The Red Ass Society

101

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.”

“Worms?”

“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?”

“Cheese.”

“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.”

“True.”

“Thicker than Gram’s cream.”

“Yes.”

“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.

 

 

Advertisements

Apartment 604

httpperchenonso.tumblr.com

perchenonso.tumblr.com

Sharon froze after raising her hand to rap on the door to 604. She stood, as if waving to a passing train, then closed her fist bringing her knuckles to bear. Holding her breath, she pulled back, ready to knock, about to knock, then dropped her hand. For the third time. Jesus, she thought sighing, I’m pitiful.

Leave it. She should just leave it, she knew that. It wasn’t worth that much; cost her a few bucks and she could get another easily at any hobby store. It was just a kitschy piece of home décor to be painted. They had dozens in different sizes. She should just leave it. Not like she needed it. Well actually she did, it seemed. That was the problem. But it wasn’t like she…

Her self-flagellating reverie was interrupted by the door opening suddenly. Sharon jumped and squealed-pulling an answering gasp out of Tina who covered her mouth with the hand not on her doorknob.

“Jesus girl!”, she said when she composed herself.

“I know, I know…I’m sorry”, Sharon composed herself. “I was just gonna knock.”

Tina’s hand moved from her mouth to her chest as her breathing settled. “Ok…I’ll live…whew.”

“Yeah…”

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

“Right…” Sharon said not wanting to make eye contact. “I’ve been keeping a low profile.”

“Hitting the books?”

“Trying.”

“Ah. Well, I was just running down to the shop for a coffee. Join me?”

Sharon grinned and shrugged. “That’s where this all started, right?”

It was less than a month ago that Tina had introduced herself down at the coffee shop. Sharon had noticed the older woman in the building and, new in town, was happy to sit and have a coffee with her. Truth was, Sharon had seriously underestimated the value of her circle of friends and family back home and, never having lived alone, the strange city had left her more than a bit unsettled. Likewise, she had overestimated her ability to make new friends. It was not something she’d had to do a lot of, coming from a small town where everyone knew one another.

Tina wasn’t quite old enough to be her mother, but certainly at least ten years, if not fifteen, her senior. Of course she would join her. She was anxious to spend time with any smiling face that wasn’t a waitress or barista or someone that was paid to be nice to her.

Over that month, that first coffee had turned into another, then another. Then a lunch, then a visit to a museum to see the Monet that was touring the country. Then a dinner. Tina, a too-young widow, was unhappily used to living alone but had a large circle of friends some left from her marriage, some from work, so she was easily able to absorb the girl into her retinue.

“Yes, I guess it did. You were coming by to…”

“Oh, yes. I left my…” her voice trailed as if she was out of air.

“You bolted in a bit of a huff. Let me a half glass of wine to drink.”

“I’m sorry about that…”

“No, I’m sorry. About how I reacted.”

“It’s OK”, said Sharon, her eyes still scanning the floor.

“When you said you wanted me to…”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not really”, Tina said apologizing with different words.

“You laughed at me.”

Tina said nothing, hearing the hurt still in the younger girl’s voice. She regretted laughing of course. Was sorry as soon as she did it. She didn’t find the request funny exactly. She was startled and laughed to cover her surprise, not realizing how unintendingly harsh it seemed until later. She had been contemplating plans to make it up to her somehow.

“I was going to return it”, Tina said retreating into the apartment. “Come in, come in…” Sharon closed the door softly behind her. She came fluttering out of the living room holding the paddle by the flat end instead of the handle, meaning to hand it off. “I just couldn’t see how I’d look walking down the hall to your apartment carrying a paddle. Would seem obvious, don’t you think?”

Sharon took the board and shrugged. “It’s not really a paddle until it is, you know? It’s just a decoration. Like any piece of wood hanging on a wall.”

“You think I could have passed it off as a cutting board? I don’t think so. I might have been unfamiliar with the idea of…giving a paddling, but I do know what they are.”

“Yes, sure.  Anyway, I’m sorry to have put you in that position. I don’t know anyone-my Mom’s not here, my sisters, my roommate who used to help keep me in line….” Her voice was rising and seemed on the verge of cracking.

