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On Report

A young girl experiences 1940s army life
I'm writing Part 3 of the Miss Parker series, but re-working it. This story was inspired by a woman I saw in a tearoom in a small town not far from where I live during a WWII commemoration. She was as described, but perhaps a few years older. Still, she was absolutely stunning.

Hope you enjoy this one and as always, any feedback is appreciated.

On Report

It was my third year helping out with summer village fete events. During WWII, the old manor house, which I now owned, had been taken over by the army and used for a variety of things from officer’s quarters to an infirmary. I had taken an interest in the period when I bought the house and had amassed a large amount of paperwork, book, articles and some official declassified information related to the manor during the war.

For the last three years I had opened the house to both the village and visitors as part of the celebrations. I had part of the house redecorated and furnished to match the period and when asked would put on a slide show and take anyone interested on tours around the house in return for a small charitable donation to whatever was that years chosen cause.

Some of the locals would dress up in 1940s outfits and the local rotary club paid some semi professionals to provide colour and context. I was dressed as usual in my Captains uniform.

The Saturday had dawned bright and clear and it promised to be a sunny pleasant day. The morning passed slowly with only a few people coming in to speak with me and I was getting a bit bored. At lunchtime I decided to pop over to the local tearoom for a sandwich. It was quite busy but I managed to get a small table near the back. As I sat munching happily on my sandwich, I heard the tearoom door open and when I looked up, there stood a woman, who was a picture of perfection.

She was about 5’ 10, with auburn hair, light makeup and was dressed in an immaculate WWII army uniform, skirt pressed and positioned perfectly and not a hair out of place. I estimated she was in her late 30s. She could have stepped through a time portal straight from the 1940s. Looking around the room, she could see that there were no tables free, but rather than leave, she walked over to me and asked if she could sit with me as I was the only table with a spare seat.

She took her cap off and sat down, thrusting her hand out.

“Hi, I’m Samantha Wells, thanks awfully for letting me site here.”

I smiled. “Do people still say thanks awfully in 2010?”

Her laugh was rich and throaty “Well no, but I’m trying to keep in character.”

“Ah, I see. Are you one of the poor wretches the Rotary Club hired this year?”

“Yes, but actually I really enjoy it, the clothes are great and it was an interesting period. I hear Mr. Collins; guy who owns the old manor house does an open day thing and has lots of stuff. Do you think if I asked nicely, he’d let me have a rummage?”

“I suppose that depends on how nicely you ask,” I smiled. “Maybe you should try it out on me first and I’ll score you out of 10”

“Well okay then, how about, Mr Collins, would you allow me to look at your collection?”

“Hmmm, that’s maybe 5 out of 10, a bit stiff and formal.”

She looked at me, tilted her head to one side slightly and then gave me the big eyes and fluttering eyelashes, then with a wicked smile said.

“Oh Mr. Collins, would you, please take me upstairs and show me your etchings?”

I very nearly choked on my sandwich as I burst out laughing.

“That might work. I tell you what, get yourself some lunch and when you’re ready, come over to the manor and I’ll introduce you.”

“Thanks, I’ll be over soon then.”

I walked back to the house, a slight spring in my step. Samantha was just to die for. Visions of what lay under that uniform and all the things I could do with and too her kept me occupied while I chatted with a few of the guests.

Just before two, Samantha walked into what had once been admin offices and came over to see me just as I finished up a talk on the renovations I had done to the house.

“So, which of the old codgers here is Mr. Collins?”

I took her over to the fireplace, which had a big mirror hanging over it and pointed at my reflection.

“That’s him there,” I said. “But be careful, he’s a bit prickly and you might end up with a smacked bottom if you’re cheeky.”

She dug me in the ribs and laughed. “Wow, I’d better watch what I say then.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you come through to my study and I’ll let you have a look at some of my collection for an hour or so, and then later when everyone’s gone, I’ll give you the 10 cent tour.”

We walked through to the back of the house and I let her into my study room where I had quite a bit of the paperwork stored. My desk was covered with maps and a few bound books and Samantha walk over the to desk and bent over to see what was there. Even in an army skirt, I could tell there was an ass to die for under there. Samantha looked back at me and smiled.

“I’ll see you later then?”

“Wild horses.” I replied and left her to it, returning to the main room and my two thirty slide show.

I didn’t see Samantha for the rest of the afternoon. By five, everyone had left and the villagers had packed up for the day and gone home. I locked up the doors and windows and then walked through to my study.

“Hi,” said Samantha when I opened the door.

“Hi yourself, I thought you’d gone with the others.”

“You promised me the 10 cent tour and a girl always collects,” she laughed. “You have a terrific collection of stuff here.”

“Well then, fall in Private and I’ll take you around.”

“Yes sir,” She replied and saluted.

I took Samantha around the lower part of the house and the cellars, explaining as we went, the form and function of each room and how its use had changed over the course of the war. Finally we mounted the stairs to the first floor where I had re-created the attending Captain’s room and office. We entered the office and I walked over to the window and looked out at the summer evening light.

