‘I’m a tall, confident, sexy woman,’ Charlotte affirmed audibly to herself as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway of her Manchester flat. It was shortly before 8 am on a Wednesday morning in early March, and Charlotte was dressed for a day in the office. She felt fit and healthy, her mindset partly due to her 6 am workout, making full use of the facilities that lay in the basement of her city-centre apartment block.
She had been in the city for almost two months, having moved here from Surrey to take up a new management role within her company. Born and brought up in Surrey, she needed a fresh start and the internal role being advertised in Manchester gave her the perfect excuse for it. She was a few months over thirty but had experienced a lot in her few short adult years.
She had married at twenty-four to her university sweetheart, and at the time was full of the joys that early marital life brings. They weren’t the perfect couple before, and if they had expected marriage to fix their issues, they were sadly mistaken. Trying for children, a little half-heartedly if truth be told from Charlotte’s side and ultimately being unsuccessful was the final straw. Charlotte mustered all the courage she had and told Nick she wanted to separate. He didn’t take it too well, lashing out at her and her family until an out-of-court divorce settlement finally brought the marriage to an end.
Charlotte’s other secret, which she hadn’t admitted to anyone and wasn’t entirely sure she’d convinced herself, was that she might be gay. These feelings weren’t new but had perhaps been kicked to the back of the mind in her twenties. She didn’t have feelings for any woman in particular, but she started noticing the feeling form a little more clearly and would often find herself staring at hot women in the street.
Exploring this new side to her never felt an option whilst she remained in Surrey, particularly as the divorce meant she had returned to her parents’ home. Her mother made a fuss of her, and whilst Charlotte enjoyed having someone caring for her she fantasised about truly having her own space. The new job was the perfect move for her, and when she was offered the job, she couldn’t accept quickly enough. Her mother was disappointed she was moving so far away but accepted that Charlotte was her own woman and would do as she pleased.
The apartment she rented was right in the city centre, a stone’s throw from Deansgate Lock. Overlooking the water on the seventieth floor, she fell in love with the place on her first viewing: two bedrooms, one which she’d converted into a little home office, and an open-plan living and dining area with a floor-to-ceiling window with stunning views across the city. She had the corner plot of eight flats on this floor, so it was slightly bigger than some of the others.
The apartment block was well secured, with three different entrance points to provide maximum security for the residents. Living on her own for the first time, Charlotte loved the protection she felt, particularly as there was a concierge on the desk twenty-four hours a day. There was a basement gym with some state-of-the-art equipment and plenty of space to work out.
The new job was challenging, but in a positive way, and Charlotte felt she began to build some rapport with her team. Naturally, they were a little standoffish as they’d expected the role to be filled by someone from the Manchester office. What did some London girl know about Manchester companies, they probably thought, but slowly they began to ease up as they worked with her. She was incredibly smart and was able to work well with the clients the agency supported.
Despite liking her new job, new apartment and new city, Charlotte was definitely a little lonely, having left behind any friends who Nick hadn’t scared away back in Surrey. She kept in touch with them on Facetime or messaging, but it wasn’t the same as having real-life people to meet for coffee and brunches. She’d dipped her toe into Tinder, found it really wasn’t for her and told herself if she met anyone it would have to be natural.
That evening, she had decided after a lot of persuasion from her mother to attend a Women’s Institute. The WI was particularly strong in the Manchester area and were strict on new members. However, they had an open call for women between the ages of thirty and forty-five, no doubt in a bid to lower the average age. Charlotte did some research and thought it was worth a punt. The application form was very long, and after spending almost two hours completing it she was disappointed to hear nothing back for almost ten days. Finally, when she’d almost forgotten about it completely, she received a curt email inviting her to attend a meeting the following evening. She was told to be there for the 7 pm prompt and that smart casual dress code was a minimum.
Charlotte, who had begun dressing a little differently since taking up the management role, opted for a purple long-sleeved button top, a grey pencil skirt and black shoes with a slight heal. Wearing tights as she was not used to the cooler weather that living in a Northern UK city brings, she wore a knee-length navy buttoned coat.
