The Red Ass Society


Piper left the jeep at the end of the road and picked her way along the rocky shoreline between the mirror-flat lake on the left and the sheer cliff on the right. It wasn’t far along before the cliff fell back into more of a hill and she veered onto the cliff trail, they called it, up toward Miriam’s. It was less than a five-minute walk until she emerged from the maple thicket into Miriam Webb’s back yard-or front yard. They were all terribly inconsistent on whether lakeside was back or front.

Whichever yard she was in, there was no sign of her friend though both her cars and Geoff’s truck were there. The dock was deserted and there was no one on the deck. Piper cupped her hands to the glass and peeked in the windows. Nothing. She had walked in on Miriam and Geoff often enough in the throes of some passionate coupling to avoid just slipping in the never-locked door. Stumped, she resorted to the lakeside paging system and turned her head skyward.

“Miriam…” she called sing-songing the name. “Oh Miriam…!”

“Out here,” came the muffled reply. “In the workshop…”

Piper fairly skipped across the yard and the gravel road toward the shop. She was having a good day and the evening promised more of the same. Nothing like new people-not that there was anything wrong with the old, far from it. But new folks always brought an energy to the party.

“Hey! I…” she was stunned silent stepping through the door.

Miriam was a tall woman by any measure, and strongly built; in a country-farm way not so much in a gym-toned way as so many were today. As Piper was as a matter of fact. Her height was not in evidence however, bent in half as she was, backside facing the door.

Piper knew well the symbiology of the romantic heart; its rounded double top blooming lustfully on both sides of the deep cleft being nothing more than the inverted image of a woman’s bottom. She was seldom treated to the image given such perfect life. In the dim light her formidable bottom was not the color of billowing clouds or cotton. That would be a snowman’s bottom. Rather it was rich and golden, the color of a new peach dusted with a very agreeable-and soon to be augmented-pink hue.

Her husband was standing beside her his hand full of, not really a paddle (wink-wink), but a serving tray from the new craft brewery “Happy & Hoppy” that had opened across the lake. It was the right shape and size with six little dimples in the top that the waitresses could slip small taster glasses into.

Miriam had walked off with this one after closing time one night in the tipsy hope that it might earn her a paddling from the night manager-a stocky redhead who she rather fancied. No such luck though. In fact, so many people wandered off with the trays for whatever reason (wink-wink) that nobody said a word; just added twelve bucks to your bill and let you go unmolested on your way. Quite reasonable when you compare with similar pieces on Etsy or the leather workers down lake.

Miriam looked back at her husband. “Geoff, give us a minute, would you?”

He headed for the door raising the paddle on his way. “Play your cards wrong”, he told Piper with a leer, “You could be next.” She instinctively turned her bottom away from him as he passed.

Miriam didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get up nor did she reach for the shorts puddled at her feet. Instead she stretched languorously like a cat in morning sun. Not wanting to speak directly to her bottom (though in truth something along those lines would be directly up Piper’s alley, so to speak) she hopped up onto the workbench beside her friend.

“So, finally got to him, eh?”

“Jesus!” she answered exasperated. “It wasn’t easy.” She looked at the space on the workbench between her hands. “First, I let the milk go bad. Dint faze him. Ate sour milk with his oats. Then I put flower in the sugar bowl so his coffee went all red and clumpy.”

“That’s nasty.”

“Right?” Miriam looked over at her. “Nothin’! He thought he’d confused it himself and tossed it down the sink.”

“You know”, Piper offered, “Most women would be pleased to have such a forgivin’ partner.”

“Bullocks! Then I run us out a’ eggs. Put grasshoppers in the salad…I began to think what’s a girl gotta do to get her arse beat around here?” Not being able to shrug properly bent over as she was, she flopped her hands on the workbench.

“What finally got to him?”



“Worms in the muffin tin.”

“Like fishin’ worms?”

“Zactly. I watched him take the top off the tin, reach in whilst readin’ the paper, felt a worm on top of a biscuit.”

“What kind?”


“Love ‘em!”

“I kept a few aside for you. Unwormed.”

“What then?”

“He stopped, looked in the tin, closed the top and folded his paper. Real dramatic-like. Takes off his readers and clears his throat…”

“I can just hear him…”

“He announces, ’This house has gone a bit slipshod. Methinks we need a trip to the workshop.’”

“YES! I thinks, but don’t say it. And here we are.”

“I’m happy for you love, but you know you needn’t go through all that. When you are in a drought, I’d be happy to…”

“I know, I know. I did think of you…but Geoff is…”

“Deaf as a post.”


“Thicker than Gram’s cream.”


“Awkward in particular social settings.”

“Don’t you mean peculiar social settings?”

They giggled like school girls. Piper hopped off the bench. “I’ll let you have at it girl.” Then, maybe against her better judgement (which she rarely if ever followed) she patted Miriam’s bottom-far out on the cheek-away from the good parts. “Have a good time”, she said.

