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The third in my umemployment series. This time looking at the sadism of government employment agency workers.


Submitted:Dec 20, 2010    Reads: 3,936    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


1.
5:20 PM
Leonie Juchster went about her kitchen tirelessly. She must have his tea ready before he came home, or he would be uncontrollable. Sonja had failed another mathematics test. The last time Allan had been furious, he expected nothing less than perfection from their daughter. She was supposed to be the shining success of the Juchster family, so Allan himself could gain greatness through association as the one and only father of Sonja Juchster.
But who wanted to be the father of a dolt who could not even pass the simplest tests in anti-differential calculus?
Over the last twenty-five years, Leonie had often considered leaving her tyrannical husband. Yet how could she? Even if Leonie could have supported herself upon the deserted wife's pension, there was still Sonja to think of. Leonie could not leave Sonja alone with Allan, and no one could support a school age child on the pension. Leonie herself had only year nine education and no special training, so was virtually unemployable. Even prior to 1970, when the depression had begun.
* * *
"Alphonse ... Allan," Leonie hurried to correct herself. It was more than a decade ago her husband had anglicised his name, yet Leonie still could not help thinking of him as Alphonse. "You are very early tonight. Your tea will not be ready for at least another hour."
"Tea is not important," said Juchster, dashing Leonie's hopes. "We have more important matters first."
"Important matters?" said Leonie, feigning ignorance.
"Sonja's test," said Juchster. "Apparently she has not done very well, or else she would have been fawning all over me."
Leonie hummed and hawed for another ten minutes, before conceding that Sonja was forced to front up to her father with her test paper, which was brightly marked in red with a large E+.
"At least I got a plus, for good endeavour," said Sonja, grasping at any straw.
"What is the point of good endeavour, when you're only endeavouring to be an idiot?" demanded her father. "Good endeavour won't get you very far, if you graduate onto the dole. You'll wind up like those disgusting parasites that I see every day at my work. E+'s with good endeavour toward getting relief, and no inclination to ever got up off their backsides and try to make something of their lives!"
"Yes, daddy," she conceded, head hung in shame.
"How long is it since you have been punished?" Juchster asked.
"Five days, daddy," answered Sonja.
"Five days should have been long enough for it to sink in," said Juchster.
"Then you mean?"
"Yes, the brush," said Juchster. He took a large key ring from his pocket, and handed the ring to Sonja. "You know where it is."
As Sonja strode smartly out of the room, Allan Juchster carried a wooden chair from the kitchen, into the centre of the dining room.
The kitchen and dining areas were really one large room, which could be split into two by pulling open a large concertina door. Leonie stepped through into the kitchen area to tend to the saucepans upon the stove.
Allan Juchster sat up straight upon the chair as his daughter returned. Sonja placed a large hairbrush upon the dining room table, within easy reach of her father's right hand. Then, giving a sigh, Sonja allowed herself to be drawn to her father and positioned over his lap.
Juchster raised his daughter's skirt to reveal her taut buttocks out-lined beneath skimpy blue panties.
"Please father," begged Sonja. "May I keep my pants on?"
"To begin with," conceded her father, adjusting her panties to get them properly into place.
Juchster stopped for a second to admire the striking contrast between the navy blue of Sonja's panties and the soft pink of her flesh. A strawberry blonde, Sonja had skin so pink that she always looked as though she had just stepped from a bath of scolding water.
Sonja squirmed upon her father's lap, feeling his firm erection pushing up against her, and wondered when he would stop teasing her and begin the discipline?
Finally Juchster was ready to begin. His right hand administered firm spanks to first her right buttock, then her left. At the first impact, Sonja began to wriggle against her father's legs. Juchster's left hand pushed firmly into the small of Sonja's back, holding her hard in place. Despite her struggles, the smacks rang out sharply, intermingled with her squeals as her backside flamed a deeper pink, then red, and tears dampened her eyes. Juchster administered the discipline ruthlessly for five minutes, before deciding it was time for a change.
"Oh no!" gasped Sonja, as her father tore her panties from her body to throw the torn rags into a corner of the room. Whatever scant protection they had afforded was now gone.
"I think that you had better count the strokes for a while, Sonja," said her father in an even voice.
