The Boarder

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(Continued from The Landlady…)

He listened to her footfalls fade and cut his eyes to the duffel stowed in the corner. It still bulged with an extra pair of jeans and shorts so he’d have little to toss in. Only two of the four dresser drawers were sparsely occupied and there was his razor. He stood and took his jacket off the hook behind the door. Didn’t want to walk out without it even if it was torn at the shoulder and the inside lining was shot. It was the only one he had.

He pulled a drawer and picked up the only dress shirt he owned. It was freshly washed and folded; set in the drawer by her. Not since he left home had he had a woman doing his clothes. And he was leaving. Walking out the door. Where would he sleep tonight?

A red flicker in the tree outside caught his eye. There were a half dozen cardinals that spent the days there and he was given to watching them flit among the leaves. He pushed the shirt into the bag. He’d been here for a couple of months and had no other plans beyond the day-to-day. The only money that he had jingled and wouldn’t get him far. Certainly wouldn’t get him another room-especially around here where before he was down the street everyone would know he had walked owing board money.

Where would he sleep, he seemed to be asking the cardinal. Outside, beyond the tree and the woodpile the road ribboned off away from town and into the mountains. He’d be sleeping in the woods tonight-he knew that. Back to the woods, by-ways and haylofts that seemed to be his lot. This place-a bed, roof and two squares a day was not his natural state. The road was, dammit!

Unless…unless…He looked over at the bed. Imagined himself laying there like she told him to. Then he could stay. That’s what she said anyway. But how could he do that? Granted it would be easier-over and done with-than finding a place to stay in out of the weather tonight. Over and done with.

She had left the door open but that was no matter. There was nobody in the place but the two of them. He had been alone in this house most of the past two weeks with her. She hadn’t really registered with him as “a woman”, really. As she said-she was almost old enough to be…he left that one go. One thing he had not had any luck with was women. Not just here and now…but anytime. If you put aside the “whys” of it, there was a woman here wanting him to get undressed. That was the base of it.

He allowed his mind to wander down that road a moment and he felt…something. Not exactly butterflies-something deeper. Something lower. Something he would rather not think about but it did pull at him. Pushed actually. Pushed at his fly. Oh boy, he thought-nervously looking down at himself. The more he looked, the more he pushed. Oh boy, he thought again. He held his hands out in front of him surprised to see them shaking. He put them to work on his pants.

He lay on the bed just as she had instructed, his naked bottom pointing toward the door and pulled a pillow under his head. He heard her coming back down the hall. Did she really mean it? Or would she see him and laugh-tell him to pull his pants up and get the hell out.  Her steps grew louder and stopped right behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut as it hiding.

She froze in the open doorway and her heart fluttered. I’ll be damn, she thought. I’ll be good gawd damned. She moved inside and closed the door behind her. Conscious of the silence she had to say something.

“So, it looks like you’re stayin’…”

“If I can, yes….”

“We’ll need to work a few things out…”

“Yes, mam, I guess we will….”

He moved a little to arrange himself underneath. The rough chenille of the bedspread rubbed at him every time he moved. She put the belt on the bed and pushed his shirt-which was hanging down low-up to the middle of his back. He had pushed his pants to just below his bottom. “Lift up”, she said. He did, scraping the bed spread again, and she pulled his pants down to his knees. Despite the warmth of the room he felt a chill all over. His bottom was white as milk and smooth with just a peek of hair. Her husband had been as furry as a bear which she really had never cottoned to.

He was strong-you could tell that by looking at him. His muscles rippled across his back and shoulders as he squeezed the pillow, waiting. She had no idea what he did in the service-if he was even in the service- but the job he had lost down at the mill was loading boxcars. Hard, unforgiving work. She was looking down at the only fat on him-if you could call the taut bottom before her, fat.

She knew that if he decided to react physically against her there wasn’t a thing she could do about it but hope he let her survive. That he wasn’t doing anything but laying there to accept what she sent his way stoked a fire in her.

What was she waiting for? He kept tensing and releasing the muscles in his back and shoulders. He didn’t know how bad it would be but he’d rather get on with it. He could handle pain…he guessed he could. This was different though. There was something mixed in with the pain that was coming that was makin’ this a whole ‘nother deal. Something about this-laying like this and waiting-was somehow not new to him. He worked for the memory-dug down for it but was interrupted by the first lash of the belt across his cheeks. He jumped a little in surprise but that was it. That was all? That wasn’t so bad. He could take this.

She looked down at his butt and saw nothing really. The first smack had been a dud. Whipping a bed and turning loose on a grown man’s backside were two different things, she guessed. She remembered the pain that was part of her whippings-how he had to have brought the belt coming from the ceiling to cause the searing burn that took her breath away and made her yell loud enough for all the boarders to hear. That was the worst of it.

She held the belt to her side swinging back and forth and then, with a wind milling motion brought it up and around-then raising on her toes-down as hard as she could. “AAHH!” he yelled into the pillow. A dark pink stripe outlined in red immediately appeared across his cheeks. That was better. He coughed into the pillow-Christ! he thought. That hurt like a bitch! She had the rhythm now and paused only to ready the next stroke. He took each one as silently as he could-tensing the muscles across his back and shoulders to absorb the pain.

Breathing into the pillow damp with his saliva he tried to conjure that memory that stayed just out of reach. Something about the way he was laying…Another lash of the belt burned across his buttock and bit high into the meaty part of his leg. He barked into the pillow and flexed his leg up-as if to crawl away-exposing himself in a new way. She didn’t look away-indeed she paused-then told him to lay flat and cover up.

He did, straightening his leg back but causing his cock, which had gone mostly soft under the withering barrage of the belt, to come to life again, dragged across the chenille. He almost moaned as he pulled his legs together then elevated his bottom slightly, giving her a better target but also affording more opportunity to rub against the spread.

He endured the next four strokes undulating his hips forward on the stroke then back and up into position on her back stroke. Forward and back, forward and back-suddenly what was happening behind him, as painful as it was, was less so. What was going on in front-between him and the mattress had his attention now. From behind she was concentrated on her aim and her force and didn’t really catch his movement until now.

“You shoot on that bedspread and you’re worshin’ it”, she said.

He could do no more than grunt, but stopped his waving-slowly thrusting his bottom back up into position. He waited. And waited. From behind, she studied her handiwork-the bright white globes were now crossed with pink and red weals extending from the top of his backside down to the top of his thigh. She touched his right cheek which was the sorer of the two as if assessing the damage. He jumped at her touch then relaxed back as her hand stayed in place. Then he felt both hands on him, rubbing and stroking his tortured flesh, then gently pulling his cheeks apart.

He quit breathing as her hands spread him back there. Frozen, he had no idea what was coming next, but no interest in anything but finding out. Gently she slid her right hand down between his legs. He opened slightly and she reached down under him, feeling the strength, the fullness and stiffness; a different heat rose from down there-a warmer, damper heat. Pulsing and more base-more elemental than anything she could do to him. He opened his legs a bit wider and the heat rose to her like a need. A desire so deep and strong that it changed the temperature in the room. She pulled away and he heard the buckle click as she set the belt on the dresser.

“Turn over”, she said huskily.

“Ahh…I shouldn’t”, he said.

“You want me to pick the belt back up?”

He slowly rolled over, away from her, freeing his cock to flip into the air like a mast. He looked at it and at her. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. She touched it at the top then gently cupped the head and circled her palm around it as if trying to see if the top would screw off. She wasn’t that experienced in the equipment of men but this one was a little more-a lot more actually- than she had dealt with for the past too many years.

He watched her pull away from his pole and reach up under her dress with both hands. With a gentle yank, her drawers slipped down and puddled to the floor. She stepped out of them and reached again for his swollen member. This time she came closer and held it. Slowly she put her mouth down on it-just on the tip, letting the head fill her mouth-and rubbed her saliva around, lubricating him. He moaned and closed his eyes.

The bed rolled as she kneeled beside him. He felt her throw a leg over and when he looked, she was squatting over him-her dress held at her waist as she measured where she would settle. Her thighs were thin but strong, topped by a wild bush of hair that was made to appear blacker by the gray that shot through it. He only saw if for a second because once he felt her womanhood open over his cock, she pushed the dress down as far as she could.

“You oughta take that off…” he said.

“You never mind what I oughtta do.”

He felt himself pushing slowly, almost grudgingly shouldering inward-every inch feeling as if it was opening new ground. She was concerned about the length of it as much as the thickness. She kept her legs under her as she lowered slowly, slowly and surprised that she opened-if not easily, comfortably-to him. There was none of the twisting and fitting that she had imagined to get it in. It was the wetness that did it, she knew. And not that little bit a spit she put on it either. It was the wetness she felt between her legs as soon as she started whippin’ his ass.

He moaned loudly as she sat all the way down fully encasing him. She lifted once then slipped back, then up then back-up and down then again up and down. She closed her eyes and tossed her head back trying to get into the right rhythm. She was breathing quickly and fell forward onto her knees-her hands on both sides of his head. She looked into his eyes. “If you shoot off before I come, I will whip you like a bad child…”

His breath came in shallow gulps. “I won’t”, he said…”I won’t”, but he didn’t know how he wouldn’t. He thought of work-of stacking cartons of nails on pallets in the boxcar. He thought of the foreman, with his unlit cigar and straw Stetson yelling at everyone simply because he could see them. He pictured himself running up Currahee Mountain in heavy boots and shorts back in basic…..his mind ran in circles like a mouse in a hot bucket trying to pull focus from his landlady who had by now stretched out atop of him and with her legs back, grinding hard into the ride she was on.

