an air of swinging liberation as Vikki Hart burst through the door, cheeks flushed by another brisk jog from the bus stop. As she dashed behind the counter, her floral-print mini-dress swirled and then settled against her hot and lightly perspiring curves, the thin fabric offering a clear testament to the absence of anything but Vikki beneath it.
“Sorry, Mr Redmond. I can’t believe the bus arrived late... again.”
Harry Redmond had run the Chapter and Verse bookshop for two decades. He was broad-minded and could believe almost anything, even something as far-fetched as a bus timetable. Vikki’s excuses however, stretched credulity. He adjusted and wiped his spectacles, which seemed to have become inexplicably steamed during his assistant's flustered entrance.
“So far, it's been late three times this week, Miss Hart. And it’s only Wednesday. Perhaps catching an earlier bus might be prudent?”
With a sigh, he realised nothing about his eye-catching young assistant was likely to be considered prudent. The end of her probationary period was approaching, and he knew a decision would soon need to be made about her future.
He didn't mind turning a blind-eye to a few guilty pleasures. On one occasion she'd misfiled The Joy of Sex on the sports and exercise shelf, and he had noticed her mischievous habit of reading Lady Chatterley's Lover under the counter. Even playful flirtations with customers could be overlooked, he thought. But, habitual lateness, and an instinctive knack for muddling deliveries, troubled him.
The latest example lay in front of him right now. A discreet package wrapped in heavy brown paper and tied with string. The label clearly read “Lady Isabella Armstrong” and should have been sent to Bottomley Manor yesterday.
Knowing a thing or two about this grand lady's reputation, an idea occurred to him, and he had to suppress a sly chuckle. Oh yes, he thought to himself. This could be just the thing she needs to prove herself, one way or another.
“Don't bother sitting comfortably just now,” he chided. “I told you to have this parcel delivered yesterday, so I want you to take it to the Crown Hotel immediately. Lady Isabella will be there this morning. And, for goodness' sake, conduct yourself with respect and decorum. She might be a touch eccentric, but she's a customer we can't afford to upset.”
When Vikki picked it up from the counter, the plain rectangular package was heavier than she expected.
“Wow! That's quite a tome. What kind of book is it?”
Harry considered his reply.
“Sewing, I presume. The title is Turning Up The Hem by the renowned author Seymour Reare.”
Vikki fought to stifle a naughty giggle, her lithe frame trembling. From his taller vantage point, Mr Redmond found himself treated to a liberal view of cleavage. Her bosom, unencumbered by a bra, quivered with youthful energy in a manner the low-cut floaty summer frock was barely able to contain.
“Seymour Reare? How cheeky! Is that actually the author's real name?” she asked.
“Now, that sort of impertinence,” Mr Redmond observed, “is not something I wish to hear. I'm not convinced that you're fully committed to bookshop work. However, if Lady Isabella confirms that she is entirely satisfied with your delivery today, I might be persuaded that you've put these mistakes behind you... so to speak!”
“Well- it all sounds pretty straightforward,” Vikki replied, tucking the parcel under her arm.
Mr Redmond lifted the telephone receiver beside the cash-register. “I'll call ahead so that you're expected. Report directly to the back-room snug. That's where The Sewing Circle hold their monthly meetings.”
It was a short walk to the hotel, giving precious little time to weigh up the situation. Somehow, the idea of the formidable Lady Isabella Armstrong participating in something so quaint as a sewing circle, seemed incongruous. It simply didn't fit with her strict reputation.
Still pondering this nagging unease, Vikki strolled through the hotel reception, puzzled by the receptionist's knowing smirk.
She hadn't known what to expect but, at the door beside the main bar entrance, she was greeted by an old-fashioned housemaid. The uniform was immaculate; a short black dress contrasting with a lace-edged white apron. Vikki stepped back, blinking in astonishment.
“Samantha Charms?” she gasped. “What are you doing here? And dressed in that outfit?”
Vikki knew this young woman well. They'd been to college together and, with a grin, she remembered their plans to reject authority, burn their bras, and overthrow the oppressive patriarchy!
