Geneva – 7

(Continued from Geneva – 6)

He awoke almost exactly at dawn surprised to be alone. Not that she had snuck off particularly, but that he hadn’t awakened. That wasn’t right-everything roused him. He pulled the sheets to his face-they smelled of her. The whole bed smelled of her and he wanted nothing so much that instant than to have her back beside him. The door was open to the hallway.

Pulling on his jeans, he walked quietly down the stairs and, hearing movement in the kitchen, made the turn and headed that way. Dawn broke back there before the rest of the house and as she knelt on the floor-shapeless in the robe he had laid out-a corona from the glowing sun rising through the window enveloped her.

“Ah, they got to you…”

“This one was digging at the door.” She scratched the tiger-striped one behind the ear as his purr rumbled.

“That’s Biff. Happ’s the other.”

“They led me right here. Sniffed at the cupboard.”

“They know the routine. They invented the routine”.

“Both guys, huh?”

“Yeah, but fixed.”

“Good thing to do with guys.” She straightened and turned to face him. “Most guys anyway.”

When she turned and slid toward him he had a vision that she radiated rather than reflected the light surrounding her. The robe, happily too large, gaped open.  He slipped his hands inside and pulled her close, allowing his fingers a long luxurious exploration of her back, down to her bottom, gently between her cheeks and back up her sides. When the robe slipped off one shoulder he pulled it off the other so it fell like a stricken sail to the floor.

He buried his head for a moment in her shoulder gulping the bed-smell as she hugged him back, flattening her breasts against him. The summer tan on her legs was fading from her shoulders and back leaving her skin creamy and thin enough to reveal the veins pulsing just below the surface. She was incredibly soft to the touch.

“So I have a question”, he asked.

“Only one?”

“Why are you on the pill if you were living with a woman?”

“Wishful thinking.” Then, “I was with her on-and-off for a year”, she said, still not answering.

“There’s nothing to say you won’t be with her again,” He said and she shivered. “If you want to be.”

“I’m on the pill for the ‘off’ times. She doesn’t know it. I’m awful.”

“Were there a lot of ‘off’ times?”

“No, actually. That was the ‘wishful thinking’ part. I kept hoping but it never…I was never able to…she was-IS-so controlling. Doesn’t seem like it but….” she sighed and seemed to try to burrow her head more deeply into his chest.

“Don’t think about it. None of my business anyway.  But you’re too young to be doing things you don’t want to for someone else-you have a whole lifetime for that.” He grinned, allowing his hand to slip again down her back.  “Tend to your needs first-if you don’t, they’ll harden inside you and turn into something nasty. We all have needs-don’t apologize for them.”

“I don’t know if it was a need…”

“You needed to be controlled. Or you needed to let her control you. Which are two different things. But whatever it is, those needs are real…Understand them.”

She didn’t want to right then-was content to allow him to hold her close and feel his hardness pushing into her. “What about your needs?”, she asked pushing into him a little.

“That’s an onion we’ll peel later.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Right now a couple of more hours of sleep…”

Mirroring his movements, she cupped his ass squeezing him closer. He looked down into her dancing green eyes. Jesus, he thought, weakened. He would have sworn she winked but probably not. “Absolutely that…THEN, sleep”, he said growing stiffer. She turned, took his hand and stepping over the robe, led him through his own house to his own bed.

(Continuing…)

Geneva – 6

Picksburgh

(Continued from Geneva – 5)

She watched him navigate the confusion of the parking lot like a kayaker running rapids. Absorbed in the task at hand he hadn’t reacted when she told him that she lived with that whole shit-show that she left back on the blanket. She really, really didn’t want to go home and face them again tonight which she hadn’t, of course, told him. But the longer he sat in silence yanking at the steering wheel and alternating punching the gas and slamming the brake the more she thought she’d be back in the shitty apartment on Logan tonight, hugging her edge of the bed trying to stay as far away from Brittany as possible.

To say he’d gotten used to being alone in the last couple of months was probably a bit of a stretch but he had accommodated his new reality fairly well. There were awkward times-running into couples in restaurants or bars who would give him the sad ‘how are you managing?’ face or like today-going to the concert alone. But, on the upside, there was no one to answer to but himself. His decisions affected only him…

He realized they were out of the parking lot and probably five miles down the state road and he still hadn’t said anything. Shit!

“That’s OK”, he said. “You can stay with me tonight.”

“Really? Where did you go there, for the last hour?”

“Wasn’t an hour. Fifteen minutes tops.”