"W...one!" sobbed Sonja as the spanking recommenced. "T ... two, t ... three! ... Oh father!" Sonja knew better than to plead; yet she could not keep quiet as the stinging punishment continued.
The full hillocks of Sonja's buttocks flattened like pancakes, beneath the onslaught of her father's hand, then rebounded in time for the next snack. Sonja gasped out, "S-seven," her lower lip ground against her teeth. Her bottom bucked in an involuntary motion, flexed from the pain ignited within the soft flesh as her hips tossed and rolled about against her father's lap.
Finally, after much sobbing and gasping, bucking and squirming against her father, Sonja counted out, "T...twenty-one," and felt an immense rush of blood to her buttocks as her father's hand halted.
"I ... is that all?" asked, pleaded Sonja.
"Hardly," said Juchster, and Sonja's heart missed a beat. "We have only just started. There is no need for you to count from now on."
Juchster reached for the hairbrush and said, "I have had to discipline you twice in one week. And I will discipline you twice a day, every day, if need be. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' might be considered a cliché these days. But there is a lot of truth in many old sayings." So saying Juchster raised the hairbrush and began to administer a volley of thirty or forty hard spanks in rapid succession upon the already much abused buttocks of his teenage daughter.
Eventually Juchster was satisfied and lowered his knees to allow Sonja to collapse, sobbing, onto the floor.
Despite her distraught state, Sonja knew that she had been quite lucky this time; the spanking had lasted for less than fifteen minutes. Sometimes it continued for over an hour.
"Sonja will go without her tea tonight," said Juchster in a calm voice.
"Daddy, no!" said Sonja. Squatting on her haunches, she rubbed tentatively at her throbbing backside with one hand.
"Please, Alphonse, not that!" plead Leonie, reverting to her husband's German name.
"Would you like to join her?" Juchster demanded of his wife.
Taking hold of Sonja's right hand, Juchster half dragged, half carried his sobbing daughter out of the dining room.
Leonie felt so helpless as she watched after them. She sighed with frustration, and then went over to the kitchen to begin preparing the tea.
* * *
The Next Morning
4:00 AM
Allan Juchster had set the alarm clock to wake him at four that morning. He was not due at work until 9.00 AM, however, he had some unfinished business to take care of at home first.
Juchster donned his dressing gown and slippers, and then walked into the corridor and down to the washhouse at the end of the hall. In one corner of the washhouse was what appeared to be a double-door linen closet, however, when opened it revealed a wooden ladder leading to the cellar.
Juchster reached into a pocket of the dressing gown, took out a small key chain and unlocked the double-doors. He switched on the light to the cellar, then descended the ladder and used a second key to unlock a door at the bottom of the ladder, then stepped inside the brightly illuminated cellar. At first glance the cellar looked like a cross between a gymnasium and a tool room. Along one wall was a cabinet housing a large assortment of nails, screws, ropes and tacks. Beside the cabinet, was a tool board containing a wide range of pincers and pliers, saws, and metal chains. Along another wall stood a vaulting horse, and two adjustable benches of the type used in gymnasiums to do sit-ups upon. In one corner of the room stood a dressing table, upon which was a wide assortment of hairbrushes, metal combs, and small bottles of what could have been perfumes and other make-up. Against another wall stood a large double-door cabinet. Through the glass doors of the cabinet could be seen a large collection of canes, wooden and metal rulers, from thirty centimetres through to one metre, riding crops, leather straps, wooden pallets -- which looked like brushes without bristles, many of them covered with metal studs -- and neck ties. Large wooden girders cries-crossed the ceiling; like in a television country-and-western show caricature of the ceiling of a barn.
In the centre of the cellar, connected to the floor and to one of the girders, stood Juchster's pride and joy. At a distance it looked like a large bench drill. But in reality it was an array of pulleys, pipes and wires, which allowed a metal hook to be raised or lowered between the floor and the ceiling two and a half metres apart. The hook could also be moved along a metal rail connected to one of the girders. Had it been under copyright Juchster could have made a fortune selling the device as a multipurpose work tool. Instead he chose to keep the contraption to himself.