“Quit apologizing. It was not your fault. Here,” she guided her to the end of the couch with a soft touch on her arm. “Sit. Just sit.” She took her own seat at the other end, an expanse of gray cambric between them. Sharon’s eyes stayed downcast toward and beyond the paddle which lay across her bare thighs. When she looked up, Tina could see that her eyes were full and could imagine them itching. Then the girl blinked and a single tear, released, rolled down her cheek.

“I’m…I’m just at the end of my rope”, she said wiping at it and pushing her hands through her mousy blond hair. She took a couple of deep breaths.

“Thing about the internet, you can research anything”, said Tina. “I certainly know a lot more about, what-corporal punishment? paddlings, spankings, than I knew when you brought it up.” Sharon was average height, and lanky. When Tina first saw her in the shop she was put in mind of a young colt, trying to settle into it’s body. From across the shop she had looked confident that day, bending to inspect the sweets in the case caring nothing about anyone who might be ogling her backside that was cupped by the short shorts that she always seemed to wear, even now.

It wasn’t until later, after Tina had asked her to her table, that she noticed the fine cracks in her cocksure façade. Up close, Sharon was younger than she appeared and more delicate than she had put on. That perceived vulnerability was what attracted Tina to her, but in a different way than Sharon might have thought.

“Look, I’m not going to apologize any more, but if you ask me again, I’ll be better. I’m more relaxed about it.” More, yes, but not completely. Truth was, saying it made her nervous somehow-or maybe excited. But there was something tickling the pit of her stomach.

Sharon’s dewy eyes focused. “Really? You’ll do it?”

“Yes”, Tina said definitively as if trying to convince herself. “If that’s what you want.”

Sharon, becoming more animated, stood. “Yes. Yes I do.” She looked around as if planning the next move but already knew what it was. “I’ll kneel on the couch here”, Sharon said, “and lean over the back.” She handed the paddle over, handle first. “Let me get my shorts off.”

Tina’s heart skipped at that. She wasn’t a gym person and except for movies and obviously her spanking research on-line recently, she hadn’t seen another woman’s bare anything since university. Seeing Sharon so eagerly unsnapping her shorts unnerved her and she rose quickly to get behind her. Better just to see her bottom, she thought in some strange logic.

“And you can decide which side is best for you…” Sharon said eagerly, choreographing her scene.

“Well, I’m right handed so…” Tina said holding the paddle in that hand and patting her other palm. The feel of the wood stung her hand. This could hurt!

“OK then, you’ll be on that side…” The girl unsnapped her shorts and carelessly rolled them down wrapping her panties together in the same bundle. She bent to step out of them, first one leg, then the other. And as suddenly as that, there was a half-naked woman in Tina’s apartment. She watched her kneel on the couch and bend slightly forward, arching her back. She crossed her arms and lay her head on them.

Like the rest of her, Sharon’s bottom was thin and angular but the cheeks were well rounded and firm as she presented herself. The room was suddenly small and warm. Tina, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, reached out tentatively and lay a hand on the girl’s hip. The velvety smooth skin was cool to the touch. She pressed slightly and Sharon, reacting, repositioned her backside slightly. The girl kept her legs chastely together revealing nothing but Tina couldn’t help gazing at the confluence of lines and curves, knowing what was concealed there.

“How many smacks?” Tina asked.

“Fifteen, I think”, Sharon said lifting her head and looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll count them off.”

Tina had thought five or six. “You ready?”

“I better be, huh?”

The paddle seemed oversized as Tina pulled back but, keeping her eye on the target, she swung firmly and connected soundly across both cheeks with a loud “CRACK!” Sharon gasped and choked “One!” At the second, she straightened slightly so that her bottom seemed to retreat from the paddle. “Two!”. Tina swung while the girl was upright connecting hard with the soft, slack flesh. “OW!”, cried Sharon. “Three!”

Sharon was breathless from the pain. Any thought she had of stoically taking her punishment was shattered. She tried to remember the last time her roommate had spanked her-it was with a paint stick as she bent over the desk in their apartment. It stung for sure but nothing like…”OWW! FOUR!”…and she wasn’t giving her a break-no pauses, not…”OW! FIVE!”. Sharon suffered through the middle swats waving at each blow, sticking her bottom back then straightening, as if driven by each swat. Sometimes Tina allowed her to reposition sometimes not. Should she ask her to stop? How could she do that after…”OWW! TEN!”