“What’s this?” I heard Samantha ask. I turned around and she was holding the small leather bound book that had been on the desk. I walked around, sat down at the desk and held my hand out for the book.

“This,” I said. “Is a record of all the women who were put on report for failing in their duties, rather than take official action, the captain in charge could instead use his own form of punishment, in this case corporal punishment.”

“Wow, you mean spanking?”

“Spanking would have been considered far too lenient. This particular officer was fond of the cane. Most of the girls who came to work here had attended public school, so the experience was nothing new and was preferable to suffering any number of other far more unpleasant duties.”

“Holy shit, I went to private school, but I never got caned.”

“I still have the original cane as well,” I said.

“Can I see it?”

“Of course, go over to that cupboard over there, you’ll find it hanging on the rail.”

Samantha retrieved the cane and proceeded to walk around the room swishing it and running her hands up and down it with a thoughtful look on here face. Suddenly, she crossed the room, placed the cane on the desk in front of me, took two steps back and saluted.

“Private Wells reporting for punishment as ordered sir.”

Pausing for only a second or two, I stood up and adjusted my uniform jacket, hoping to hide the enormous bulge her announcement has just caused in my trousers.

“What did you do to deserve such punishment Private Wells?”

“I was drinking while on duty sir.”

“I see, a very serious offense. You have a choice then of one month duty cleaning the lavatories with a toothbrush, or 12 strokes of the cane.”

“I’ll take the cane sir.”

“A wise choice. Right girl, remove your jacket and skirt, and fold them neatly on that chair.”

Samantha did as she was told, but when she took her skirt off, I could see that she was wearing stockings and a suspender belt with matching panties.

“Private Wells, those are not regulation are they?”

“Er. No sir”

“No sir. Remove them immediately.”

Samantha slowly removed here knickers and placed them on top of her other clothes.

“Now then, stand in front of the desk, feet together and bend over placing your arms and chest on the desk and stick your bottom up.”

Once in position, I appraised this vision of loveliness. Her ass was perfect, it almost seemed a shame to mark it, but who am I to refuse a girl when she asks to be caned. I picked up the cane and swished it a couple of times for good measure and placed it across the centre of her bottom.

“Relax your bottom Private Wells; it will actually hurt more if you tense”

I raised the cane and brought it down firmly, but not too hard. Samantha immediately jumped to her feet clutching her bum and danced around.

“Bloody hell that stings.”

“Yes it does, doesn’t it,” I replied mildly. “However I don’t recall giving you permission to dance about the room like a Red Indian. Back in position and if you move again, that stroke won't count.”

Samantha bent over again and I was able to admire my handiwork. The single red line across the middle of her bottom was straight and true. Glad to see I hadn’t lost my touch. I tapped the cane on her bottom a couple of times and then brought it down crisply. Air exploded from Samantha but she stayed in position. I gave her another four strokes and then stopped.

“Would you like a break, Private?” I asked.

Looking back at me with shining eyes, she asked, “Could you perhaps rub my bottom for me sir?”

Placing the cane on the desk, I laid both hands on her cheeks and gently rubbed her bottom. Little gasps and sighs escaped her lips and she parted her legs enough for me to run my finger down her crack and over her pussy lips. My fingers came away wet.

“I hope you’re not enjoying this too much my dear. You still have six strokes to go, however you seem to be getting a little hot and bothered so perhaps you should remove the rest of your uniform.”

Samantha stood and slowly unbuttoned her shirt, all the time looking at me that spoke of things to come. Unclipping her bra, she revealed breasts that were as perfect as the rest of her. Smooth, rounded with lovely nipples that pointed in the right direction.

She walked back to the desk pausing only to run a hand over the bulge in my trousers and with a little satisfied sigh bent over again. I picked up the cane with half a mind just to strip off and take her right then.

“These will be a little harder than the first six as you’ve been such a naughty private.”

Taking a breath, I raised the cane and brought it down

“Aarrgghh, thank you sir, I have been very bad.”

“Part your legs Samantha so I can see how naughty you’ve been.”

Samantha did as she was told, but also slid her hand down and between her legs, slipping a finger between her lips and stroking her clit.

Another five times I brought the cane down watching her writhe and moan under its sting. Dropping the cane back on the desk, I stripped off as quickly as I could and standing behind her, slipped myself deep within her. Samantha let out an insistent moan as I began to stroke her hard. She ground her well-caned ass against me and I could feel my orgasm begin to build. I withdrew and pulled Samantha to her feet, spun her around to face me and kissed hard, our tongues meeting in hot wet need. I pushed her back across the desk and entered her again, taking her legs and wrapping her ankles around my neck. I held her thighs and stoked her harder and faster until she came hard, screaming and moaning just a few seconds before I exploded.

Later, when we had both recovered a bit. Samantha asked me how I came by the book and cane.

“Look at the back page,” I said.

She opened the book and read, “Captain Mark Collins, 1943."

“He was my grandfather.”

“Can we finish the tour now? You’ve not shown me your bedroom.”

I took her hand and led her to my room where we passed the rest of the night wrapped in each others' arms.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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