“Felt like an hour.”

“Sorry. I’ve gotten used to the whole inner-dialogue thing. Problematic when there’s someone else here.”

“Was afraid I freaked you out…”

“Not hardly. Look, I have a lot of room.”

“You live alone, then?”

“Yes. And to get it out of the way: separated-she left, divorce papers filed, no going back, and she’s not coming back. There are five bedrooms, six if you count the futon in the office so there’s not only plenty of room, there are plenty of rooms. Goldilocks your way into one of them tonight, get some rest and tomorrow decide what and when.”

They came through the tunnel and the city flashed open through the windshield. He slid to the outer lane and navigated the almost-empty parkway with ease, leaving the lights of downtown in the rearview and coming up on the exit that would lead to University Center and her apartment. She thought about asking him to swing by so she could grab some stuff, but didn’t want to push it. Nor did she want him to know what a crappy place she lived in.

His exit was a few miles beyond where trees and hills still ruled. She knew where Haler Heights was, but never really got over to that part of town. It wasn’t her kind of neighborhood. “That’s where money goes to live”, her Mom had said. She didn’t know about that, but it wasn’t but two lefts and a right from the parkway that they were on a dark two-lane road that flowed through hills with no evidence of houses at all except for the occasional light well back in the distance.

He slowed and swung into what seemed to be a random opening in a stand of trees but was actually a crushed stone driveway. They looped around a small rise and ended at a large old house with two lights glowing on a wrap-around porch. He stopped and turned the truck off, killing the lights. She leaned forward to look at what could have been a forbidding shadow looming over them.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a haunted house.”

“Not all Victorians are haunted”, he said stepping out. “Most. Not all.”

She stepped down timidly and felt the surrounding darkness and silence like a heavy blanket. She could see a shed and a garage in the fading glow of the porch-light but really, Nothing Else. For the first time since the parking lot at the concert she had a pause. Was this a mistake?

He stopped on the porch and turned to see her, back to him, unmoving, facing the night. He kept his mouth shut; she needed to figure this out herself. He was nervous too but didn’t know if mentioning that would help her situation. After a moment, he stepped back down the stairs and approached but no closer than the front of his truck.

“You OK?”

She turned with the little half-smile that melted him the first time he saw it.

“Fucking dark out here.”

He grinned. “Only at night. Look-you want to go back now, we can. You want to go back in an hour, we can. Whatever.”

She moved first, stepping past him but allowing her hand to trail across his arm. “Come on. Let’s see if the place has lights inside.”

He entered the code in the darkened keypad beside the door and slipped a key into the lock.  “Enter”, he said stepping aside. She walked past him hesitantly until the motion detector caught her and switched on a lamp in the foyer and two others in the sitting room.

“OK”, she said. “That’s cool.”

He passed her into the sitting room to a rough sideboard where the bottles were. “I’m making myself a drink. You want?” She hesitated, eyeing the liquor then him. “Look. Don’t start trying to figure out the right answer to every question. If you want one, tell me.”

“Sure”, she said.  “Whatever you’re having.” He picked two tumblers from the counter and filled them with ice from a small fridge below the counter, then the brown liquor from the shelf in back.

“I’m a bourbon guy”, he said handing her a glass.

“Of course you are”, she smiled feeling the unease slipping away.

He held out his glass, “To Farm Aid” he said as they tapped glasses.

“To Farm Aid”, she said taking a thick enough swallow to tell him that it wasn’t her first bourbon.

“I could really go for a shower…”, she said.

 

(Continuing…)

A Whipping – Finale

(Continued from A Whipping – Part II)

She howled like a wolf at the rising moon as the first stroke cut cruelly across the top of her buttocks. The pain-THIS PAIN-she didn’t remember. The second followed immediately just below the first. “OWWWW!” she cried again lurching against the thick leather across the small of her back. She tried to gasp his name, to beg some kind of quarter, but another wicked stroke, then another, stole her words replacing them with yelps and cries.

“These walls are thick Missus”, he said in a way to calm her. “No one will hear-yell as you must.”

And she did, ignoring the memories of cries she had heard wafting from the high archer’s windows in the tower. Anyone passing by now would hear her but she cared not.

“But don’t forget to breathe”, he said pausing to inspect the deep pink and purpling weals slashing across her alabaster bottom. The eight stripes were perfectly spaced from the top of her deep crease to almost the center. He tenderly patted her right buttock which twitched at the touch. “Shhh… he said, gently palping the softness at the bottom of her cheek. When he last caned Eleanor Swick she was a girl whose slight curves flattened and disappeared when she bent. This was a woman bending now, her thickened body retaining its lush roundness as she reclined forward. She lifted her head and made to glance backward, curious about the delay.

