Handsome James

The Other Side of the Lake

The other side of the lake…

(Continued from Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue)

“Here we are” said Fat Red pulling up in front of Finnegan’s Wake, a place so far off the beaten track across the lake that it had no know reputation back in town. Red craned his neck out the passenger side window to give the place the once over. “So”, he nodded appreciatively, “What brings you all the way out here to Bumfuck?”

Getting out the back door James handed the fare over. “I heard they do some interesting things with gin”, he said. “The botanicals, y’know?”

“Bout the only interesting thing they can do with gin in my book is pour it in me glass”, Red laughed. James waved him a quick smile and Red yelled at his back driving away. “I’m off the rest of the night-so just ring me up when you’re ready.”

He pushed the open door and was instantly covered and drawn in by the comfortable, boozy, smoky blanket that he knew and loved so well. As his eyes adjusted to the dim he returned a couple of nods and winks. An older fellow sporting threadbare tweed discretely raised a glass to him.

There weren’t many places around the lake-in the county for that matter-that James could go into and not be recognized at least by some. A cynical man-and James was far from that-might say that these folks made a lot of money off of James in the day. Which would probably be a bit of an overstatement. Many made some, but those who made a lot were long gone. But to these blokes, a little was a lot. So what the hell.

It was not all bad being recognized over here at The Wake because the townies that saw him were hiding out just like him. Some from wives, some from girlfriends, mothers, fathers, bosses. It was easier to drink when you knew-at least the odds were long-that someone that might be looking for you, would walk through the door.

He moved to an empty seat at the bar next to a large man who pretty much gave him his back as he spat words at a woman to his right who couldn’t have looked more bored had she been in a contest. “JC”, said the barkeep pouring three fingers of clear into a short glass with a single small ice cube-the way James liked it. He squeezed a lime wedge into it-didn’t drop it in-then backed discretely away so as not to interfere with a man and his gin.

James closed his eyes and allowed the first sip to sit on his tongue exuding a welcome warmth before letting it slide down his throat. One thing that Caitlin’s partial personal Prohibition had done was to make every drink an artwork to be savored. Very seldom in his latest posting at the Manse had he slammed one drink as the quickest way to get to the next as was his typical drinking style.

Even so, when he finished the first, he needed do nothing more than slide the empty glass a scant inch away from himself and Blind Tommy was there to refill it. (And no, Tommy had perfect vision and two beautiful hazel eyes-so don’t ask. It’ll make you seem a tourist).

It wasn’t until he was halfway through his second drink that a few seldom used doors of perception opened and James noticed the formidable pile of cash in front of the hulk next to him. The money didn’t interest him-although it had to be what kept the woman on the other side absorbed in his braying prattle. No, what James noticed was the envelope at the bottom of the stack. It was a small yellow envelope seemingly identical to the ones that Caitlin used to transfer cash. Maybe identical-all Goosington stationary had a stylized goose head printed on the face. Problem was that the scattered bills covered most of the envelope and he couldn’t see to be sure.

It wasn’t long before Blind Tommy refilled his glass a third time and after the first draught, James reached over as if the pile were his and pulled the envelope out from under. Sure enough, there was the line drawing of the goose seemingly winking at him. And it was still heavy-stuffed with bills that weren’t scattered on the bar. James had known from the first that this was no doubt one of the men contracted-and paid up front-to do the work on the dock that had never been done. Why the idjit was still walking around with the money in a Goosington envelope was anyone’s guess.

He wondered if Mrs. Fortescue met with this hulk? But the thought of Jane brought him straight to the memory of her kicking over Caitlin’s lap absorbing swats from her paddle. The reddening cheeks appeared in his mind’s eye, then the whiff of sweet vanilla….he slid happily to another place. He wasn’t gone long though-and experienced no more than a tickle down below-when the large man turned in his stool to face him.

“Excuse me little man. D’ye mind?” Said the large one, reaching to pluck the envelope from his fingers. The general hub-bub of the room settled to a hub. Or bub. Pretty James Cook had just been called “little man”. James heard whispers in the deadened din; “Little!” “He called him little man!”

He wasn’t little actually. He was average size, maybe even a tad tall for his weight which made him look slender. He had fought as a middleweight but even being little over his fighting weight he was still giving away close to a hundred pounds to the looming shadow beside him. If he had looked closely, the ape might have noticed that the only imperfection on Pretty James’ face was a slight bump and almost imperceptible offset to the bridge of his nose.

That was the lone remaining souvenir of his victory over Short Gene Poach for the county middleweight championship years before. He was a decided underdog in that fight and bets on Pretty James-or Handsome James (the name he fought under) paid handsomely.

The man, sitting still taller than James, blinked his watery eyes, surprised that the envelope wasn’t in his hand by now. Still held by this little peckerhead with a….was that a smile on his face? Is this little pud laughing at me? He raised off his stool and loomed over James casting a wide shadow.

