The knocker-upper (M/F story)

Knocker-upper: "A person whose job was to go from house to house in the early morning and wake up workers by tapping on the bedroom window with a long pole or similarly convenient implement. " - Wiktionary.

 

It was early Monday morning, just before dawn, that I was awakened by a loud, insistent tapping on my bedroom window. Wondering who it was, and how on Earth someone could be knocking on the window of a second-story flat, I eventually managed to force myself out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I staggered over to the window, which my sleep-deprived brain took some time to open. When I looked out, I saw a young woman grinning up at me. She was a lanky brunette somewhere in her early twenties, wearing a woolly jumper, a matching skirt, and a flat cap balanced on her head, and was joyfully waving a long pole in greeting. Clearly, the stick was how she'd managed to tap on my window.  "Finally, you're up! Good morning, sir!"

 

I stared back at her, stunned at this behaviour. Before I could think of a response, the woman had walked away, cheerily whistling a tune. What on Earth was going on?

 

I stumbled back to bed, once again reflecting on the strangeness of Londoners. I already had enough of that from my neighbour Sheena, with whom I had a couple of disagreements – I had not expected to find another madwoman so close to home.

 

 

The following day, around the same time, I once again heard tapping. I rose, making sure I was properly awake and ready to speak before moving over to the window. If it turned out to be the same woman, I wanted to be able to ask her to explain herself before she left. I hoped it was – the thought of there being more than one hooligan roaming the streets rapping on people's windows in the dark was too much to bear.

 

"At last!" she laughed when I opened the window. "You were a lot harder to wake today. Good morning," she said, tipping her cap and turning to leave.

 

"Wait a second," I called out. "What's going on? Why are you doing this?"

 

"Well, I'm the knocker-upper, sir!" she exclaimed. When she realized from the look on my face that this meant nothing to me, she explained, "It's a service you find in big cities. I go from flat to flat, waking people up so they can go to work on time!" There was more than a hint of condescension in her voice; presumably, she'd realized from my accent that I wasn't a Londoner.

 

"Well, I am a night watchman, and I don't need to be at work any time soon – in fact, it's only a few hours since my shift ended. So you can stop knocking on MY window," I informed her as civilly as I managed.

 

"Oh no, sir," she said, shaking her head. "When I'm hired to do a job, I do it."

 

"I haven't hired you," I told her, still trying to keep my voice calm.

 

"Oh, I know, sir," she grinned. "Your wife did."

 

"I'm not married!" I called out, but she'd already started to walk away, looking for her next victim.

 

 

When I was awoken on Wednesday by the familiar knocking, I buried my face in my pillow and resolved to ignore her until she went away. When you work all night, having some stranger wake you up after only a few hours of sleep, on the orders of an imaginary wife, is not particularly pleasant. However, as the minutes slowly dragged on, it was clear that she was not stopping until she'd wished me good morning. Sighing, I admitted defeat and rose from bed.

 

"Good morning! Wow, you slept soundly today! No wonder your wife needs help walking you up. Or maybe she doesn't need to get up as early as you do."

 

"I DON'T have to get up early – and I don't have a wife," I repeated, once again trying my best to keep my voice level. "So I suggest you stop bothering me, never knock on my window again, and go find someone who DOES need to be woken up."

 

"Oh, no, sir!" she said. "I've been paid to do my job, and do my job I shall! See you tomorrow!" Before I could respond, she'd tipped her cap and left.

 

I leaned out of the window, sighing my frustration. How could I get through her dense skull? Glancing up, I could see a hint of red curls from one of the other windows, and I realized that my neighbour Sheena was watching me through her window, a smirk on her face. Like I said, we'd had quite a few disagreements, so I wasn't surprised to see the young woman taking pleasure from my suffering. She'd shown a sadistic streak on occasion.

 

 

On Thursday, when I was once again wrenched from my pleasant dreams by an insistent knocking, I decided I was done being nice. Slamming my window open, I did not let her call out her customary greeting, but yelled "Stop knocking on my window! I have told you repeatedly that I do not need your services. I have not hired you, and I don't have a wife. If you knock on my window again, young lady, you will regret it. I warn you." I glared down at her, hoping she'd finally got the message.

