I sat waiting patiently in the car for my first appointment of the day. Okay, to be
honest, it was my only appointment of the day, not because I had no customers but because
my work goes like that, deliberately. I’m John Hargreaves. I run my own little business
called Personal Collections and I make a good and varied living from it and my other
interests, which you will discover more about shortly.
Before I go into the appointment let me explain how my business works. Personal
Collections is what it says; I collect or rather buy up personal debt. I buy it not from
the public but from a number of debt collection agencies that are far too busy to chase
forlorn cases. What I do is mail them for people in my area who are not paying up what
they owe. At the moment this brings in quite a few cold leads every month. The next step
is for me to do some investigation. I go to where these people live and I observe,
closely. I watch them for a few days if necessary before I make my decision. You see, I
don’t buy up just any debt, I target specific types of people – like the person I am about
to visit.
When I find someone I am interested in, I make an offer to buy the debt up with a
one off payment that then assigns the debt to my organisation, or more accurately to me. I
then own the debt and it is up to me to collect on it. Now, this may seem strange, but the
people I target I know can’t pay – if they could I wouldn’t have been passed their details
in the first place. So, you may be wondering, how do I recover my outlay and make a
living? Well, it’s not actually that hard and you’ll see why in a minute.
As I own the debt I have a right to go through the courts and get charges put on
property and then force people to sell their property to pay me back. As I said, it’s my
right, so I’m always confident that at the end of the day I will get my money back, but in
seven years of running what I do, I have never had to go that route and that is because of
the debt I buy up.
I’m about to get out of the car now, it’s just a couple of minutes until ten
o’clock and I know the person I’m about to go and see has been sitting nervously waiting
for this moment for at least forty five minutes.
Before I go, you might as well know, this is not the only little business venture I
have. The other one is legal too and you probably guessed that it is the business where I
actually make most of my money.
***
Christina Tanwell had been waiting nervously since she had got back from the school
run. Divorced with two kids in the local primary school, she is a good looking thirty
something. She has dark hair, probably died that way. She is five foot three with hazel
eyes and has a nice figure with a great-looking ass, as observed by me when I watched her
out walking one day in her figure-hugging faded jeans. Her hair is about shoulder-length
and the house she lives in is modest. My personal research indicated was virtually no
equity in the property as her former husband had once been a fairly wealthy business man
who’d turned to heavy gambling when his business went pear-shaped a few years previously.
Since then he’d lied about his income and secured a second loan on the property and other
debts too. Then the divorce had come and Christina had been left in the house with just
enough income from the maintenance for the kids to pay the secured loans. She also had a
personal loan of $40,000 going back to the time when she had worked full time, before the
children arrived. She had long since stopped paying the loan back and it was this loan
that I had purchased – for a lot less than the total amount.
“Good morning,” I said as the door opened a fraction. “Mrs Tanwell?”
“Yes,” she said nervously. She was wearing the same cream trousers and white blouse
she’d returned to the house in nearly an hour earlier.
“I’m John Hargreaves; we spoke on the phone a few days ago. Do you mind if I come
in?”
“No,” she said softly as I showed her my ID card, which indicated I was an agent of
Personal Collections.
With the door shut I was shown into the living room. The furniture was mostly tired
and old, and at that precise moment Christina matched the room perfectly.
“You know why I am here Mrs Tanwell; the matter of $40,000 which you owe Personal
Collections. What I need to know is how you plan to pay us back.”
“I have no idea. The money from my ex-husband barely covers the loans on the
property and a few household bills. I’m on various benefits to help make ends meet and I
work two mornings a week to help us scrape by.”
“Ah yes, I remember from our conversation,” I lied. I’d read the case file while
waiting in the car. “You’re divorced, two children in the local primary school and you
have little chance of increasing the income you currently earn which, from the forms you
already sent us, indicates you have less than $30 spare income a month.”
“That’s about right,” Christina responded. “Have a look round, you can tell I’m
hardly having a ball!”
“No, I must agree with you on that front. But I have a problem in that the money
you owe must be repaid. I think, probably, you leave me no option other than to start
court proceedings to place a charge on your property and then to go for possession when
you don’t pay up. It’s happening a lot these days, I’m afraid, but debts have to be repaid
one way or another.”