As typical in these situations, everything slowed for James. A gentle hum closed over him and his breath settled to an almost imperceptible in and out. Heartbeat wasn’t a thump-just a little bubble. If he knew what blood pressure was he would be pleased to know his settled in to a child’s level. A child sitting in a field of daisies. Playing with a puppy. Then it came.

“Then”, as Brown Duffy, the oldster in the tweed would tell the story later, “This big Ginger-the size of a house-lays his hand on Handsome James Cooke-and that rung the bell.” James felt the ham sized hand grab hard at his shoulder trying to pull him to face his fate. The big man’s intention was to petrify the little man with the strength of his grip, then turn him to face him. Then smash him-which he was sure would impress the swish at the bar. She was a hard one but he’d have her, he was sure. Everyone nearby snatched up their drinks and leaned away when the hulking stranger laid is paw on the former county middleweight champ.

The punch James threw would have been a straight right cross had he been standing but since he was still on his stool only on the way to rising, it came as sort of an uppercut. No matter though. He hit him square in the mouth and the big donkey went down as if gravity was a new discovery that he couldn’t wait to try out.

It was quiet enough in The Wake to hear the chit-chit clatter of bone across the hardwood like a tiny roll of dice. “Em’s my teef!” the big guy sputtered, stunned into childhood, sitting on his arse on the floor. James heard the scattered laughter muffled around the bar. Choked chortles and gleeful whispered repeats of “Em’s my teef!” James stood and waited but his once and never-again assailant sat seemingly confused at the proceedings. A blood pink spit bubble covered his mouth for an instant before popping.

James gathered the stack of cash off the bar leaving enough to cover a round of drinks and a good tip. He even slipped a bill to the woman who now saw her perceived payday disappearing. What the hell-she had earned it. “This” he said holding up the cash and the envelope “belongs to Caitlin Milan, of Goosington Manor”. Off is the dark recesses of the bar a choked laugh “Goosington!” set off a round of honking. “Anyway, I’m returning it to her”, he declared slipping it into his back pocket.

“Whatever you say, JC”, Blind Tommy nodded.

As he was walking out the door Brown Duffy called his name. James turned. “’Em’s my teef!” Duffy imitated while all around him stifled giggles. James smiled tightly but winced as he stepped out the door. He hoped this wouldn’t be a new nickname for him. Truth is, he was partial to Pretty James Cooke, but didn’t think he would cotton much to Pretty Teef Cooke.

(To be continued….)

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Same Dance, Different Music

“I think I need a spanking”, she said.

I heard her but didn’t react right away. There are a few things I’d expect me wife to say before that. “Look, a unicorn in the garden”, is one. “I love your clutter in the garage, it’s so cute”, would be another. In our relationship, she does initiate at times but pert near never from the bottom.

The last couple of days had been rough-family in the hospital, then out, then back. Job pressures, one particular niggling mistake at work that had cost her time and the company money, there were hurt feelings from another quarter because of a forgotten party invitation. One thing after another. The pressure had been building for a bit and now, so when she decided this was to be the relief, I wondered if it might be too late.

She was almost in tears asking for it. The veins on her neck pulsed slightly and, as we talked, her eyes filled. She ran her hands through her hair pulling it straight back, the key being pulling. A tear broke free of her right eye and etched a path down her cheek. We were both in odd places-she asking and me trying to negotiate a way out for her. “Do you want to take a run?” I asked wondering if I was enjoying this-holding back a bit. Having her ask again. “No, I don’t want to run. I want you to spank me! Jesus-Of course I’d do it.

We went upstairs and steered clear of our bedroom as we both knew this wasn’t going to be one of those spankings that led to sex. Or at least, I didn’t think so. Hard to judge, though since I’m a guy who thinks anything from having your car fixed to making scrambled eggs leads to sex. At any rate we opted for the spare room overlooking the garden where the afternoon light was golden and soft coming through the tree.

I sat on the end of the bed where I would typically undress her as she stood before me running her hands through by hair. There was none of that, though. She undressed as she would at the gym-efficiently and quickly. Shorts first, then underpants dropped to the floor.

“Take off your shirt too”, I said wanting to add something to the proceedings. “I want you completely naked.” She did as she was told and, never losing that pulled, drawn look, lowered herself without any prompting over my lap. I let her settle in and gave her a pillow for under her belly and we began.

I began at a moderate pace and force watching pink handprints overlap and meld into splotches. As she gave no reaction other than a small gasps or hisses, I picked up the pace. “Smacks” became “whaps” and my hand started to tingle. I extended my palette down the top of her legs before getting any reaction. I paused and shook my hand out. Clenching and flexing.

“Is this helping?”

“Keep going”, she said in a clear voice.

I pulled her closer as she had squirmed and slid a little in the last few minutes. One can only be so stoic. With my left arm draped over the small of her back and circling her hip I let fly with another 20 smacks in succession-which is the number she expected and would take her over 100 for this spanking. I landed flush on both cheeks, on the sit spots left and right then five resounding slaps to the middle of her bottom which echoed up the valley of her cheeks and brought a little gasp.