 

The girl only laughed. "Yes, a lot of people are grumpy in the morning. See you tomorrow," she called before leaving, whistling merrily.

 

I shook my head as I returned to bed. She'd finally pushed me too far. She'd decided to test me, and I was going to show her that I meant what I said. She'd been warned, and now, she would suffer the consequences.

 

My workdays had felt excessively long during the last week, but this night, I managed to cheer myself by thinking about what I would do in the morning. When I returned home from work, I did not go to bed as I usually did. Instead, I lit a candle and fetched a deck of playing cards. I would spend the rest of the night playing solitaire, and when she returned in the morning, I would be ready for her. When I confronted her, I would not be groggy and half-asleep, but awake and alert – though obviously tired.

 

Just before dawn, I heard the dreadful tapping begin again. Instead of heading over to the window, I went down the stairs, making my way outside. The girl was entirely focused on the window that she was knocking on, so she didn't notice me until I was close to her. When she noticed my presence, she was about to call out something to me – presumably once again wishing me a good morning – but she suddenly paled, taking a step back. She could see from my expression that I was not happy with her, and the fact that the angry man was now a few feet from her instead of a few stories up must have come as an unwelcome surprise.

 

I could have dealt with her out on the streets, but I didn't. Instead, I grabbed her earlobe and began to drag her inside. She squealed, dropping her pole as she tried to free her ear from my iron grip.

 

She yelped and protested with every step, but she could not resist as I dragged her up the stairs by the ear. In my opinion, the steps up to my flat have never been easier to take, or passed more quickly. I almost wanted to drag her up and down a few more flights of stairs, just to hear the insolent girl squeal, but I managed to resist the urge.

 

It was only once we had entered my flat, and I had locked the door behind me and placed the key in my pocket, that I let go of her ear. Her hand flew up to rub it gingerly, and she looked as if she was afraid that it had fallen off.

 

She swallowed nervously as she realized that she was locked in a small flat with a very angry-looking man who held a well-justified grudge against her. "Now, sir, I understand that it can be difficult to be woken up early in the morning, but I'm only doing my job, and –"

 

"Yes, the job I've repeatedly asked you NOT to do, and that you were supposedly hired to do by a non-existent wife," I snarled. "Well, you're not going to do it any longer – at least not to me." I picked up a straight-backed wooden chair, placing it in the middle of the room. "And now, I'm going to make sure you don't."

 

I wonder if she realized what I intended to do when I sat down in the chair, or when I grabbed her arm and jerked her forward, causing her to tumble face-down over my lap. If not, I'm sure she connected the dots when the first smacks rained down on her skirt-covered rear.

 

When I started to spank her bottom, she was silent – probably too stunned to speak. It did not take long, however, before she woke from her stupor. "Ow! You can't SPANK me, sir!"

 

"I can and I will," I told her calmly, demonstrating the truth of my words by continuing to slam my hand down hard on her squirming backside.

 

"Ouch! That stings," she hissed, kicking her legs and trying to stand up.

 

"That's the idea," I told her as I easily held her down. I was much stronger than her, I was determined, and I was far from finished. "Are you going to leave me alone and let me sleep from now on?"

 

"Owie!" she whined. "Stop it! I'm only doing my job!" Sighing at her obstinacy, I flipped up her skirt, revealing a pair of white drawers. "W-what are you doing!?" she yelled, followed by a howl as my hand came crashing down on her underwear.

 

"You're not getting it, so I think your skirt was interfering with the lesson you're being taught," I said, speaking up to be heard over the noise of my smacking hand and her accompanying yelps. I continued to spank her soundly as she squirmed around on my lap, protesting insistently. There was something delightful about seeing her rear end twist over my lap, trying in vain to squirm out of the way of my punishing palm.

 

After a few minutes, I paused the spanking, resting my hand on her sore bottom. "Now, are you going to leave me alone in the future?"

 

"B-but it's my job!" she sniffled. "I don't wish to – Wait, what are… you can't do that!" she squealed as I rapidly undid her drawers, baring her bottom. Her cute little cheeks were beginning to turn red, and as I rubbed them, they were warm to the touch.