He took hold of her narrow bottom and pulled her into him while driving his hips up into her. He…didn’t….have…much-time-TIME-left here and was gritting his teeth when he felt her shudder and bite into his shirt collar mercifully missing his throat. Her high pitched keening let him know that he had crested the hill and that it was alright, finally, to come. He drove upward in one massive thrust that, with his back arching, lifted her high into the air. He came pulsing hard and strong. If not for her astride him, engulfing him, he would have been able to spatter is name across the ceiling.

They lay together-she on top of him as they regained some measure of regular respiration. His cock-now blown was still inside her-taking up less room than it had been-but still large enough not to fall out on its own. They both seemed to take pleasure in its twitches and starts. She allowed him to run his hands over her sweat-dampened dress and even under it so he could explore the hot wet spot where they were still attached. He moved slightly and winced, suddenly awakened to the raw burning of his whipped ass-a hot contrast to the smooth cool white cheeks he was feeling up under the dress.

“Such a thing as this”, he thought. It was something his auntie used to say. Didn’t know where it had come from nor what it meant. Nor why it came to mind just then. He let it be and just breathed.

 

The Landlady

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Careful not to move lest the creaking give him away, he sat stiffly in the old ladder back chair studying the cracks in the linoleum floor. She knocked again, rattling the door. “I know you’re in there. I heard you turn off the radio just as I was coming down the hall.” He glared at the offending contraption on the bare dresser top. Why’d he even deal with it? Nothing but holy rollers and static came across out in these parts.

“You know, I’m just extending a courtesy. I have my own keys here,” he heard them clattering and imagined her holding them up and jingling them in the air like little bells. “I’ll jist let myself in.” She didn’t. He could see her unmoving shadow below the door.  The thought of her standing in the hallway waiting for him was suddenly worse than the idea of letting her in. He half-stood and reached to pop the lock. The room was small enough that he was back in the chair in time to see the knob turn.

She was a tall woman. Slim but hardened. Her sleeveless house dress revealed little, but her calves looked strong and her arms were sinewy and sun marked. Since he had lost his job he’d had plenty of time to see all that she did around the place: the never ending washing and hanging, the constant tattoo of her flat shoes on both set of stairs, the cooking, hauling wood for the stove and managing that infernal wood pile which somehow seemed to grow the more wood she burned. He imagined she had wood delivered and didn’t split it herself, but he’d not put it past her.  But whoever delivered it, just dumped it in a jumble. It was her that stacked it in the wood crib out of the weather.

The one time he had watched her doing that, safely hidden by the curtains from his window, she was wearing jeans and an oversized man’s shirt. And work gloves. She knew her way around hard work was all he knew. That’s the exact thing he was thinking looking at her feet just across his threshold: “She knows her way around hard work.”

“You’re late more’n a week now.”

“I know. I’m….still waitin’.”

“What was it again? That you’re waitin’ on?”

“The last government check. The final settlement…on my…”

“Oh yeah, I ‘member now…yer ‘service settlement’ you called it?”

“Yeah. I expect…”

She cut him off. “I heard this before. You playin’ me a fool?” she asked sharply.

“No! It’s just that…”

“Shut up! Don’t say another word.” If it was possible to drop his eyes further without completely expelling them from his head, he would have.

“I talked to people…” she went on. “Some who put in service time…some who were even overseas and they never heard of a settlement like what you’re describing…some sort of magic money that shows up months after you mustered out.” Her feet hadn’t moved-he assumed her arms were folded across her chest but didn’t dare to look. “The way these fellas talked it got me to thinkin’ that maybe you was feedin’ me a load a manure. That maybe you thought I didn’t know any better than to jus’ swaller what you was shoveling. Is that what you thought?”

“No.”

“Okay. So here’s what I’m gonna do. Me, I’m thinkin’ you’re a liar two or three times over. But that’s just me sayin’ it. I wanna hear you say it.”

“I ain’t a liar.”

She let the silence settle for a moment before speaking. “Okay again. Now you’re a liar four times over.” Her arms were indeed folded over her chest and she squeezed hard with her right arm over her left to keep her voice smooth. “Here, let’s do it this aways, since you’re not going to call yourself a liar. Maybe you don’t know what a liar is, I don’t know. So here-this is your chance to tell me-one last time-about this money settlement you’re getting’ from the government. This is the time-tell me in all the detail you can. Or don’t. If you don’t-if you don’t say nothing about it-if you just don’t say nothin’, then I’ll know it was all horseshit and you was feeding me a line. Right? So, if you got nothin’, if you’re waitin’ on nothin’ say nothin’ and we’ll put that to bed. Right? Got it?”

He opened his mouth just a touch, then closed it. Opened again-then closed-like a fish tossed up on the bank. He gave up. Yes, it was a lie-the whole thing-he was trying to buy some time until…until what? He’d just pack his bag-wasn’t much to pack-and leave. Send her money from the road, when he got another job. Thing was, jobs was so scarce in this part of the country-he’d probly have to go north and most of his people-what were left of them anyway was down here-and this is where he was comfortable-Damn, why’d  he have to tell the foreman to fuck hisself-his temper belied the person he really was and wanted to be…

As his mind slashed from one ill-formed thought to another, the heavy silence filled the room like a blue gray stench. It covered them both and filled out to all four corners. It weighed on the bed, even pushed the curtains out against the window panes and, as it went on, seemed to dim the sunlight streaming into the room. She didn’t speak until the silence threatened to suffocate them as totally as if they were lying in the bottom of a lake.

“I oughta whip your ass”, she finally said.

“You ain’t gonna whip my ass.”

“Oh yeah? Why ain’t I?”

“I’m a grown man is why not.”

“You might be grown, but you’re sure not a man. A man finds a way to deal with his responsibilities. One of which is paying for the place that’s beddin’ and feedin’ him. Look at me”, she said sharply. “I’m tired of speaking to the top of your head.”

He looked up into her dark deep-set eyes, flashing at him from above high suntanned cheekbones. She had a lean wolfish look that would have made her stand out in a school picture as gawkish,  surrounded by a class of round headed cherubs but now gave her a honed, striking appearance. She took a step closer to loom over him slightly. He thought about standing up but he’d bump her she was so close. He craned his neck back. “How old are you?” she asked, hands on hips now.

“Twenty-six”, he said, not particularly proud or ashamed of the number. It was just that-a number.

“…So I’m not twenty years older’n you. Guess you could say I’m old enough to be your Ma. But I don’t know how old she was or is. And I don’t care. What I do know is that I’m old enough to do what I’m gonna do.”

“You ain’t gonna whip my ass.”

“You got my rent?”

“Not yet. But I will…”

“Where’s it comin’ from? You gonna git money by sittin’ in this room half the day staring at me out the window? Oh, I can see you fine up here. Those curtains don’t hide much. Or maybe you’ll git money wanderin’ through town like you do the other half the day? How’s that pay?”

He couldn’t take staring up at her anymore and dropped his eyes back to the floor-this time gazing at a space between her feet. He thought of the phrase “too close for comfort” and she was definitely that. She had a strong scent to her-not unpleasant-but strong of wood smoke, lye soap, earth and a little touch of sweat.

“You ain’t gonna whip my ass”, he said with much less conviction than he had before.

“That’s fine,” she said. “It’s your ass-you should have some say in what happens to it.” Would that she had lived for the last fifteen years in such a world. She hadn’t of course but that was over now. “Since you were so good with the liar-game we played, I have another for you. I’m going down the hall to my room to get a belt. When I come back you will be either”, She held up her thumb, “One-packed and headed down the hall and out of my house still owing me two weeks board or…” flipping out her index finger “Two, laid out on this bed with your pants down ready for your whippin.”

“You ain’t gonna whip me…” He said softly almost like a rote prayer murmured to hold off whatever misfortune he was running from.

“Like I said, that will be your choice.” With that, she turned and left the room leaving the door open behind her. He listened as her steps faded down the long hallway.

She shortened her stride, aiming to give him time. She turned the glass knob and entered her room which was no more than a double version of the one he was in. The bed was larger and there were two chairs, though only the one on her side got sat in anymore. The other had an old felt fedora hanging from it that was too moth eaten and weather beaten to be much of a hat. Which was fine since there was no longer a head to fill it.

She opened the closet door and took the thick brown leather belt from its hook. She folded it once and held the narrowed end and the buckle in her right hand. It was heavy but supple to the touch.

Being on the receiving end, as she had been so many times, was different than being on the giving end. She could figure that. She knew what the cracking slash felt like, the dry leather burn across her bare backside or legs that left welts and bruises and the feeling that the skin was so tight and burned that she couldn’t put her drawers on. She knew how that all felt-the memories were still clear on that. Would probably always be. What she didn’t really know was how to actually do it. Obviously she was always facing away when it happened and had her eyes closed anyway.

She looked at herself in the mirror hefting the belt slightly. She looked closer, at her face, and pushed a strand of loose gray hair behind her ear. The gray had really begun to shoot through in the last year. Had she really told him she was twenty years older than him? She shoulda said ten. If she’d planned this, she might have taken the time to comb out her hair a little so she didn’t look so damn….haggard. She stood more upright-tossed her shoulders back. The hell with it.

She turned away from the glass and, with a single strong motion, whipped the belt over her head and down onto her bed. It landed with a satisfying WHUMP! Her heart fluttered a bit and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to a little heat down below actually thinking about what she might find when she got back to his room.

She expected him to be gone. She thought maybe that she hoped he’d be gone. But carrying the belt slowly down the hallway put the lie to what she expected….

(To be continued….maybe. Probably….Better than even chance to be continued….)

The Appointment

The room didn’t look “sterile” by any means. That was what she had called it in preparation for his first visit months ago. She had warned him that it was “a rather sterile looking office”. It was as large as the conference room at work, a desk, more of a work table really, near the rear center-with enough room for a credenza behind it under the window that overlooked the street from three floors up. There were a couple of armchairs and a short couch all situated on a soft mauve carpet that took up most of the room but was offset to the left allowing a gleaming swath of polished hardwood floor exposed against the wall.