“Now?”

She sighed and turned her head slightly toward me. “It’s nothing but a painful distraction. Maybe I should have gone for a run.”

I crossed my arms over her very warm rear. “You have to bring more than your bum to a spanking, kid. If you want it to work for you.”

“I kind of count on you to know exactly what I want and wen I want it.” There was a lightness in her voice that wasn’t there a while ago. Progress.

“OK, I’m supposed to be a mind reader-I get it.” I raised my right hand as high as I could and delivered the hardest swat of the session to the meat of her pink right cheek.

“Owwww!!!”

“I figured you were numb by now.”

“That one got through.”

Hand-spanking this woman reached a point of diminishing returns somewhere north of a hundred slaps. I had left my hand on her cheek where it landed and squeezed gently. “Come on, get up from there.”

She rose quickly; clear-eyed and flush. “Wow”, she said drawing it out as she gasped her butt with both hands. “That is some heat.”

“Nothing but a painful distraction, right?”

“Don’t worry about it. Some days you got it, some days you don’t.” There was a tease there-a little challenge. Another tone I wouldn’t have heard twenty minutes before. More progress.

She took my rising as a signal to get dressed and picked her shorts and underwear off the floor.

“Uh-uh”, I said. “You won’t need them just yet.”

“What? Why?” she asked frozen in mid stoop. I didn’t answer, just turned and headed out the door. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just some mind reading”, I answered as I turned and headed out the door. “Stay”, I ordered.

I smiled when I noticed not only had she stayed, but hadn’t moved in the few scant moments that it took me to go down to our bedroom closet. She was still watching the door holding her clothes when I came back into the room carrying the cane.

“Hey-I’m good. Really. This was fine…” She sputtered backing against the wall as if to shield her backside. She felt the need to repeat since I didn’t answer. “I’m fine now…”

“Get over here”, I said firmly tapping the empty desk top.

She dropped her shorts and moved grudgingly away from the wall toward me. “I hate the cane!” she pouted.

“I know”, that’s why I’m only giving you twelve.”

“TWELVE?” She was standing in front of me, one hand still absently cupping her warm bottom, unsure what direction to take.

“Sixteen”, I said. “Want to try for twenty?”

She made a show of clamping her lips closed and stepped into me close enough that when I next spoke she could feel my breath.  “These are really going to hurt, you know.”

“Promise?” she said huskily, grabbing my crotch with a firm hand.

“Promise.”

Turning sharply displaying her well-spanked pink cheeks she took a wide stance. She bent slowly and suggestively over the desk until her breasts flattened against the cool oak surface. A small arch of the back presented all of her to me. I laid the cane gently across her cheeks and patted, knowing her jaw was set and eye lids clenched tightly.

I swung hard.

 

The Maddening Hour

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Kim Chen awoke on her back slowly, her senses flicking on one ear at a time followed by the eyes blinking open to slits in the darkness. It was long her fantasy to awaken all at once, like a super hero, razor sharp senses immediately ready to face whatever lay outside the confines of easily dispatched slumber. In fact she awakened like someone at the bottom of a deep pool of viscous ink-slowly making her way to the surface.

Without looking at the dimly glowing night table clock she knew it was the maddening hour of three a.m. give or take ten minutes. The time every night when her demons would rouse, and hating being alone, awaken her. At least it seemed that way.

But in case the awakening had to do with something external, she lay still, trying to hear whatever she had heard. There was the rumble of far off thunder which she never would have heard. The breeze in the trees heralding the coming storm was a gentle soporific. Maybe it was the tic-tic-tic of the sycamore branches against the window of her husband’s room that in the blanket of night could be heard as easily as if it were in her room.

She slid to a seating position on her silk sheets, legs dangling, over the side and in a moment, slipped naked onto her feet. In repose the house glowed throughout, dimly lit by scattered solar lights making navigation through the rooms and hallways easy. She padded down the hallway.

Glancing into her husband’s room, she saw the offending branches scraping the pane, backlit by the cloud crossed moonshine. Not entering, she was surprised by how foreign his room seemed to her now. She spent so little time in there, had nothing to do with buying or placing the furniture. It was as a parent’s room to a child. She had no connection to it and wanted none.

She knew this house would be hers when they split. He was the one who wanted it, chose the site, built it, but he grew tired of it in-process. By the time they moved in he was thinking about the next thing. Given the opportunity he would settle into the hillside apartment that he somehow didn’t think she knew he had bought. Or maybe into the townhouse that had bought together to downsize into when they retired. He was always thinking three steps ahead like that.

She loved the anchor. The many rooms; moving from bed to bed like Goldilocks–never sleeping in the same place too long. She had enough of that hard-scrabble tiny living shit when she was a child. No, the thought of being alone in this pile of bricks didn’t bother her. It didn’t! It was so difficult getting people to be with her-to understand her-to GET her that she tired of the constant education. It was easier alone.