Well, not quite to himself, for upon the hook was suspended Sonja. She had been suspended since five-thirty the evening before. Her wrists were manacled to a metal bar that was connected to the hook; her legs were spread-eagled by a second bar, and were manacled to the floor. She was blind folded, and a rubber ball, on a leather strap, stoppered her mouth. She was naked and the heads of drawing pins protruded from her thighs, buttocks and nipples.
"I hope that you have at last learnt your lesson," said Juchster. "It seems that no matter how often you are punished, the lesson does not sink in. However, I will not shirk my responsibilities as a parent."
So saying, Juchster thrust his right hand up between Sonja's legs, forcing two fingers deep into her vagina. Sonja gasped, beneath the rubber ball, at the intrusion, but did not bleed, as it was not the first time that her father had violated her sex with either his fingers or penis, or even metallic or plastic objects.
Juchster moved his loft hand to Sonja's right breast, and squeezed the nipple cruelly, forcing the drawing pin to fall to the floor. Sonja bucked and shuddered screamed silently and almost choked upon the rubber ball that bobbed in and out of her mouth.
Leaving Sonja to shudder in the middle of the room, Juchster moved over to the cabinet in the corner and extracted a cane, which he slashed down across the top of the vaulting horse. He shook his head and returned the cane to the cabinet, and extracted a second cane. He repeated the test four times before deciding upon the correct instrument to use.
Sonja had been listening in terror to the sounds emanating from the corner of the room. Her whole body already ached from having been suspended by the wrists for ten hours. If she stretched her feet right out, she could just touch the ground with her toes, but this was too strenuous, so she had allowed her aching wrists to take the burden of her weight. Moving around behind Sonja, her father said, "Good girls don't need punishment. Remember that in future."
"They might not need it, but they often get it," thought Sonja. She remembered all the times that she had been punished for nothing at all, all of the lashings and the incestuous rapes.
"Perhaps fifty will do this time," said Allan Juchster ruminatively as he brought the cane down upon his daughter for the first time.
Sonja spasmed, screamed beneath the rubber ball as the cane landed across her shoulder blades, then again as the second lash landed upon the small of her back, and the third across her thighs -- Juchster liked to criss-cross Sonja's entire body, to ensure the maximum sensation.
Her shoulders, back and thighs turned a deeper pink, then red, as Juchster laid into his teenage daughter with the cane. After the first twenty lashes the cane began to move closer and closer to Sonja's taut buttocks. Strokes landed immediately above the rise of her backside, then on the tender flesh at the very top of her thighs. Juchster was tempted to give her one hard lash vertically upwards between her legs, but he was afraid that it might do permanent damage, which could not easily be explained away to prying school doctors. The thirtieth lash landed hard across both quivering buttocks. Causing Sonja to yelp beneath the rubber ball, and to gyrate even harder as she twisted every which way in a futile effort to escape the cane.
Juchster decided to concentrate the remaining punishment upon her buttocks. Sonja spasmed and called silently for help that was not forthcoming. She writhed and jerked at each blow as her young backside began to glow a deeper and deeper red, and her faultlessly smooth flesh began to become criss-crossed with tracks left by the cane.
The sight of the overlapping tracks drove Juchster to a wilder and wilder abandon, until he began to twist his whole body around in a 180 degree arc to deliver each blow with the maximum possible amount of power.
Eventually Juchster finished administering the punishment, and threw the cane into a corner of the room. Sonja sobbed, partly in relief that the caning was over, and partly from fear of what was still to come.
Sonja heard her father moving around behind her, and expected him to walk around to fuck her as he had done many times before after a session of punishment. Instead he placed his hands upon her naked shoulders, and, spreading his fingers, moved his palms slowly down her spine, causing Sonja to twitch from the agony of the pressure upon her red, raw flesh. Eventually Juchster's hands swept together into the hollow at the base of her spine. Stooping, he placed his hands upon her ankles, and then slowly moved his palm up her legs, curving his hands around into the soft flesh of her inner thighs. He moved one hand up between her legs to cup the mound of her sex, then eased one finger tauntingly along the outer lips, slowly forcing the slit open wide enough to insert the tip of the fingers. "Why doesn't he just get it over with, and fuck me?" thought Sonja.