If there was anything sterile looking about the place it was this hardwood peninsula. A stout looking armless wooden chair and matching small oak table were situated next to an upright digital scale. Beside the scale was a full length mirror affixed to the wall and an oaken clothes tree-complete with three wooden hangers.

He knew his way around well enough by now but still couldn’t avoid a little flutter in his chest when looking at the spare furnishings on that side of the room. Still, he moved in that direction and watched himself in the mirror as he doffed his sport coat draping it over the highest hanger. Standing sideways to the mirror he slid his hand along his stomach, sucking in a small gut that he noticed more than anyone else. Truth is, he hadn’t lost too much of the body he’d had when he played college baseball a decade earlier, but he’d lost enough. Enough to bother him.

He absently loosened his tie but didn’t feel a need to take it off. Shoes? He glanced toward the door. He’d wait for her before taking off his shoes. She was in the habit recently of making him wait and he didn’t feel like standing around in his socks. He’d definitely have to take them off though.

He looked at the scale the way he might eyeball any adversary. The read-out screen was dark and he knew that it was turned off. There were few real rules of protocol in the office but the single immutable one was that Doc Bethel was the only one who could turn the scale on or off.

He walked over and sat in one of the armchairs. The waiting was part of her program he knew, but oddly it was the one that bothered him the most. He sat back and crossed his legs-right ankle over knee. Then uncrossed. Leaned forward with his elbows on the soft chair arms, then leaned further back again.  Lifting two fingers of his right hand to his mouth, he perfectly pantomimed taking a deep drag on a cigarette. He filled his lungs with air and, eyes closed, exhaled deeply relaxing into the breath. He sat still, breath coming in shallow swallows until he lifted his hand once more for a light drag. Then, with sense memory born of a habit he’d had longer than he wanted to remember, he swung his arm slightly out to the right and with his thumb flicked the imaginary ash off of the tip of the imaginary cigarette. He relaxed deeper into the leather.

Without looking he knew that the chrome pedestal ashtray that had been beside the chair during his first couple meetings was gone. Had been for a while. That was something anyway. He heard the door open and stiffened slightly. He shook out his right hand to erase any evidence of the illusory cigarette.

He turned his head and half rose to acknowledge Sidney Bethel’s entrance. “Hi Doc”, he said.

“Good morning Ben. Stay where you are. Don’t bother to get up.” In passing she pressed her hand onto his shoulder to push him back into the leather. “How are you today?”

“Good, good…beautiful morning.”

She lay a warm hand against his cheek and caught his eyes the way she did. He knew better than to look away. Her green eyes probed deeply as if looking for the lie in his simplest answer. Looking for anything below the surface. His most begnine answers were always questioned. She believed if you learned to be honest and completely open in the small things the larger things would take care of themselves. Her gaze was warm and searching-helpful, not accusing, and he relaxed into her without moving.

Then, satisfied, she straightened and moved to her desk. She didn’t move behind it to her chair, instead chose to pop herself up and sit on it. This put her closer to Ben but still above him, something sitting on the chair beside him wouldn’t have given her. That thought hadn’t necessarily occurred to him, but she knew it. She was a master of non-threatening informal authority. The “Doctor” title was a bit of a stretch. There were no framed diplomas or certificates on the walls-just some tasteful abstracts and one painting of an amusement park carosel. At one time medical school was in her plans but she happily had found her calling before that investment. Some called her Sidney, some Ms. Bethel, not many “Doc” but whatever worked for him.

Her “uniform” in her office was always a variation on what she wore today. Black slacks that rode low on her hips and flats. Even then she was a strong 5’ 10” and taller than most of her patients. She wore a tailored white oxford shirt that cupped her breasts and bloomed upward opening at the neck revealing a small silver chain. The sleeves were rolled precisely twice, crisply revealing tanned forearms.

When Ben had first met her he thought she was a “knockout”. That was the word that actually bounced around in his head. If he had told anyone about her he would have said his therapist was a “knockout”. But that wasn’t the phrase he had rumbling in his mind these days. Her looks hadn’t changed-she was still striking with the dark hair flowing to her shoulders, her perfectly pearly orthodontia, high cheekbones and deep inviting eyes.

The word he might use to describe her now was “comfortable”. Which was odd when you considered the type of therapy she practiced. Her office small talk was never forced and always pulled him into a conversation. She talked about running with her dogs and training for one of those muddy-trail runs or whatever leaving enough holes to allow him to tell her that he had done some running too. “Oh? On the trail or road?” and she would listen and prod and want more detail.

When the conversation lulled finally she reached into a wooden in-box on her desk and pulled out a file. She opened it on her lap and snapped it closed again. “Today was supposed to be 183, right? That was the target.”

“Yep.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I should be fine” he said with a tiny cloud passing over his eyes that he thought he hid but she saw it as easily as she would a mannequin in a window.

“Really?” she said simply with only the slightest lift at the corner of her mouth.

“No”, he looked away quickly then back, “yes-it was tough over the weekend-did some traveling. It’s hard to watch on the road. But since has been good….I should be fine.” This last he told to the floor before finally looking up to allow her eyes to lock his again.

“Let’s have a look then”-she lifted her hand over toward the scale.

“Let’s lose these first”, he said bending to untie his shoes.

“By all means”.

Her patients could weigh in however they wanted as long as they were consistent. Some stayed fully dressed, shoes and coats. Some decidedly did not. If they missed their goals, then there were prescribed measures and penalties that sometimes dictated how “dressed” they remained. The key was making the weight and doing whatever had to be done to do that.

Ben had always weighed in “airline style” No belt, shoes wallet. He did that, placing his items on the table. Then, before stepping on the scale he nervously took off his shirt. He smiled sheepishly and said “what the hell”, as if in explanation.  Sidney had moved over beside the scale and turned it on. The screen winked to life then settled into a soft blue glow.

He paused-actually froze. He didn’t feel good about this. He really didn’t. She took a half-step back as if he needed more room. He looked up and gave a nervous half smile before exhaling (as if the breath in his lungs weighed anything) and stepped gently onto the rubber pad. The number on the read-out flashed at 189.

“What?” he said as if the machine had spoken.

“Ben, that’s more than last week.” She had given him a modest goal of four pounds for the week.

“I know, I know”, he flustered. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Wait a minute”, he took off his T-shirt and lay it over the chair. Then he sat on the chair and rolled off his socks. He stood and stepped back to the scale. Again, he exhaled and tip-toed up. 188.

“Dammit”, he whispered watching the number as if waiting for it to change.

“Step off Ben.”

“Wait, I get one more chance.” That was the weigh-in rule. Three tries to make the weight.

“Do you think your trousers weigh five pounds?”

“Look…I get…I get another chance, right?” he was stammering. She was silent and he was avoiding looking at her. “I mean, do you mind?” He waited for her answer. “Is that OK?”

“You get a third chance”, she said flatly.

He stepped back from the scale and unbuttoned then unzipped his pants. He slid them down and stepped out of them, one leg then the other. He lay them over the back of the chair then paused as he was stepping toward the scale. Still not looking at Sidney he hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and slipped them down. Bending, he flipped them onto his shoes.

Looking up finally he gave a little shrug. “That’s it…”

She regarded him carefully as he cut his eyes away again. He hadn’t been nude in here before-pants down yes-but that was it. He wasn’t in bad shape-strong across the chest and shoulders-a little settling through the waist and hips but not bad for a guy his age. She could see clearly where he could lose the twenty pounds he had talked about when he first visited but the solid thickening in his cock as he stood before her made it clear that losing the weight was no better than a secondary goal of coming to Dr. Bethel. Which sort of ticked her off-though it shouldn’t.

“Scale”, she said.

He flowed slowly past her and paused before stepping gently back on the pad. She stepped beside him closely enough to catch his scent and feel the warmth radiating from his body. He in turn kept his eyes shut feeling the butterflies careening around in his stomach and his dick getting harder. She noticed it-couldn’t NOT notice it-as she looked down at the read-out.

“185”, she said with an impatient sigh. “Get off the scale Benjamin.”

He stepped back and stood before her eyes downcast. They stood a moment before Sidney broke the silence.

“What are you doing here Benjamin? Why do you come to my office?” He had nothing to say. “More to the point, what am I doing here? I’ve put time into you haven’t I? Haven’t I done my best for you in trying to help you lose the weight that YOU wanted to lose-that you ASKED ME to help you lose? Haven’t I held up my end of the bargain?”

“I’m trying,” he said miserably.

“Yes, I realize that. But eventually trying has to become doing, right?”

He said nothing. “Again, I ask you-have I held up my end of the bargain?”

“Yes”.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”

“And you Benjamin. Have you held up yours? Have you?”

“No.”

“No, indeed.” She stepped a little closer but not by much to avoid his engorged cock thrusting itself forward like a jousting lance. “Look at me”, she commanded. He lifted his eyes to hers slowly.

“I’m so disappointed in you Benjamin. So disappointed. You’ve let me down. Let me down. And more importantly, you’ve let yourself down. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry”, he said quietly-almost breathlessly.

“You’re sorry.”

“I am. I’m sorry that I…let you down.”

She let that hang in the air for a moment.

“I’ll venture that you’re about to be a lot sorrier.”

“Yes, mam.”

She stepped to the side. “Go over to my desk, Benjamin. Stand in front of it.”

He did as he was told. Standing on the plush carpet and gazing at the scudding clouds out the window gave him a chance to take the first deep cleansing breaths he had attempted since she started scolding him. His chest felt light and the fluttering in his stomach had settled a little further down.