Sharon shifted onto her left knee and turned slightly as if trying to shield her bottom from the next blow. Tina paused and leaned forward with her free hand, again touching her hip-the opposite one this time. She patted her back into position. “Come on”, she said. “Only five more…” The girls bottom was mottled with a heavy blush on both cheeks and heat radiated as from a brazier. There was a red line traveling bottom to top along her crease. “This has to hurt”, she said soothingly.

“Oh, it does…It does…”

“Good then. Hopefully this will be what it takes to get you to crack the books and pay better attention to your studies”, she said affecting a stern voice with a slight smile that the girl couldn’t see.

Sharon righted herself and pushed her butt backward. “I need this”, she said snuffling slightly.

“I know you do…”

The next five swats were only light in the context of the previous ten-not to strictly punish, but to drive the point home. They smacked loudly; Sharon jumping and counting each. At “FIFTEEN!!” she crumpled to the side and sat on her hip, taking her bottom out of range.

“Jesus!” she sighed rubbing what she could reach. Her face was wet and she wasn’t shy about what she was showing as she sat there. It took Tina a moment before she allowed herself to see what the girl was presenting below her flat belly.

She placed the paddle on the side table and sat beside Sharon on the couch. “Here”, she said taking her shoulder. It didn’t take much pulling or coaxing before her young friend was stretched across her knees. She snapped a few tissues out of a box on the table and handed them up to her.

“Go ahead”, she said. “Cry. I know you’re not done.”

“But…”

Tina cupped her bottom and pantomimed a spank that just touched Sharon’s behind. The girl jumped as if shocked.

“You want more?” Tina asked.

“No…I…”

Tina spanked her again, this time harder. The thick softness of the girl’s bottom was pleasing. She was ready to spank again but noticed the Sharon’s shoulders silently quivering. In a moment she was sobbing.

“There, there”, said Tina softly patting her hot bottom.

“Next time, if there is a next time, I can spank you this way if you’d like.”

“The paddle wouldn’t work like this.”

“I’ll buy a proper hairbrush. Or I can use my hand. Would you like that?”

“Yes”, she said softly. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

“Shhh… Cry now.”

Tina kept her hand on Sharon’s bottom. It wasn’t a lewd gesture as far as she was concerned. Not very different from rubbing a friend’s back to comfort them. Well, maybe a little different. She rubbed and patted and ran her thumb along the ridge of her divide as the girl’s sobs waned and she lay still, sniffling, her bottom soft, relaxed and pink. Very pink.

Chelsea – 8

(Continued from Beth)

They had a clear view of what was happening from a copse of locusts and maples on a rise above the house. He gripped the rifle firmly at his waist and slid a shell into the chamber.

“Hundred fifty”, he said guessing the yardage.

“One seventy-five or eighty”, Chelsea answered; not second guessing him exactly. Just saying what she saw. After scanning the field, she looked at the gun, then at him. Then back to the gun.

“How good are you?” she asked.

“I can hit him.” He winced, hearing another swat strike Beth.

“Can you disarm him? Without killing him?”

He knew the rifle could make the shot.

“What’s the load?” she asked.

“180. Loaded them myself.”

“What the fuck are you people talking about?” Gennie asked in a stage whisper from behind them. She wasn’t sure which pissed her off more; not understanding their language, being told to “shush” or being completely ignored.

“Can you make the shot?” she asked again as calmly as if she had asked him for another cup of coffee.  But this time, when she asked, her hands closed on the rifle next to his. For the second time his eyes searched hers, looking for something she wasn’t about to give up. But what he did see was enough for him to release his hold on the gun. She took it and smoothly wrapped the sling around her arm for stability and leaned against a tree. She was erect, her lines firm and unmoving.

“Careful-the trigger’s light.”

He watched her inhale and let it out. The paddle struck Beth again, with a brutal force.

“Don’t let him hit her again,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

She gave no indication of hearing him. Again, a breath. Then one more. She seemed to grow with the final deep inhalation then settle, as everything around her went silent. She heard her heartbeat, low and slow and felt him beside her seeing what she was seeing. She fluidly slipped her finger from the outside of the guard and watched through the scope until he raised the paddle to deliver another swat. She feathered the trigger.

