Story: Alison’s Attitude Adjustment. Part 2.

by Charles Ryder

Suddenly the door opened and a woman entered. She was tall for a Chinese woman and carried herself with a confidence that only the rich and powerful have. She was beautifully and expensively dressed in a Western style trouser suit. Her hair and make-up were perfectly done, she simply oozed sophistication. Alison assumed that this was Yang Xe, Mi’s mother. The second person to enter the room was Mi herself. Like her mother she was beautifully dressed in a clearly expensive dark blue silk blouse and demure knee-length skirt. Her schoolgirl haircut had been replaced with a more sophisticated style, which along with her black high-heels made her look about six inches taller than Alison remembered. The third and final person to enter the room was her Governess, Miss Zhao, dressed in her customary black garb.

“You may make your obedience, girl.” Said Miss Zhao.

Alison had been well trained as to what she should do when she first met her new Mistress. Slowly she sank to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor.

“Madam Yang and Mistress Yang, my name is Alison Templeman-Davies. I hereby accept the fact that I am your property. I am yours to do with as I wish. I truly regret my behaviour towards you Mistress Yang, and with your help I will endeavour to make amends for it. I hope you will accept me as your slave.”

Lifting her head she crawled to Miss Yang and pressed her lips to the girl’s patent leather shoes. She kissed the first one from the pointed tip to the back of the shoe. When she had finished she repeated the process with the other shoe, trying her best not to miss an inch of the pungent black leather. Behind her she could hear Madame Yang and Miss Zhao talking in Chinese to each other. Yang Xe didn’t sound even remotely surprised at the scene that was being played out in front of her. She may have been discussing the weather for all that Alison knew.

In fact Madame Yang was complimenting Miss Zhao on the results of her training.

“The girl seems reasonably contrite, Miss Zhao.”

“Thank you Mistress. As always I intend only to obey your wishes.”

“Do you think the girl will be a suitable slave for my daughter? Do you think she may be dangerous at all? Look at the size of her; she’s more like a farmyard animal than a woman!”

Miss Zhao allowed a tight smile before explaining that in her opinion the girl would make a suitable slave. She was now thoroughly cowed and obedient. However in Miss Zhao’s opinion she would still benefit from the application of regular discipline.

“Do you like my shoes, Templeman-Davies”?

Alison was so surprised to hear My voice again after so many months that she almost forgot to carry on licking.

“You may answer me, girl.”

Alison paused in her ministrations.

“Er...yes Mistress they are beautiful shoes.”

“Do you enjoy licking them?”

Alison clearly didn’t enjoy such an onerous task but her conditioning enabled her to reply confidently.

“If that is what my Mistress desires then yes I enjoy licking them.”

“Kneel up and look at me.”

This was the moment that Alison had been truly dreading, but of course she obeyed.

Yang Mi looked her carefully up and down. She liked what she saw. Snobbish, bullying Alison Templeman-Davies kneeling at her feet. She particularly enjoyed the fact that her enemy was dressed in such a humiliating fashion. Really, she looked like an overgrown 10 year old rather than the young woman that she really was. Even her breasts looked normal now; so many Western girls looked like milk cows. In fact hadn’t the arrogant girl lost much of her puppy-fat? She placed a manicured finger beneath the girl’s chin and raised her eyes to meet her own. With barely any back lift she brought the palm of her hand down hard against the proffered cheek. The resounding crack attracted the attention of both the other women. Alison immediately brought her own hand to her cheek, shocked by the unexpected blow rather than anything else

Mi enjoyed the look of confusion and pain in the older girl’s eyes. She took a grip on one of her foolish looking pigtails and shook her.

“My slaves do not generally touch themselves without my express permission! Put your hands down by your sides and kneel back up.”

Alison obeyed despite the stinging pain. Coldly and calmly Mi slapped her other cheek.

“I’ve been looking forward to this meeting so much. You have no idea what I have in store for you, do you? When I’ve finished with you a slapped face will be the very mildest punishment I’ll bestow on you. You can be sure of that.”

Yang Mi was nothing if not true to her word. From that moment the pace of Alison’s re education moved forward very quickly. She discovered that both her duties as a maid and a student increased exponentially. For example she was introduced to other areas of the enormous mansion that was the Yang’s country property. Previously undiscovered corridors now required the attention of her scrubbing brush and pail of lukewarm water. She was required to scrub every inch of the long gloomy hallways. The fact that they were usually already clean appeared to be immaterial. Miss Chang who accompanied her to her place of work would simply coat the marble floors with a certain dye which took real effort to remove before it ultimately went dry and couldn’t be moved with detergent and a scrubbing brush. Usually she was left alone to work, Mrs Chang would always check her efforts and reward her with strokes of her cane if she felt that Alison’s work wasn’t up to scratch.