“No, please don’t do that,” she was almost on the verge of crying. I already knew
that Christina was desperate to stay in the property – she had told me as much when she
sent in her income and expenditure form, so I knew she would do whatever she could to
avoid the legal route. “Isn’t there any other way we can sort this out? Please!” She
sounded frightened as I am sure she was.
“Well, that depends,” I said, still smiling.
“Depends on what?”
“On what else you have to offer. Do you have any other forms of income or assets
that I don’t yet know about?”
“I... I don’t follow, you know I don’t,” said Christina, her eyes bright and close
to tears.
“Well, what else do you have to offer me then?”
“I...I...I’m not sure,” Christina stammered.
“Well, let’s start with you deciding just how badly you want to stay here. Think
about that for a minute,” I added, the smile disappearing from my face.
“What are you saying?” Christina asked.
“I’m saying that a woman of your age and decent looks, who has the desire to stay
here, possibly, just possibly, might have what it takes to do so.”
“You mean, I sell my body? But I don’t know how to do that or where to go to do
it.”
“Well, not sell exactly. How about a private arrangement whereby you do what I want
and I start writing off the debt?”
“With you? Oh, I see, but what would you make me do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I lied.
“But what about the company, how would you cover up the write-offs?”
I smiled to myself – she hadn’t said no. Perhaps she was just too desperate to do
so. I find this is usually the case with the people I target and I have nearly always got
to this position in the conversation quite quickly. The next few minutes would determine
where I was going to go with this particular person.
“Let me level with you. I am the company, Christina. I invested my own money in
acquiring your debt so I can do what I want with it. As to what you would have to do, the
answer is anything, without question, with total obedience and with extreme gratitude.” I
decided to make the choice simple and in as clear a language as possible.
“I see. So, you would want to ... have sex with me?”
“Possibly. Tell me Christina, have you ever experimented with things like bondage
and spanking, or role play.”
“No. Mr Hargreaves, apart from one incident when I was a schoolgirl, I have not
been spanked and I have never much tried anything very adventurous. My husband was a very
straightforward man, worked hard Monday to Friday and enjoyed a romp on Saturdays, but he
was a quick finisher and we never experimented with anything.”
“But are those things you would be willing to try, to explore even, if it meant you
stayed in this house?”
“I might be, but how much would you write off my loan if I did?”
“That would depend on how much you please me. Certain things would earn a greater
write-off than others, and obviously they would be more demanding. But we wouldn’t start
with those.”
“You mean it would take more than one session to write off the loan?”
I chuckled to myself.
“My dear, Christina, I think I can call you that in view of where the conversation
is headed, a street whore can perhaps earn $100 for a simple fuck, $30 for a blowjob or
hand job. Your debt is $40,000 or more, so yes, it will take a lot more than one session.
Possibly it will take several months of concerted effort on your part. After all, if you
were to have to work to pay off the debt then you would expect to have to work hard for
such a sum of money, and probably for quite a long period of time.”
“I see, well I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it, but I guess I have no choice.
When do you want to start and how do we go about it? Obviously I have the children to
consider so holidays and evenings are out and I work on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.”
“I was thinking day time visits, mornings, three times a week during term times and
once a week during the school holidays. I am sure you can arrange child care for a few
hours once a week.”
“I can try, but I can’t promise anything. So when do you want to start and what do
you want me to do.” Christina was looking very apprehensive, a bit like a rabbit caught in
the headlights of a rapidly advancing truck.
“Before we go too far I have to be totally sure you are suitable for this. I need
to be sure that you can undertake the tasks that will please me and so, as I have done in
the past with others, I have arranged a little test to ensure your compatibility for the
things coming up in the weeks ahead. So, we will start today with an audition, and if you
pass that test then we will set out a program for the debt to be repaid.”
The moment Christina heard me mention others in the past, she knew I was
experienced at what I did, that I had picked on her debt precisely because I knew she was
single and vulnerable and I had always intended the conversation would go this way, but
Christina was trapped and she had no alternative because the alternative was unthinkable –
homelessness with nowhere to go except possibly into a cramped, dirty hotel bedroom as
that was all the local authorities could provide in these days of debt crisis.
“Okay, I’ll try. What do I have to do?” Her voice was faint and trembling.