She stepped into his line of sight on the right and opened the door to a slim cabinet mounted on the wall. On the back of the door hung a wooden paddle he had never seen before. It was two feet long, about four inches wide and polished to a bright golden color. She regarded it carefully and gripped it tightly-slapping it gently into her open left palm. “I think this will do the trick.”

His heart began racing a bit again.

“What do you think, Benjamin? Do you think this will do the trick?”

“Yes, mam”.

“Indeed…”

She moved back out of sight behind him and he cut his eyes back to the clouds trying to recover that sense of calm he had just a moment ago. No dice. She was standing behind him now.

“Spread your legs a bit, Benjamin.”

He did as he was told.

“Now bend over. Put your hands on the edge of the desk.”

He did that, concentrating on the close tight grain of the wood below him.

She took advantage of the breathless anticipation to regard the smooth white bottom which he was offering up to her. She knew what he was expecting right now but her plan-as always-was to go beyond expectations. Regardless of what she told him in their session, Ben not reaching his goal twice in the last two months was almost as much on her as it was on him. She resolved this would be memorable for him but she was piecing together a plan….

She placed the paddle gently across his cheeks, patted once then reared back watching him tense. The first swat landed with a resounding SMACK fully across the center.

“Owwww”, Ben yelled and jumped up grabbing his bottom with both hands. “Ow-Jesus!” he said, rubbing and kneading. “That HURT!”

She crossed her arms sternly holding the paddle upright on display. “It absolutely hurt-it was supposed to. It’s a shame you couldn’t hold your position because it didn’t count and now you get sixteen more.”

“Sixteen? I never got more than six!”

He had turned slightly toward her still rubbing his backside. She could see that, while his cock wasn’t waving as proudly as it had been, it was still thick-still in the game.

“Do you really want to argue with me right now?” she asked grimly through tightened lips.

He deflated a bit and without another word turned back to the desk. He bent-putting both hands on the edge of the surface and arched his back slightly.

“No”, she said. “Elbows and palms on the desk.”

He did as she ordered without hesitation feeling the slight twinge at the top of his hamstrings as he bent a little further. She patted again the cheek that was a touch mottled from the first swat and swung again smacking the same spot. Ben was better prepared this time and not surprised by the intensity. He managed to keep his mouth closed and made no sound. After the third he rose on his toes and after the forth, slapped the desk with is hand. She was taking enough time with his punishment to allow the heat to rise from one swat before blistering him with the next.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his eyelids tightly enough that he saw flashed of red and gold. The shit I get myself into he thought.

Sidney Bethel paid close attention to what she was doing. Being right handed, most of the power of the paddle was landing on Ben’s tortured right cheek where a small plum colored bruise had just bloomed. She took a half step backward and delivered the next blow squarely on the barely pink left cheek. Then another quickly. Ben rose on his toes again and bounced on his heels trying to dissipate the burn which felt like a hot iron pressed against his backside. She swatted him twice more while he was hopping and he yipped behind his clenched teeth.

“Breathe, Ben”, she said pausing.  “Just breathe and relax…”

He did, dropping flat footed and allowing his knees to bend slightly relaxing his butt. Both cheeks were now balanced in color-deep reds and pinks with only the single bruise on the right. The skin looked dry and hot as he reached back gingerly to touch it. “You OK?” she asked?

“Yeah-fine” he said his voice hoarse and low. “Was he crying?” Sidney wondered suddenly nervous. She didn’t want that to happen. Maybe she had gone a little too far-God knows he wouldn’t ask her to stop. “How many was that?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure”, he said-his voice stronger. She relaxed a little. “I quit counting around eight or nine.”

“Thirteen. That was thirteen.”

“Jesus…” he stopped rubbing taking her count to be the order to resume. He bent slowly back over and arched his back offering his tight tortured bottom back to her. She stepped away and lay the paddle on the desk beside him.

“Stay where you are”, she ordered. Ben wasn’t sure what she had in store for the last three swats but was comfortable in thinking that anything would be preferable to the paddle.  Sidney picked a small bottle of lotion off the table and brought it over to where Ben’s ass was glowing like a hot brazier. He tensed feeling her behind him.

“Relax”, she said. “Just relax. We’re calling you done.”

“Really?” he said looking over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“See? I’m not so bad…”

She squeezed a dollop of the special mix aloe and vitamin E into her right hand and touched it to his bruised right cheek. He jumped as it she had stuck him with a needle.

“Shhh…” she said. “Just settle.”

He did as he was told enjoying the soft cooling of the lotion and her massaging hand first on his right cheek, then on his left. Up till this instant a handshake had been their only physical contact. He spread his legs a little further to give her further access to anything that she wanted. She saw the move, of course and slapped him lightly on the cheek.

“Don’t get any ideas, big boy.”

“No!” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it…” She rubbed the lotion deeply into the skin from the top of his legs across both cooling hemispheres. “Here is what I’m thinking…You come back in two weeks, right?”

“Yes-two weeks.”

“OK. I expect you to weigh 178 then, understand? That’s seven pounds in two weeks.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can-and I know you will. Because we’re going to change this up a little for your next visit.”

Ben was listening as best he could but the blood rushing to his cock as Sidney rubbed his sore bottom was almost drowning everything out. He was wishing she would reach between his legs but afraid knowing that if she touched his rod at all, he would spew all over her desk like a thirteen year old.

“For you next visit, you will weigh in naked, just like today. If you don’t make the weight-if you are not 178 or less-you will get dressed and leave. We’ll try again for the following week.”

“No penalty?”

“Not like that-more like an incentive. If you DO make weight, I will sit on the couch over there put you over my lap and spank you with a hairbrush. Would you like that?”

“I think I would like that…” he said breathlessly.

“And…I’ll wear a skirt that day. A short one. Would you like that?”

He moaned almost inaudibly and dropped his head. “Yes.”

“Very well…” she stepped away from his glowing butt and but the cap on the lotion. “I have another appointment upstairs that I’m late for.” She moved a box of tissue to the front of the table. “Take as much time to…compose yourself…as you need and I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Thanks, Doc”, he said but by the time he stood and turned, she was gone, pulling the door closed behind her. “Oh man…”, he sighed rubbing is bottom absently.

That afternoon, his assistant Moliere stuck her head in the door of his corner office where he sat gingerly on one cheek watching the three screens in front of him. “I’m running down for a Danish and coffee”, she announced-ready to take his order for his three o’clock sugar fix.

“Not for me, Molly.”

“Really?”

“Have to lose a few pounds.”

“Sure-I know, but one Danish. A donut?”

“No-this time I really have to lose it…”

“OK-how about just a coffee then?”

“Black”.

“K!” and she was gone as he tried with a wince to settle onto both cheeks.

A Different Level of Naked

Picks up after “Liz Needs a Soak and More…”

She sat on the bed in only her blouse and panties. She was moving slowly; as if any sudden movements would provoke him.

“They weren’t kids!” he said sharply. “Kids are short pants and juice boxes-these are men.”

“Students…”

His voice froze her. “Are you going to fight me on this?”

What “this” did he mean? The point that Bob and Frank were kids and not really men-which she knew she couldn’t win. Or did he mean was she going to fight him on what was feeling like the inevitable outcome of this scolding. Which is what this had turned into. She hadn’t told him everything she had done with the boys-thankfully-but just the thought that she had gone to their house alone, without alerting him to where she was, was a serious breach of the understanding that they shared. She didn’t look up, watching his feet as he moved around the bedroom. He was wearing the black ankle boots that she had bought him online.

“I’ll give you your Black Belts-and I know you can handle yourself and you could probably do more to these guys than just beat their asses. I know that. But dammit-you are supposed to call or text. You can’t go into these unknown situations without me knowing where you are. Right?”

She was silent.

“Right?” he asked again.

“You’re right”, she said studying the grain in the hardwood floor. He was right.

Sitting on the end of the bed with her blonde hair curtaining her downcast face, she was the picture of contrition. And submission. John’s eyes moved from the crown of her head to the white on white faux tuxedo shirt she was wearing. He hadn’t seen it before and knew that tucked into her jeans it would accent her broad swimmer’s shoulders and flat midriff. Now though, the tail covered her lap and his eyes ran down her long thighs to her bare feet. He loved her feet-he had bathed them and massaged them-even kissed them when the mood and game called for it but he had no illusions about them. She had kicked him once in sparring-a reverse crescent kick to his headgear-that brought on the stars even though she had pulled the kick. The woman was a weapon. Truthfully, he would have loved to be a fly on a wall if those guys had tried anything with her.

But still, rules were rules-and they had so few of them these days. He knew she was waiting on his word. All he had to do was order it and she would roll over onto her belly and push down her panties and take what he gave her.

She watched his feet. They were in front of her and not moving toward the cabinet where they kept the equipment. The fluttering in her chest that flickered to life when a punishment seemed imminent settled into her stomach but went no lower.  There was always a tingle between her legs when a spanking was in the offing. Whether it was a punishment paddling, a caning or a slap and tickle over the knee hand spanking she could count on the tingle which would grow into a quiver, then a tremor until finally a roar as her chastisement escalated. Now however, she was sexually sated-there was nothing left between her legs to pull her into the warm little world of comfort and security where a spanking always took her. Being spanked after an orgasm-much less three of them-erased the sexuality and made it more about just getting your butt beat. It was like a whole different level of nakedness.

His boots clicked away across the floor and she heard the cabinet door open. “Dammit!” she thought. Even the worst paddlings she had taken ended had ended in some kind of sex. This one wouldn’t. “Dammit!” she thought again. She reached up to unbutton her blouse. She would take it off so it wouldn’t wrinkle as she lay over the bed, or his lap, or whatever he wanted. She thought about which paddle he would bring over and didn’t want to look up to see it. Sitting at dinner would be a bitch. Why hadn’t she just texted?