They had enjoyed a glorious, experimental final term, with intimate forbidden afternoons spent in their dormitory room. The memories of that breathless phase, before life and jobs got in the way, lingered in the air between them.
Samantha herself looked equally shocked, her cheeks flushed pink. Despite their youthful ambitions, so far as Vikki knew, Samantha had since found a job as a junior finance clerk at Millburn's; a conservative and well-regarded local firm.
“Vikki- darling! I was about to ask you the same thing,” she replied. “I mean- I had no idea you were into... that's to say- I didn't know that you were curious about...”
But, Samantha came to a stammering halt, glancing up at the wall clock. Sensing urgency, Vikki's heart raced and she wondered what on earth she was getting herself into.
“Just look at the time,” Samantha exclaimed. “It's your first visit to the circle and, trust me, you want to make a good first impression. Come on. I'll help you.”
Vikki followed her friend into a side-room marked, “Private”. It was a staff lounge, plain and compact, a sofa and coffee table in the centre. In the corner there stood a basic kitchenette.
“Lady Isabella requested this outfit especially,” Samantha said, gesturing to a broad, tissue-lined box on the table. “I'd heard we might be expecting a new girl today, but it was all so last-minute, and I had no idea it would be you.”
Nestled in the presentation box, amidst folds of fine wrapping paper, lay a pair of ivory silk pyjamas. They were delicate, edged with intricate lace and decorated with a motif of blushing roses.
“These?” Vikki asked. “You want me to dress in pyjamas at this time of the morning?”
Samantha held them up. “Aren't they simply delightful?” she cooed, apparently unaware of her friend's incredulity. “Come on. Get undressed. You needn't feel bashful with me. I promise not to peek... well- not much! As soon as you're changed, I'll introduce you to the ladies.”
Vikki was in a quandary. She wanted to appear liberated, and was certainly no prude, but the situation seemed to be running away with her. She supposed the group had specialised interests in all types of stitching and sewing, and perhaps this unusual choice of garment was some sort of quirky requirement when strangers were introduced to the group.
The chill air of the room was impossible to ignore when she slipped out of her dress and panties, taking the pyjamas, eager to regain at least some modesty. She was dismayed to find the pyjamas were embarrassingly tight. The shorts wrapped her hips and bottom in a revealing shrink-wrapped embrace and fastening the top's fiddly little buttons proved challenging. The cinched waist emphasised the defiant uplift of her small, perky breasts, and she felt flattered as she noticed her friend's longing gaze.
“Beautiful. You look simply divine!” Samantha complimented.
The staff room had no mirror, but the cool silk settled against her warm skin with an undeniable luxury. Smooth and clingy, the sensuous feeling sparked a prickly sense of goosebumps.
The traitorous cold air of the room conspired in its inevitable fashion and, as she smoothed out the pyjama top, Vikki realised her nipples were visible, hard and prominent through the almost sheer silk. With a self-conscious glance, she saw the two unmistakable firm peaks, set against a translucent ivory-rose backdrop. She blushed, grabbing the brown-paper wrapped book and clutching it to her chest like an improvised shield.
She felt like an indecent character from an Edwardian period farce, or perhaps a saucy stage play, as she followed her impeccable housemaid-friend through the door. Catching a first glimpse of The Sewing Circle, a creeping apprehension left her wondering what might be next.
Inside the lounge, colloquially known as the snug, Lady Isabella stood beside the fireplace, her demeanour stern. She looked to be in her mid-forties and had an allure of commanding authority that Vikki found captivating. She possessed natural grace, blended with a severity that only enhanced her beauty.
Half a dozen ladies sat, arrayed like an informal jury, although the nature of today's exhibit was yet to be revealed.
“Charms,” Lady Isabella acknowledged in a brusque tone. “And you must be Miss Hart? Better late than never, I suppose.” Samantha gave a polite curtsey and stepped to the side.
With a feeling of drifting ever more out of her depth, Vikki was at a loss for words.