But Juchster had other plans this time. He pressed his hands hard against her round buttocks and lightly gripped the soft flesh, then pinched down hard for a few moments. Prying the taut mounds apart with his fingers, he roughly shoved the pointer of his right hand straight up Sonja's anus. She bucked wildly beneath the brutal assault and thought, "Not that! He can't be planning to?" But even while she was trying to convince herself that it could not be happening, Juchster spread her buttocks wide apart, and speared forward with his penis, impaling her brutally.
Sonja shrieked under the rubber ball and tried to pull her body away from her father, however, he reached around to clutch her sex roughly with his left hand, and one of her small breasts with his right hand to hold her still while he began to fuck her backside mercilessly, grunting and puffing like a rutting pig.
The excitement of administering the caning combined with the incredible tightness of his daughter's rectum to bring Juchster to a climax in only a couple of minutes. He lay against her, recovering his breath, for a few moments, then unchained Sonja's ankles and wrists, to allow her to collapse in a heap on the concrete floor.
"You have been hurt enough this time, so that perhaps at last you will learn your lesson," he said. "I shall tell your mother to ring your school to say that you are sick today."
Sonja removed the blindfold from her eyes, blinking beneath the harsh electric lighting, then removed the large rubber ball from her aching jaws, and muttered, "Yes, daddy," before sobbing aloud as her father quickly strode out of the cellar.
She heard the door close and lock. The lights flickered off, and she hoped that she would not be locked away in the darkened room all days as she had been last week.
Sonja rested for a few minutes upon the floors slowly massaging her agonised wrists and ankles, then began to pick up from the floor the drawing pins, which had come free from her body during the whipping.
She took the drawing pins, and the rubber ball over to the dressing table, where she deposited the pins into a small jar of cleansing alcohol, then wiped the rubber ball clean with a wet rag. "After all I'm the one who will pick up any infections," she thought.
Feeling along the row of bottles up the table, in the dark, she located a small bottle of iodine. She took some cotton wool from the top drawer of the dressing table, and began to apply the iodine to her aching backside and thighs, as best as she could. She was unable to reach far up her back, however, she hoped that Leonie would be allowed into the cellar for a few minutes to apply ointment to her back.
2.
"I hope that I'm not keeping you awake, Mr Smith?" said the lecturer, noticing Chris smother a third yawn in as many moments.
"No, that's all rights," said Chris, causing a few sniggers from students at other benches in the small classroom.
"It's starting to look as though I am," insisted the lecturer. He was puzzled at the recent behaviour of Chris, who up until a few weeks ago had been one of the best students in the class. Now Chris arrived five or ten minutes late for every class, slept through half of the class and yawned through the other half.
The lecturer made a mental note to speak to Chris after class. "Probably spending too many wild nights on the town, or burning his eyes and brain out in the nearest video game amusement parlour," thought the man.
Chris continued to stifle yawns behind the lecturer's back, as the grey-haired man returned to his blackboard to chalk up diagrams while he lectured. At times it seemed as though the man was talking to the blackboard itself and not to his students. Scarecrow, as the man was known by his students, behind his back, certainly was 'an eccentric old bastard' as one of his students had once stated to his face. Nearly two metres tall, with anaemic skin that seemed almost glued to his bones, despite the fact that the man never seemed to stop eating. Even now, as he lecturer to the blackboard, he was stuffing himself full of cold chicken sandwiches that he had bought at the canteen across the road from the school.
Chris wondered how Scarecrow could make a profit teaching night school when it seemed certain the lecturer ate at least twice as much in food as he was paid each night.
Scarecrow began to become more and more inarticulate as he lectured to the blackboard, and filled his mouth at the same time, so Chris decided to study something a bit more interesting.
Sonja Juchster sat two rows in front of Chris, screwing her eyes into a squint, desperately trying to make sense out of Scarecrow's lecture. Chris felt sorry for the young girl. A day student at the tech, Sonja had started to take extra lessons at night, toward the very end of the year, in a last ditch bid to make up ground in her worst subjects. But Chris did not like her chances much, with Scarecrow's lectures to contend with.