He stood in front of her and she looked up, her eyes lidded and dull. His dark brown eyes sparkled and danced with an electricity that jumped at her. “I want you to wear this tonight.” He was holding out a small silver chain with a cross that looked to have been made of repurposed nails. “One of my tenants makes these…I think they’re pretty cool.”

It was roughly beautiful as far as she could see but the welling in her eyes blurred all the edges. Behind the hand that held the cross she caught John’s wicked smile. Liz sprung to her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You bastard”, she breathed in relief before she closed her mouth over his.

“Come on now”, he said pulling away after a few moist moments. “Get dressed-I’m starved.”

Now she felt that tingle.

Liz Needs a Soak

Follows “The Boys Like It!”

Liz drove languidly toward home after her session with the boys. A day smoldering in sexual heat-from Angie, to the woods, to Bobby in the house-with no release had left her curiously spent but edgy. Truth is, she was in no hurry to go home or to be by herself. She passed the exit that would have taken her that way and headed toward the south side of town. She pressed a number on her dashboard display.

John’s phone burst into the opening bars of Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way”. His headlamp swept the rafters in front of him as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “Hey, you”, he said into the speaker.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Up on Troy Hill”, he answered stopping his lamp sweep at a pile of something that looked to be raccoon shit. He hated raccoons and raccoon shit. He had walked away from properties based solely on the amount of raccoon shit in the attic. “I’m looking at a place that’s coming up for Sheriff’s sale…”

“Oh”, she said, not meaning to sound like a disappointed little girl.

“Why, what’s up?”

“I need a good soak.”

“Long day?”

“You could say that…” It was midafternoon but the day had turned cloudy and gray so it felt later than it was. She had slipped off of the parkway and was starting down the mixed residential and commercial streets of the South Side toward John’s place.

“Go ahead over…” he said. “I’ll kill the alarms from here.”

She navigated the narrow streets heading up toward a rise that overlooked the neighborhood and, across the river, the city. “You know”, she said smiling, “It’s not just a soak that I need.”

“Uh huh…” said John interrupting his square foot calculations and the cost of insulation. “I’m almost done here-I’ll finish up and be there.”

“OK, but hurry”.

Now he smiled in the darkness and felt a stirring in this crotch. “Don’t start without me.”

She pressed the disconnect button on the dash and made a left down Sarah. The buildings here were all over a hundred years old built to house and service the steelworkers that had immigrated here from all over Europe. The neighborhood never really “gentrified” and was comfortably industrial chic.

John’s place had once been a service station and a horse livery before that so it was unique in the congested neighborhood that it had off-street parking for two cars. Liz always felt like she was sneaking into the Bat Cave when she hit the automatic opener on her visor because the doors were disguised to look like a concrete wall. She slipped her car comfortably into the right side bay.

She stepped lightly up the metal spiral staircase and through the thick wooden sliding door that had been reclaimed from a butchers’ freezer. Counterweighted, the door slipped closed behind her as she turned to the right and slipped into the dim kitchen. She was fine with the gray glow from the skylight as the wine cooler built into the wall had its’ own lighting that came on when the door opened. She chose her favorite crisp chardonnay and opened it at the counter and placing it into an ice bucket. Then, bucket and glass in hand, she headed to the front of the house-to what she considered the heart of the small space.

Though she was with John every step of the way during the design and the remodel of his place-even sitting in the tub with him to make sure the two fit perfectly-it was, with the exposed metal, ceramic and concrete work, a man’s house through and through. That profile manifested perfectly in the master bath.

The room was tiled completely along the floor and three walls to the ceiling. The openness of the space was emphasized by the shower in one corner with no door or curtain of any kind and to the right of the door was the two-person soaking tub built embedded three stone steps up into a concrete counter that John had fabricated on site.

She turned the water on in the tub and let it fill a little before throwing in some salts. Then, facing the windows and the neighborhood beyond, she began to strip off her clothes. She wasn’t as free in this room right after John had installed the floor to ceiling windows. Knowing it was two-way glass and feeling comfortable disrobing, showering or anything else they did in here in front of two way glass is another. She had to experiment herself from outside with John in the shower before she gave in.

She slipped off her jeans for the second time today and lay them over the redwood shower chair. She followed with her bra, then finally, her panties which had been wet at least twice today. She rubbed her hands over her breasts then down her thighs-not trusting herself to touch between her legs. How the hell long would John be? Did he say?

She padded up the steps and sat on the edge of the tub dangling her feet and sipping her wine and the water tumbled in and the steam rose. She was trying to decide how much to tell John about her afternoon. It had been about an hour and a half after she left the boys up on the hill before she stepped onto their porch and knocked-realizing the doorbell didn’t work. The house was a small ranch in the state of disrepair you could expect given that it had been given over to student housing.

She had carried a bag over her shoulder that Frankie eyed curiously when he let her in. He looked even younger than he had up on the hill but she quickly realized that he had shaved. And showered. In fact, the whole house smelled of soap shampoo with only traces of sweet cologne or body spray. As she stepped through the door she had a “what am I doing here?” moment that evaporated completely in the light of Frankie’s smile. She returned the smile of the initiated and asked conspiratorially, “Where’s our boy?”

“Right this way”, he bowed his head slightly and waved his arm through the entrance hallway into the living room. The switches that they had brought off the hill were laid out precisely on a low table against the wall. The room was sparsely furnished-an overstuffed chair and couch. Bob came into the room from the other direction looking scrubbed and pink in a T-shirt and jeans. “I see you found the place”, he jabbered going for nonchalance. “Oh yes-it was easy.” Being in their house offered her some options that she didn’t have on the hill. “Why are you dressed?” she said in a tone that didn’t invite an answer. “Take everything off”, she ordered.

“Everything?”

“Do you want to argue with me?”

As he quickly slipped his T-shirt over his head she cut a quick glance to Frank and winked. His eyes smiled back wickedly. She would find out later what sport Bob played. He was well-muscled but not thickly so and perfectly proportioned. She was betting wrestling rather than football. No matter, she thought as he slipped his jeans off and kicked them aside. This is a body that many girls have wrapped themselves around who had no idea what it was in for now.

“Very nice”, she stepped closely appraising every inch but touching nothing. He kept his gaze downward and she followed it to his growing erection. “Turn around.” He did and she softly caressed the back of his shoulder startling him.

“Easy”, she cooed as if to a skittish colt. “Here. Step over to the chair.” She slipped her hand to the small of his back directing him. “Now over”, she push gently. The chair back was low enough so that both hands rested on the seat and his now-bulging cock wasn’t crushed against his belly. He was breathing quickly. “Easy”, she said again-stroking his back then down over his thick cheeks. “Here”, she said sliding her hand between his legs, “Spread for me a little.”

He did and jumped as she reached between and cupped his balls lightly. Then his knees buckled slightly as she ran her finger up his crack to tickle at his tight little button. “You have got to settle, boy. You are much too jumpy…” she said while continuing to rub his anus lightly. She was pretty sure that was the first time for that.

“OK-alright”, he gasped lightly.

“Alrighty then.” Like a surgeon she held out her hand and Frankie handed her a switch. She cut the air once and watched him come up onto this toes. “Be ready”, she said. “But don’t tense.”

She brought the switch back and stroked across this cheeks. “Owwwww!” he howled jumping straight up into the air. “That…FUCK! That hurt!”

“Of course it hurt, Boyo. I’m caning your bare ass-it’s going to hurt.”

“I didn’t think it would burn like that. OW!”

“Welcome to Frank’s world-Huh, Frank?”

He bent back over and she stroked him again-about the same strength-about the same place. Again he yelled and jumped up. But then gathered himself and got back into position.

“It’s in your mind, Bob. You know what it feels like now. Just take a breath and let it out. You know what’s coming-I’m going to give you ten more like that before we move onto anything else. You just have to take them. OK?”

“OK”, he gritted his teeth. She watched his bottom rise and fall as he breathed. She stroked again. Again, he yelped and jumped straight up.

“I’m sorry!” he pleaded, kneading his butt. “I’ll take them-however many. …it just hurts. Don’t get mad. Here.” He bent again offering his bottom that wore three distinct pink stripes. She stroked again, this time a little lighter but more than a kiss. “Owww!” He jumped up again and rubbed with his right hand where the tip had dug in a bit.  “Sorry-Sorry…Damn, that burns. Sorry.” Yet, he bent over again.

Most of the people she got into this position knew what was coming. They already understood the bargain. To get where they wanted to go required some fleeting, but at times intense, pain. The pain opened the door to the dark pleasures they were ultimately seeking but the pain was part of what they signed up for. What they needed. Bob was still trying to figure that out. Her heart went out to him and she wanted to do what she could to help him through his first bottoming.

She turned off the water and hit the switch that would keep the tub warm. Thinking of Bob taking the strokes, one after another and begging for more of what he needed but might not want, started to heat her up again-as it had back in the boy’s living room. She slipped slowly into the water and sighed as she lay her head back on a folded towel. She allowed her hands to slide down her stomach tickling at the well-coiffed bush below. “Don’t start without me…” John’s voice echoed in her head.

She yanked her hand away and reached for her wine as the garage door rumbled open below her.

To be continued…

The Boys Like It!

Trail

Continued from The Boys Plus One

Frankie unbuttoned his jeans-again-and this time let them fall into a pile around his ankles. The cool of the clearing on his bare legs alone would have been enough to excite him but the thought of what was happening-and he couldn’t help but to internally narrate-quickened his breath. Liz paid close attention to the deceptive curve of his bottom pushing against the navy blue briefs peeking out from under his shirttail. He was a slight kid but rounded at the bottom like John had been at his age. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly and her cheeks flushed as she pushed him gently forward. “Let’s get your hands on the wall there….” she said as he bent.