“Lady Isabella?” she began. “Mr Redmond sent me. I've brought the book that you ordered.”
Lady Isabella raised a curious eyebrow.
“Well- I would certainly hope so. Already a day late, I might add, so let's take a look. Bring me a chair, Charms.” The lady spoke in clipped aristocratic tones that presumed immediate compliance.
Samantha lifted a tall wooden chair from the dining table and set it beside the fireplace. She remained there, one step back, as if anticipating her mistress's next wishes.
The string that fastened the package undid easily, and Lady Isabella folded back the paper to reveal the hardback book inside. The title, Turning Up The Hem, was just as Vikki expected. It should have been unremarkable, but in her heightened state of awareness there was something peculiar about it. She tilted her head trying to catch a better look.
“Ladies,” Lady Isabella Armstrong announced, holding up the book with pride. “A fine addition to our library, I'm sure you'll agree.” The circle responded with approving nods and murmurs.
Its cover bore an image of an elegant woman, not unlike Lady Isabella herself, seated in a plain wooden chair. She was lifting up and examining the hem of a short dress, worn by a petite and curvy younger woman who was standing very close beside her. It could have been innocent, of course, and yet something about the girl's rosy-cheeked apprehension triggered uncomfortable notions in Vikki's mind.
It was almost as if...
But, No, she told herself. That would be quite ridiculous! For just a fleeting moment, it had seemed like the younger woman was about to be taken across the seated woman's lap.
“I don't know if you realise, but Mr Redmond is an old acquaintance of mine,” Lady Isabella said, resting the heavy book back upon her knee. “He tells me you show great promise, but often struggle with punctuality, and are prone to daydreaming. Those are not traits to be proud of, especially if you fail to send out customer orders on time. Do you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?”
Vikki's heart raced. This public scolding ought to have been humiliating, so why was it giving her a warm flush of excitement? She glanced towards the sewing circle ladies, sitting and observing, judging her in studious silence. But, Lady Isabella's voice called her attention back.
“I don't think,” she said with a wry chuckle, “that you're going to find an answer over there. Do you?”
Vikki felt her toes curling and lowered her gaze to her bare feet. The encounter brought to mind one or two anxious school-memories of appointments she'd had with her strict headmistress.
“No, Lady Isabella, ma'am,” she acknowledged in a sullen tone. “I suppose I'll have to try harder in future.”
“Indeed, you most certainly will,” came the imperious reply.
Inevitably, Vikki's curious eye fell back upon the tantalisingly suggestive book cover. Lady Isabella seemed to caress the binding, her manicured nails lightly tapping, before opening it up.
“It may interest you to know that, over the last few years, assisting young ladies with personal improvement and motivation has become something of a speciality for me,” Lady Isabella observed.
Vikki's jaw dropped as she saw this was no ordinary book.
Instead of a forward or contents page, the hardback cover concealed a hollowed-out space lined with soft padded velvet. Within the rich folds of fabric lay a polished cherry-wood hairbrush, its golden grain glistening in the firelight.
Samantha stepped forward with impeccable timing to relieve Lady Isabella of the now empty book, leaving only the fearsome hairbrush in her mistress's accomplished hands.
“It's really quite perceptive of Mr Redmond to see how much you will benefit from this appointment, don't you think?”
Their eyes met. Vikki stood, her fingers fidgeting with the lace trimmed pyjama shorts, whilst Lady Isabella sat as cool as a cucumber.
An expectant silence descended upon the room, heavy with historical ritual. For the briefest of moments, Vikki glanced towards Samantha hoping for some kind of reassurance. Her friend, a half-smirk twitching at her lips, gave an encouraging wink.
Only then, finally, did Lady Isabella break the silence.
“Well? Miss Hart, what are you waiting for? Do you expect a written invitation?”
“No, not exactly. But- it's just... I mean... you can't actually be proposing to give me a spanking? Not here, with everyone watching!”