In the center of hallway she turned to descend the wide staircase, sliding her hand along the polished oak bannister, less for support than for the cool feel of the hard, smooth wood against her warm hand. The vision of Mike following her naked ass up the stairs just a few short weeks before-seemed like months-flashed by and she let it go.

Near the bottom she froze, startled by the form facing her from the window beside the large entrance door. Some other worldly wraith-white and-shaved, so nothing to break the pale but the dark nipples against her milky skin; button eyes sewn onto a doll. Her runner’s legs weren’t obvious, her flat stomach nothing but a creamy smudge. Her face, nondescript from here. She looked away from the reflection. It wasn’t her at all.

Beside the door she snatched a cashmere shawl off the clothes tree and wrapped it around her shoulders. It hung no lower than her navel. She stepped out onto the porch and felt the breeze, almost a wind now, lift her hair gently off of her shoulders.

Standing there she noticed a ghostly flash off to the right-just inside the stand of trees that they had left on the property. The roiling clouds blotted the moon but for a silvery glow. She trained her eyes away to better catch the movement in her peripheral vision and saw another-deeper into the trees. She fantasized that they were wolves-her pack of wolves-her spirit animals-that she nurtured and that now patrolled her ramparts-sleek sentries against…what exactly?

Didn’t matter. She knew that they were actually coyotes skulking through the woods. At least they weren’t rangy mutts-especially the gray one-the largest of them that she was fairly sure was the first flash she had seen. Presentable animals, not bad, but not wolves. Not very worthy spirit animals.

She sat in the chair, the wooden slats chilling her bare bottom. Now that she was out, they would melt deeper into the woods and she would hear them, but wouldn’t see them again as they warily watched her.

She sat back and let the night slide across her body. The air blew up her legs and she allowed her hands to move. She could feel the goosebumps on her quads where she rubbed their firmness-then on the inside of her thighs where she stroked the softness. Again, there was a flash of Mike, and the softness that he brought. That she didn’t want. Then.

She opened her shawl and tentatively touched her taut nipples. Her head lolled back as she squeezed, feeling her juices rising. She slid her hand down her belly and settled on the soft hairless mound below. Her heat settled there. She could feel her consciousness sliding away, giving way. Her finger had just touched her swollen self when she withdrew her hand.

With a thousand dollars-worth of toys and equipment upstairs she was not going to masturbate again in the middle of the night on her porch to the sound of coyotes in the distance. Just wouldn’t. Might like to, probably needed to, but she knew what it would feel like when her finger touched her clit, which was now more awake than she was. But just didn’t feel like going through the mechanics of it again. Somehow, the thought of lubricating silicone seemed more of a chore than loading the dishwasher.

Had she scared Mike off for good?

This was the only time of day she missed cigarettes. Not while drinking, not after sex, not after a run, but now. In the maddening hour where she sat alone without even a bad habit to keep her company.

(Roughly follows the saga of Poor Mikey)

 

The Boy Called Circo

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The drip pot vibrated at a boil on the stovetop.

“Gramma, can I have a coffee?”

She poured it, burnt thick and black, into a shallow cup and pushed the sugar toward him. He fiddled with the spoon that was formed with a small spout on the end as if dumping a spoonful of sugar into a cup was somehow old fashioned. She liked the new things, his Gramma. Even if she horded them all in her little garage apartment across the patio from the family’s grand house.

His name was actually Tomasso or Tommy to those outside his neighborhood, but since he never left the neighborhood as a child it didn’t matter. His given name didn’t matter either as his great grandfather had renamed him.

“Why did Pap-pap call me Circo?”

“Oh he used to laugh when you around. You was always run-you was always jump-you…”searching for the word “….tumble around the yard like in a circus! He laugh and laugh. Said you like a Circo. ‘Circus’. So he call you Circo.”

“I wished he would have called me Tommy-like my name. Everybody calls me Circo now.”

“Every cat in the alley named Tom. You Circo. Better.”

“Some people laugh…like Circo is a joke.”

“They laugh at you, you stop them, huh? You know how to make them stop laugh.”

He waved away her pointing finger. “Alright. It’s alright…”He shifted away from where the .38 dug into his thick waist.

“Who you gone see today?”

“Vinnie, and Joe up on the hill. Then Robert and Shack”. Shack Moran’s real name was Jacques from his French mother. Once he was out of the house he thought life would be much easier as “Shack” so Jacques Moran ceased to be. Until that morning in the not too distant future when a dead body was fished out of the river near the mill outflow pipe. All the reporters then called him “Jacques” in a formal rolling pronunciation and nobody knew who they were talking about. Except for Circo. He knew.

“Circo. You wanna eat?”