“You have to remember at all times from now on to call me Sir, or Master, to speak
when you are spoken to and at no other times, to do what you are told without question and
to remember every instruction I give you. If you can do all that, things will be fine and
in a few months time your debt will be all gone. Do you think you can do that,
Christina?”
“I can try.”
“Good girl. Okay, we’ll get started and see if you are suitable for what I have in
mind. You said earlier that you had once been spanked at school. Describe what happened as
best you can, please.”
I sat back on the lumpy sofa as Christina took a final sip of her coffee and
remembered the experience from her school days.
***
Christina’s School Spanking:
The incident was really stupid. I’d been conned by some other girls to try smoking.
My Dad was a smoker but always told me he’d tan my hide if I smoked as it was really bad
for you, but he just couldn’t somehow give up.
“I’m sorry, Christina, how old were you at the time,” I interrupted her.
I was just eighteen and in my last term at school. We were a few weeks from our
final exams, ‘A’ Levels. Anyway, I was caught in the toilets with a cigarette by Miss
Cavendish. She was a strict, middle-aged teacher, with horn-rimmed spectacles and a tight
fitting pin-striped skirt suit.
I was sent straight to Mr Hartman, he was the head master. That day I was wearing
my little pleated skirt, very short it was. I was actually trying to make a play for one
of the boys but that damned cigarette was going to put an end to all of my plans.
Mr Hartman had a reputation amongst the older girls for being a strict
disciplinarian. He saw it as part of his duty to make us girls well-behaved and well
turned out into the world at the end of our time at the school.
Anyway, after five or so minutes of reprimanding me, Hartman told me I was going to
receive the cane. Six strokes on my hand and then six on my bottom. Without wasting more
time he asked me which hand I wrote with and then got me to hold out the other one, my
right hand as it happens.
God that cane stung me good and proper. I kept clenching my fist after each stroke
and tears soon filled my eyes as I gasped loudly each time the cane whipped down onto my
poor palm. Finally he delivered the sixth stroke and I stood there, shaking like a leaf
and sobbing, as I shook my hand furiously to relieve the burning sensation in it.
Next, Hartman pulled an upright chair into the middle of the room and made me bend
over it. I was wearing sexy black panties and knew from the minute I put my bottom over
the upright of the chair, he could see them. I felt the skirt being raised up over my
hips, exposing my buttocks but fortunately he didn’t pull down my panties. I guess he
didn’t need to because they weren’t going to offer me any real protection.
Then I felt the same whippy cane pat my bottom as he took up position. Six hard but
not vicious strokes later and my bottom was burning with the stinging pain and I knew it
was crossed with six red lines where the cane had lashed into me. When I tried to stand up
it was so painful and I was crying all the time now. Hartman decided I should go and stand
in a corner of the room with my hands on my head for a few minutes to let the pain sink
in. It was as I stood up that I realised he’d tucked the hem of the skirt into my
waistband so my bottom was still exposed as I stood in the corner of the room facing the
curtains he’d pulled across the double doors leading from his office.
After five minutes, he came over to me and I felt his hard hand rubbing my flaming
cheeks. I’d calmed down a bit by now.
“You took that quite well, young lady, but if I have cause to punish you again
during your time here it will be much worse. Now, go back to your lessons.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, lowering my hands and replacing the skirt over my bright red
bottom cheeks.
***
I was getting excited by Christina’s story and looked closely at her as she told
it. When she had finished, I said,
“And that is your only experience of being punished?”
“Yes, Sir,” Christina said. I was impressed, she had remembered to call me ‘Sir’.
“I see. Well, this morning we will see if you are up to the task of paying your
debt off. To begin with I need to see for myself what your pain tolerance is, and then
we’ll take it from there.”
“If you say so, Sir. What do you want me to do.”
I looked at the old armchair and made my decision.
“Just go and kneel on that old chair with your face to the back. Keep your legs up
straight and stick your bottom out so it forms a nice firm round surface. I’ll start by
spanking you to warm you up and we’ll see what you are capable of.”
“And this will start to pay off my debt?”
“Not on its own. This is like an audition to see if you have what it takes to pay
off your debt. If we go further then you will start to pay it off.”
“What exactly are you going to make me do?”
“I am going to make you do nothing. You are going to be asking me to do things,
asking me to go further, because you want to and because it will start to pay off what you
owe.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” said Christina.
“Good, then get in position please and we will start.”
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