The New Superintendent

Kinda Continued from The New Headmaster

Superintendent Madeline Jones stepped out of the cool shower and grabbed the thick towel that that Marla had set out on her dressing table.. She patted at the goosebumps up and down her arms and across her chest. Then, working quickly, her shoulders, back and backside finally her long legs. She would probably need another shower before going into the office. Forty five minutes on the elliptical worked up too much of a sweat to be stanched with one shower. Plus, she had left Marla to her own devices since her arrival this morning and she was no doubt feeling ignored. Never mind that she was technically on the clock and getting paid for doing her job in the Superintendent’s home office, but when she calls the night before to alert Madeline that she was “backed up” and would need to come to the residence in the morning to “catch up”, there was no need to read between the lines. 

Madeline picked the short green silken robe that Marla favored and fastened it loosely with the attached belt then hung the damp towel around her neck to catch the water still dripping from her long black hair. Stepping into the hall she immediately heard the tap-tap-tapping of her laptop coming from the office beyond the bedroom door. Her living quarters were essentially the entire third floor of what once had been the Mudge Woman’s Hall where female grad students had lived. 

Now, with fewer and fewer woman opting to live on-campus most of the building was being refitted as condos. Downstairs construction noises during the day-when she was typically in her office was a small price to pay for a rent-free three bedroom on-campus apartment. 

She lingered at the open doorway to watch Marla working. Whenever she could, she stole time to watch Marla do anything. She had found her Executive Assistant  alluring when she first got to campus. Given her role and the obvious age difference, Madeline had made it her business to keep her distance from the girl to the point that she had delegated the Assistant Head Master disciplinary responsibility the first time Marla as a student had merited a caning. But only the first time. 

Marla wore the same short blonde hair that she had as a student. Parted on the left and flipped at the collarline,  tucked behind her ears. She tended to be slim-and would look eighteen well into her twenties-but carried a light contour of muscle tone that was no doubt in some emulation of her boss’ maniacal workout habits . At present she was working in her underwear, a dark sports bra and matching boy panties, while her “uniform” of khaki slacks and a light blue long sleeved oxford button-down shirt hung neatly on the back of the closet door. Long sleeves were de rigueur for Marla whose left arm was a full sleeve tattoo that ran from her shoulder down to mid forearm. Eventhough the intricate work illustrated the tale of the Buendía clan from Gabrial Garcia Marquez’ “One Hundred Years of Solitude” (Marla had one time fancied herself a World Literature aficionado) Madeline decided  at the time that her ink be concealed from the board who had approved her hiring. The other, more recent,  ink she didn’t have to work to conceal. 

Marla  definitely had Superintendent Jones in mind when she chose her second tattoo. They were not yet lovers when Marla had accepted the EA  job a few weeks after graduating. Out of what she explained to her skeptical tattoo artist was a reverence for WIlliam  Faulkner and “his” South, she had a single lush flowering kudzu vine tattooed up the back of her right thigh. With a small tic toward the middle the vine slipped into the darkness between her legs and in a last run to daylight, emerged from her lower butt crack looking like nothing so much as she was growing a purple flowering kudzu out of her butt hole. As uncomfortable as the process was, she almost couldn’t wait for her first “after-hours” meeting with her cane-happy boss. 

It didn’t take long. Less than a month into her employment with the new Superintendent, Marla had distributed a report to the board in Madeline’s name, that included incorrect cost spreadsheets that were caught in an open ZOOM meeting by the board president. He was nice enough to shrug it off once the correct spreadsheets were provided all round. Marla absorbed the blame from the board good naturedly but finished the meeting with the familiar mixed feelings of dread, embarrassment, excitement and titillation.

Being a titular adult caned by a coworker (even a superior) entailed a different dynamic than being sent to the headmaster’s office at school, where all she had to do was report, bend, bare and hang on. Marla didn’t know how it was going to happen, just that it was. She kept to her task list following a schedule with hands that intermittently  shivered and breathing that caught now and then. Her belly roiled virtually non-stop. 

Finally late in the day, the inner office door opened and Madeline stepped out. She was wearing a brightly flowered skirt that rode the top of her knees. Her sleeveless blue blouse was tucked and belted accenting her flat stomach. Marla gulped wantonly at the vision her boss presented  even before she noted the cane in her right hand. Oh, no, she thought. Not out here in my office separated from the well trafficked hallway by only a door with a pane of frosted glass. 

“Marla,” ordered Madeline using the cane as a pointer, “lock the door please and step into my office”. Relieved, Marla did as she was told and then had to slide against Madeline as her boss she stayed in the doorway forcing Marla to squeeze past her into her office. 

Marla stood facing the large desk even though Madeline stood to her left and slightly behind, delivering her lecture to the side of her neck where she could watch the fetching thump-thump of her pulse. That part of Marla’s neck was close to her favorite part of the younger woman’s body and she wondered how long it would be before she could lay her open mouth over it. The lecture itself  was almost a word-for-word repetition of what she delivered after the meeting and Marla could do nothing but wait for the end. Which finally came with a poke of the cane to her khaki-clad bottom. ‘And this,”, she said, is to acknowledge your shoddy effort and punish you for it and at the same time remind you going forward of what’s expected from you. Understand?