Behind them Bob leaned against a tree after moving to a better position to see both Liz’s face and Frankie’s butt. He made the choice to slouch with his hands in his pockets as if they could somehow obscure the pulsing erection crawling down his leg. Everybody in the clearing was winding themselves into a bit of a sexual tizzy except for Chloe who lay in the brambles with her back to the humans resting; with one eye on a tree that, she was pretty sure, held a squirrel.

Liz was careful to use her hands and make as much contact with Frankie’s bottom as possible. She made a production-almost a massage-of running her hands up his hamstrings and across his briefs to lift and drape his shirttail over his back. Then, like Vanna White framing a letter, she slid her hands across his backside before hooking her fingers in the elastic band of his underwear and drawing them ever so slowly down. She had to reach around the front to pop them over his rock-hard cock. His breath quickened audibly during the full ten-count it took to get them all the way off his cheeks. She slid her hand between his legs and upward feeling, touching, weighing and squeezing. With a pat, she reached for a switch.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Oh yes” he hissed arching his back immodestly.

She flicked him across both cheeks with a snap of her wrist. “Ahhh”, he moaned as a thin pink stripe appeared almost instantly. She recognized the moan as being less about pain than about having an unreachable itch finally scratched. She scratched that itch again, then again in quick succession careful to not hit too hard. This wasn’t that kind of switching and as far as she could tell, Frankie wasn’t that sort of bottom. He broke silence around the twelfth cut and mewed through gritted teeth until she broke the end off of the branch. She paused to choose another, copping a quick glance at Bob. He was shifting nervously from one foot to the other and Liz couldn’t quickly surmise whose place he would like to take: Frank’s or hers’. She’d figure that out in a moment.

With another switch chosen and in her left hand she ran her right across the ridges on his bum. They were pink and tight but nothing showing purple. He flinched at her touch and pushed backward like a cat wanting scratched.

“Oh, you like this little respite, do you? This little rub…”

“Yes”, he said breathlessly. “Very much.” She dropped the switch and slid her left hand across his hip and around to his front where his rod continued to stand strong, hard and firm as a flag pole. He jumped when she touched it.

“You are so bad….” She whispered into his ear.

“The worst…” he whispered back.

“Here”, she placed her cock-hand on his chest never moving the right from his bottom, “Stand up.”

He did and she cupped his soft cheeks. “Hold your shirt up so I can spank you…”

“Yes…”

He did as he was told and she began slapping his bare bottom. She alternated soft then hard, right cheek then left, high then low-catching some thigh. “Don’t tense”, she hissed as she smacked on, cupping his rump’s warm softness.  She moved her hand down his chest and brushed, then gripped, his cock firmly bringing forth another low moan. She stroked slowly trying to catch the rhythm of her spanks-which really wasn’t easy and she never quite got it right-but it was good enough for Frank. He pushed backward slightly then began to rock as if to welcome her open palm more quickly while at the same time lengthening her strokes up front.

His right hand moved from his shirt to cover hers on his dick and directed more crispness into her technique. She heard a soft growl start deeply in his chest which quickly morphed into a whimper as he whacked harder, yanking her arm like a pump handle. His butt began to tense until she felt she was spanking a football. She stopped slapping and rubbed his firm cheeks trying to insert a finger into what had become a tight, impenetrable seam. “Do it Frankie”, she seethed. “Go for it!”

Suddenly with a bark, a growl and a thrust up onto his tiptoes she heard him spatter all over the leaves in front of him and on the ground. “ohjesusohjesusohjesus”, he gasped.

“There, there…” she cooed, slowly and tightly finishing him off and wringing him out. He released his hand from his shrinking but still pulsing cock and she did the same. Frankie sagged familiarly into her and she put her arm around his shoulders while his breathing came back. “I’d say that worked for you…” she said.

“I would say so.”

“Good. Alright then”, Liz said with a little pat on his butt. “Get those pants back up.” She turned away and pulled a bandana out of her back pocket to wipe her hand. She thought she had some sanitary wipes back in the car. Frank was flushed and moving as if underwater but he looked contented enough with a sheepish little smile as he fastened his belt. Liz stretched pointedly to pick a larger switch off of the pile-it was the best of the lot and would pack enough of a sting that she didn’t want to use it on Frank. She whipped the air once and pointed it at Bob. “Your turn big boy.”

“What? Me….No….” He actually threw up his hands and waved the thought away.

“No?” she asked.

“I don’t do that….I mean-I give. He takes.”

“You’re a top, is what you mean.”

“What’s that?”

“Tops give. Bottoms take.”

“That’s right then. Yes. I’m a top.”

“Hmmm…Is that right Frank? Is Bob a top?”

“He is around me, for sure…I’ve never…done anything to him.”

“Never?”

Frank shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well”, said Liz, stroking her chin. “That doesn’t seem fair does it?”

“Not to me”, said Frank a little too brightly.

“Well, Jeez…”Bob sputtered.

Liz fixed him with an eye. “I think you should get over here and bend over for me, boy. You might think you’re a top, but I’m the real deal. You should get a taste of the real thing when you can.” She rose into the role and affected the no-nonsense school teacher pose tapping the switch into the palm of her left hand. Then, when Frank continued to hesitate, she said softly “You really don’t want to miss out on this do you?”

“No”, said Frank to his roommate, “You don’t.”

Making his mind up in a rush Bob took two steps toward the wall when Chloe suddenly jumped up from her nap and barked at the hillside from which Liz and she had come.

“Uh oh”, Liz said. “Company.” They could hear female voices over the hill talking; too far away to be understood but coming closer. Bob was frozen in mid-step not knowing whether he was relieved or disappointed. “You know”, Liz looked at him wickedly. “We could just continue…really give them a show when they show up. Like I almost got.”

“Oh, no…that’s OK…” Again there was that nervous hand waving again. He was too big and too good-looking to be tossing his hands around like this. She looked at him closely, flushed and uncertain; ready to try something that he’d never done and, judging by the bulge in his pants, looking forward to it.

“You boys live on campus or off?” They didn’t answer quickly. “You’re students right?”

“Off campus”, Frank told her. “Just uptown.” He gave her the address.

“That’s near the falafel place isn’t it?”

“Middle of the block and across the street.”

She crowded Bob, assessing his size and searching his eyes for any kind of STOP signal. The vein in his neck pulsed quickly and his breath was coming in swallow swallows. She handed him the switch. “Take this home with you. I’m going to drop off Chloe there and be over. You be ready.”

“OK”, he said softly.

Her hand snapped like a cobra and grabbed his earlobe giving it a tug. “What?”

“Oww,” he grimaced surprised. “Yes Mam.”

“Good.” She smiled releasing him and turning quickly. “I’ll see you boys soon. Come on Chloe. Heel Pup.”

The puppy loped over and fell into line behind her as they headed down the trail.

To be continued….

The Boys Plus One

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Continued from The Boys and Angie’s Workout….

The trail along this, the Western side of the hill, is a series of switchbacks cutting back and forth-a twisting serpent crawling toward the sunlight leaking over the trees at the summit. This morning, the man hadn’t summited. He had taken what he called his “vertical constitutional” and turned back about two thirds to the top. He didn’t have time to go all the way up today, nor the energy.

About halfway down he noticed the two kids heading up. Relative term; to him kids could be anyone under 30 but he judged these, from two switches away, to be a boy and a girl. Two more turns and he was able to correct himself “Hello boys”, he greeted as he stepped aside and uphill on the slender trail so they could pass.

“Morning”, said the slighter of the two who was in the lead. “Hey”, nodded the second, the taller and burlier. They were head down-seemingly determined to reach the top-and not interested in talking. “It’s all yours up there boys”, he called over his shoulder. There’s nobody up there but squirrels..”

“What did he mean by that?” Frank whispered back to Bob.

“Relax. Just a duffer talking. Just saying there is nobody up there.”

Relax…sure, thought Frank. Easy for him to say. He sipped nervously at the water bottle he carried but he wasn’t really thirsty-or rather it wasn’t the climb that was drying his mouth. It was what was going to happen at the top of the hill that had the butterflies rising in his chest.

The boys had spent as much time trying to make their spanking game appear-or feel, if only to themselves-spontaneous. Unplanned for sure. Something that happened organically. Just horseplay talking a turn. There were a couple more forced wrestling matches that ended the same way the first one had-with Frank on the bottom getting his ass slapped. Then they moved into card games, which Frank always managed to lose. The penalty-the lost bet-always played out in some variation of the same theme: smacks on the butt, swats with a wooden spoon with Frank leaning against the wall in the kitchen or a yardstick that stung like hell through nylon sweat pants as Frank lay over the back of the couch.

Then, just last week, he came back to the apartment to find Bob leafing through “Appalachian Folklore” book he had used for the paper. “So”, Bob asked, “What do you think about that witch’s caning?”

The fact is Frank had not been able to get the idea of the witch’s caning out of his mind since he had read it. He studiously avoided including anything of it in the paper he had turned in-and got a B on-but the idea of a caning in the raw openness of a clearing in the woods excited him. Of course all he had to do was mention it to Bob once and the plans were made.

As promised, at the top of the hill was a ruined stone wall-a remnant of a garden wall from a hundred years before. Whatever else was here had been retaken by the thick woods around them.

Frankie’s fingers shook slightly as he cut what he thought were acceptable switches. Bob was on the other side of the clearing cutting others-they would choose the best ones. Even though they had reasonably decided that thorned branches might be appropriate for a witch’s bare bottom they might be a little much for his-these were going to hurt. At least sting…He was counting on Bob not to hurt him. Well, at least too much.