“I will, thanks.” Then, looking back over her shoulder. “Oh, was there something you wanted?”

“Oh, yes. I’m having two new couples over tonight. They might end up being clients, don’t know. But we’ll be out on the lake and thought we’d stop by the dock-you feel like grilling something? Or we can just sit around and have wine.”

“That will be fine-excellent. Text me the time later. Hopefully I won’t be sittin’ too easily…but…”

“I’ll have cushions.” Piper called on her way out the shop door.

Geoff was waiting patiently, sitting one leg crossed at the knee, bouncing the paddle off the toe of his sneaker.

“All yours”, she said bowing and motioning toward the open door and what waited for him within.

“How’s about we give you a little taste,” Geoff said standing and moving toward her brandishing the wooden board as a sword. “It’ll help me stroke.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Piper, smiling, dropped into a crouch, pushing her backside out and away. For good measure, she stretched her arms out to her sides to keep him from slipping behind, though Geoff wasn’t the slipping kind. “Get away from me you old reprobate. You’ll wear my skinny ass out with that.” (For the record, Piper’s ass was not skinny but, as size goes, was an aisle or two over from Miriam’s.) Never one to pursue, Geoff raised the paddle to his forehead in salute and, with a wink, disappeared through the door into the dimly lit workshop.

Piper cut across the yard then paused before disappearing herself into the copse of trees onto the trail. Cocking her head like a jay on a wire she listened until the crackling report of hard wood on soft skin rang out across the yard. There was a sharp answering yelp that devolved directly into throaty laughter then a light hum. Piper, feeling a little buzzy down under, slipped quietly and smiling down the path.



Handsome James-The Reward


(Continued from Handsome James)

James stepped into the kitchen from the side door just as Ms. Olivia Plumm herself was placing little plastic containers into the refrigerator-each color coded with post-it notes. The kitchen-though neat as always-showed evidence of advanced food preparation. A neat mess, as it were.

Olive Plumm ran a very successful fitness studio in town and was Caitlin’s personal trainer, masseuse, meal planner and savant of all things physical. It was such an involving job that Caitlin was her only private client.

“Sweet Jesus, I’m dead and they’ve sent the most beautiful angel in Heaven to bring me home”, he said.

“If they sent me for you, Punchy, we’re not going up. Best be packing for the hot weather.”

At an even six feet, Olive cut a memorable figure around the lake. Most days-this being one-she went sleeveless to display her well-muscled arms and the tattoos that decorated and swirled around them. Blue eyes, spikey hair that she had been dying blue or silver for years and would continue to do so until she went gray so no one would know. Her gym, “Olive’s Twist” was always packed and busy and the classes she ran personally were wait-listed.

It wasn’t always that way. In the beginning, before she became what was probably the lake country’s first “celebrity lesbian” she was unsure about how she or her training regimen-as unique as she was-would be accepted either by the locals or the summer folk. James was one of Twist’s first members and he made it a point to work out in front of the windows happy to deliver whatever cache a county middleweight champ could provide. It was a kindness Olive didn’t quite understand at the time but never forgot.

“How’s our benefactor this morning?” he asked picking a fresh fig off the counter and earning a pantomimed slap on the wrist.

“Can’t wait to see you, that’s how. You’re her hero today.” She sniffed.

“That bothers you?”

“It’s just that I’m on the short call list for when she finally catches onto you and puts you over her knee. That’s the day I’m waiting for.”

“Keep waiting. Patience teaches us things.” He was helping her load what was left of the produce into the refrigerator.

“Speaking of which, I can’t believe I missed Mrs. Fortescue’s session.

“Yeah, well…you missed something there I’ll tell you.”

“Tell! How was it?”

“You won’t catch me talkin’ out of school”, he said. “I’ll just say….’Magnificent.’” with a wide smile.

“Mmmmm”, she said zipping her carry-on size bag closed. “I have to spend more time over here.”

“That’s what I’ve been sayin’”

“Anyway”, she asked me to send you up when I was leaving. You saved me a trip down to the boat house.”

“That’s a path I wish you knew better…”

She closed the distance between them and poked him in the ribs. “You’re a bad one, James Cooke.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Catlin was in the drawing room right off her bed room. Fresh from the shower, a towel around her neck, she wore a loose fitting but fashionable black sweat suit. The envelope that he had walked out of Finnegan’s Wake with the night before was on a side table along with the note “Found this out and about last night…” Christ! Truth be known he didn’t even remember leaving the note.

“So this was the cause of the ruckus over at Finnegan’s Wake last night.”

“You heard about that did you?”

Caitlin gave him a look that a mother typically gives a 12 year old who things they’re being clever.  “James, please.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I heard he was big and fearsome.”