“Yes Ma’am”. She had always been Ma’am” when it was headmistress/student but she wasn’t sure what it would be in an office context. Since Madeline didn’t correct her, it seemed that she had chosen correctly.

“Take these down”, Madeline ordered flicking the cane at the seat of Marla’s slacks. The girl unbuckled her belt, unsnapped the button, then opened the zipper pushing them to her knees where gravity took over and pulled them into a pile around her ankles. “Oh, this is new”, she said touching the leafy vine at the back of her leg with the cane and tracing it up to where it disappeared beneath her panties. 

“Can I look?” Madeline asked.

“I wish you would.” answered Marla leaning forward, her hands on the desk. She felt Madeline’s fingers in the waistband of her panties then the scrape along her skin as she pulled them down. As Headmistress, Madeline had been very careful to follow school policy and never touch a student, skin on skin. When punished, Marla would have to remove her own underwear-nothing but cane or paddle ever touched her bottom or her legs. And she had never gone over the Headmistress’ knees; it was as if they both knew there were limits to their self-restraint. 

Madeline lay her hand on Marla’s back and pushed her lower, forcing her bottom higher as the girl’s elbows dropped to the desk and her cheek lay on the cool wood. Her mouth fell open and a small hiss escaped her lips as she felt Madeline’s fingers, opening her behind and following the vine. 

“What possessed you to…” Madeline asked as she slid a finger up the inside of Marla’s divide, then left it pressing lightly against her small puckered opening. 

“I thought you would like it”, she said, her face still on the desk. 

“You did it for me?”

“I thought it would be fun. Nobody sees my bottom more than you do.”

“Is that true?”, Madeline asked, sliding her hand to rub the girl’s smooth right cheek. “That’s a shame, this is such a beautiful little bum.”

“I love you touching it,” Marla said in almost a whisper, moving her bottom into her boss’ smoothing hand.

“I finally can”, thought Madeline, then said, “I’m afraid you’re not going to love what happens next.”

Marla had a line she had been practicing. “I’m yours’ to do with as you please.”

Madeline smiled at that, knowing she had prepared and rehearsed it. Still, it tingled her in ways words didn’t usually.

“Come on then”, she said stepping back and patting the other cheek. Let’s get this over with.”

As was expected, Marla relaxed, keeping with Madeline’s long-standing “no clenching” rule. Still, she jumped when the cane tapped her gently twice, measuring. The girl inhaled and held her breath waiting. She didn’t have to wait long, the first stroke slashed fiercely across the bottom of her bottom, bisecting the vine where it emerged from between her cheeks. The searing pain rose her onto her toes and she didn’ have time to cry out before the second stroke landed in almost the exact same place. This time she did screech and raised even higher on her toes which tightened the muscles in her bottom but no matter, Madeline slashed her again across the middle. Marla squealed and fell to the flats of her feet, her knees buckling. 

“Maddie!” She squeaked, her voice failing. “I can’t…I want to…but..”, she coughed a little sob. “It hurts so much.” with that she broke and the tears flowed. Her school canings never really Hurt, hurt. They stung but this was something different. 

Madeline placed her left hand on the small of Marla’s back in a way that was meant to be comforting. “Yes, my dear, adult caning is a little different than what you received as a student. There are real consequences in the world.” This last she delivered while sliding her fingers over the welts on her girl’s behind.  He hadn’t seen nor made her cry before and it gave her pause knowing that Marla would subject herself to anything that Madeleine deemed necessary. 

“I’m sorry”, Marla sniffed looking back over her shoulder. “I was just..surprised. I’m ready now. Strike me again.”

The Superintendent delivered two strokes to the middle of Marla’s bottom that were reminiscent in severity to what she had gotten as a schoolgirl. They stung but no more than that. The girl was so grateful she thrust her bottom further back, making the cheeks bloom leaving nothing unrevealed.  “Oh, thank you Ma’am!”, she said undulating a bit, her bottom waving like a sunflower in a light breeze. “A few more please.”

Madeline was conscious of turning the punishment over to the punished but cared not. She knew in her loins that this was never going to be a true punishment as soon as she laid her hands on the girl’s bottom. The hard strokes were an attempt to pull back control which she abandoned in a panic when Marla broke. Now the Superintendent delivered two more stoke atop the welts then two at the very bottom where bum and thighs met, then announced ”You’re finished”.

Marla stood bolt upright, fetchingly clutching and rubbing her striped bottom. Laying the cane aside, Madeline took the girl’s shoulders and turned her around to face her tear streaked face. “Move your hands”, she said with a smile as she reached behind to cup her bottom. Again she bumped her fingers over the wriggling welts. “I’m sorry Marla, I didn’t mean to hurt you. “

“That’s fine”, the girl answered, her arms wrapped around her boss. “Those last few were very nice.”

“We’ll get it right the next time.”

Marla pulled back a little and asked, “Well, can I have a kiss this time?” Madeline paused looking deeply into Marla’s damp hazel eyes and knew that though she had followed carefully the prohibition against relations between students and staff, the similar prohibition as related to administration and staff did not stand a chance. 