“No Gram…” The little man slid off of the chair and looked out the window at the house trying to see if anyone was watching. It was too bright outside-made spying into dark windows impossible. He had parked two alleys away and walked though yards so nobody passing would see his car. But there was only one way in-up the front steps that anyone who was looking from the house could see. He could picture his mother at the kitchen table, smoking and watching her door-keeping track of who came and went. Couldn’t do anything about it now. He was here-and he had to leave.

It wasn’t until they found Shack dead in the river that people began to call him Tommy.

Naughty James – The Fence Post

Pretty much immediately follows Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue

He knocked gently at her door, not really sure what he was doing. He had a fairly decent idea-an overall plan-just not sure of the details. Almost immediately Jane Fortescue opened the door a crack. He could see nothing but her clear eyes and flushed cheeks below a shock of bangs loosely fallen.

He didn’t know if he expected to see a distraught tear stained face or what. She was a toughie, he guessed and maybe took a step back-if not literally at least in his head.

“James?” she asked-expecting an answer. Funny. A moment ago he thought he might control this meeting.

“Oh…I”, he stammered having expected a warmer greeting. “I was just checking to see if you were alright.”

She opened the door just wide enough for him to enter and he stepped just inside. She didn’t close it.

“If I’m alright? What? You think a spanking by the Lady of the Manse might put me in hospital?”

“It looked like it hurt”, he said trying to recover.

“Hurt? Of course it hurt you dunce!” She smiled crookedly. “Still does you want the truth. In an itchy burning sort of way. But I’ll be OK. She needed to get that out of her system. As did I.” She trailed off a little at the thought and touched her backside. “But Jesus….”

James leaned against the open door and conjured up his most fetching smile.

“I thought maybe, if you’d like, I could rub some lotion on it…to cool it, you know?”

“Oh, you want to rub lotion on my bum, do you?”

“I thought it would make you feel better.”

“Oh, to make me feel better. I understand. And tell me James, how would rubbing lotion on my poor hot bottom make you feel?”

“Like a fence post, Ma’am.” He said looking her square in the eyes. “Like a concrete fence post.”

“You are a bad boy James”, she said tapping his chest for emphasis. “Very bad. Naughty even. But we knew that, didn’t we. When the lady let it be known that she was thinking of bringing you on, and what did I think, that’s what I told her. ‘That Pretty James Cook is a naughty one.’”

The smile in her words brightened on her face. With one hand she pulled James inside while with the other she pushed the door closed. It occurred to James that he maybe didn’t have to think about what to do next.

She took a step backward and began unbuttoning her shirt which she rolled off of her shoulders and tossed aside onto the chair. James barely had a moment to enjoy the sight of her cleavage rising out of the black bra before she reached deftly behind, and unsnapped letting it fall to the floor between them. Released to play, her full grapefruit sized breasts bloomed toward him, hanging just enough to appear ripe and succulent. “I think we’ll let my bum alone right now James…it’s had enough attention.”

“Whatever you say”, James agreed

She made a move to cup his head-to pull it down to the nearest breast-but James was quicker, dipping his head to kiss then kiss, then kiss again. He circled the left breast with his tongue then the right. Mrs. Fortescue, quietly humming in the back of her throat, guided his suckling head with both hands.

“Here, wait”, she said pushing him away gently so she could reach down, unsnap and lower her pants for the second time in the hour. Now she pushed them all the way off and tossed them with the shirt. Then, watching James’ face closely to track his eyes, she rolled down the pink panties and kicked them away. His earlier view had been from the glorious rear but this time he gazed hungrily at the heavy thatch of silver streaked black hair.

He reached out and enveloped her naked body flexing his strong arms as he pulled her tight to him. He buried his face in her hair, then her neck, luxuriating in the smell and feel of her. His hands rubbed across, then down, her back-tracing her spine downward to cup her still warm bottom cheeks.

“Easy there, bad boy…” she whispered into his chest.

She backed away slowly and James followed in lock step-their tango taking them to the bed. She sat and wriggled as her bruised backside touched the chenille. Jane pulled at his belt as he quickly unbuttoned and discarded his shirt onto the growing pile. He felt his chinos open and fall, allowing his handsome little fence post to spring free.

“Hello there James”, Mrs. Fortescue said admiringly. “I’d wager you had a difficult time keeping him contained in the library.”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, he’s free now”, she said taking hold of him with her left hand and rubbing his hip, then around to his firm bottom, with her right. “And I get to see what all the girls sing about.”

She looked up at him with a naughty smile that-in an unexpected turn-fairly melted him. For a moment he saw the nude woman before him as she once was, a girl-sweet, rounded and innocent-that he wanted to please. He was so easy, this one, Jane thought pleasantly, letting the smile dim only slightly. If he had the feeling deep in his brain that this was playing out to someone’s plan besides his own, he let it be. Typically, a naked woman holding his cock, trumped all thought.