Her workday passed without event, and she held three client meetings which all went exceptionally well. Clients seemed to like her southern tones, and Charlotte was no doubt that the male clients didn’t find her too bad on the eye. She didn’t play up this, as in her mind it was not only hugely unprofessional but that her life was taking a different turn. Convinced that focussing on women would be to her benefit, she steered clear of any flirting with men.
She worked in the office until 6 pm, knowing she’d have little time to return home before her 7 pm appointment. She had a light salad which she hadn’t got round to finishing at lunch, before closing her laptop and leaving the building. The meeting was in Pankhurst House, a building that had been left to the WI and named in Emily Pankhurst’s honour. It was in the older part of the city, not far from The Midland Hotel.
Arriving at the building, she buzzed at the entrance before having the door opened by a woman dressed in uniform. Charlotte was unsure if she worked there, but after explaining what she was here for, the women explained she wanted the third floor. Leaving her coat with the woman who showed her a long rail of hooks in the hallway in the right, she made her way to the third floor. The building was old with no lift, and she was a little out of breath by the time she’d climbed the eight or so steps to reach that floor.
“Can I help?” said a woman a little abruptly, as Charlotte looked around the room a little bemused.
“Yes. I was asked to attend tonight’s meeting, I’ve just joined?” she explained politely.
“Just joined or applied to join? I don’t think we’ve accepted any new members just yet,” the woman retorted, smirking slightly.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to assume,” said Charlotte.
“Applicants are to stand at that wall until called upon,” said the woman pointing to a small section of wall on the left side of the room.
“Thanks,” said Charlotte, making her way across and standing awkwardly by the wall.
Looking around the room there were around thirty or so smartly dressed women of varying ages with cups of tea in their hands. Feeling a little lost, she was waiting when the woman who she spoke to near the door appeared at her side.
“When I said at the wall, I meant facing it. Nose against the paintwork,” the woman said whilst making a swivel manoeuvre in her hand.
“Facing it?” asked Charlotte, slightly baffled.
“Yes, dear. Non-members can’t be a part of the meeting, so you must always face away. So, turn around and put your nose against the wall,” she continued.
Charlotte did as she was asked, and as she did the woman gave her arm a firm squeeze before moving off again. Feeling very silly now, she waited with her eyes fixated on the slightly peeling yellow wall in front of her. To her surprise, several other women more around her age joined her and before long there were six women lined up against the wall. Charlotte tried to glance down the line, but they were all staring steadfastly in front. After a few minutes, a hush fell across the room.
“Ladies, welcome to our meeting. As you know this is a particularly special meeting, as for the first time in five years we have opened our doors to new members. We received over two hundred applications, and following a lengthy process of screening and researching the background of our applicants, we have whittled it down to six. The six women standing on my left are the women the committee and I believe are the most suitable for this group.
However, as all of you will have experienced, the process does not stop there. Over the next six weeks, the six women will be provided with a mentor, who will test out the capabilities and report all findings to the committee. After which, we will decide if they are fit and proper enough to join our splendid group of women,” a woman to Charlotte’s left announced to the room.
The woman was in her mid-sixties, dressed smartly in a navy knee-length dress and dark, long boots. She addressed the room from a long table at the front, where she had six other women, three on each side of her. Charlotte had assumed these women made up what the speaker had referred to as the committee.
“We received around twenty offers of mentorship from the fine women in front of me, and from that we have matched up mentors and mentees appropriately. I will call out the names of those who have been selected, followed by the name of the girl that they will be responsible for. The women transition from girls to ladies if successful over the next six weeks,” the woman continued, explaining no doubt for our benefit.
Charlotte listened out as the names of five women were called out, followed by the names of the girls who stood next to her. Finally, as there was no else left to call, she knew it would be her turn.
“Samantha Harwood. Charlotte Bellamy,” called the woman and Charlotte nodded to herself. “The six mentors are excused the next part of today’s meeting, and will instead make introductions with their girls. There are the six meeting rooms available on the floor above for you to use,” she continued, and with that the noise of scraping chairs filled the room.