The New Headmaster

“Lizzie, what is it?” 

Aleson Fleming, her bookbag over her shoulder stopped at the Alumni Bench at the entrance to the rose garden when she saw her friend Elizabeth Perkins sitting there forlornly chin in the palm of her hand elbow dug into her thigh. Lizzie was a year behind Aleson but they’d become fast friends the year before in the way some girls will when away from home for the first time.

“Oh Aleson, I”m afraid I’m to be caned!” The words tumbled out breathlessly and her eyes filled and glistened as she looked up at her friend. At school there were two basic groups of girls: those who were caned-whose behaviours warranted, who understood and accepted  the sting of the cane to be as much a  part of matriculation as books and calculators. Then there is was Elizabeth’s group- those whose sole purpose seemed to be to avoid even the possibility.of the pain and humiliation of the cane. 

“Caned? You? Whatever for?” 

It was stupid, she knew. That’s what she was chewing over on this bench for the last twenty minutes. Betty Hardin had supposedly come into possession of the answers to last Friday’s trig test. That was Elizabeth’s worst class and she’d already failed the first test so she copied the answers into her notebook not really planning to use them for the test. She thought rather to use them as a study guide to better prepare. She had not even had a chance to use them. Mr. Matson, in  a surprise move had gathered everyone’s notebooks before class to supposedly review the class notes to ensure everyone was paying proper attention. He, of course, saw the answers. And sent her straightaway to Mr. Rousseau, the new headmaster. 

Over the previous term, when Ms. Jones was Head MIstress, Betty had so many stripes across her bum that it could have served as the outline for a crossword puzzle. So she was deemed incorrigible and sent home for the term. 

“Oh, LIzzie, I know how much the thought of a caning bothers you.” Aleson said rubbing her friend’s shoulder “Don’t fret so much-it will be over in a snap, far less than the time you are wasting fretting about it. In fact, I’m sure that’s why he told you he’d get back to you later-he knew how riled up you would get.” 

“It’s working!” LIzzie said miserably as a single tear broke free from her right blue eye and slipped haltingly-from freckle to freckle-down her cheek. Aleson grabbed her hands one in each and leaned in to kiss the tear away. “Don’t worry my dear, word is, Mr. Rousseau hasn’t caned anyone yet. Even those who’ve deserved it. I’m thinking if he was going to cane you he would have already. Besides she whispered,  her lips against the ruddy auburn locks that covered her ear, “But if he does, I’ll be here for you.. I’d love to kiss every stripe on your bottom and I promise you’ll feel so much better. 

Lizzie closed her eyes, the misery and dread of the impending caning tempered by the thought of Allie paying that sort of close attention to her bottom, striped or not. Their intimacies had been rather chaste even given the communal shower where each could see the other in the soapy wet altogether but never alone to allow for more than fraught, hidden looks and “accidental” bumping into each other. In the rooms there was  kissing, leg rubbing, hands under blouses, bras unsnapped and this Friday past Allie’s finger inside LIzzi’s panties and indeed, inside Lizzie. The electricity of that single touch had buzzed for the weekend. What were they waiting for? No, not they, it was LIzzie who had been holding back, afraid as always. 

Continuing…

Peaches

Continued from Arianna’s Woodshed

The joke was on him, he thought as he drove the winding tree lined roads back to Arianna’s house the next day. His aim in making their appointment in the afternoon instead of morning was to give her time to anticipate-to let her imagination paint a picture of what his visit might bring. Instead it was he who had whiled the morning away unable to concentrate on anything in front of him-his mind pulled back to the dim woodshed tucked into the trees.

The day was warmer than the day before but cloudy. As he drove slowly up the gravel drive he saw that the shadows back in the trees were deeper. Darker. He parked in the same place and stepped out of the car as a warm breeze full of the scents of the flowers surrounding him mussed his hair. The rain that was not supposed to come until evening would surely be here sooner than that.

He stood beside his car expecting Arianna to come striding down one of the trails to meet him. As he scanned the property, he noticed what looked to be a paper tacked to an ornamental fencepost at the end of the drive. It was handmade craft paper; soft to the touch but firm. A single sheet, folded, with his name on the outside in beautiful flowing script that approached calligraphy. He opened the fold and read the message inside:

“I will meet you at the woodshed” signed with AA in a beautiful flourish. The note carried a whiff of sage and flowers, what he thought of as her scent.

He trod the path beside the wall looking for signs of life and seeing none. He had opted for a more formal look today-black slacks and dark shirt instead of the business casual khakis and polo shirt of the day before. His anticipation grew knowing that she was here-waiting for him, maybe watching him.

The shadows lengthened in the trees that surrounded the woodshed. The door was open and the space beyond glowed with a flickering yellow light. He stepped inside and his eyes were drawn to a half dozen lanterns of differing sizes hanging from hooks or arranged on small tables that had not been there the day before. The light glowed yellow and the scented oil was intoxicating.

