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Pot Roast and Punishment
Joan, reconsidering her strategy, was thankful that she had refrained from scheduling anything else for this Friday night and was further grateful that Don Draper would be stopping by later to give a hand. On their way to the dining room Joan popped into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to cover the seat of the chair that Peggy would be sitting in. Although the blood drops on the secretary’s fanny were tiny and looked very pretty, there was no sense staining the beautiful brocade fabric of the chair’s seats.
The pot roast was quickly demolished together with the remainder of the California Gamay Beaujolais that had not been used in the making of the pot roast. Joan reflected that although chuck was despised by all too many cooks, it had flavor that held up to the prolonged cooking that a pot roast required. Let the Philistines have their grilled steaks. A real cook would always grab the chuck and slowly simmer it with salt and peppercorns in red wine. About two thirds of the way along, you add the onion and celery. By the end the onion will almost entirely cook down but the celery slices will remain intact. Only toward the end do you throw in the potatoes, carrots, Italian parsley and mushrooms. Such is it with chastisement of a new secretary. Only a fool would go with a hot fire and quick punishment. Better to take one’s time and slowly break their will with unexpected twists and turns. Peggy, despite her naïve appearance, had depths that were unexpected and facets that were unexplored. It would be worth the time and investment of patience to bring her to the edge. Just like a pot roast.
The Second Bedroom
Well the time had come for the main event of the evening to begin. Joan intended to break Peggy once and for all. She would punish the girl until she had no control left and collapsed in a quivering, weeping mass of jelly with no will of her own. Her punishment would have to be taken to an extreme. That after all was why Roger Sterling had given Joan this apartment. Not simply to get rid of her roommate so that Roger could fuck her when ever he pleased without have a second bothersome female around. Roger wanted a place where the women of Sterling Cooper could periodically be sent for proper chastisement. That was the reason for the second bedroom. There was a need for a soundproofed room in a well built building where even the loudest of un-muffled screams would not be heard beyond the confines of the apartment. Only prewar construction was that solid and had rooms large enough to swing whatever implement of punishment was necessary. And closets spacious enough to store furniture not meant for comfortable reclining, but designed for the bondage of women in need of a sound beating. For punishment at Cooper Sterling was not simply a crude pummeling, but a combination of the humiliation of being forced to strip and expose oneself combined with the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness that came from being strapped into the most uncomfortable and embarrassing positions devised by truly sick minds.
So it was into the second bedroom, the guest bedroom, that Joan led Peggy. The secretary recoiled a bit when the door was opened and the light switched on. In the center of the room, what was virtually the only piece of furniture stood revealed. It was a wooden frame, with feet long enough for stability despite the most extreme struggles. From the base a post extended upward into a crosspiece with three holes. The central hole was obviously just the right size for a neck. There was a hole to either side of the main hole of about the right size for a feminine wrist. And yes, the upper part of the cross-piece was split and hinged so that it could swing up for placement of the penitent’s neck and wrists in the holes. And lowered, securing the victim firmly. “Oh lord” exclaimed Peggy, “the stocks”. ”Actually,” corrected Joan, closing the heavy door behind them, “a pillory. Stocks were the device used in bygone times to secure the feet, and occasionally the hands as well, of a sitting misencreate. The purpose of stocks was to expose you to public humiliation. This is a pillory and it has a darker purpose. You are held helpless while punishment is applied to your body.” Peggy gazed with dread anticipation at the apparatus constructed of thick wood. As she looked around the room at the heavy drapes covering the far wall where the window undoubtedly was, she realized the room was probably heavily soundproofed. Although she refused to make any outward expression of her feear that would please her office manager, it required all of her effort to contain that terror which now she felt. “Take off your slip and give it to me” Joan commanded. With an effort Peggy kept her hands steady as she lifted the tricot nylon slip above her head, pulling it off. She folded it in half at the waist, and then folded it again, neatly enclosing and wrapping the lacy bodice in the lower portion. As she handed it to Joan she stood there, naked except for bra, stockings and low heels.