They met at the wall. “Are you ready to do this?”

In answer Frankie turned his back to face the low rock wall. He took a few steps closer to it so he could bend right over-hands on its’ top. Bob, the thickening in his crotch expanding into a full shaft erection moving down his leg (How quickly that happened!) stepped to his left and measured his swing.  Frank, about to free his own stiffening hard-on to the morning air took a deep breath to settle his fluttering heart while he unfastened his belt and unsnapped his jeans. He was standing thusly, unzipped and ready to lower, when in a rush of crackling leaves and snapping twigs, a large dog burst through the brambles to their right.

It was an Irish Setter-a big puppy actually-loping and jumping around the clearing happily ignoring them sniffing and pawing at everything striking his fancy. The boys were frozen in place watching him as a tall blonde woman in followed the dog out of the brambles. “Dammit, Chloe”, she said with a laugh, “Would you slow down a little bit…” She froze when she saw the boys not three paces away. “Oh-good morning,” she said. “Sorry about Chloe-I thought we were alone up here.”

Frank froze. If he removed his hands from his pants, the belt would pull them straight to the ground leaving him standing there in his underwear. If he zipped up and snapped himself closed…the implications would be obvious. Bob, for his part, let his arm fall to his side and opened his hand so the switch could fall unobtrusively, he thought, to the ground. “No…” he stammered moving away. “No problem…Chloe, you say? Nice puppy.” The dog, no longer on-site, was happily bounding through the brush on the other side of the clearing.

Two long strides put Liz in the middle of the tableau. She registered the smaller guy, back turned, pants coming up or going down. Whether he had moved off or not, she saw where the other guy had been standing when she got there. And there was a pile of sticks and switches on the ground which she regarded carefully, stroking her chin theatrically. She felt as if she had walked onto the stage in the middle of a play she had written.

“He must have been very bad”, she said looking up from the ground breaking the nervous silence.

Frank shifted nervously and opted to button his jeans so he wouldn’t have to hold them. Bob who was looking hopefully away for the distraction of the puppy half turned back to face the woman. Neither boy seemed to remember how to talk. “Well?” Liz asked. “Very bad?”

Frank had zipped his jeans and was now turned looking at her. She was taller than he was-about as tall as Bob-wearing snug jeans, hiking boots, fancy $120 wicking shirt turned up and buttoned at the forearms topped by a nylon ballcap out of which her blonde ponytail hung in the back. He recovered his voice first.

“Somewhat bad”, he almost whispered.

“Somewhat? A switching is pretty severe for ‘somewhat bad’, don’t you think?” There was a hint of a smile on her lips and Frankie saw a glint in her eyes that he recognized as a reflection of his own feelings. “Not my rules”, he said.

“So”, she addressed Bob. “This is your doing…”

“Not entirely”, he said fumbling-as if he really owed anyone an explanation.

“Have you ever used a switch before? Either of you?”

“No”, Bob answered.

“I can tell by the pile of twigs you’ve put together here.” She bent to pick through them and Frank could positively not stop himself from stealing a look at her bottom. Seemingly obliviously, she shifted her backside slightly toward him while picking a few good switches from the pile.

“These ones are fine”, she said testing them through the air once after the other. “Some are passable. You there, big guy, what’s your name?”

“Bob”, he said. “Bob Wil…..” and bit his tongue before giving his last name.

“That’s OK”, she said. “I don’t need your last name or your social security number…You”, she tapped Frank on the bottom with the switch she was holding. “Who are you?”

“Frank. Frankie.”

“Hmmm…OK. Here’s what I’m thinking. You guys-you in particular” pointing the branch at Bob “don’t know much about the how’s of switching, right?”

“Never done it”, said Bob.

“Exactly”, she said.  “I have. And I’m good at it…So what I’m thinking is that I should take over here. I’ll take the switches to Frankie here-as a kind of tutorial. You can see how it’s done so you’re not fumbling around in the woods with twigs that won’t do the job.”

Chloe bounded back into the clearing and over to Liz, panting, her red coat full of burs that Angie would have to spend the rest of the afternoon brushing out. “Good girl-good Chloe….Go lay down now…take a rest…let us know if anyone’s coming….” As if understanding the command, the dog moved to the edge of the clearing and crashed. “So”, she said turning back to Frankie.

“OK” said Frankie.

“OK then”, Liz said. “Turn around and take down your pants young man.”

His cock stiffened at the words.

To be continued….

Candy’s Betrayal

“I think we have to call a meeting over this”, said Tina.

“Really?” Tommy asked. “You think so?”

They were sitting at the end of the dimly lit bar as the staff worked on prepping the place for the afternoon open. On paper, Tina owned the place as majority shareholder but Tommy was a major partner as was his wife Candy. She had finally bought into The Club a year ago when she was having concerns about Tommy spending so much time there. She knew it was the job and long hours were part of the business but she was concerned about the hours he was putting in with Tina. Those concerns were assuaged after a year of working together but she was still prone to unwarranted fits of pique when she felt his attentions were too focused on Tina or The Club and not enough on her.

Tommy’s job as manager was all encompassing. Everything from counting the till from the night before and readying the deposits to maintaining inventory to hiring, firing and maintaining staff. Tina had years ago set the job descriptions and defined the…unique strictures of the job.

“Look Tommy. Three times in the last two weeks your counts have been off. Deposit slips were wrong and the start-up register was off. The deposit slips, I fixed-no biggie-but Sherri was with me when I discovered the one from the other night. And Denise had the shorted register each time. “

Tommy rubbed his cheek, embarrassed. “I know…I don’t know…You know how I count and recount. My numbers are always what they should be….”

“Usually, yes…but”, she lowered her voice even though there wasn’t anybody near, “What about the wine bottle?”

He pulled uncomfortably at his ear. This wasn’t an interrogation per se, but he definitely wasn’t used to having to answer for his mistakes. He made them, sure but he typically caught and corrected them. Did he drink here during the day and at night? Sure-what was the use of owning a bar if he couldn’t. The staff couldn’t though-at least to any great extent-or they could be the subject of a meeting. Which is why he was discreet. Leaving an empty wine bottle and glass on the bar had been sloppy and frankly, he didn’t even remember doing it. That was last Friday-it had been a bad night.

“Amanda found the bottle and was ditching it when I saw it. She thought she was covering for Denise but they put two and two together and knew it was yours. So there-you have three different girls catching your mistakes-so you know the whole staff knows about it.” Tommy spun on the stool away from her. “What do we do? You’ve put me in a tough position.”

Tommy had never been called to a meeting. As manager, of course, he had called his share of meetings to keep the well-paid staff, some who had worked into partnership arrangements, in line but had never been on the hot seat himself. But he wasn’t exempted from the process.

“Look,” he spun back to face her. “Couldn’t we just work this out between us-up in your office?”

“And how would that look? Four clear offences that the whole staff know about-any one of which would have them bent over the pool table…”

“Not automatically”, he interrupted.

“No, not automatically, but you get the drift. It already looks like preferential treatment. Then for me to deal with you in private-and everyone would end up finding out-and Candy would know that I had you up in the office….That would be a can of worms.”

Yes it would be. Transparency was one of the major guiding principles of The Club. Everybody who came aboard knew the rules, knew what was allowed and not, knew what they could get away with and not and knew the possible penalty.

Tommy sighed, “Let’s call a meeting.”

“You’ll probably have the votes anyway” She patted his hand. “At least I hope so.”

They sat at the big round table at the far end of the bar. Tina, Tommy, Candy and the ten staff on duty today. Apart from Derek, the twenty year old they had brought on board a few months ago, and Tommy, everyone around the table were women. That the staff was 99% female-coupled with her majority ownership-were the reasons typically given that it was Tina who meted out the punishments.

As she explained the case against Tommy-it wasn’t really a trial but sounded like one-he looked around the table trying to judge who would be with him. Amanda mid-20’s cute, long legged, the one who had found the bottle. When he caught her eye she pulled an exaggerated frown, mouthing “I’m sorry….” He shrugged that it was OK, not her fault. She was one of those girls who would never get called to a meeting. She had seen Denise come out on the wrong end of one in her first week on the job and decided she was going to do everything she could to avoid the public paddling. Her guilt would push her vote his way.

The girls here fell into three general categories. First there were those like Amanda or his wife: avoid at all costs. Candy had turned down job offer after job offer here for almost a year, so petrified was she of the possibility. At the other end of the spectrum were the girls like and Deborah-not Debbie-whose mistakes and missteps seemed too numerous to actually be chance. The majority of the staff though, accepted the situation and just did what they did. They blithely assumed they wouldn’t ever do anything to bring on any penalty-or be caught- but if it happened, it happened. Tommy never thought about it. Never thought he would be in a position where he would have to think about it.

Candy wasn’t working today but he had called and asked her to come in. She seemed upset that he was being called to a meeting and of course she would come in to provide her support. And her vote. She sat across the table from him next to Tina.

So he counted in his head-he had Candy, Amanda…who knew about Deborah, probably a no. Anyone who liked getting paddled as much as she apparently did surely liked to watch others get it. Derek would vote for him, he was sure. He thought he could count on Denise-but she was the most senior person in the room and kept her own counsel. Tina would only vote in case of a tie.  There wasn’t anyone on the team that he didn’t like and that didn’t like him. He was betting most of the younger girls would follow Candy’s lead. He was thinking 8-3 for him. At worst 7-4. In either case, he was off the hook with an apology and a promise to the team to do better.