The dirt floor had been covered with a thick layer of carpets and to the left-beside the stack of wood was a pile of what appeared to be tick mattresses, comforters and pillows. Beside them was a tray which held an ice bucket and a bottle of wine and two stemless glasses.

In front of him, just to the left of the chest-high wooden divider was the bare wooden bench piled with at least two dozen switches of varying lengths and thicknesses-all smoothly stripped of their bark. The lady had been busy.

“Is everything to your liking?” He hadn’t heard her come in.

She was barefoot wearing a simple black calf-length shift cut low enough in the front to reveal deep cleavage that wasn’t obvious through yesterday’s work shirt. Her hair glistened in waves that hung loosely around her face and onto her shoulders. There was a flush on her cheeks that deepened the olive glow of her skin and her smile was small, shy-a little timid perhaps.

“Everything is perfect.”

“Good.” She passed close to him and he caught the scent of her hair. “So rotten of you to make me wait all morning…”

“It looks like you put the time to good use.”

She was sorting through the switches on the bench. “It was time well spent,” she said. “Judicious pruning is the secret to any orchard.” She picked one from near the bottom. “Peach”, she announced, whipping it lightly through the air. She picked up another and likewise swished it between them. “Apple”, she said before dropping it back onto the pile. “It was strange though, pruning in the summer”, picking up another. “it’s a winter task, to be done when the trees are dormant. When the sap isn’t running, as it is now.” She brought it over to John and pressed it into his hand. “I think you’ll find the assortment satisfactory.”

He reached out and placed his left hand on her hip-feeling the firm heaviness of the hidden body. She closed her eyes at his touch and let her head lounge backwards. She stepped away and reached up behind her hair to loosen the tie that held the shift in place. A slight role of her shoulders sent the light cotton cascading to the floor.

His eyes were pulled to her full breasts which hung naturally but still pointed at him. He focused on the large brown nipples and bent slowly toward her, wanting to take one into his mouth. She pulled subtly away and covered his switch hand with hers.

“Anxious?”

“I’ve waited long enough wouldn’t you say?” She turned away and slid the three steps to the wooden room divider that was about even with her breasts. “Hours, alone in the orchard, cutting and trimming switches, knowing what they were for…” Her bottom was a beautiful pear shape-wide and deep. He watched her grasp the rough wooden rail and step back-one step then two. She kept her legs together and stretched luxuriously, like a large jungle cat arching her back and pushing her bottom backward. “Yes”, she said. “I’ve waited.”

Beside her John ran his hand under her hair and across her shoulders.  Then down her back then up again-teasing lower and lower to the small of her back then finally across the expanse of her bottom. He rubbed slowly and smoothly with his palm then crooked his fingers to give her the fingernails gently and completely across each cheek, from the top of her thighs up, then back down. He tried to slip his hand between her thighs, but she resisted. Her breath quickened as he stepped back and whipped the peach switch through the air, testing it.

Her hands gripped the wooden rail. She allowed the anticipation that she had felt since yesterday flower into a sweet dread of what she was about to feel. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to feel this way. A long time since what was about to happen, had.

She heard the switch whistle through the air and tensed. Nothing. He was testing. She waited again feeling the heat between her legs building. It had been such a long time. The switch touched her. He was measuring. She froze, focusing her eyes on a spot on the rail. This time the whistling of the switch ended with a little sting on the right cheek. Then another quickly below it. Just a little sting.

She turned to look back over her shoulder at him; her hair obscuring her face. “You won’t break anything, you know…” she said huskily.

He stepped closely taking her face in his hand moving her hair to one side. He kissed her gently on the mouth. “Don’t worry beautiful lady. I know what you want.”

The next stroke dug into the right globe, immediately raising a welt that showed pink in the lantern light. It was followed by another lower and a third higher. With each impact Arianna grunted and on particularly strong strokes would rise on her toes. John paused and ran his hand over the rippling welts. She rose to his touch and this time when he tried to slip the flat of his hand between her legs she opened. Just a little. He patted the sweet spot at the top of her right thigh where the bottom begins then measured it with the wicked peach branch.

“You better hold on tight.” Her knuckles whitened as he let fly a hard stroke that buried itself in the soft flesh. She cried out loudly snapping her head back. The impact site sprouted a red strawberry where he hadn’t quite broken the skin but had broken the peach. He took another off the pile.

As the searing cuts lashed across her heaving buttocks, Arianna squeezed her eyes shut to try to staunch the tears that fell from her lashes and down the bridge of her nose to darken the floor. The thought “be careful what you wish for” flashed through her mind only be drowned out by the crying need-the burning desire-for the next stroke. It had been so long she had almost forgotten what the ordeal did for her. The heat between her legs-deep inside of her-glowed hotter than anything crossing her backside.

He broke a few more switches over the next twenty minutes as he crisscrossed Arianna’s flesh and thighs with stripes and welts. Her back glistened with sweat. As the switching went on her legs widened and her bottom bloomed open toward him. He took particular care that the switch did not cut anywhere between her cheeks.

When another switch split he paused and stepped close. Her body was radiating heat and leaned toward him. He placed his hand low along the inside of her damp thigh which was now open to him.