However every so often the click-clack of high heels on the hard floors heralded the arrival of Yang Mi. Alison hated and feared that innocuous noise. The first time she heard it Mi had taken her by the ear and half-dragged her on her hands and knees almost the entire length of the corridor pointing out areas that were, in her opinion, shoddily cleaned. She then instructed Alison to put her nose to the floor. She pulled up her nylon skirt over her backside to reveal her lack of underwear and then forced her to crawl back to her bucket without taking her nose from the marble. Using the leather riding crop that she often carried she applied stroke after stroke to Alison’s rapidly reddening buttocks. Ignoring her crying and begging, Mi carried on scolding Alison for the entire length of the long corridor.

In the classroom it appeared that Miss Zhao had been relieved of her duties. Her Governess was now, of course, Mi herself. The next time Alison presented herself in the room at precisely 9am, she was greeted by the sight of Mi ostentatiously flexing one of the longer, more painful canes that were kept just for her. Her Mistress had certainly dressed for the part. In fact she was almost unrecognisable as the shy, mousey schoolgirl that Alison remembered. She was wearing heels of course, and dark nylons. She had a knee-length black pencil skirt and a crisp, white shirt buttoned to her throat. Her long black hair was done in a tall bun, and a pair of spectacles perched on her snub nose.

Alison came to stand in the centre of the room and then made her customary bow. Without a word Mi pointed her cane to Alison’s desk and the lesson began.

“Your previous Governess, the esteemed Miss Zhao has left me some notes regarding your character, Templeman-Davies. I am informed that you are a lazy little girl, argumentative and rather stupid. Would that be an accurate assessment do you believe?”

Alison knew the perils of this sort of discussion only too well. She nevertheless leapt to her feet and folded her arms behind her back. The position she was required to adopt whenever questioned by a person in authority.

“Yes Miss Yang, I believe that to be an accurate assessment.”

“I also have notes from your previous school, Bradfield I believe it was called, that also describe you as rather dim and a bully as well. Would that also be an accurate analysis?”

For some inexplicable reason Alison could feel herself begin to cry at the mention of her old school. The memories of her previous, normal life threatened to overwhelm her. Luckily though she collected herself.

“Yes Miss Yang that is also an accurate assessment.”

“Hmmm, what are we going to do with you Templeman-Davies? It’s not as if you were a popular girl either. I have some quotes from your fellow pupils and teachers here. Lizzie Kendal, do you remember her? Well she describes you as a terrible snob.”

Alison remembered Lizzie of course. They were in the same class for five years after all. Would she really have described her as a terrible snob? She decided to play it safe.

“If that’s what Miss Kendall thinks then it must be true, Miss Yang.”

“I can see from your silly face that you don’t really believe that. Look at the screen.”

Alison slumped into her seat with shock. There on the screen in front of her was Lizzie Kendal, as large as life and instantly recognisable. An off-screen voice asked her if she remembered Alison Templeman-Davies.

“Oh that terrible snob, of course I do! It was so sad what happened to her but that doesn’t get around the fact that she’s a snob.”

Alison sat open-mouthed, her heart beating wildly. She had been immediately transported back to her old life. Lizzie looked a little older of course and she’d changed her hair but it was undoubtedly her. And what did she mean ‘she’s a snob’?

As if reading her mind Yang Mi smiled and when on to explain that although she had disappeared there was no actual proof that she was dead. Evidence had been planted to suggest that she’d run away with a lover. Every so often her credit card was used in some different part of the world, just enough to suggest that she was alive and well and didn’t want to be found.

Another image jumped onto the screen. Alison vaguely recognised her as a younger girl from school. Here the girl, Anna perhaps, was discussing the fact that Alison had bullied her but that “she wasn’t half as horrible to me as she was to you Mi.”

“Hannah Kent and I discussing you, our mutual bully.”

That image disappeared to be replaced by a different one. A young woman that Alison dimly remembered was a teacher.

“That’s Miss Reynolds, my form mistress. Listen to her.”

“Alison Templeman-Davies? As I remember she was a bit of a bully wasn’t she. I don’t like to speak ill of any pupil but she was quite a nasty piece of work. I think Miss Williams was about to ask her to leave the school.”

Alison began to cry at that point, genuine tears of remorse and pain. She had been horrible to so many people.

“Tears are a good starting point, Templeman-Davies. But you’re going to have to shed many more before your slate is wiped clean. Come and bend over my desk. I think it’s time you were reacquainted with my cane.”

Mi flipped up the hem of Alison’s tiny skirt with the tip of the cane. The older girl’s tears were most welcome. She sawed the springy rattan cane backwards and forwards across Alison’s taut blue knickers. She was in no hurry. She’d dreamt about having the arrogant bitch in this exact position for so many months that a couple of minutes would make very little difference. Once she was ready she drew the cane back.

“You will count these strokes, Templeman-Davies and then thank me for each one.”