Vikki's words were slow and shaky, but she couldn't deny the buzz of sensual intrigue. Having come this far, I can't let Samantha think that I'm frightened of a mere smacked bottom, she told herself, although a nervous shiver sowed a seed of doubt amongst her faltering bravado.
A heady mix of tension and erotic charge seemed to fill the room. Vikki was conscious that the sight of her pretty friend's delectable curves squeezed into a housemaid costume had been dazzling. Long-forgotten desires were resurfacing, setting her body on edge.
“That is precisely what I do propose, Miss Hart.” Lady Isabella's enigmatic smile betrayed a sly hint of mischief. “I'm certain your friend, Miss Charms, will confirm just how beneficial she has personally found my approach to be.”
The overtones of discipline seemed to conceal hidden depths of excitement. Vikki glanced between the stern seated figure and her friend's shy blushes. She began to wonder how many times Samantha had presented herself here in just such a fashion. How often had she found herself in this room, across the lap of one of these so-called sewing circle ladies?
The very thought of it sent a warm tingle to her core, a ticklish thrill spreading across her back and tummy.
A scandalous, kinky curiosity was beginning to overcome all her natural instincts of emancipation. How would it feel, she wondered, submitting to the authority of this elegant older woman?
Vikki inched closer to Lady Isabella's lap, bracing as she eased herself forward. A soft hand entwined around her silk-wrapped hips as she moved, drawing her into a secure horizontal hug. The ladies of the circle leaned in, hushed and expectant.
From Vikki's prone perspective, the room seemed to tilt, leaving her acutely aware of her raised bottom and an accompanying rush of blood to the head. She waited, the anticipation intoxicating, feeling her legs instinctively clench as her hands gripped the leg of the chair.
In spite of a newly awakened curiosity, she dreaded the sting of that stout wooden hairbrush, but when it came, the sensation she felt was the crisp impact of Lady Isabella's right palm.
There was nothing playful about it, but the zing of immediate stinging quickly dissipated into a warm, lingering tingle. More sharp smacks followed, dancing from cheek to cheek. The distinctive sound of a determined hand addressing a taut, silk-wrapped derrière, reverberated around the cosy room. With an almost clairvoyant sense of timing, Lady Isabella escalated her ministrations in the measured progression of a true aficionado.
As the pace of the spanking quickened, the blossoming heat penetrated deeper still. It filled more than her bottom, evolving into an insistent throb that she could feel between her thighs.
Samantha's lips squeezed tight shut, staying in-character as the perfect prim housemaid, and yet she secretly revelled in the sight of her friend beginning to squirm. With exquisite timing, a particularly smart crack of Lady Isabella's hand caught the sensitive sit-spot between Vikki's tender bottom and thighs, eliciting a gasp of surprise.
“Mmm- I do believe you're beginning to feel it now,” Lady Isabella mused. Her attentions shifted lower still, a brisk volley of smacks tormenting Vikki's upper thighs.
With a precision, born no doubt from thorough experience, she fine-tuned her aim to maximise the discomfiture. Sometimes she delivered rapid spanks to the exact same spot. Other times, she varied her target in a manner that proved wholly unpredictable – and impossible to prepare for. In only a couple of minutes, the unrelenting forcefulness of the smacks had transformed the cold, slippery seat of the silk pyjamas into a source of radiant glowing warmth.
“And I do hope you're not becoming too attached to these pyjamas, Miss Hart?” Lady Isabella said. “They're beautiful, of course, but needless to say, they are only temporary!”
Inch by inch, unhurried and teasing, Vikki felt the whisper of silk brushing over her hips. Every instinct said resist, to clamp her legs tight shut, but the flush of burgeoning arousal caused her to ease herself up, surrendering to the downward passage of the nightwear. The exposure of her reddened bottom, the attention of the ladies, and of Samantha, set the hairs of her neck on end.
A warm hand caressed the upended well-warmed cheeks, affectionate and luxurious at first, but then the sensation shifted. Vikki gave an involuntary flinch as the soft hand was substituted for something hard and flat. Its cold surface contrasted with her heated sit-upon, glassy-smooth and sliding, exploring, tracing teasing circles around its ever so sensitive target.