Peggy was relieved when Joan pointed to a bedpan sitting over against a wall. She not only had a full bladder from the two bottles of wine they had drunk, but her bowels were beginning to roil from the pot roast they had for supper but even more from terror. She squatted down and after a few seconds of tinkling came what seemed to her like a roar of flatulence and endless volumes of loose stool being expelled. Peggy began to blush but soon she was consumed by wracking cramps as her colonic contents continued to spew forth. After what seemed to be an eternity, the diarrhea finally ceased and Peggy began to clean herself with the toilet paper sitting on the floor next to the bedpan. Joan made a motion toward a nearby cupboard and Peggy realized that there was where the bedpan was to be stored. With her bowels finally quiescent, she began to appreciate the humiliation of her nakedness.
Now Joan undid the upper part of the crosspiece of the pillory and motioned to Peggy to come over. The girl willing placed her neck and wrists onto the semicircular openings realizing that at this point she had little other alternative. Joan brought the heavy upper arm of the crosspiece down, securing it to the frame with a pin and Peggy realized the true degree of her entrapment. She was bent over with her ass thrust into the air with her arms secured. She didn’t even have the option of turning around and seeing what Joan was in the process of doing.
What’s a Bit of Skin Anyway
What Joan was in the process of doing was opening a door in the side of the room. On the inner face of the door were hooks from which were suspended a variety of rather nasty implements to be applied to the body of the woman being disciplined for the purpose of inflicting pain. A few were straps but they were very few. Most were far nastier - whips of various sorts, switches and above all, canes. Such was the three foot long piece of rattan fitted into a leather wrapped hand that Joan selected. She flexed it a few times and took a practice cut or two, swishing it through the air.
“Well Peggy, I guess it is time that we finally get down to business, the two of us. This is after all, what it is really about, isn’t it. You have really fucked up, you know, with your silly affair with Pete Campbell. As the word around the office puts it, you were a nice fresh fruit that went bad in a remarkably short time. Now there is nothing wrong with sleeping around. All of us do it. Some of us do it even more than others. But Don Draper is your boss, not that little pipsqueak of a junior executive. And you don’t sleep around without the approval of your boss. I am going to teach you a lesson that you will remember the rest of your life. You think that you are pretty tough and you aren’t going to admit to me your fear and your pain and your vulnerability. Well I have news for you. You may have been spanked a few times and somebody may have put a switch to you butt. So you think you are tough? But you have never taken a licking from a real pro, and I am a real pro. Your ass is grass and I am the lawnmower. By the time I am finished, I will have stripped the skin off your backside and you will be sobbing for mercy. By the time I am done, you will do whatever I tell you. If I say, ‘lick my toes’ you will lick my toes. If I say ‘suck my clit’ you will do a job on my genitals that would put a Hoover to shame. You will weep and whine and I will have no mercy.” And with that the office manager drew the cane back over her shoulder and brought it down on the buttocks of the secretary with the full force of an experienced chastiser.
Peggy heard the swish of the rattan and felt the thud of it impacting her well padded bottom. What caught her totally by surprise was the explosion of pain that occurred about a second after the impact. It was pain of a magnitude that Peggy had never experienced before. Although she managed to suppress, by the greatest exercise of a quite considerable will, any exclamation, she was unable to suppress the reflex jump that her entire body made. Rather it was the pillory that absorbed the spasm of her body and this shook the heavy frame significantly. Joan chortled having finally connected with her stolid victim. “Well my dear, being stoic goes only so far. Just wait, after a few of these you will be singing for me.” She waited almost a full two minutes before putting the cane into play again. Peggy was better prepared this time and the searing pain of the impact elicited no more than a minor flinch. Joan delivered another four blows in quick succession and then backed off to admire her handiwork while demons wailed and ran about Peggy’s consciousness. When the caning started, the skin of Peggy’s buttocks and upper thighs was swollen a bit and colored a mottled red with an occasional blue bruise beginning to form from the belting she had endured over an hour before. But the application of the cane quickly made it’s mark. Wheals, almost an inch across were swelling up within a couple of minutes of the blow. Peggy had never experienced anything like this. Since she couldn’t actually see the welts forming, her imagination ran riot. But once again, unwilling to allow her tormenter the pleasure of seeing her reaction, Peggy focused all of her attention on suppressing any verbal response. But physiology will have its way and Joan was gratified to see the almost obscene way in which her cane marked Peggy’s buttocks.