Nothing changes reality faster or more finally than a gunshot. Below, Beth Barton’s reality was strong hands holding her over the table and the ground below swimming in a hazy veil of tears. She accepted the punishing torture of her captor stoically tasting the blood where she bit her lip to avoid crying out. Her torturer’s reality was the paddle and using it to get what he wanted. “TELL ME! TELL ME!” he cried becoming more and more desperate and swinging harder and faster. The party goers, trussed up on the ground helplessly looked away from Beth’s purple bottom; some fearing they’d be next, others embarrassed to look.

This shooter feels the shot more than hears it. For her, the “CRACK!” of the rifle pulls the momentary blanket of silence over the scene. But, only momentary, before mayhem, and all its attendant noise erupts.   The rifle’s sharp report is joined with the yells from the patio as the paddle, shattered at its handle flies in pieces into the air. From the red mist she sees through the scope, Chelsea is pretty sure she’s taken a finger or two. Him jumping around screaming, grabbing his hand is proof.

Then the metallic “PLINK” as the bullet, barely deterred, finds its way into the gas tank of one of the motorcycles parked a little too close to the fire. The shiny splashes of gasoline showed clearly in his binoculars-suspended prettily- just before “WHUMP!” the bike exploded in a fireball and a breathless “JESUS FUCK!” from Gennie behind.

Gennie’s voice pulled him out of the scene through his binoculars and back to their little stand of trees. He knew Chelsea was watching the same tableau through the scope that he was seeing. What he hadn’t noticed was that she had calmly chambered another round and was choosing a target. It wasn’t hard to find one, the party guests, trussed up on the ground were easy to keep track of. Beth, released, had slipped down below the table she had been held over.

He lay his hand coolly on her forearm. At his touch, without looking, she pulled her finger from the trigger just as the hillside opposite them burst to life as six ATV’s with headlights and spotlights glaring came roaring down toward the patio and, from the right, line of SUV’s came down the driveway. One of those still standing below jumped on his motorcycle and kicked it to life. Wasn’t sure where he was going, but was going.

“Stop him”, was all he said. Chelsea’s tracked for a moment as the bike gained speed, then squeezed. Her shot was true, blowing the rear tire and laying them both-bike and rider-down, in a spinning skid back toward the barn.

He put his hand back on her arm and leaned close. “So, you are absolutely sure I can’t fuck you right?” his dick said through his mouth. She didn’t pull her eye from the scope, but he could see her smile.

(Continuing…)

Beth

httpdarlingfuckinggood.tumblr

darlingfuckinggood.tumblr

(Continued from Chelsea – 7)

Beth Barton mingled with her guests constantly glancing toward the driveway hoping to see Duke or any of the others that she knew were coming on their way. But they weren’t. Nothing. There had been two more motorcycles slide in separately since Duke had left and now there were four strangers huddled beside the fire at the edge of the group. Why was nobody else coming?

She phoned Buzzy but it went straight to voicemail which further unnerved her. He should be there or on the way. She glided toward the fire and nonchalantly texted her husband that something was definitely up with these guys and he should hurry home. She decided quickly to hit 911 and was focused so didn’t notice that one of the strangers was at her shoulder until be snatched the phone from her hand.

“9-1”, he said reading the screen. “Ninety-one? That’s not much of a number is it?” With a smirk he tossed it into the fire.

“Who are you?”, she asked angrily.

“Doesn’t matter”, he said taking her by the arm and leading her toward the rest of the group. He hadn’t drawn his weapon, but it was obvious in his belt. She assumed a .45; Duke had a couple so she was familiar. The others had drawn their pistols and were in the process of zip-tying her guest’s hands and feet. One, Tom McGowan, spoke up but really didn’t get a word out before the butt of a pistol knocked a tooth onto the patio.

“HEY!” she yelled. “There’s no reason for that…! OWWW!” she cried as he tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her close.

“I’m the one who gets to say what we do. Reason or no”, he spoke quietly and evenly. “Get it? This isn’t your party anymore, it’s mine. Right?”

She glared at him.

“Right?” he asked again squeezing harder. His face was close enough to count the pores in his nose.

“Right…” she muttered then gasped as he covered her mouth with his hand. Before she could clamp her lips, he inserted his thumb between them and ran it over her teeth finally grabbing her lower jaw and opening it roughly. She choked slightly as his thumb pushed on her tongue and she tasted him-salty, dry and smoky. Her eyes widened as he inserted two fingers into her mouth then a third as he squeezed her arm harder.