She let him go and scootched uncomfortably up the bed. Before he could follow, she rolled over onto her belly exposing her pink and crimson mottled bottom to him. She sighed heavily into the pillow. “There you are James”, she said. “Have at it…”

He knelt beside her and lay his hand on the back of her thigh. Were it possible for his dick to get harder it would have. As it was, he wondered if he might not burst through his own skin like a chrysalis becoming something larger and harder. Maybe even with wings.

“No lotion?” he asked, running the hand up her thigh to the warm sit spot at the bottom of her bottom.

“No. Make do with kisses”, she said.

He guided her legs apart and settled between them, lowering himself to gently kiss her bottom. One cheek, then the other. He kissed the milky dimples at the top, then the pink glow high. Then down to the red hue in the center and bottom. The heat was subsiding but the skin was dry and scratchy until he dampened it with his sweet lips.

She moaned softly and he reacted by fingering her cheeks open and darting a tiny tongue exploration into the darkness between them. She answered his wet probe with a louder moan and a pull toward the pillows raising and splitting her bottom toward him. He pushed his tongue deeper into her crevasse and caught the sweet scent of vanilla.

Eschewing kissing he graduated to lapping and licking, dragging his tongue across one cheek and over to the other pausing to flick at the spot between that always elicited a moan or grunt. She pushed open further and he took the invitation to reach between her legs and rub a finger along the swollen wetness that opened easily to him. “James!” she coughed. “Oh, James…” The way she splayed and thrust made her clit easy to reach and he rubbed the swollen nub gently flicking his tongue against her tight little button. He opened her with a second finger. “Wait!” Jane fairly growled.

In a surprisingly nimble move she tossed her leg up and over him flopping onto her back. Her breasts heaved fetchingly and her belly button-deep and wide enough to hold a fat ripe cherry-winked at him. He made a move to crawl up onto her but froze when she pressed a hand firmly to the top of his head. “Down, James. Down” she breathed, giving two separate orders with the same single word.

He crawled backward as she spread her legs and lifted them toward her chest. Judging his position and angle correctly James executed a perfect tongue first head-dive that landed him deep in the syrupy tangle of Mrs. Fortescue’s vanilla flavored forest.

“Mmmmm” growled James as he filled her with his tongue and, nibbling, massaged her with his lips.

“Ahhhhhh” she answered pulling her knees further apart, brought almost to tears by the thought that she was about to come in Pretty James Cook’s mouth…

Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue

Continued from Sweet James – The Letter

Absorbed in his raking, James was facing the lake and didn’t hear her approach. Caitlin Milan was in no hurry to interrupt him, content to watch the muscles in his back twist and flow as he labored shirtless in the creamy afternoon sun.

“Well, I must say, someone’s been very busy”, she said.

He smiled widely, straightened, and turned to face his benefactor.

Caitlin positively glowed in the sunlight that gleamed over James’ shoulder. Her hair, styled short around her face but falling over her collar, was streaked in honey shades-darker buckwheat to glimmering wildflower-to offset her piercing hazel eyes. She was tall-almost as tall as James-with wide swimmer’s shoulders and perfectly round small breasts. No real secrets there as she wore a tight fitted shirt that clung to her frame before disappearing into the waist of tight black slacks.

“It’s coming along, I think”, James said looking admiringly over the grounds.

“’Coming along…’ I would say so. Your secret has been blown, Mr. Cooke. Jane has let me know the sad state of affairs here when you came aboard. Your sanguine reports to the contrary.”

“I saw no need to trouble you with something as insignificant as the truth when you were on holiday. Figured given enough time you’d be none the wiser when you returned.”

“Most people in your position would have made the situation seem worse than it was-so that the reward upon finishing it would be greater.”

“Truthfully, couldn’t have been much worse…and to the other…just happy to be here. Thanks for thinking of me. “

“Tut”, she waved her hand dismissively. “Should have thought of you sooner…but…your recent….what do we say-episodes? Escapades? Debauches? All round reputation…” she raised a finger as he tried to protest. “Recently as I said…put me off I suppose.”

“Yes, well. Not much in the last month or so…since I moved into the boathouse.”

“So I’ve heard as well…Let’s try to keep that up.”

“Yes Ma’am”, he said. “Working on it…”

“Very good”, then with a final sweeping look around the grounds. “Very nice…Well, I’ll leave you to it.” she turned to head back up the hill. “Please meet us in the library at 5:00, James”, she called over her shoulder. She strode in a way that made James believe that she knew-and didn’t mind-that he was watching her ass undulating up the walkway. He regretfully broke off the stare and bent back to the rake.

The old brick house, shaded by towering black walnut and oak, kept the cool of the forest glade that it had been built in two hundred years earlier. He didn’t usually have cause to enter through the large front door but it gave easier access to the library than the roundabout side entrance. He paused inside a moment to let his eyes adjust to the perpetual dusk. A quick shower, fresh chinos and a dark shirt prepared him for dinner, drinks or more likely, tales of Tuscany from the returned matron.