Lady Isabella, as ever, relished every opportunity to ramp-up the anticipation.
“Now that you're nicely warmed up,” she said, with playful iniquity, “I think you're ready for the real spanking to begin. What do you think, Ladies?”
A steady smarting warmth had begun to wash back and forth throughout Vikki's beautifully presented buttocks. Hearing the unanimous assent of the exclusive group sent a shiver down her spine. Balancing on a tightrope of anxiety and curiosity, she perversely longed for more. And yet it was impossible to shake the memory of that intimidating hairbrush emerging from its secret hiding place.
“You mean that was only a warm-up, ma'am?” she asked, breathless. “My goodness, I’m not sure Mr. Redmond would approve! Perhaps I ought to head back to the shop before he misses me. After all, surely I've learned my lesson by now?”
Lady Isabella chuckled, beginning to pat the heavy hairbrush against the bare skin of Vikki's rosy-red behind with a little more insistence.
“I'm sure he can manage without you for a few more minutes, Miss Hart. In the case of a late book delivery, I believe he would be quite insistent that I apply an especially firm overdue penalty!”
As she spoke, Vikki realised that the brush had lifted from its teasing-tapping, and could visualise it poised, hovering, somewhere above Lady Isabella's shoulder. She felt acutely aware that it would be making an abrupt and emphatic re-acquaintance with her upended posterior at any moment. Her jaw clenched into a tense grimace as she awaited the inevitable.
Seconds later, it landed with a splitting crack that rang around the hushed chamber. Vikki's gasp of surprise followed it like a pained echo.
“Ow- ma'am! Please, not so hard!” she pleaded.
“Oh yes, I'm afraid so, my dear,” Lady Isabella replied, her tone laced with sarcastic faux regret. “I'm most dreadfully sorry, but how else can you expect to learn and improve.”
The hairbrush unleashed its piercing authenticity with unfaltering firmness. Vikki tried not to writhe, suffering the onslaught and seeing her knuckles whiten where she gripped the chair-leg.
The smarting buzzed with a relentless pulse. Each stinging impact lit up her rear with a prickle of heat that seemed to spread like liquid-fire at the surface, whilst a deeper, more penetrating throb swelled, overwhelming her senses.
A steady thwack-thwack-thwack filled the room, the percussive sound operating in lively competition with Vikki's whimpers and yelps of surprise.
As the spanking approached a blistering climax, Vikki fought a rising panic, losing all track of time. When the brush finally slapped to a definitive halt, it took several seconds to realise her spanking had concluded. The rush of exhilaration blended with a lingering discomfort, and she sank deeper upon Lady Isabella's lap; relaxing, the tension of the experience ebbing.
And then, Samantha was there beside her, guiding her upright with a supportive arm around the shoulder. Standing once more she became aware of the warm dampness upon her cheeks, her eyelids feeling moist as she blinked away more tears.
“A most valuable lesson, Miss Hart,” Lady Isabella declared, basking in the approving nods and murmurs of admiration from The Sewing Circle.
“Yes ma'am. Thank-you ma'am.”
Lady Isabella gave a nod of approval.
“I shall speak to Mr Redmond this afternoon, and rest assured, my feedback will be complimentary. However, I shall ask him to keep me informed whether your punctuality and work performance show any sign of improvement. If you require a reminder, I will not hesitate.”
With the pyjama shorts still bunched around Vikki's thighs, the girls departed in an awkward shuffling procession. Before the door closed behind them, they could make out several of the ladies' remarks.
“Such a beautiful and charming young woman,” someone said. “And so receptive to discipline.”
“Oh, I quite agree,” came another enthusiastic reply. “Please do ask her to visit us again, Lady Isabella.”
Alone in the privacy of the staff room, Samantha helped Vikki out of the silken pyjamas and took a moment to guide her around, taking an indulgent look at her glowing red behind.