 

"If you had promised to behave, your spanking would be over now," I told her. "But since you insist on being stubborn…" I raised my hand, delivering a slap that had her squealing and kicking like mad.

 

As my hand slammed down on her squirming seat, I grinned as I watched her beautiful cheeks flatten and jiggle under my hard palm. I had a feeling that a certain naughty young lady would not sit comfortably for a week.

 

Tears were rolling down her face, and she was struggling to break free from my iron grip, but I held her down and thrashed her bottom to the best of my ability. This was the most enjoyable part of my week so far – possibly the entire month.

 

Eventually, however, my palm began to sting. I had no intention of causing myself discomfort, but I did not want to end her spanking just yet – for one thing, she still hadn't promised to behave. I briefly scanned the room for a suitable implement, and I grinned to myself as I spotted an old leather belt hanging on a nearby chair.

 

The girl breathed a sigh of relief when I stopped spanking her, followed by a fearful gasp as she felt the doubled-up leather belt tap gently against her burning bottom. "N-now, sir, I'm sure it's not necessary to – Youch! Owie! No, not that! Please! Have mercy!"

 

Her squeals and pleas were music to my ears as I strapped her soundly with the belt. Dark red stripes soon decorated her bottom, and she was now squirming so madly I almost had trouble holding her in place.

 

Once the belt was involved, it did not take long before I broke through her stubbornness. "Please, sir! I'll never wake you up ever again, I promise! Ouch! I'm so sorry for what I did! Let me go, and I promise to never bother you again! Yow!"

 

Her promises to behave were even sweeter than her pleas, but I decided to give her another dozen or so lashes with the belt, just to make sure. Then, I laid the belt down and started to rub her bottom soothingly, but I still held her in place over my lap – she wasn't going anywhere just yet.

 

"I'm glad to hear it, young lady. Now, about this woman claiming to be my wife…"

 

 

Some time later, the young woman left the building, one hand drying her tears and the other trying in vain to rub the burning sting from her rear end. True to her word, she never bothered me again, and the few times I saw her in the streets, she blushed and avoided my gaze, clearly eager to avoid my displeasure.

 

A few minutes after she'd left, I knocked on the door on Sheena's flat. My neighbour was wearing a long-sleeved dress and the usual smirk, though the latter vanished quickly when she saw the expression on my face. She swallowed nervously as she looked at the leather belt I was tapping against my left palm. I smiled at her. "You know, Sheena, I just had a talk with the knocker-upper girl who's been bothering me, and she told me something interesting. She described the woman who'd hired her, claiming to be my wife."

 

"Oh?" Sheena said, trying to hide her nervousness.

 

"Yes. A petite woman with red curls, green eyes, and a tinge of an Edinburgh accent… remind you of anyone?"

 

She avoided my gaze. "Oh, like I'm the only redheaded Scot?"

 

"No, but you're the only one in the building – and the only one with a grudge against me."

 

She took a deep breath. "Now, look, I'm very sorry about this little misunderstanding, I only –"

 

I grinned wolfishly. "I'm sure you are – but not nearly as sorry as you're about to be." I entered the flat, closing and locking the door behind me. She shrank at the sound of the key turning. "I will forgive you, though."

 

"You will?" she said sceptically, but with just the tiniest bit of hope in her voice.

 

"Yes, I will. Once you're standing in the corner with a crimson, blistered, burning bottom that is bearing the marks of my heavy leather belt, I'm sure I'll find it in my heart to forgive you." I smiled. "But that is still… Half an hour? An hour? … some time away."

 

She started to back away, both hands protectively clasping her bottom. "But… but… but –"

 

I nodded. "Yes, Sheena, it's your butt I'm after. You're right about that."

 

"Please! Isn't there anything else –"

 

I placed my finger on her lips, shushing her. "I suggest you save your breath, Sheena – you're going to need it to squeal." And I grabbed her and firmly placed her over my lap, lifting her dress and lowering her drawers so that I could begin to spank her.

 

Soon, her yelps and squeals filled the air – the sweetest music I had ever heard.