Whaap! The cane struck right across the fullness of Alison’s plump buttocks.

“Aaaagh...one, thank you M...Miss Yang.”

Mi smiled at the frantic gyrations of the girl’s backside. A dozen perhaps; six over her knickers and another six on the bare?

Alison stood at attention in front of Yang Xe. The woman regarded her coolly before indicating that she should bend herself across the regal woman’s nylon clad knees. It was a familiar scenario for Alison. Despite her lack of Chinese and Madam Yang’s lack of English, their respective roles were quite clear. Madame Yang greatly disliked Alison Templeman-Davies. This ignorant Western pig had bullied and traumatised her daughter; it was only right and proper that she should be punished severely for her temerity. She reached over and picked up her large hairbrush. She shuffled her legs a little to try and move the large girl to a more comfortable position. She was dressed in a white vest that couldn’t quite contain her gyrating breasts, tiny blue knickers, white ankle socks and white gym shoes. This, her daughter assured her was what the junior girls wore to carry out physical exercise at her school. Xe smoothed out the creases in the girl’s knickers and then drew them down to her knees. Then without another word, began to belabour the Western girl’s huge, to her eyes at least, backside. She found the whole thing most enjoyable. To be able to physically punish her daughter’s bully was extremely therapeutic. Alison kicked and writhed but Madame Yang was surprisingly strong. The punishment spanking went on and on. Xe simply ignored Alison’s increasing volume of shrieking and begging. She couldn’t understand what the foreign girl was saying anyway. Only when the girl’s bottom was thoroughly blistered did Madame Yang begin to relent. Once she considered that the girl had ceased to struggle and simply lay exhausted over her knees did Madame Yang call a halt to the punishment and push the beaten girl off her lap.

Alison knew only too well that he next job was to relieve Madame Yang’s tension by giving her a very long and protracted foot massage. She didn’t mind the first part of her job which involved stroking and massaging her Mistress’s tiny feet through her pantyhose, but once given permission she had to reach up and very carefully remove her nylons and then carry on with her ministrations. Eventually she had to take Madame Yang’s toes into her mouth and lick and clean them. She could never quite get used to the taste. Her spankings she noticed often took place late in the afternoon when her Mistress had been walking around in her high heels for most of the day. Her tongue often encountered bits of lint and grime which she had to ignore. She knew only too well what the penalties for even the slightest hint of insubordination were. Once each toe had been individually adored she was required to lick the length of the foot from toe to heel. Finally she had to lie on her back and lick the soles of Madame Yang’s feet as they rested on her upturned face. When Madame Yang was eventually satisfied, Alison would be required to kneel erect and shuffle herself between Madame’s elegant thighs. Her Mistress had recently discovered another use for Alison’s overworked tongue.

Alison read and reread the text for what seemed like the hundredth time. Yang Mi was born in Hunan province in 2001. Her full name is Yang Mi Wa. Her mother’s name is Wang Pa Xe and she was born in 1971. Yang Mi’s favourite colour is red. Yang Mi is one metre and fifty-five centimetres tall. Yang Mi’s eyes are black in colour. Yang Mi’s first pet was a dog; the dog’s name was Meyli. There were ten pages of dense script of a similar nature. Her Mistress had set her the task of learning absolutely everything about her. She had promised her a very thorough test sometime during the week. Any questions that she got wrong would be interpreted as a personal insult to Yang Mi, and punished as such. She was sat at a cramped school desk. Yang Mi had decided that her old desk was suitable for older students but not for juniors such as Alison. So now she found herself hunched uncomfortably over a one –piece desk and chair combination that couldn’t be adjusted. Her knees were squeezed uncomfortably against the bottom of the desk and she was sat too close to it. To make matters worse she was not allowed to rest her elbows on the surface of the desk but had to sit erect at all times. She wasn’t allowed to make notes either; rather she had to commit every fact regarding Yang Mi to memory.

Installed directly opposite Alison’s desk was a large mirror. Whenever her attention wandered she would see a reflected vision of herself sat at attention at a tiny desk and wearing her shameful uniform. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be she mused?  Perhaps this was how her life was going to be now, forced to spend all her time either working or apologising for her past misdeeds? It had come as a shock to her to find out how much she was disliked by people she had previously assumed were her friends. Perhaps her treatment at the hands of Yang Mi was only right and proper?  She knew, deep inside herself that she’d done wrong. Perhaps this was her opportunity to right those wrongs? Maybe if she worked as hard as possible at her studies and her chores she’d win back the approval of her mistress? Her mistress, a year ago she would have laughed aloud at the notion of anyone actually having a mistress. But now... it seemed natural somehow that she thought of a seventeen year old as her mistress. She shook her head and forced herself to concentrate on the noted placed on her desk.

Yang Mi’s favourite drink is orange juice. Her favourite brand of orange juice is....and on and on.

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