“You have been punished, beautiful lady.”

She was breathless. “I have.”

“Now you should be rewarded.”

“Yes”, she gasped as his fingers slid up her thigh and slipped easily inside of her. The coughing yelp that she produced as he massaged her below was of an entirely different timbre than the sounds she had been making.

“Come”, he said, pulling on her shoulder and helping her to stand. Her face was deeply flushed and wet with tears and sweat. He moved to kiss her but too slowly as her lips leapt to his and locked tightly onto his mouth. Thus entwined they moved to the pile of bedding in the corner.

Continued here Arianna’s Afterglow

But Why?

Because,

I want to gasp as you bump your fingers slowly over your handiwork.

I love to hiss at the cool burn when you drizzle the lotion over me.

I want to remember this all day.

I want to feel you all day.

When you’re gone,

I want to feel the tiny buzz when running my own fingers over the tight ridges.

I want to feel them wriggling below when sitting later.

To pause anytime and see a reminder of what we did this morning.

I want to reach back anytime and feel them.

Touch them.

Then make myself feel something more.

There was a time when the memory of your smile-of your hand in mine-was enough;

A long time ago.

Sometimes I wish you weren’t-but

You are too gentle to leave bruises so I could see them for days.

But you’ll be back soon-

To again, scribe your signature,

On me.

 

If you enjoyed, see Corduroy

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…

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…)

Doc Cherry’s Rules

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(Continued from A Shower Interrupted)

Propped on three pillows, Jenni stretched out on her bunk. Her honey streaked hair, now dry, framed her face and glasses as she pretended to read the book in her hands. There were about a dozen women about, reading, tidying, dressing, coming and going-probably none aware of what was about to happen. At 25 Jenni was the oldest on the team and had come back to play with the semi-pros who headquartered at the Academy under her old coach.

For a while it had been fun, playing the game she loved as a kid for money (if a pittance) and it wasn’t like she had anything else to do the job market being what it was. But the tedium and rules that Max Cherry had in place for the girls of course rankled her. He only knew of one way to coach, whether it was teens or women.

Only once in her scholastic career had she been told to “prepare herself” so she knew what it meant. Bare from the waist down, on your stomach with a pillow under your hips-splayed and displayed- as it were. Many times had she walked to her bunk past girl’s tightly clenched bum cheeks waiting for the visit from Dr. Cherry. The humiliation of waiting like that was as bad as the caning for some. Almost, anyway.

This time though, she had decided to push back a little, as she had been for the last couple of weeks. If quizzed, she wouldn’t be able to say why she was pushing, which frustrated her, but here she was, in T-shirt and sweat pants lounging on the bed nervously glancing up every time the door opened. Did she think he would let her slide? Did she doubt he would walk through that door at any moment? And if he did how would she react? How would he?

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Max Cherry enter the room. In fact, he was halfway to her bunk before she saw him carrying a rattan cane roughly the length of a yardstick and as thick around as her pinky. The moment she saw his face she knew she had made a mistake. To everyone else in the room-who parted from his path like flotsam before a steaming ship-he looked coolly implacable but she knew better.

She fixed him with her green eyes over the tops of her reading glasses trying to pull off a kind of disinterested glare. The attempt broke apart on the rocks of his burning dark eyes. She looked away quickly hoping to regroup.

“Is this the way you want to play it then?” He asked quietly biting off the words as he reached her bunk.

“No, I…” she blathered, not regrouping well at all. “I didn’t know when you…” She noticed that the women who had been quickly on their way to other places began to slow their paces. Began to linger-finding something interesting on the table two beds over, or at that moment thought of something to write in their notebook. Another moment and Dr. Cherry would raise his voice and tell her in no uncertain terms what to do and how to do it. She couldn’t abide thought of a lecture on top of everything else that was coming.

“No, no…you’re right”, she said quickly closing the book and laying it on the bedside table. Her glasses followed. “I…I should have been prepared for you. I’m sorry.”

Averting her eyes, she untied the drawstring on her sweats and lifted her bottom to slide them over her hips. She had at least had the sense to not wear panties. As she rolled onto her belly she had a quick glance of most of her teammates pausing for a moment. Impossible to tell, she thought with her face in her pillows, who would watch and who wouldn’t but she was betting there would be close to a capacity crowd.

This was the first caning Dr. Cherry had been forced to dole out this season and Jenni, though knowing her role, was not at this moment, happy that she was the main player in the act. She wriggled uncomfortably and revealingly to push her sweat pants as far down her legs as she could, then lifted to slip a pillow under herself. With a jerk, she felt her pants yanked all the way off. Hopefully it was Dr. Cherry doing the yanking and nobody else was taking part. She then, as so many had before her, held her legs as tightly as she could so as not to reveal any more than necessary.

“Alright Jenn. I don’t know how many I’m going to give you-but I want you to count, you understand?” By his voice he wasn’t talking to her, but to the team. Christ! Now she felt not only exposed and vulnerable, but humiliated and…frightened. She hated the thought of counting. Her idea had been to stoically take this caning-she was sure she could take the strokes without too much of a struggle-but didn’t know how she would be able to modulate her voice. If it….her thought process was interrupted by the first searing stroke dead center across her upturned bottom. “One”, she puffed on a gasp. “Two!” she said calmly if a little stridently when the second landed. Jesus! This was hurting more than she remembered.