“Big-yeah. I’ll give him that.” He shrugged. “Fearsome, not so much.”

“Still…” she nodded at the envelope and cash. “Jane found it this morning. She was very excited. Thinks I should take her spanking back. If there was only a way to do that….”

“I would never be in favor of that…” James said.

“You! Nevertheless I’m sure she’ll have a big kiss for you when next you see her. Though you two are probably beyond kisses at this point.”

James looked at Caitlin who cocked her head slightly to one side-a small smile threatening to make an appearance. “You heard about that did you?”

“Didn’t hear about it. Heard it. This is a big house James, but it’s not soundproof.”

He opened his mouth to say something but didn’t. Just closed it again and cut his eyes away.

“Oh, it’s OK, you big baby. Don’t go pouting on me.” She moved closer without actually seeming to take any steps. “I just thought when you moved back it’d be me first into your pants, not Janey.”

She was close enough that he could grab her hand without having to really reach. “That’s the thing about you being first, Cait. No matter how many there are afterwards-you will always be my first.”

“You and the tongue…”

“Besides, if you didn’t want me to find my way into Mrs. Fortescue you shouldn’t have waved her bum at me.”

He could smell her lavender scented hair and the heat rising from her was not all from the shower. “That’s all it takes for you isn’t it James? A little bit of bum.” She took his hand and moved it behind her, placing it flush onto her bottom.

“How’s that feel?” She asked. Then, before he could speak with a sparkle in her eye, “There’s only one answer James…”

Handsome James

The Other Side of the Lake

The other side of the lake…

(Continued from Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(To be continued….)

Naughty James – The Fence Post

Pretty much immediately follows Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it would make you feel better.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you say”, James agreed

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Make do with kisses”, she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue

Continued from Sweet James – The Letter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now Jane, come on…” said Caitlin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, I….”

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

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

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

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

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

“I was going to say aunt!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Ma’am.”

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

“Yes, Ma’am.”

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

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Very good then. Step around.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Ma’am”, came the muffled reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you”, said Jane softly.

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

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

To be continued…….

Sweet James – The Letter

Our story started here

“Dear James”, it began…”I trust you remember our previous dealings, if not fondly, at least warmly enough to continue reading. I’ve heard (yes, one can never travel far enough to out-distance tales of home!) that you are currently without engagement. If that is true (and if it’s not I’ll have to give my sources a good talking to!) I have need of a man with your considerable talents and temperament. The man that I entrusted with the responsibility of the grounds at Goosington…”

James snorted and almost lost a mouthful of Scotch. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t changed the name of that pile of bricks. Around town they simply called it ‘The Manor’, ‘The Manse’ or the less charitable ‘Duck Town’…’The Asylum’…the names went on.

He went back to the letter. “…the responsibility of the grounds at Goosington has fled. As far as I can tell from here he’s completely run off-absconded with the money left him for the rebuilding of the docks and gone. As to the money, I say ‘Pish!’ but my concern is for the grounds. I trust you remember the gardens and lawns that are so dear to me. I don’t know what state of disrepair the place has been left in or what he has been doing in the six months that I’ve been gone. Indeed, two of the house staff are gone as well and I have to assume that they were in some sort of cahoots! But no matter now. Mrs. Fortescue-who I’m sure you’ll remember-is still there (though I might have a little chat with her upon my return.)”

He leaned back and drained the glass. Mrs. Fortescue. Of course he remembered her. Handsome woman-not young but not old either. She had seemed frozen forever near the top of her forties but in truth could be 10 years younger or older.  He remembered her dancing green eyes and glistening dark hair with only streaked with gray falling in waves to her shoulders. The idea of Caitlin Milan “having a little chat with her” truly gave him pause.

“There is no phone at the villa where I’m currently ensconced”, the letter continued. “Telegraph is down in the town (where I never go) and the post takes forever. Thus we have no time for back and forth correspondence. I will assume that you have accepted my proposal and as soon as you finish your coffee (see, I remember you can’t abide tea!) you will go straightaway to Goosington…”

He chuckled sotto voce like a boy in back of class, “Goosington….”

“…and begin to set the place to right.”

His eyes scanned to the bottom of the page where he found what he was looking for. He glanced at the sum and thought it appropriate-generous even-for the work he imagined having to do. But then he read the line more carefully and realized she had quoted a weekly rate. He would earn this sum times three or four if she took a month coming home?! “Sweet sweat!” he proclaimed.

“You okay over there, James?” Mrs. Sully asked.

“Oh, yes. Very much okay.” He said drilling through the last paragraph.

“Mrs. Fortescue will have an envelope for you with working capital. You will stay in the boat house-the small one, below the main house. It’s compact but has the advantage of being closed to the weather. More a house than boat house. I’ve enclosed a task list that I’d like you to review. Get back to me on the status of these projects by week’s end. Needn’t wait for me. Not for approval. Just get on with it and keep me informed…”

He was so engrossed in the letter and the list that he didn’t notice Mrs. Sully until she was at his elbow. Before he could look up the bottle floated into his vision and settled above his empty glass.