“You were so brave, especially for your first time,” Samantha cooed. “And I think it's just wonderful that you've decided to volunteer for the group. It'll be lovely to have a friend here now.”
Vikki turned, surprised, hands clutched to her stinging bottom, grateful to finally massage away at least some of the discomfort. Samantha moved close, running a hand through Vikki's hair.
“But, do tell me Vikki, how did you even find out about the group? It's very exclusive, you know.”
“How did I find out?” Vikki asked in a tumult of confusion. “I mean- Mr Redmond just asked me to deliver a book! I never expected any of this!”
Samantha stared at her friend in utter disbelief, before bursting into a fit of the giggles.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “So that's what you thought? You just expected to drop off a book order and you ended up with your backside getting an absolute roasting at The Sewing Circle? It sounds like Mr Redmond has stitched you up!”
In spite of herself, Vikki collapsed into the humour of the moment, hugging her friend.
“Well- it's been quite an experience,” Vikki laughed. “You seem to have made some interesting friends.”
“Look,” Samantha told her, “I'm supposed to give you this.” From the pocket of her apron she produced an ornate envelope.
Its flap was tucked but not sealed, and Vikki flicked it open with her thumb. It contained an engraved invitation card with gilded edges. “The Sewing Circle, May 27th. You are cordially invited to attend our special event: School Reports Day at the Rearburn Academy.“
“An exclusive invitation?” Vikki queried, seeing Samantha respond with an eager nod.
“But- that's not all. You didn't look properly,” Samantha replied. “Check the envelope again!”
Vikki eased it open wider with her finger and thumb, astonished by what she now saw.
“There's a five pound note inside!” she gasped. “That would cover the rent on my digs for a week!”
Samantha gave a conspiratorial smirk. “How do you think I managed to afford a holiday to Spain last summer? Just a few months with the circle covered my fare.”
“I guess you could say, that's one way to improve your bottom line”, Vikki giggled.
Samantha's expression turned serious. “Please do say you'll come back again. I know it stings and, right now, I guess you're probably thinking it's all a bit weird, but isn't it exciting? And, if we're here together, it's going to feel even more naughty!”
As Vikki dressed, feeling the panty-elastic pull up against her painfully smouldering rear-end, she weighed the possibilities. The throbbing sting of her well-red derrière was starting to feel less like a punishment, and more like a lucrative investment.
“You know something, Sam? By August we could both be relaxing in our bikinis on the Costa del Sol.”
“It sounds heavenly,” Samantha agreed.
Vikki continued to massage her rear, feeling the heat even through the fabric. “It's just a shame my backside is feeling so raw. Does it ever get any easier?”
“Sometimes,” Samantha assured her. “Although, unfortunately, I can't promise that for next month. It's Mrs Goad's turn to chair the meeting. She's the lady with a grey-bun and the half-moon spectacles; a retired headmistress. She has a wicked collection of rubber plimsolls, and the group just loves to see her crook-handled cane sweeping into action. Six of the best is no joke, I can tell you!”
Vikki gave an involuntary wince at the thought of a genuine, rattan school-cane, wielded by a seasoned expert. Just the hairbrush had been bad enough! At school she'd got the cane, and knew – all too well – the effectiveness of the searing red welts it would raise across a defenceless bottom.
“Retired?” Vikki observed. “But it sounds like she's still keeping her hand in?”
Samantha gave a somewhat anxious grin. “You can say that again! And speaking of hands, I have to get back. Lady Isabella is scheduled to demonstrate the correct way to discipline a careless housemaid who has broken a teacup. Two strokes of the leather-strap on each hand, followed by a sound slippering. Guess who isn't going to be able to sit down at work tomorrow?”
“Goodness- I suppose it's worth it though,” Vikki responded, casting a final glance over her shoulder as she turned towards the door.
The unusual morning had initiated an unforgettable reunion with her friend? Or, perhaps she would become more than a friend.
“When we go on holiday in the summer,” Vikki added, with a playful chuckle, “at least we'll both have been getting a head-start on our tanning...!”