“Sixteen more Ellie.”

“Yes…I don’t know how I’ll stand them.”

“You just will. Prepare”

She gripped the edge of the bench as the cane burned into the center of her bottom. She needn’t wonder any longer how a hot poker might feel touched to her skin. Her crying was now complete and non-stop; howls punctuating the kisses of the cane. He slowed his pace watching the new stripes bloom lightly. They were pink, no longer red. Ellie’s cries had likewise softened. Pulled by duty, he tightened his grip then hit a strong one low that bit into the top of her right thigh.  “Owww…” she cried anew.

“I’m sorry Ellie.” She felt him close again-his breath on her hot bottom then his finger at the top of her thigh. “Afraid I broke the skin on that one.” He rubbed it gently. “I’ll dress that for you…”She clung to the board wishing she had taken her top off as well, desiring as she did the feel of the leather against her nipples that-regardless of the pain-were hard and scratching as live beetles.

“How many more…?” she asked breathlessly, fearing the number.

He paused again before answering “None” definitively and laying the cane aside. “You are finished.”

“But that was only twelve or…”

“Shall I continue?”

“No! No! Thank you, Roger. God…I…” She blathered in relief and in another kind of heat.  “Come around”, she rasped. “Come to me.”

Roger stepped to the front of the bench where Eleanor’s grasping hands reached for him. He allowed himself to be taken by the hips and pulled forward. Her fingers worked feverishly untying the leather cord that cinched his trousers.

“Ellie…Eleanor…I don’t know…”

“Shush!” she said as the knot came loose and she pulled his thickening shaft free. “You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn!”

He pulled back. “It was no fun for me Ellie! I didn’t…”

“Shush! Of course I know that…It’s a joke, that’s all…I’m sorry. Here, now…” Her hand wrapped around his cock and pulled him toward her tear streaked face. “You must come closer…”

Her grip tightened and pulled him to her mouth opening wide as a baby bird at dinner. The Punisher allowed himself to be guided forward and watched as her lips circled his manhood. He stood still, allowing her no more than the head, which she gobbled hungrily, stretching her neck for more. He stroked her hair allowing his staff to expand to its fullness under her feverishly flicking and rolling tongue.

“You must take me Roger. You must take me…back there.”

“Ellie, this would be a breach of office that I’ve never even contemplated.”

“Never?” She looked up at him with red eyes. “Never Roger?”

He gulped. “The one time. Yes.” He admitted.

“You will find that my wicked thoughts and your cutting cane have left me wet enough to accommodate even this-once I ready you.” She put him firmly back in her mouth and reached, taking his hips to draw him closer turning her head to better take him. Her arms wrapped around him clutching his backside-hugging him to her face his wild hair scratching her cheeks, his cock deep in her throat. She bobbed once, then again then pushed him away her saliva glistening on his engorged cock.

“Now Roger-take me. If you don’t it will be your cruelest punishment.”

He slipped between her legs and opened her bruised cheeks. She gasped as he placed his purpling dome against her moist folds to hear her beg once more, then slowly and inexorably pushed forward surprised and pleased that she could accommodate him. She moaned when his body touched her bottom-then again as he pulled back and thrust forward. Again, then again, he ground deeply into her. With his hands gripping her hips he quickened his pace, banging and slapping into her sweating body.

“Roger! I’m coming Roger-I’m going to come….!” She grabbed the sides of the bench and gritted her teeth as he worked faster feeling his own finish building deeply in his loins. He rammed her firmly as she squealed in release-pushing backward as much as she could against the leather. His pace now a gallop he kept her full of him pulling more cries with his rod than he had with the cane.

With a final shudder she ceased her fevered bucking. He withdrew his throbbing cock and gripping firmly, allowed himself to spurt fully across her backside. She moaned at the feel of the wet heat against her skin. Deflated against the bench she closed her eyes and just breathed, luxuriating in the twitches and jolts that emanated from her warm and well-served pussy.

There was movement behind and she felt the cool wet of a soft cloth cleaning and cleansing. Her senses were clear for the first time in weeks; she smelled the unguent as he gently touched where she needed it. She allowed him to minister as she wondered at her emptiness-the serpent of her needs had been cast out. For the time being.