James followed the voices murmuring down the hall. Straining, he only heard two-Caitlin and Mrs. Fortescue. As he got closer he could pick up the tone if not the substance of the conversation-Caitlin calm and steady, Jane a little…not strident exactly, but forceful and loud by comparison. As someone who has no control over a situation might be. He entered the room during a lull in the debate, knocking on the door frame as he came in.

The women paused. “Oh, great…now he’s here too”, Mrs. Fortescue griped in frustration.

James froze halfway into the room, one foot suspended in the air like a heron eyeing a minnow. His heart raced a little as he beheld the tableau in front of him.

“Now Jane, come on…” said Caitlin.

Caitlin was at the window holding the drapes aside looking nonchalant-as if there wasn’t enough going on in the room to hold her attention. Jane was standing at the table-one hand on the surface but not leaning. Just two women talking-nothing untoward about that. Until, that is, one looked around the room and noticed the armless chair sitting in the middle of the room. And behind the chair, on a low table, a round wooden paddle.

This was it. This is that whispered-about thing that made Goosington a scandal or joke in some quarters. Why few locals wanted to work there. Anyone who joined the staff on any level was made to understand that mistakes made in the employ of Caitlin Milan had consequences. Maybe not one mistake-maybe not even the second-the lady could be flexible for sure. But always, the threat was there. And, as with any threat, sometimes it had to be carried out or it stopped being a threat.

Caitlin would narrow her eyes and point-“those are grounds” she’d say. “For a spanking” went unsaid. Many had felt ice in their belly at those words. Sometimes she’d say you “goofed”; a simple, sweet word that had such a painful connotation at the Manse.

Not that it happened all the time. James had only seen one spanking in his previous posting. That had been a young serving maid who was woefully unprepared for her job. He thought she had been taken on as a favor. As he recalled, Caitlin had stood for what seemed to be dozens of shattered glasses and cracked plates-enough that the rest of the staff was murmuring about it-before she had to act.

The staff had all gathered right here in the library-of course there were eight of them then-with the same chair in the center. The spectacle of the spanking lost some of its charm as the young girl-nineteen tops, slim of hips and flat of bum-blubbered from the time she entered the library and wailed through her punishment. Caitlin gave her reason to cry, no doubt-she never held back-but it got so that even the staff who had been whispering about ‘favoritism’ were wriggling in their seats before it was over.

Truth is though, he never heard of so much as a chipped saucer after that and two years later the girl left Goosington to join the staff of a posh country club with a strong recommendation from the Lady herself. Who knew what motivated people?

His reverie was interrupted by the ongoing negotiations in the room. He guessed that everyone in the library knew this was going to happen eventually. This was the ‘little conversation’ Caitlin had mentioned and she was wasting no time in having it.

”You were charged with the management of the property, Jane. You didn’t have to really do anything but pay attention to what others were doing.”

“Look, I….”

“How could you have let it get that bad?”

“It wasn’t that bad when I checked the first time…when they got here…”

“And when did you check the second time? Was it before or after you gave them the money to buy materials for the dock?”

Jane shrugged and threw up her hands. “Caitlin. I’m not saying I don’t deserve…what you’re going to give me. Not saying that. I do. I’m so sorry for this.” She paused and swallowed. “I know I let you down. I know it. And I’ll take my medicine. OK? All I’m saying is that I don’t want to lie across your lap. I mean really, that’s for children and young ladies. I’m old enough to be your….”

“You are not Jane Fortescue-don’t even go there!”

“I was going to say aunt!”

Caitlin smiled at that. “My aunt, huh? I have one of those and she’s a pistol-I’ll tell you. Could probably benefit from a good spanking herself.”

“Look-Caitlin”, Jane had both hands on the table. “I’ll bend over here-however you need me to-and you can have at it. Just me bending over.” She had her back to James as she demonstrated. Her slacks were not tight exactly, but well fitted. James made excuses to visit the main house on the days when Mrs. Fortescue wore slacks that looked to be painted on. The contours of her hips and backside pushed every seam just to its fullest capacity.

The Lady of the House gave one last gaze out the window as if the answer were out there somewhere written on the clouds. Then, letting the drapery drop, she turned into the room and Jane.

“I get what you’re saying. I do. But let’s just do this the way we’ve always done it. OK?”

Jane dropped her chin, her gaze and her shoulders all at once. She had seen enough of these punishments in her years at the house to know what was coming-no use in fighting anymore. She deserved it, she accepted it, but she was NOT looking forward to it. After eleven years this would be her first.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we? James you are not an umbrella stand. Come away from the door. Sit.”

James took a few steps toward the couch that would put him directly across from Caitlin on the chair then redirected. He sat instead in the overstuffed lounge to Caitlin’s right, giving himself a view that he might enjoy more. Because yes, he had to admit he would enjoy this.

He had no particular antipathy toward Jane. On the contrary, he rather liked her-in addition to the carnal interest that he had in apparently all women. He knew of people who had worked at the house who were made uncomfortable by this whole drama-and some left employ here not because they were spanked, but because they had to watch others being spanked. That wasn’t James.