You’re dead! She thought to herself. I’m going to fucking kill you. She gagged when his middle finger tickled the roof of her mouth then the back of her throat. He grimaced a smile as, choking and unable to breathe, her defiance turned to panic. He kept his fingers where they were feeling her throat spasm until the last moment before pulling it out.

Beth gasped and bent at the waist coughing and gagging, knowing she wouldn’t puke. She wasn’t a puker-even when she wanted to. She regained her breath and her coughing subsided leaving her sore in the stomach. I’m so going to kill you, she thought hands on knees. Will cut your balls off and gut you like a deer… She let none of these thoughts betray her as she stood, presumably cowed.

“What do you want?” She rasped, wiping her eyes.

“Come on Mrs. Barton. We know you have money here. Quite a lot of it.”

Good, she thought. He said money. Doesn’t know what he’s looking for. “We have eight hundred, maybe a thousand in the desk inside.”

“A thousand? Really? Isn’t that something? Look at us Mrs. Barton. There are four of us and one up on the road. You think we’re pulling this off for two hundred each?”

“It’s what we have. I’m sure everyone here has something…wallets…credit cards…”

She didn’t see the slap coming. When it struck her full across the face her head spun far enough to wrench her neck. She would have fallen had he not yanked her up by the arm. Bright yellows and reds exploded and swam behind her eyelids. “You know what we want”, he said menacing but feeling menaced. Time was of the essence he knew.

“Tell me where it is…”

“Right hand drawer of the desk in the foyer”, she turned back painfully, blood staining the corner of her mouth. He half turned ready to hit her again. Had already closed his fist, determined to break her nose but keep her conscious when his eyes lit upon the toy table. He of course knew what kind of party this was but seeing crops, canes, whips, floggers, straps, hair brushes and…paddles arrayed in such a utilitarian display piqued his sadistic interest. Especially the heavy wooden paddle at the end of the line: light oak waxed to a high sheen, with six holes drilled down the center. Beth wasn’t following his eyes, consumed as she was with trying to straighten her neck back around and dabbing at the blood that trickled from her split lip.

“You and you”, he ordered his accomplices. “Take her”. They holstered their weapons each taking one of Beth’s arms. Only when he picked up the paddle was she able to fully focus on what was happening. Outwardly she remained stoic and defiant but inwardly she begged for Duke to show up. For someone to show up. She was walked over to the hors d’oeuvre table which he cleared with a swipe of his arm scattering smoked meats and cheeses over the ground.

“Pull her pants down!” he ordered. They paused. They’d come for the money; they were thieves, not rapists. Or whatever this was. “Turn her around and Pull. Her. Pants. Down”, he repeated. They moved quickly but deliberately then, spinning Beth to face the table and roughly yanking her belt open and pulling her jeans down to her knees.

“Those too”, he barked referring to the hot pink high-cut panties that she wore for the evening. She hadn’t been sure if anyone was going to be gifted with seeing them tonight. She was going through a period of discomfort with her body that she would never admit to and would have likely, as hostess privilege, demurred from the games.

She felt her panties come down hastily, a thumbnail digging a stinging path down her thigh. “Magnificent”, he mocked staring at her bare buttocks. “Bend her over the table and hold her.” They did as he took a moment to drop to his knee and zip-tie her ankles together. “I was always afraid of kicking horses…” he mused patting her rump.

A severe blonde in a leather corset spoke up from where she was tied. “Hey! You don’t have to…”

He pulled his gun and leveled it at the woman. “I need her alive for the moment. You? I give no fuck. Say one more thing.” Reading the truth in his eyes, she demurred and tried to shrink into the background. “Good”, he said. “But I’ll look for you if I need a second up here. Love to see if you’re a natural blonde.”

Smirking at his little joke he turned back and without warning or pause swung the paddle high and hard. It landed with a sickening “SWAT!” dead in the center of Beth’s bottom. The blow was harder than anything she’d ever felt. Her mouth flew open but she would make no sound.

“Give us what we want and we’ll be gone.” Hearing no response, he swung again. SWAT!

“Tell me where the money is Mrs. Barton.” SWAT!

She would remain as strong as she could, but her captors felt the tension in her muscles. In back, he and everyone else, could see her bottom tighten and quiver in anticipation of the next blow. Being branded could not have hurt this much.