The class was a two-hour lesson, however, there was a ten-minute break at the end of the first hour, as one of the students now pointed out to Scarecrow:
"Hey Scarecrow, munchie-munchie time," called the dark-haired boy drawing snickers from his classmates and a scowl from the teacher.
"Very well," said Scarecrow. "Take a ten minute break."
As the other students rushed out of the room, anxious to grab a bite to eat before the lesson resumed, Chris saw Sonja waiting at the front of the class, too timid to step into the flow of people. Chris imagined that at the cinema Sonja would be one of the few who sat through the closing credits out of fear of being skittled in the furious evacuation at the end of the film.
Many of the students raced out through the front door of the school, to head toward the small milkbar across the road, but others settled for the canteen in the basement of the school.
* * *
The milkbar had a much wider range than the canteen, which only sold tea, coffee and a small selection of cakes and buns, but on the other hand the students only had ten minutes, and crossing Ballarat Road twice could easily take up nearly five minutes. The canteen could be reached by way of a spiral staircase at the bottom of which there were three concrete steps, leading up to a raised concrete walkway. Double glass doors led from the walkway into the school book shop, while at the other end of the walkway, three steps led down to the canteen on the left, or a small recreation room on the right.
The hall outside the canteen was feebly lit by a single florescent light, because of which the area was in semi-darkness and so the students always walked at least in pairs. Beside the recreation room was a dilapidated staircase, which led to a storeroom above the recreation room. School rumour had it that a teenage girl had once been dragged up the stairs and pack-raped in the storeroom by a gang of bikers. The rumour had never been confirmed by any teacher; however, these days the students took no chances. Even the boys walked to the canteen in pairs, since an alternative legend said that it had been a young boy that had been dragged up the stairs and sodomised by the bikers.
Sonja Juchster hesitated at the base of the stairs. She had stopped to talk to Scarecrow about the first hour's lecture, so she was alone. She could see the thin line of light beneath the door of the canteen, and could hear the sound of the laughter of the students inside the canteen, yet Sonja hesitated to commit herself to starting the one hundred paces from the staircase, across the dark corridor, to the canteen at the other end. Sonja did not believe the story of the girl, or boy, being dragged up the stairs then raped. Not really. It was simply too much like a scene out of Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, or perhaps some shambling tale penned by H.P.Lovecraft, or one of his hundreds of emulators. But even so, Sonja decided that it didn't pay for young girls to be too brash about walking down dark corridors alone. Still, Sonja knew that she only had a few minutes to go until the second hour's lecture was due to start, so that if she did not take the gamble soon, she would hardly have time to buy anything, let alone get it eaten, before class restarted. And old Scarecrow was a strict enforcer of the school ruling against students eating during class. "The hypocrite!" thought Sonja.
Sonja was still trying to bring herself to risk life and limb, rather than have to starve until after class, when she felt a hand descend onto her left shoulder.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" squealed Sonja. She jumped forward a step, thinking for a moment that she was about to become the next attic gang-bang victim, and turned as white faced as Scarecrow.
"I'm sorry," said Chris, "I didn't mean to startle you, but you didn't answer when I spoke to you, so I thought I had better try to get your attention."
"That's all right, I suppose I was silly to jump," said Sonja. "But I was lost in thought and didn't hear you come down the stairs behind me."
"We'd better get to the canteen if we don't want to go hungry," said Chris. "Old sour puss would boot us out the window if he caught us trying to sneak food into class."
Reluctantly, Sonja allowed Chris to lead her across toward the canteen. She did not know Chris by name, but she had seen him watching her in class, so at least she knew that he was not the legendary Crawling Chaos from the top of the stairs at the other end of the basement.
* * *
"You're a day student here, aren't you?" said Chris, stating the obvious as a means of starting a conversation.
"Yes," said Sonja. "I'm mainly doing night school to help out my grades in my two worst subjects."
Chris took a bite of Boston bun and glanced around the canteen, Most of the chairs had been stacked overturned onto the round tables, however, there were still a few other students eating, so Chris hoped it was safe to talk awhile longer.
"What are they?" Chris asked. "Your worst subjects that is."
"Chemistry and physics."
"What?" asked Chris, shouting loud enough to cause Sonja to jump, and the other three students to look toward him. "You have to be kidding? There are no easier subjects than those two!"