A few moments later, a woman appeared behind Charlotte, taking grip of her right wrist and leading her away from the wall. Charlotte glanced across at the woman who was guiding her from the main room. Samantha was a little shorter than Charlotte, looked around fifty years old, with thick brunette hair that trailed down to the top of her back. She was naturally very pretty, with a well-made-up face and a smart two-piece business suit on. She didn’t release the grip on Charlotte’s wrist until they had reached the meeting room on the floor above and the door had been closed behind them.
“Take a seat,” instructed Samantha, pointing at the seat further away from the door, behind a small table. Samantha sat down opposite, placing a leather handbag on the floor by the table leg.
“I read your application and I’ll be honest I was rather pleased that we were selected for this,” admitted Samantha, placing her hands on the table.
“Thanks,” said Charlotte, unsure what to say.
“If I ask you a question, I expect a response. If I don’t, then I suggest you remain silent. I am a very strict Mentor, and for the next six weeks, you will discover just how strict. This Women’s Institute is the most renowned in England, and we don’t let any old trash in. You want to join our illustrious club I assume?” asked Samantha, raising her eyebrows slightly.
“I do,” Charlotte admitted.
“Then you better impress me, girl. One step out of line and that opportunity will be taken away from you. No second chances here,” Samantha replied. “Let’s start with some basic rules to follow. Charlotte a woman’s name, and you are still just a girl. Did you have any nicknames growing up?” she asked.
“I used to be called Charlii. With a double I”
“A teenage name for a teenage girl. Charlotte was traditionally shortened to Lottie, so you will be called that. You will address me as ‘Miss’ or ‘Mistress’ and never use my proper name. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss,” said Charlotte, who had always hated the name ‘Lottie’.
“Now Lottie, you answered on your application that you were bisexual. I don’t believe in the concept of bisexuality, so for the purposes of your application I suggest you choose. You are either straight or lesbian. You will decide now, but decide carefully,” Samantha cautioned.
“Lesbian, Miss,” said Charlotte, without really giving it proper thought.
“I had a feeling. I can tell these things,” replied Miss Samantha. “Now we’ve addressed that, we can move on to the more standard procedure for an initial discussion. You submitted some photos, which considering you are sitting before me obviously impressed the committee. However, I think I need a closer look. Strip down to your underwear and stand up,” said Samantha.
Charlotte panicked momentarily, feeling her face warm up at the very suggestion of removing her clothes in this room. Knowing better than to argue and really intrigued by this club, she slowly began to slip off her clothes. She took off her shoes, unbuttoned her purple top, and draped it over the back of the chair. Unzipping the pencil skirt, she let it fall to her ankles before sliding it off and placing it on the chair. She had opted for a matching lacy lilac set with a push-up bra and high-leg thong knickers.
“Put your hands on your head and spread your legs a little wider,” said Samantha, rising from her chair and moving around the desk. Charlotte did as she was told. Samantha slowly ran her fingers along the girls’ shoulder and arms, brushing her hair back that had run past her neck and towards her breasts. Her fingers lingered just above the breast.
“What size are they, Lottie?” she asked.
“30DD, Miss,’ replied Charlotte.
“Not bad. Perky if a little on the small size. Do you work out regularly?” she asked, heading south and placing her hand on Charlotte’s tight stomach.
“A fair bit yeah, Miss,” she replied.
“Good girl. If you want to join this club, you need be both physically and mentally fit. That comes with a fair bit of hard work,” replied Samantha. “But I see you are a little slutty too judging by the tiny thong. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it girl?” she said, reaching round and giving Charlotte’s peachy cheeks a squeeze and a slap.
“No, Miss,” admitted Charlotte, wishing now she’d gone for something a little classier.
“I think we need to lose this whole set,” said Samantha, and with that Charlotte reached around her back and unclasped her bra. “Not now, girl. Don’t need to get your clothes off in front of every hot woman you see,” she continued with a smirk and Charlotte went deep red with embarrassment.