She absorbed three and four by flexing her shoulders to offset the burning pain on her bottom and bit off the numbers tightly. Dr. Cherry could see that she was holding her breath between blows then heard the slight quaver in her voice when she said “FOUR!”

She wondered again how many were watching. She assumed some had walked away out of embarrassment for her, just as others were there watching in solidarity. She had not been the only one out drinking the other night and she was, in a sense, taking this for the team. And she knew at least two would be watching breathlessly with definite dampening between their legs.

Her stoic wall cracked when he delivered the fifth stroke to the soft bottom of her right cheek and she grabbed the pillows firmly in her fists. She fairly barked the number “FIVE!” and when the sixth burned into the soft flesh at the top of her thigh she yelped loudly without a number. Coach Cherry let it slide and delivered the seventh stroke in the same tortured spot causing Jenni to growl and almost roll onto her side. Instead, she pulled her knee toward her head as if beginning the first step in crawling up the bed and away from the lashing cane.

But she was going nowhere. The next stroke caught her high on the bottom and she bucked. Though it felt better to move her leg, all she did was open the whole of her bottom to the prying eyes of everyone behind her-something she cared nothing about at this moment.

She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to cry but not so sure she wouldn’t be a wailing kicking baby if this went on too much longer. Would she have to ask for mercy? THAT would be the worst. She felt the cane tapping softly on her almost untouched left cheek.

“No, no Jenn…come on”, He was saying gently. “Lay back over.”

She did as she was told. No need to pretend anymore, she gripped the pillows strongly the veins popping in her arms and lifted her bottom. Then next strokes fell hard and mercifully on the newly striped left cheek and she grunted for each. She took a breath and he, as if waiting for that, lashed the tip of the cane into the soft palp below her left cheek.

“YOWL!” she cried loudly and raised on her toes again exposing herself to any and all. Quickly, when she was up on her toes and exposed, Cherry swung hard and laid a stroke that reddened immediately right across her bottom crease which was now taking on the deep brick color of the building itself. She flopped back into place and tensed everything. Her muscles hardened from calf to finger as she tightened everything she could tighten.

That was it, she thought quivering. I can’t take another. Not one more stroke. She opened her mouth to ask for quarter-when Dr. Cherry spoke up. “What do you think team? Do you think she’s had enough?” Mouth still open she heard some murmuring and shuffling that she could only hope were nods of assent. Then she felt the end of the cane tap lightly down her thigh.

“Yep, you’re done, Jenni. Relax.”

With a sigh, she let her rigid body go lax.

“Give me your phone, Cheryl.” She heard him say. “I’m setting this for twenty minutes. You will lay here like this till then. Got it?” She nodded and listened as he walked out the door the way he came in. Once the door closed, women walked past and said things like good job-thanks for that-some just a tap on the calf. One, she could guess who, tapped her on the hip-chastely avoiding her bum. She felt Cheryl beside her before she placed a tube in her left hand. “A little salve”, she whispered. “It will take the sting out.”

“Thanks…” she whispered.

“If you want, I’d be happy to apply it”.

Jenni smiled and returned the pinky shake-the woman was incorrigible.

“Lift” she said gently and when she did, Cheryl pulled the pillow out so she could lie flat. Jenni felt the heat in her bottom radiate through her body and another warmth spread from between her legs. She allowed it to flow thickly from her as her body drifted away from where she lay exposed and marked to a warm quiet place. In moments, she was asleep.

When she next opened her eyes, the empty dorm was suffused with a late afternoon glow as the sun, lower now, filtered through the thick sycamore leaves outside the window. Dinner, she thought, pulling her face from the damp pillow. Someone, before leaving, had thrown a sheet over her and she felt a welling of gratitude until she sat up and placed her feet on the floor. Then she felt the burning on her bottom anew and wiggled before standing. She reached back to rub the weals gently.

“Damn, Max”, she said softly. She tossed her sweat pants over her shoulder and walked to the bathroom. Dinner sounded good, but it could wait. She first had to get something straight with Dr. Cherry.

Nightcap Part III

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That Look….That Smile….That…well, you know…

(Continued from Nightcap Part Deux)

Face down on the bed Bethany clenched her bottom tightly enough that, from his vantage point, Best doubted a credit card could slip into the crease. He sunk further into the leather overstuffed chair just inside the door while his wife-less ignoring him than not at all acknowledging his presence-rolled up the sleeves of her blouse.

“I’m going to punish you now, Bethany. You know that don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“You deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good. Now”…she lay the cane across Bethany’s bottom and the girl jumped at the touch. “…Present, please…”

Legs still pressed tightly together, she had barely lifted her hips when the first stroke landed hard, cracking a sharp SNAP! at the end of a swooshing, whipping sound. By the muffled groan Best could tell she was biting into a pillow. Her knuckles were no doubt white and trembling with the effort of squeezing the duvet in her fists.