"I know," agreed Sonja. "That's what my chemistry and physics teachers keep telling me, but then I guess anything is easy when you know how. My problem is that I don't know how, when it comes to those two subjects."
"Then why are you doing the Applied Science course?" asked Chris.
"Because I always used to be very good at the science subjects, right up until this year."
"So what went wrong?" asked Chris before popping the last of the Boston bun into his mouth.
"I was doing so well previously, that my parents asked my teachers to allow me to skip a grade. Unfortunately they agreed, and so I've been struggling ever since. Even in my best subjects, English and maths, I've dropped down to a B+."
"All the way down to a B+," said Chris, causing Sonja to laugh. "Wow, devastation."
"Yes...But with physics and chem. I'm struggling to even pass...I don't know, maybe it isn't just skipping a year, maybe if I'd only done fourth form this year, I'd still be struggling. But I'm sure that things wouldn't be as bad as they are."
She paused for a moment, and then said, "As it is I might have to repeat fifth form next year, so I might just as well have done Intermediate this year."
"Yes," agreed Chris, "that's the problem with some parents, they're so determined to help you, that they end up doing everything they possibly can to hurt you."
"It wasn't both of my parents, just my father," said Sonja. "And he wasn't trying to help me, he only wanted to be able to boast that his daughter had been smart enough to be promoted a year. Not me mind you, his daughter, who inherited his brains, But now he's not boasting so much, now I'm my mother's daughter who inherited her brains," she said, almost crying. "I think he almost started to believe that he was the A-student, so he thought I was questioning his ability when I started to slip down a few pegs."
Sonja stared down into her coffee cup for a few moments, then gulped down the last of the tepid coffee. Grimacing, she crumpled the Styrofoam cup and then under-armed it into the cigarette tray in the corner of the room. Chris finished his own coffee, and seeing the other students were stacking their chairs upon their table, he decided to risk his hand.
"Perhaps I could help you out with your problem subjects," Chris offered.
"No, I ... I couldn't impose on you," said Sonja.
"It wouldn't be imposing. I only do three subjects, as a night student, so I don't have much homework," lied Chris. He wondered how he could possibly find the time to help Sonja, if she accepted his offer. However, he could think of nothing else to say on the spur of the moment that might allow him to see -- and hopefully do a lot more than just see -- Sonja on a regular basis outside school hours. Once he was in good with her, thought Chris, if the worst came to the worst, he could then plead difficulties with his own studies, as a way of getting out of his promise. "And after all," he reminded her, "physics and chemistry are my two best subjects."
"But you have a day job as wells don't you?" asked Sonja.
"Yes," admitted Chris, trying to think fast. "But I knock off work at 3:00 PM, so that gives me time to get home, get my books, then get to your place before you get home from school...."
"Oh no!" said Sonja, loud enough to startle Chris. "It ... it couldn't be at my house. Not at my house. My father wouldn't like me to be around a boy. He thinks I'm still too young."
"Hey, we'd only be studying together," said Chris. He wondered whether he had scared Sonja off somehow, by being too obvious about what his real intentions were. "Don't tell me she can read dirty minds?" he thought.
"I...I know," said Sonja, causing Chris to sigh aloud from relief. "But my father wouldn't be able to understand that, he's a very suspicious man. He wants to ...." She stopped, lost for words, having almost admitted "He wants to keep me for himself." Instead she said, "He wants to keep me a baby as long as possible, at least until I'm fifty-five anyway."
Chris laughed, and then said, "Yes, I think that all parents are at least a little bit like that." Standing, Chris helped Sonja to her feet, and stacked their chairs upon the table, then said, "Then what about studying together at my place? I can set up my text books and things, ready to start as soon as you get there."
"Do you still live with your parents?" asked Sonja. She allowed Chris to place an arm around her shoulders as they walked out into the basement.
"Yes, but they won't mind. My dad's a little strange at times, but mostly he's all right. My mum's very nice ... actually she's my stepmother, but if you ever met my real mothers you'd understand why I think of Norma as my mum," Chris said then laughed, along with Sonja. "Perhaps that isn't very kind," he added, "but it's perfectly true."
THE END
© Copyright 2010
Philip Roberts




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