“Just half, Mrs. Sully…”

The woman made a big show of a gasp. “Are ye dying, Sweet James?”

“It seems I have an engagement at Goosington.”

“Ye mean Honkington?” she mocked.

“And it looks as if I might be leaving you.”

“Welp”, she shrugged. “Nothing for me now but to sell the place.”

“You’ll miss me”, he teased lifting his glass.

“More the pitty-pat of little tart feet”, she said sliding back to her perch.

(To be continued)

Pretty James- The Engagement

It would turn out to be an odd engagement that, unsurprisingly, began with an odd interview. The first entreaty came from Caitlin Milan herself in a letter delivered in person by knobby-kneed Mr. Caine the postmaster, directly to Mrs. Sully’s boarding house.

“Good Morning Mrs. Sully”, he sing-songed from behind a walrus mustache sparse enough to resemble nothing so much as a waterfall in drought. “I’ve a missive for James. From Tuscany!” he held up the letter as if just now finding it in his hand. “In Italy.”

Virginia Scully’s glowering squint penetrated the suspended webbing of cigar smoke that encircled her head in the dead air. “I know where’s Tuscany”, she said. “You mook”, she thought. “Leave it here-I’ll put it in his box”. To close the transaction she picked the smoldering cigar from the tea saucer and inhaled deeply.

“Uh…” Mr. Caine dawdled. “I’m sure it’s an important notice. Do you know when he’ll be….”

She looked back at him, shocked he was still in the room. As she opened her mouth to speak, smoke seemed to billow from every open orifice. “There’s twelve boxes here Mr. Caine-twelve boarders who gets their mail through me. All manner of letters, missives and messages. Father’s dying. Mother’s dying. Babies born. Babies dying. Weddings. Divorces. Fortunes made, fortunes lost. All important-all getting to who gots to get them. You can leave it Mr. Caine. It will be attended to.” She popped the cigar back into her mouth.

The little man had begun skittering back toward the door. “Of course, Mrs. Sully. Not for me to tell you how to do your work. I’ll leave it with you…” And he was out the door. She had no sooner settled in for another prodigious huff on her cigar when she was distracted by the clattering of heavy, if tiny, feet on the stairs behind her. Knowing who it was, she continued her smoke without looking back.

“Ewww-I can smell that all the way up in the room” said the florid little brunette. The girl, in her early twenties, was slightly plump and had grown at least a half size beyond the red dress she was trying get one more season out of.

“Since I own the place”, said Virginia Sully puffing like a locomotive, “and you’re only here by the hour, I’m comfortable saying I do as I please.”

“You should have more respect”, the young girl scolded her, “For respectable guests.”

“Find me one under this roof and I’ll lay on the respect like marmalade and honey.”

“Now you’re just being rude. I’ve a mind…”

Virginia Sully pointed the wet cigar butt at the girl. “I’m sure I’ve a large enough wooden spoon back in the kitchen to do the trick if you want to continue telling me what you’ve a mind to.”

“Good bye Mrs. Sully. Until next time.”

“I’ll try to hold my water.”

The young woman was no more out the door than the light dancing tread of James Cooke pattered down the stairs.

“Mrs. Sully-Did you frighten Millicent?”

“Is that her name now? I thought she was born Aileen.”

“That wouldn’t exactly fit her now, do you think?”

She pushed the envelope across the counter. “Letter for you. The pinhead brought it special.”

James looked at it. “Caitlin? From Tuscany?”

“In Italy, don’t you know? Pinhead thought you should know.”

He took a step toward the small round table at the window and stopped. “You wouldn’t have any coffee back there would you?” With elbow on the counter he assumed the pose that brought girls like Aileen Fennick home with him. Not a pose that Virginia Sully had any interest in.

“Don’t you even think of leaning in and giving me that smile, or that twinkle that all the gals fall for. And never while I have a weapon within reach-which I do-throw your hair back like one of those women in the shampoo commercials on the TV. Your dimples are lost on me, Pretty James.”

He smiled slyly. “You know I can’t abide tea.”

“Your failings and perversions are no concern of mine.” She paused long enough for James to begin turning toward the window table. “But I do have something here that you might abide.”

She pulled a bottle of Macallan from under the counter with a small glass that glinted in the sunshine.

“Ahhhh…” sighed James admiringly.

“I’ll pour”, she said filling the glass. “Make it last. The Mister left me some when he went on and I am on ration…” She winked and placed it back behind the counter.

He took the whiskey and the letter to the table by the window where sunlight flowed like maple syrup. He tore it open and began to read.

To be continued…