With metronomic pace and precision Rebecca rained stroke after stroke down on the woman’s flinching bottom. Bethany’s clenched rump, as firm and tight as a seal’s back, didn’t so much absorb the blows as repel them-sending the cane bouncing back. Rebecca ratcheted the force higher until each swoosh and snap was accompanied by a muffled yelp, mewl or-in a single case-an unmuffled cry which brought a pause from her tormenter.

“There, there…” the older woman cooed as she patted her tortured bottom gently. She ran her fingers lightly over the raised welts tracing their paths from cheek to cheek paying particular attention to the angriest and reddest of them. “Breathe, darling…” she whispered. “Breathe now…you’re doing very well.” Bethany whimpered at the caresses and allowed her bottom to relax a bit at the woman’s touch. Best, lapping at the bourbon in his glass like a dog that had been run too far, too fast watched motionless. He too had to be reminded to breathe.

His wife, still paying him no mind, lay the cane across the small of the girl’s glistening back. Slowly, she unbuttoned her black and white striped blouse and slipped it off her shoulders. Her small tight breasts clung firmly to her ribs, her nipples, even in the dim light, obviously swollen.  Retrieving the cane, she patted the cheek closest to her allowing her fingers to linger at-if not in-the opening crevice before resuming.

The strokes were softer now-some no more than flicks delivered into Bethany’s soft sit spots. “Relax now”, she said soothingly. “Relax and open…” The firm tension in Bethany’s bottom released on command as her cheeks spread in her exposed pose. Now, when the cane contacted her skin it didn’t bounce up as a stick from a drum but instead was absorbed into the lush softness, creating waves and quivers as would a pebble splashing into a still pond.

“Open wider”, Rebecca coaxed softly touching the top of Bethany’s legs with feathery fingertips. She did as she was told, opening and thrusting backward revealing her wet softness framed by striped and reddened buttocks. Instead of cracking into those cheeks, the cane found itself between them, in there flicking from side to side kissing the inside of her thighs and lightly brushing her pussy’s swollen lips.

Bethany’s moaning shifted in tone and timbre, becoming deeper and more rhythmically attuned to the pulses in her own body than to the touches of the cane. Straightening, Rebecca dropped the cane onto the carpet and without turning her eyes from the girl’s undulating hips, unsnapped and unzipped her skirt. It slid unencumbered into a heap on the floor which she stepped daintily out of. Wearing nothing now but her black pumps Rebecca shone glossy and alabaster in the guttering candlelight.

Best brought the glass to his lips to find it empty. Beyond empty, it was dry as if the heat of his hands had steamed away every trace that it once held anything. He held it empty to his lips then brought it back to his lap in a robotic pantomime. He studied his wife’s every move as she knelt on the bed, first one leg then the next. He saw the workings of the muscles in her legs and ample ass as she positioned herself between Bethany’s legs screening him from the young woman altogether. Finally, when Rebecca was where she wanted to be, all he could see of Bethany were her legs sticking backward, flanking his wife as Rebecca slid her knees back, raising her own bottom and dipping her head.

By the movements of his wife’s shoulders, he knew that she was ministering to Bethany’s bruised bottom, kissing every welt and every abrasion, cooling her burning skin with her wet soft tongue. Rebecca slid back further still until she was reclining on her side-cheek to cheek as it were-and he was able to see Bethany’s glistening bottom pebbled with gooseflesh, moving to his wife’s rhythms. He heard the gasp when Rebecca’s fingers slid into the sweet wetness of the younger woman’s pussy then the moan when she pushed her thumb into her tight asshole.

Bethany’s ecstatic crawl now was not to escape the cane but to improve the angle and widen the openings behind. Rebecca really didn’t need the help. She shifted back to her knees and pulled her fingers out to an accompanying whine only to replace them with her tongue. No more for gentle ministrations it was now an attacking snake plunging deeper into the Bethany’s pussy to find and ravish her clit. Rebecca’s arms reached under the girl and pulled her closer, tighter, closing her mouth over the woman’s bucking, sopping opening to drink as much of her sweet, spunky nectar as she could.

Bethany’s moans had morphed into coughs and barks when Best rose stiffly to his feet. He slipped quietly from the room and down the hallway turning the warm glass round and round in his hand. The sound of the lovemaking grew louder the further he got from the door. It wouldn’t be long now.

He was on the third step down, feeling the grain in the polished oak banister, when Bethany’s voice bloomed into an unfettered wail that filled every corner of the house as no music ever could. He imagined the draperies ruffling in its wake and candles being snuffed out. It was, Franklin Best thought, the sweetest sound on earth.

Continued here Nightcap IV

Nightcap Part Deux

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From Google Images

Takes places right after Nightcap

She jolted awake, panicked for a moment not knowing where she was. When it came back all at once she relaxed. She couldn’t have been asleep for long but long enough to feel a dull ache in her back and a bit of numbness in her hip.

She had prepared, as he had instructed. She was nude, centered on the bed face down. A pillow under her middle presented her bottom gently upward. The door was open behind her so that anyone wandering the hallway could see her but that was a conceit for the game. Who could see her but him?