Epilogue

Having cleared the room, the Queen Regent regarded The Punisher from her seat behind the ornate, elevated desk. She was high enough on her platform that even Roger Peterman had to look up to her. Not one to dabble in emotion, she regarded him silently as he wondered how she could look so much the same as when he first laid eyes on her as a boy.

True, her thick golden locks were thinner and laced through with platinum but her face didn’t betray her years. Her life on horseback-her preferred mode of travel around the realm-kept her body, which she did little to conceal beyond the conventions of the day, vital and strong. No longer a warrior, her mien nonetheless betrayed a readiness-maybe even an eagerness-for physical effort; for combat. Her iron-gray eyes penetrated still.

“So. I hear there was no whipping in the square while I was gone.”

“No Mam”, he said.

The silence was deep enough that dust motes could be heard crashing into each other falling through the sunlight.

“Did I not clearly express my wishes?” she asked simply and evenly.

“Oh, yes Mam. Verily so.”

Those who knew the Queen Regent best (and they were precious few) would have noticed a smile just then. If not at the corners of her mouth then in her eyes. The Punisher saw nothing.

“You’re not quite old enough to be considered eccentric. Or charmingly cantankerous…”

“No Mam.”

“Or odd. But. You want to be careful of appearing willful. Or disloyal.”

“No, Mam. Never that.”

“No, not you. But there is such a thing as misplaced loyalty. Misguided perhaps.” She paused and regarded him coolly.  “If I were to bring Mrs. Plumm-and it is Missus, Roger, with a husband and child-if I were to bring her in and strip her down, what would I see?”

“Thirty purple stripes Mam, cut right across the bottom. Evidences of abrasions. At least six open wounds.”

“Some caning. Thirty strokes at your hand.”

“Yes, Mam. Shall I send for her?”

“She would come for you, wouldn’t she?”

“At your behest Mam. At your behest.”

The Queen Regent allowed another invisible smile to bloom unseen across her face. “No, that’s fine. Let her be. You though, come to my chambers at sundown. We will discuss this further.”

“Yes, mam.”

“Use the back stairs from the library, so you won’t be observed.”

“Yes, mam. Thank you, mam.”

“You might want to save the ‘thank you’.”

“Yes mam.” He bowed his leave.  “Until sundown, then.”

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Katheryn Winnick as as Lagertha in Vikings. Not necessarily the model for the Queen Regent…

Geneva – 5

(Continued from Geneva – 4)

She was at the top of the hill near a beer tent still intent on watching the show as she moved sideways toward the parking area. He approached her while she was in the halo of the tent’s light.

“Hey neighbor”, he said.

It took her a short moment to register who he was.

“Oh, hey…” she said distracted but he didn’t know if it was by the music or something else.

“You OK?” He asked. “You all set?”

She shook her head and looked at her phone. “I don’t know-so much goddam drama. You saw…”

“You got a ride?”

“She’s my ride…we all came together.”

“That will be a fun ride home.”

“Right-I know.” She paused and looked toward the stage. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“No sorry…I bummed one off you earlier remember?”

She shrugged, “Right, right…”

The band on stage was winding up their set-there would be one more coming on around 10:30 then all hell would break loose in the parking lot. He’d seen enough for the day-had enjoyed the music and honestly enjoyed the company of the girls he was never with. Talk about a low pressure date!

“Hey, listen. I’m going to bolt to try to get ahead of 25,000 people in pickup trucks all jamming the same road. If you need a ride…where you going anyway-north?”

“Uh, north? East maybe? Pittsburgh.”

“That’s my direction. I gotta go through there. If you want a ride, I’ll take you where you want to go.”

He caught her look. Good-she wasn’t reckless. He had closed the space between them to be heard in the general din so he leaned away just a little to give her some space. “Honey,” he said in the first true flirt of the day, “I was sitting nose-to-cheek with your dancing booty for the last eight hours. If I was going to bite, I’d have done it way before now.”

She smiled. “I wondered about you. Hoped you were enjoying yourself.”

“The show was great”, he said. “And I liked the music too.”

She looked down the hill toward the stage and back the way they had come. Was she hoping for or dreading seeing her friends looking for her? She glanced toward the parking lots to the brake-light parade of a steady stream of early-leavers.

“Text them. Tell them you ran into a friend and he’s taking you home.”

“A friend?”

“The amount of time we spent together today is like three dates worth.”

“But we never talked!”

“Sounds more and more like my dates.”

She grinned tightly and her eyes flickered. She reached out maybe to punch his bicep or pinch him-but lost her nerve. Ended up just pushing his forearm but he felt the touch in the back of his throat.