“Take a seat!” said Miss Samantha, returning to her side of the table and back to her chair. Lottie gratefully sat down, feeling a little embarrassed but trying to forget about it. “How are you feeling so far?” asked Samantha.
“I’m okay, Miss,” said Charlotte.
“That’s good. This will be a testing process, but it will bring the best out of you I’m sure. Now what would you say if I told you to go into my handbag?”
“My mother taught me not to look at other people’s things,” said Charlotte, proudly.
“She taught you well. However, in this case I’m giving you a specific instruction, and I don’t expect that to be ignored. So, pick up my bag, and find the hairbrush and place it on the desk,” said Samantha, sitting back on her chair.
Charlotte reached down, picking up Miss’s handbag and placing it on her lap. It was quite small, and after unfastening the clasp holding it shut, she reached inside and quickly discovered what she was looking for. An oval wooden hairbrush, with a dark lacquer across it, around ten inches in length. She placed it on the table and then put the handbag back on the floor.
“Do you know what this is used for? Other than for brushing hair?” asked Samantha.
“I don’t, Miss,” said Charlotte, truthfully.
“This is a very handy tool. A very handy tool in teaching girls like you the difference between right and wrong. This tool will be a symbol of our new understanding, and an implement you will get rather used to I should imagine. Now let’s try it out for size shall we. Stand up, and come and stand next to me,” said Samantha, pushing her chair back from the table.
Charlotte did as she was told, standing from her chair and walking around to where Samantha was sitting. She stood to her side, and a little clumsily was taken across Miss’s lap. Feeling exposed and vulnerable in this position, her face was brushing the cold wooden floor.
“Normally girls in this position have their knickers removed. However, yours will often little protection as they don’t even cover your bottom. But perhaps we’ll have them down all the same,” decided Samantha, and with that she gave them a sharp tug, sending them down to Charlotte’s ankles. Completely unprotected now, Charlotte felt the cold outline of the hairbrush against her skin.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
The hairbrush came down hard and fast, catching Charlotte completely off guard. Samantha was very experienced when it came to disciplining naughty girls, and boys for that matter, and was an expert when it came to wielding the brush. Targeting the sit spot, an area where the bottom of the cheek met the top of the thigh, knowing it gave the receiver something to really cry about.
“How does that feel?” asked Samantha, giving the cheeks a rub with her hand.
“It hurts, Miss,” said Charlotte.
“I’m glad. If it didn’t hurt then I wouldn’t be doing my job. I’m going to give you another forty, twenty each for your slutty choice of underwear today. If I catch you in anything as revealing again, it will be a hundred. You will select more classier cotton underwear in the future, and knickers that cover that naughty bottom of yours. Am I clear, girl?” she said.
“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss” replied Charlotte.
“Oh, you will be, Lottie. Now the next few minutes might sting a bit. Don’t wriggle and don’t put your hands up to stop me. If you do it will be much, much worse,” warned Samantha, taking up the hairbrush once more.
She wasn’t wrong, as the back of the brush made contact with Charlotte’s upturned cheeks again and again. It didn’t take long to turn those peachy white globes to blush and then a deep shade of crimson. Charlotte wriggled a little and moaned as another stroke caught her sit spot, but to the girl's credit, she did nothing to prevent them from striking her.
The first tears had formed in her eyes as Samantha reached the final ten, with she gave with an almighty flourish. The echo of wood on skin echoed around the high-ceiling room as the last four strokes were given. When the ordeal was over, Samantha placed the hairbrush back on the table and gently rubbed the girl’s cheek, allowing her a few moments to gather herself again.
“Lesson learned?” asked Miss.
“Yes, Miss.”
“What won’t you wear in my presence again?”
“Slutty underwear, Miss.”
“Good girl. Now get dressed, I think today’s introductory meeting is complete,” said Samantha, and helped the girl get back to her feet.