Where was he? Assuming she had only dozed a few moments he had had plenty of time to get up here. He wouldn’t do corner time-which she would prefer-so they came to this. She would position herself for punishment and wait. Usually not this long…but she’d wait.

Comfortable that she could hear him coming before he got to the door she broke form and pushed herself up on her hands in a long upward dog to stretch her back. She clenched her bottom tightly and craned her neck backward to where she could see the ceiling had she opened her eyes.

She released back down across the pillow and splayed her legs wide revealing all that was between them to the open door. She let herself react languidly to the feel of the air on her dampening pussy before pushing up onto her knees then backward to offer fully-feeling her hips open and pushing her tiny winking butthole back beyond her feet.  She held for two breaths smiling inwardly at the view he would have if he walked in now. How he would thrash her for her wanton display! Then, in the final pose of her naughty little asana, she brought her legs tightly together, demurely closing her cheeks and resuming her chaste offering position.

She breathed deeply, in rhythm with the blood coursing anew through her stretched muscles. Then, just then, she finally heard a soft tread on the hallway carpet. With that sound, that simple footfall, she began to flow a bit and knew she was swollen down there. Her heart beat a little faster and her breath quickened. Without really moving, she raised her bottom higher as the footsteps sounded on the room’s hardwood, then back onto carpet as they approached the bed.

She awaited the touch. The admonishing word. She was about to slide her cheek across the warm coverlet to face him when…

Well hello Bethany. Isn’t this a nice surprise.

She flipped up on her side exposing her small breasts and perfectly shaved pubis to her lover’s wife. Rebecca Best’s piecing blue eyes glowed in the dim light.

Don’t get up for me honey.

Feeling suddenly exposed she covered her breasts, ashamed that her nipples were hard and twice their normal size. Would she notice? She pulled her leg up to cover her swollen nakedness which even now continued to ripple with tiny jolts of desire.

What are you doing here?

Earlier flight. Couldn’t wait to get back to my happy home. She bit off this last.

But I was…we were…

Uh huh.

Where is…

He had an emergency call…I actually passed him in the drive. He didn’t mention that you two had business tonight.

Ma’am please…my clothes are right over there…

I see your clothes. You just won’t need them right now.

But ma’am…I…

Shhh…shhh…you and I have not had a chance to talk lately. She reached down and patted the girl on the cheek as her husband had done earlier. Bethany flinched as if she were about to be struck.

Please, you silly. Rebecca said with a tight cold smile.

She reached down and lay a hand on Bethany’s hip. The touch was hot-as if her mere caress would leave a mark-a small four finger brand. She applied pressure guiding the girl back over onto her belly. Here you go, she said. Lay back down…very nice. Only when she had settled bottom up again, did Rebecca remove her burning fingers from the girl’s backside.

Bethany craned to look back over her shoulder.

No thank you. Just keep your eyes down. I want the view that Franklin wanted.

The girl, breathing in tiny bites, settled her face into the coverlet and nervously waited. The hot hand again-this time high on her leg.

Please open, Bethany.

Mrs. Best, I….

The slap startled her and she cried out a quick little mew feeling the burn on her exposed bottom.

Open please.

She tentatively opened her legs only slightly-revealing nothing.

Bethany, Rebecca said tightly. Do you want another spank?

The girl opened until she could feel the air again caressing her below. She tried to control her breathing feeling the older woman’s gaze washing over her. She felt Rebecca’s burning hand slide between her legs. She wanted to close them but would only pin the hand in place. Instead, she opened slightly wider to afford better access. She felt the woman’s fingers along the outer folds of her pussy. Oh, you have quite a little spigot back here don’t you? asked Rebecca as if speaking to a child.

Bethany bit her lip as the probe continued around the edges and then slipped easily inside. She circled the inner passage with one finger then added another-not deep, but inside. I asked you a question, Bethany. Do you always get this wet just waiting for my husband?

Something in the tone demanded an answer. Yes ma’am…

She pulled out of the probe and slid her slippery finger up across Bethany’s asshole. The girl gasped and squeezed handfuls of the coverlet.

Sensitive here, aren’t you? she asked keeping the finger on the asshole and wiggling.

Yes ma’am.

It’s a shame Franklin had to miss this. She withdrew her finger and patted the girl gently on the bum-exactly on the handprint that she had left with the first slap.

Bethany felt Rebecca slip away from the bed then heard the opening of the cabinet door and the clattering of the rattan canes. She looked back to see Rebecca doffing her jacket.

Mrs. Best…I’m sorry. Please don’t do this…She came close to whimpering.

Rebecca pointed sternly with the heavy cane she had taken from the cabinet. EYES FRONT!

Oh I’m definitely going to do this, she said, rolling up her right sleeve. You deserve a punishment young lady and one like only I can give you. This won’t be a little stroke and kiss from Franklin. No Bethany. When I’m done with you, you will know what a punishment is.

The girl did whimper then and pulled her legs back together.

Outside in the hall Franklin Best watched, nursing his drink and mouthing the words he had given his wife to say.

Continued here Nightcap Part III