He was so caught up in vote counting he didn’t notice that Tina had gone quiet and everyone was looking at him. “Well Tommy, stand up and face the wall please. We have a vote to take.” The voting was anonymous only to the accused. He stood and faced away from the table. “Alright”, Tina said. “We’ve heard all there is to hear-unless someone has anything to add. Nothing? OK. So we vote. All who vote yes, that I paddle Tommy for what we’ve been speaking about raise their hand.” For a moment nobody moved. Nobody in the room had actually ever voted on stripping the pants off of anyone with their spouse in the room which brought an awkward dynamic to the vote. Even Deborah kept her hands flat on the table.

Then, without warning, but with a small wicked smile, Candy’s hand shot up. If questioned about it she would really have no answer about why she was doing what she was doing apart from the aforementioned “job jealousy.” Perhaps, she thought on some level, if he felt less comfortable in his position, less like the big boss and more like an employee, she would get more of him than she did. Maybe that was it. But whatever it was, she was sitting there with her hand up.

Tina leaned away from her eyes wide and mouth open. “You are so bad!” she mouthed silently. The young girls looked at each other grinning and as Tommy foretold threw up their hands in a solid voting block with his wife. Deborah next. Denise, shaking her head with a grin, followed suit. In a moment everyone around the table save Derek had a hand in the air. Finally, he too-withering under twelve sets of eyes-slowly raised his hand.

“Alright”, said Tina, for show “Who votes NO, that Tommy gets off with a warning.” All the hands came down. “Ok then.” Tommy almost turned around then to return to his seat at the table. “Tommy, head on over to the pool table. Denise, get the paddle.”

“Really?” said Tommy not turning around.

“Looks like it.”

His stomach flipped and fell at her words. He never expected this. Sure, anything could happen with a vote-that was why they were to be avoided. Petty jealousies could work themselves out, long forgotten grudges could be brought into play. He had thought of that, but not really. The idea that a group would stand against him and his wife was appalling. And he could never know who-because all votes had to stay secret.

His heart pounded on the short walk to the pool table and his legs actually wobbled. What to do? He could refuse-he was a partner after all and couldn’t be fired-but that would change the dynamic of the place so much….he had to find out from Candy what had happened here. Secret vote be damned-that was his rule for God’s sake!

Behind him chairs scraped as people moved into a better viewing position. She heard Tina say “Thank you”, no doubt taking the paddle from Denise. It was a nasty bit of business, solid oak thick enough to look heavy but lightened by the three holes drilled down the middle. “Get on with it Tommy”, came Tina’s voice. He was glad that his back was to the audience so they couldn’t see his hands shaking as he unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his jeans which fell to the floor. He felt a tiny trickle of sweat form between his shoulder blades.

Oh, Lord, thought Candy keeping her hands under the table so no one could see that they too were shaking. He’s wearing the black briefs that she had bought him. The briefs that cupped his rounded butt so sweetly. With club soccer twice a week and an irregular diet, Tommy was in great shape and his bottom still had a high round look to it. “Ahem”, Tina cleared her throat behind him and someone giggled nervously.

Truth is, Tina would have liked to reach out and pull his underwear down. She would have done it slowly, revealing his firm pale cheeks one inch at a time. She was the only woman in the room besides Candy who knew what a prime ass Tommy had. She knew the firmness of it; knew what it felt like to have a handful of each cheek. It was a bottom that deserved to be unveiled slowly.  As it was though, he put his thumbs in the waist band of his briefs and pushed them down where they joined his pants in the pile on the floor.

This was the time in most punishments where eyes were averted to spare as much embarrassment to the subject as possible. Today though, largely because of her exaggerated, comic pantomime with Tina at the vote, no one was looking away. This had become a fun diversion.

Candy breathed quickly to settle the flapping in her chest. She looked at her husband’s bare butt and was mortified in a way she couldn’t explain. She was joining a room of friends and associates gazing at something that, until this moment had been a secret to her. The tiny strawberry birthmark that looked like Lake Ontario on his right hip, that tiny scar at the top of his left thigh right below his cheek from a childhood fall were out there on display for all to see. Now-Oh God!-as he bent over to put his hands and elbows on the table his cheeks widened a bit revealing even more. And Tina was RIGHT THERE-standing right behind him with the paddle-taking it all in. Obviously Candy hadn’t thought this through well enough.

Tina patted his bottom with the paddle causing him to flinch. Who giggled at that? There was no time to think about it as the cool wood was gone then at the last second he heard a movement that was Tina swinging hard. The first swat landed cleanly and completely on his right cheek with a loud crack and a burn like a hot coal. He gulped and gritted his teeth not quite ready when the second landed in the same spot. Christ, that hurt! He tried to steel himself but again was not quite ready when the next searing smack hit him solidly on the left cheek. He grunted to himself…OW! Shit, shit…that hurt-ouch ouch! He was hoping to stand stoically and silently through this thing but he didn’t know if he could-

He couldn’t. The fifth and sixth swats landed in quick succession on the bottom of his bottom with a force that seemed to want to drive him over the table. He gasped loudly on the seventh and his right knee buckled on the eighth. “Come on Tommy-stay still” came Tina’s voice. He was grateful for the pause that the short scolding afforded. Sweat tickled his scalp. “I’m trying”, he said breathing heavily.

From behind, the fair skin of his bottom had taken on an angry pink hue with dapples of red at the contact points. Candy jumped around the tenth swat when Tommy finally yelped a loud “OUCH!” He began to struggle and move at each successive swat-up onto his toes-slapping the table with his hand-breaking one knee then the next-“OWW!” again.

Denise, sitting beside Candy, patted her on the thigh as if to say, it will be over soon. Be strong. What she didn’t know, what nobody else in the room knew, was that Candy had orchestrated this whole day. It had been Candy who had fiddled with the cash drawers and balances knowing that it would come back on Tommy. She had placed the empty wine bottle-his favorite!-where it would be found. If Tina had ignored all his apparent transgressions Candy would know that her suspicions were sound and there was something between them.

Tommy was up on his hands now-off of his elbows-and thrusting his bottom back toward the audience in a way that would have appeared lewd were he trying to do anything other than simply relieve the burning pain in his seat. What had been pink was now red and what had been red was now purple as he cried out loudly and freely with ever smack.

These things had their own momentum. People started to shift in their seats and look away. The punishment felt over. That was enough.

Tina stepped closer to him and put the paddle on the table. “That’s it Tommy. We’re done.” Candy watched him relax and to her horror watched Tina actually reach out and pat his tortured bum! First the right cheek where the colors were the darkest then the left. But wait-she had done that before-with the girls. A calming almost motherly pat after the punishment. Nothing strange there-it just felt wrong being her husband and all.

“Straighten up and stand here for a while”, Tina told him. “Take a breather”.

This was their version of after-punishment corner time. The punished was to stand there with their bruised bum out of all to see-if they cared to look at it anymore. Most folk just went back to work while the subject was allowed to recover, stop crying, rub their bottom, regain normal breathing….whatever. As long as they did it half-naked.

Candy approached Tommy and stood close to him. “I’m sorry”, she said.

“Wasn’t your fault…”

“You okay?”

“She really beat my ass. I mean really-“

“You want me to rub it?”

“No!”

She looked up at him. His eyes were full but he hadn’t cried. At least not yet-those tears were going to have to go someplace.

“You should rub it then…it will feel better.”

“I’m not giving them the satisfaction.”

She looked around at the empty bar. “Nobody’s looking…” She reached out and touched his bum just as Tina had, amazed at the heat coming off it. She rubbed lightly in a circle, one cheek then the other. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

He sighed softly and closed his eyes. The puddled tears squeezed out then and ran down his cheeks. “Yes, it does. Thanks.”

She stepped against him and looked down at his front as she rubbed. Oh yes, he was feeling better. By the reaction up front he was feeling quite good, hot bottom or not. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to run. Make a bank deposit for Tina on the way home.”

“Sure”, he smirked. “Enjoy your day off.”

“Come home early if you can. I’ll take care of your poor bottom. And the other thing.” As she was walking out the door she heard Denise call to Tommy that Tina said he could get dressed and get back to work.

A few minutes later Tommy took the stairs up to Tina’s office finding her behind the desk working on tax forms. He closed the door behind him.

“Jesus, Tina. You really went to town on me.”

“Yes, that was a good one…” she agreed taking off her glasses.

“Did you have to do it that hard?”

“Had to make it look convincing right? What would it look like to your wife if I was easy on you? You don’t want her to be suspicious do you?”

“Yeah, but…”

She pulled an exaggerated sad-face and came back with a baby voice’ “Awww, did I hurt your bum?”

“Come on Tina, cut it out….” She was up moving from behind the desk.

“Do you want Tina to kiss it and make it all better….?”

Before he could protest too much she pulled him tight to her by his belt and undid the buckle. He could have fought her off had he cared to but was fine with letting her spin him around, yank down his pants  and for the second time this afternoon bend him over. “Nice panties”, she teased as she pulled them down and off. There were places on his bottom that were still numb from the paddling and didn’t feel the soft kisses and tender bites that Tina put on them. “God, I love your ass”, she growled as she spread his cheeks, one hand on each and worked her tongue into the middle. Flat on her desk, he moaned as much because it felt good as to let her know that it felt good. He trust himself backward as he had done earlier.

“Oh no, you don’t…” she said fumbling with her own pants. “This one is mine…”

He heard a rustle behind him as her pants fell to the floor. She reached around him to grab the handle that had presented itself and turned him around. They kissed deeply, intimately and very familiarly as she dragged him to the couch by his cock. She flopped down and whipped off her killer black panties and kicked them across the room laying spread wide and waiting. He positioned himself above her on his knees and an arm before dropping deliberately and sheathing himself wetly to the hilt in one long thrust. She cupped his cheeks in her hands…”I love this ass,” she gasped as he trust again.

In line at the bank Candy still couldn’t stop thinking about her betrayal of Tommy. She had to think of a way to make it up to him….