Jane noticed exactly where he was sitting and James might have imagined her small head shake before she turned to face the seated Caitlin for the recitation. It was the same with every spanking-something that made it all seem somehow more official and right. Jane stood and waited.

“Do you deserve this punishment, Jane?” Caitlin asked looking up.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Do you accept this punishment that I am about to mete out?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And any other I deem necessary in the course of your employment here?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Very good then. Step around.”

Jane stepped to the side, turning her back to face Caitlin’s lap. James was back to was admiring the shape and imagining the feel of her bum when the pants went loose at the top, Jane having opened her belt and unsnapped in front. As if watching a curtain rise in reverse, Lucky James saw the pink silk of her panties revealed-sharing a similar snug fit to the pants.

With only a slight pause she caught her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and rolled them down to settle at her knees with the pants. She was no slim-hipped serving maid, that’s for sure. Jane Fortescue’s bottom was a woman’s bottom-wide and strong, heavy and creamy, gloriously if sparsely dimpled and bisected by a deep crevasse that James knew she holding together as best she could.

James crossed one leg over the other and settled sideways as Jane lowered herself slowly over Caitlin’s lap, the younger woman leaning back to make room. When she was down, Caitlin moved her backwards a little so that her bottom was positioned right over the rise of the Lady’s thigh almost exactly in James sight-line.

Without warning she raised her hand and smacked Jane’s right cheek as hard as she could. “Ouch!” the woman jumped, surprised. Then another hard smack in the same place raised the woman onto her toes. “Ow, that stings.” James, as unobtrusively as possible, shifted himself and crossed the other leg over.

“I bet it does. This”, she reached back and picked the paddle from the table “Will sting more, I’m afraid. Are you ready for this Jane?”

“Yes, Ma’am”, came the muffled reply.

Jane had braced herself on her toes with her hands flat on the floor. She was as ready as she could be. Caitlin raised the paddle and swatted her firmly on the right cheek. Jane jumped forward but said nothing. The next swat landed in the center of the left cheek and she again managed to hold off crying out. Not until the fifth swat landed loudly in the middle of her left cheek did she grunt.

On the sound, Caitlin paused to give her friend a moment to collect herself. Her bottom was splotching pink and the small of her back glistened slightly. For her part, Jane dug her fingernails into the carpet. She had promised herself to take this in silence but she didn’t know if she’d be able to. Her bottom was burning but her head hurt almost as much from clenching her teeth. Maybe it would be better to let it out.

“Go ahead, Caitlin” she said in a hoarse whisper that he couldn’t quite make out. The next three smacks landed hard in the center of her right cheek. Her butt was just as solid as it looked and absorbed the swats but it wasn’t much longer before she reacted with a sharp gasp. Caitlin’s only answer was a group of rapid smacks alternating cheeks and splitting them dead in the middle. Jane writhed on her lap and finally choked back a sob. “Caitlin! Christ, that hurts so much!” Another landed with a SWAT! “Ahhh…please….OW!!!” From his seat James couldn’t see Jane reaching back to grasp Caitlin’s ankle.

Over the next few moments-or minutes as the perception of time passing was very different for the three people in the room-Jane’s crying became more subdued as she tried to muscle through. She was doing her best to stay in place but the tiny kicks with her knees-almost running in place-had loosed her pants from around her knees down to her ankles. Without the tourniquet keeping her legs together, Jane’s writhing was exposing more than she would have wanted to show.

Caitlin, for her part, began backing off on the paddle judging the completion of the punishment by the dark red shades of the older woman’s bottom and the heat rising from it. To test, she slipped the paddle into her left hand and lay her right gently onto the glowing cheeks-cupping one, then the other. Time stood still. There was no sound-nary a sniffle-and the only movement was Caitlin’s hand gently patting her friend’s bottom.

“I think we’re done here”, Caitlin said huskily.

James, realizing he’d been holding his breath, exhaled and leaned back recrossing his legs yet again. Jane watched a tear drop and spread out on the carpet below her before pushing herself up-accepting a hand from her employer to help her stand. He beheld the glowing sunset colors of her backside for as long as he could.

Caitlin, wishing to spare her friend the final indignity of squatting or bending to pull up her pants, leaned forward herself and-with her cheek close enough to Jane Fortescue’s thighs that the older woman could feel her warm feathering of her breath-unrolled and lifted first the panties then the slacks up to where Jane could take them.

“Thank you”, said Jane softly.

Nothing more to be said or done, Jane turned and walked briskly, if a little stiffly to the door. She wished at this moment that her slacks had a looser fit. James opted to look away not wanting to catch her eye just now and not wanting her to catch a glimpse of his crotch.

When he looked back, Caitlin was back at the window. She knew her cheeks were flushed and she breathed deeply to still her shaking hands.

To be continued…….