“A friend.”

“Better than saying a strange older man picked you up…”

“True.”

She sent a group text to everyone that was on the blanket, hit ‘send’ and slid the phone into her pocket where it almost immediately rang. She sighed and answered.

“No, Chel, I’m not getting into the car with her. Enough already. Guy I knew from college. No, we’re already gone. I’ll see you when I see you and tell Brittany not to call me because I’m turning my phone off.”

“Good job. Now I’ll get you home and you won’t have to deal with them until you want to.”

“Well, here’s the thing…”

 

(Continuing…)

A Whipping – Part II

(Continued from A Whipping)

The Punisher regarded her coolly, hiding any feelings behind an implacable mask. He had never wavered in his responsibilities or shirked his duty though the things he had been offered in this room would send a priest pounding for entry at the doors of Hell. He was looking beyond the woman on her knees before him until, deciding, he pushed away from the bench and strode purposefully toward the steps; not pausing as he took one, then another up toward the courtyard.

“Noooo Roger, please!” she bawled and sprawled prostrate on the cold floor crushing her silken beret against the stone. “I’ll die Roger! I will die up there in the courtyard…” She wished suddenly that she wasn’t as strong a woman so she could swoon like some stricken damsel and impress him with her desperation. It wasn’t to be, though. All she could do was weep openly on the stone floor and beg.

She heard the door’s heavy bolt slide definitively closed. Then the cross beam fell securing it. She snuffled and fell silent lifting on an elbow. Roger appeared back down the staircase and crossed to her, reaching down to offer a hand. “Come, Ellie, get up…”

“But Roger…” she took his hand.

“We won’t be going up into the courtyard. And no one will be coming down.”

She held onto his hand but couldn’t rise, slipping down onto her haunches-a hollow husk, completely drained by the cold fear that had filled her totally.

“But what…what will happen?”

“I can’t let you off Ellie. Can’t do it.”

“No! No! You shouldn’t. As I said-I fully expect to…

“I will cane you right here and now.”

“Oh Roger, never will anyone so happily accept a caning as I will today.”

“Best save your gratitude. This will be…more than last time.”

“Yes Roger, I understand. What must I do?”

“Go. Behind the screen”, he pointed to the standing divider in the corner.  “Disrobe to give me access to your bottom. Bare from waist down…cover the rest as you will.”

“Yes, Roger”, she gasped, hurrying lest he change his mind.

She quickly doffed the beret and the veil hanging them on a hook. The dress came off simply enough and she at least had the good sense not to have worn a corset. She pulled at her slip, then her knickers. It was endless! Which is why the serving class was not allowed underclothes when they worked. Their chastisements were so regular that the time expended undressing and dressing again would be too great.

Bare on the bottom, she rubbed her hands along her thighs and backside feeling strangely chilled. Since Olivia, her topography had changed a bit and she suddenly wondered what he would think. It was vain, she knew, given all the women he has seen in this room. She thought of taking her top off over her head but decided to leave it-not wanting to seem too wanton. She doubted that Roger expected to see her walking nude from behind the screen. So, with a deep breath, she stepped from behind the barrier.

Roger was a man of discipline in more ways than one. He locked eyes with Eleanor as she stepped toward him, having no need-or apparently desire-to see what was below her waist. Her heart swelled at his gallantry.

“This way Missus”, he said, being more comfortable in the formality of his office for the time being. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led to the bench. He showed her how to kneel on the platform which placed her legs a little wider than her shoulders and helped her to bend forward across the bench.

“Would you prefer to be bound, Missus?”

She feared that the pain might make her a coward. “The legs, yes. And across the back. Leave my hands free if you would.”

“As you will”, he said formally.

She was conscious of him behind her affixing the straps around her thighs. She could feel his warm breath on her bare bottom as he reached between her legs for the buckles. The thick belt cinched her waist to the bench and she was set.  Once bared and bound she had naught to do but wait. Her insides roiled as she lay her cheek on the leather padding. Her last caning had been a simple ‘bend over and lift your skirts’ affair; almost a lark between old friends. This was more like…

(Continuing…)

A Whipping

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“A whipping Roger?”, she asked surprised. “Are you sure she said a whipping?”

“Yes, Missus”, the big man replied. “She was very specific.”

“Well…” Eleanor cleared her throat. Her hands shook a little and she paused to try to cover the quiver in her voice. This certainly was a deviation from plan.

“I’ve never been whipped Roger.”