Charlotte moved back around, and gratefully began to redress, turning away from Samantha as she did. At the sight of those delicious red cheeks, Samantha had a momentary lapse of judgement and slid her hand into her trousers, feeling how wet her panties had become. She loved having Lottie over her knee, and knew the girl would be there very regularly in the weeks to come.
“Now you may leave, and I will see you on Sunday at 11 am for our next session. Don’t be late,” said Samantha, as Charlotte turned back to face her.
“I won’t. Thank you, Miss,” said Charlotte, her eyes a little puffy from her tears.
With that she was gone, leaving the room and descending the four flights of stairs to the entrance of the building. A woman near the entrance gave her a knowing look followed by a friendly smile as she left, which Charlotte half-heartedly returned. Her bottom stinging, she made her way towards the bus stop to head back to her flat.
Upstairs, in the room she had just vacated, Samantha had been joined by a member of the committee. Julia, now in her early seventies and the deputy Chairwoman of the group, was discussing the new girl with Samantha.
“I think you got a little over-excited with the prospect of a fresh-faced girl to mentor, didn’t you? Perhaps let your eagerness get the better of you. Would that be fair to say?” lectured Julia.
“Yes, Miss,” replied Samantha, sheepishly.
“You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?” Julia asked and Samantha nodded her head, before standing up and pulling her jumper over her head.
Within a minute or so she was stripped completely naked and stood at the side of Julia. Julia had taken her own trusted hairbrush from her bag and waited impatiently as Samantha clambered over her lap. Tapping the brush against the older woman’s upturned cheeks, Julia smirked to herself. Samantha had nothing to smile about, as she knew the few taps she had given to Lottie a few minutes earlier with going to be nothing compared to what she was about to receive.
“Two hundred strokes, and then we can see how grateful you are,” said Julia, tapping the brush on the back of her thighs as she spoke.
Back at Charlotte’s flat, the thirty-year-old had stripped off and was admiring her red bottom in the mirror. Her legs were a little sticky, as she had perhaps enjoyed the whole experience a little more than she cared to imagine. She ran herself a bath, adding some soothing bath salts to try and takeaway the swelling of her cheeks. Underneath the hot water, her fingers slipped between her thighs and against the lips of her pussy. Closing her eyes and thinking of Miss Samantha, she began to gently finger herself.
On the fourth floor of Pankhurst House, Julia had just given Samantha the two-hundredth stroke of her brush and placed the well-worn implement on the table. Samantha’s bottom was black and blue, with thick purple welts forming across both cheeks. Tears had dried on her cheeks, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach up and rub her burning bum. Julia offered no such comfort to her victim, instead leaving the poor woman to consider her behaviour across her lap.
“I hope you now have a better understanding of your responsibilities in this process too,” said Julia to Samantha, as she stood in front of her with her hands on heard.
“I do, thank you, Miss,” said Samantha.
“Show me how grateful you are,” Julia exclaimed, lifting the hem of her forest green dress to reveal her panty-clad private parts.
Kneeling in front of the deputy, thinking how very much she’d have liked to instruct Lottie to do the same just a few minutes ago, she lowered her head beneath Julia’s dress. Parting her panties to reveal a hairy bush and thick lips, she stretched out her tongue and began to worship every inch of womanhood that lay before her. Julia moaned in delight, placing her right hand on the back of Samantha’s hair and pushing the woman’s face into her.
A few miles away on the seventeenth floor of the swanky apartment block, Charlotte climaxed beneath the water, her mind completely fixed on Samantha and the possibilities that joining somewhere like the Women’s Institute could take her. Knowing she would have to do everything she could to become a member, Charlotte told herself that she wouldn’t mess this up, and she would fill every waking moment with making sure she joined that club.
Julia also orgasmed, her juices flooding the face of Samantha who desperately licked and swallowed any remnant she could find. Julia released her grip, letting Samantha go and watching as the woman slipped back and wiped the fluid from her mouth and cheeks. Julia looked down at her, satisfied and content, and Samantha looked back with a similar expression across her face.
