Crimson Manor Country Club part 1

A new job, a new apartment, and today Saturday morning, after the delivery of the sofa, it was time to discover the nearby street market. It was lively, and colorful, and the air was full of scents from fruits and spices. It was a change from London. I won't regret the exhaust fumes!

A few steps from the market square, there was a public park bordered by Victorian apartment buildings taking advantage of the lush green view. That park was shared with an Edwardian mansion and its spacious grounds. Obviously, those born to the manor had sold part of their property to the city. I followed the tall wrought-iron fence and between flowery shrubs; I saw manicured lawns and two tennis courts. 

 Suddenly, two young women my age ran by. Actually, they were sprinting, and I didn't have time to register more than blue t-shirts and shorts. I followed the fence until the impressive entrance of the mansion. On the right side of the old revolving door, a bronze engraved plaque read Crimson Manor Country Club. 

I was reading the brunch menu next to the classy plaque when two young women exited the revolving door. They looked vaguely familiar; they could be the two runners I had seen between the shrubs of the mansion's park. They were wearing grey monogrammed cardigans over sparkling white blouses with tartan mini kilts.

I entered and wasn’t too surprised to find an elegant lobby with leather armchairs, oriental rugs, and wood paneling. I smiled for the young receptionist. She was wearing a classic Chanel like business suit with a knee-length pencil skirt and a small name badge on her lapel. I understood that the tartan kilt wasn't an employee uniform, and it made sense that kilt was quite short.

I was directed to a table overlooking the lawn and a superb bush of English red roses. I smoothed my skirt as I sat down. A smiling waitress offered coffee, tea or San Pellegrino. I accepted the pink Italian soda water. The brunch buffet was superb, and after a thick slice of roast ham with new potatoes, I had a lemon sherbet. While waiting for a cappuccino, I read the country club's brochure mentioning the tennis courts and other equipment.

One leaflet offered, "Performance coaching for amateur athletes. Our French-Scottish coach, Mr Martin-Lewis, will help you reach your best potential with time proven traditional methods..."

I was intrigued. The leaflet came with an application form, and the first week was free. I filled it up, Julia Meredith, age 24, single, secretary. Under "Goals" I wrote, running the Paris marathon and learning how to play good tennis." The waitress brought my cappuccino, and offered to take the completed form to the "Academy".

 A few minutes later, a mid forty woman with a classic nurse uniform came by. "Miss Meredith, I am nurse De Vere. Thank you for having completed our application form. I have to check a few vitals, such as your blood pressure. Would you please follow me."

Her office was professionally equipped and after having measured my height, she checked my blood pressure. "I also need your exact weight. Please strip." She had said that with the tone of someone who isn't accustomed to repeat herself. I silently mouthed a wide "Oh!" and blushed. I timidly undid the buttons of my blouse. A minute later, I stood on the scale with nothing more than my knickers.

She wrote down my weight and gave me a large plastic tray with the blue t-shirt shorts I had seen earlier. I hastily dressed with the training outfit, and the shorts felt very short!

  I tried to adjust them, but it was pointless. I was intrigued by the DA monogram decorating my singlet.

After having given me a pair of trainers, nurse De Vere lead me to a large ground floor office with a huge old wooden desk in front of two comfy leather chairs. "Please stand there. Mr Martin-Lewis will be with you shortly." She had indicated a spot in front of the desk. I remembered waiting in front of the desk of the principal as a schoolgirl. While I again tried to adjust my mini shorts, I suddenly heard a commanding voice, "Hands at your sides, Julia!"

He was in his mid thirties, very tall, very fit, dressed with a navy tracksuit decorated with the same DA monogram as the one on my t-shirt. He was dishy!

"Please sign the consent and confidentiality form on the desk." He walked around the room. I blushed as I imagined him watching my derriere clad with the mini shorts and up in the air as I bend down to read, "Discipline Academy, I Julia Meridith agree to be disciplined as Mr Martin-Lewis decides if my performances aren't what they are expected..." I now understood the DA monogram. For a few seconds I was hesitant, my would be coach must have noticed that, and answered my silent question,

"You will be spanked on your bare bottom!"

"Oh!"

"If warranted, I also have a martinet, a strap and a tawse. If you gain more than two pounds, you will be caned."

"Ah!"

"Julia, were you spanked when in school?"

I nodded with a blush.

"Why?"

"Poor grades..."

"Poor grades, Sir!"

He had said that with his loud voice of earlier, and I meekly repeated my answer as told,

"Poor grades, Sir!"

"Were you also strapped?"

"Yes Sir."

"Did your grades improve?"

With a deep blush, I nodded and whispered, "Yes Sir..."

"I promise that you will be running the Paris Marathon in 3 hours, and you will be taught to play tennis well enough to beat any amateur!"

"Your first week is free. If you decide to continue the program, the fees are paid in advance, every three months, and there's no refund."

I took a deep breath and signed.

Julia

To be continued...

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