“No missus. Not many of those anymore.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I expected some chastisement. Perhaps a caning-six of the best maybe-I had gotten that a couple of years ago, remember?”

“I do missus. Four years ago. Before you were Mrs. Plumm.”

“Yes! Yes…and that was a tight caning, if you’ll recall. You laid it on well.”

“I do remember. Didn’t really enjoy that, you know.”

“Oh, I know that, Roger. You made that clear at the time and I appreciate it. I did deserve it, I’ll admit. Still hurt like the devil.”

“The cane-especially applied wet- is wicked…”

For months she had feared her needs growing slowly from a tiny worm that tickled her belly to a fearsome serpent that constricted her from the inside stealing her breath and clouding all good thoughts. She glimpsed it once in the looking glass, flickering its cold, red tongue from behind her eyes. The vision so roiled that she’d smashed the glass with a pot later explaining that she’d dropped it in her own clumsiness.

Her weakling efforts to assuage her own urges were akin to bailing a sinking vessel with a teacup. With little Olivia at the maiden’s quarters she was alone to subject herself to whatever she thought might relieve the pressure that rang in her ears.

Their manner of dress made it easy to cover the marks she left on herself. Her natural reticence made the time alone in her home seem less conspicuous to anyone who might care, but she knew in a warm recess of her consciousness that standing naked in the cold woodshed, face pressed to the rough wall, swatting her bare thigh with a wooden spoon or coming perilously close to touching herself with a hot poker from the fire was leading her down a path she might not want to travel. Thus her plot to land in the Punisher’s chambers, which seemed to have worked too well.

“We’ve know each other a long time.”

“Since we were toddlers, Missus.”

“We played together!”

“Simpler times, Missus.”

“Please Roger, call me Ellie, as you used to.”

“Yes Missus.”

“In all that time have you ever known me to do anything that would warrant a…”

“Please Missus, leave me out of that part of it. Only one person decides the punishment for ladies of your class and it’s certainly not me. I just carry out the sentence.”

“But a whipping…” she gasped, realizing. “…Roger-is it to be public? In the square?” She held her hands to her breast, eyes like saucers.

“No…not in the square, per se.”

“Per se?”

“In the courtyard. Right up the steps there to the crossbar beneath the oak tree.”

“Whipped in the courtyard?” her voice carried an edge of desperation.

“They’ll be no announcement made! Nothing to draw a crowd. We’ll just go up.”

“When?!”

“Well…now, I suppose.”

“It’s midday Roger. The courtyard will be full of workers taking their ease!”

“What am I to do?” his voice too carried an edge. “The time is the time!”

“I’m a wife and mother! Have lived inside these walls all my life! Everyone knows me!  To be stripped naked and whipped in the courtyard is unacceptable!”

“With cause Missus! There is cause.”

“I know that! Cause for punishment-a caning, a strapping, even the birch-but not for that!” The tears that she was holding, only letting one at a time slide down her cheeks, began to flow freely.

Eleanor slid closer and hissed, “You know a whipping isn’t right. You know what she’s doing, don’t you? She wants to get even for…”

“Again, Missus, I don’t want to get into that!”

“Call me Ellie, please! It’s me. Ellie, Roger. Please…”

“What would you have me do?”

“Anything…nothing…something other than a whipping in the courtyard.”

She knew that by reputation the Punisher was incorruptible. That he had been plied with all manner of wanton offer over the years was assumed-that he had accepted any of them was universally and vociferously denied.  But he was also Roger Peterman, her childhood playmate who had stolen a kiss or two before they knew what class meant in the kingdom.

He was leaning against the bench she had only heard of. Padded on top and on two kneeling platforms attached to the legs. Higher on one end than the other, it canted ever so slightly downward so once positioned upon it, the unfortunate’s bottom was the highest point of her anatomy. Straps hanging from the legs and left no doubt about the forbidding furniture’s usage.

The gossiping whispers over tea of this one or that one having to visit the Punisher’s chambers became less titillating when faced with the hard reality of a spanking bench and the man leaning against it truly contemplating her fate. That she had been a part of those leering gaggles was undeniable. Knowing that she would be the subject of them was unimaginable. “Naked in the courtyard”, was all she could think of. As her cold serpent coiled, she felt she might puke.

The oppressive silence of the big man’s contemplation pressed down on her until she-without planning to-dropped to her knees onto the cold stone floor. “Anything Roger, you know that, I will do anything to avoid walking naked up those stairs. Please, sir. I am begging you.”

(Continued…)