After about a five minute wait Joan started going at it again with a vengeance. But since she was a well practiced disciplinarian, she had the self control to allow almost a full minute in between strokes. This allowed the full extent of the pain to sink in before another blow was delivered. Enough time for the victim to spend a while anticipating the next cycle of swish, thud and agony. Yes, Joan had been caned herself – caned by experts – and she knew the nuances. Joan maintained a running commentary as she unmercifully beat Peggy’s behind. “You know girl, I am quite expert at this…” pause followed by the swish of the cane and the sound of its impact. “You should see the piece of art work that I am creating of you…” pause, swish, thud. “All of the welts that I am placing on your buttocks are exactly parallel…” more of the same. “There is a wheal and then a strip of relatively normal skin, no more than the width of a pencil, and then another wheal.” The long pauses between strokes were taking their effect. Peggy knew that Joan was toying with her and she resisted mightily. But she could not hold back the tears that were pouring down her face. “Ah, yes. Let us step back and admire the pretty picture…” pause, swish, thud. “You know Peggy, you really have a quite pretty ass…” “which you artfully conceal beneath those dowdy skirts that you wear…” “It is a fulsome ass, not boyish at all…” “Not at all like the skinny asses of some of the secretaries that I punish…” “It is in fact what I would call an eminently beatable ass…” “And that is what I am doing with it…”
After twenty or so strokes of the cane, Joan stopped for a prolonged rest. Peggy’s behind was covered with parallel welts from just below the narrowest part of her waist down to where her stockings were gartered just above her knees. And particularly well worked over was the lower part of the globe of her ass, just where the thighs joined. This was the sweet spot where the vibrations from the blow of the cane rippled through the vagina. It had a peculiar effect on particular women. Joan loved it. And beneath each of the welts a bruise was beginning to form, a dark purple blotch that warned of lasting pain to come which would make sitting an agony for a week. Although Peggy had managed to suppress a vocal response to the punishment she was receiving, sweat had not only broken out on her forehead, but fine beads of sweat were erupting all over her body. Her legs were visibly shaking. Tears ran from her eyes and out her nose although not a sob or a whine escaped her lips. Her face was beet red from keeping it all in. All of Peggy’s mental faculties were focused on maintaining control but Joan’s voice still penetrated through the fog of pain. “Well girl. We have raised welts all up and down your ass… Do you know what happens next, girl? We alter the angle at which the cane is aimed and cross the strokes a little. As we go back over where we just caned you the new strokes will overlap the previous strokes… Take a guess what happens when the cane hits swollen, welted skin… We tear the skin right off those welts… What do you have to say about that girl?” Although Peggy remained silent she could not suppress the shudder that wracked her body as she contemplated what was to come.
Then the blows started again and with them the terrifying agony. Peggy couldn’t actually feel the skin abrading because the intense pain she was in caused almost every sensation other than pain to dim. But she soon became aware of wetness as drops of blood began to trickle down the backs of her thighs. She also noticed that Joan had a dish towel in her left hand and that during each pause between strokes, the office manager was wiping the cane. Peggy could occasionally catch a glimpse of the towel out of the corner of her eye. There were red lines on it – lines of her blood. Joan, fastidious as usual, did want spatters of blood to dirty her walls. Peggy was no longer distinctly sensing the pain from each blow even though Joan was allowing plenty of time in between strokes. It was just a continuous roar of pain that almost approximated a noise. It was like being run over by a train time after time again. Peggy marveled that at one point the only thing she was really sensible of was that her tears were causing her nose to run and that her hard breathing was causing the runny mucous to shoot out of her nose. Aware that the secretary was on the border of loosing consciousness, Joan stopped at fifty strokes of the cane. Any more punishment of this sort would be futile. You would just be ripping the skin of a numb lump of flesh. And yet the girl still hadn’t broken. She was red faced, shaking, gasping for air and blowing snot all over the place but nary a cry or sob or plea for mercy was coming from lips that were bitten bloody in agony.
Joan decided that at this point a bit of first aid was in order. She went to the bathroom and retrieved a bottle of brine vinegar and an alum stick used to staunch shaving nicks. She moistened the towel with the brine and began to daub at the place where the skin had torn and was oozing blood. Then she applied the alum stick. This caused Peggy to flinch at the unexpected astringency but again the girl remained silent. Just as Joan finished staunching the last major laceration, the door to the bedroom opened and Don Draper sauntered in.
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