“Tell me!” SWAT!

(Continuing…)

Chelsea – 6

img_3892(Continued from Blue)

He was sitting on the wicker couch, feet up on a table he had made, watching the sun slip behind the workshop. He had stayed out in the shop to give them some privacy but figured a half an hour should be enough, for Chrissakes. Still, it was an hour later and he was well into his second bourbon when the women finally joined him on the porch.

Gennie was wearing an old Steeler jersey that covered her to mid-thigh and quite probably nothing else. She smiled shyly, her green eyes alight with the sunset. Chelsea followed, more chastely attired in the robe that seemed to get passed around cinched tightly at the waist. She moved directly to the couch-to what should have been Gennie’s spot- and sat gingerly beside him, comfortably leaning close.

“Will all my spankings end like that?”

“All? What kind of mayhem do you have planned?”

“You never know the trouble a girl can get into…”

He put his arm around her and squeezed lightly. “Just don’t go delinquent on us.”

Geneva, facing away leaning against the railing, heard him say ‘us’ and her breast swelled a little. The carnal warmth she had felt between her legs spread higher.

“I think I might have oversold…remember when I told you about being gay?”

“Your ‘keep your hands off me’ speech?”

“Yeah, that one. Might have oversold that a little.”

“Oh really…”

“We’re still not having sex…”

“You got that right”, Geneva piped up still facing away.

“But a hug sometime. Like this. A touch-would be OK.”

“Something like this?” He turned and kissed the top of her head, smelling Gennie in her hair.

“Yeah…that’s fine”, she settled into him. “I’m getting the feeling you might be worthy.” Then, “Hey showoff!” Gen, feeling a little left out, had leaned against the railing far enough to clearly show that she definitely wasn’t wearing panties.

“Maybe someone else needs a spanking around here.”

“Great minds think alike”, Chelsea agreed.

“Hey”, Gennie spun back around. “Now that we’re on the subject…that paddle. Where did that come from?”

“Something I had around, is all.”

“Uh huh. For how long?”

“Quite awhile.”

“Let me ask, did that paddle cross your wife’s naked ass?”

They never really spoke of Linda but this wasn’t exactly talking about her.

“Might have, once or twice.”

“So, same paddle on your wife’s bare ass, crosses Chelsea’s bare ass…”

“Seems so, yeah.”

Chelsea, leaning still leaning against him poked him in the chest with every word. “You have to make another paddle.”

“Definitely”, said Gennie.

He reached for the bourbon. “Good point. I’ll make two.”

Gennie’s smiled wavered a bit at that but perked back up when Chelsea, settling into his chest, winked at her.

(Continuing…)

Chelsea – 4

tumblr_ogp0d2p0fu1spo4s5o1_500

Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(Continued from Chelsea – 3)

“Come on Chelsea”, he punctuated every instruction with a wave or a point with the paddle he had taken from a cabinet. It was a nasty piece of work that she had never seen before-dark wood, holes drilled along the length of it, varnished to a high sheen. “Put your hands here”, he tapped the edge of the workbench. She stepped forward reluctantly and placed her hands where she was told. She knew, as Gennie had found out, that with the doors wide open anyone who pulled up in the yard-or was wandering by on trails off in the woods-would have a clear view of the proceedings.

“Move your feet back a tad”, he said tapping her shins. Her stomach roiled as she shuffled her feet backward enough to position her bottom to his liking.

“Geneva”, he said using her proper name which was never a good sign.

“Yes?” she answered quickly from her position near the door.

“Take her pants down.”

“What? Me…Why…?”

“Get over here and take her jeans down. Now.”

“But…” she hadn’t moved.

“She’s getting ten swats on her bare ass. If you don’t get over here and do as you’re told immediately she’ll get twenty. And I’ll give you ten.”

Chelsea looked back over her shoulder. “Go ahead, Gen. Please.”

She moved quickly then, to right behind, roughly hip to hip. She reached around to unbuckle her belt and unzip her fly. When her jeans slid down, Chelsea could feel her back there-bumping and rubbing against her.  Then, after a pause, she felt Geneva’s thumbs in the elastic of her panties then her blue-jean clad leg against her own bare thigh. The touch, even accidental and in passing, was electric to her right now. Chelsea didn’t have Geneva’s curves, so when she bent over more of herself was on display than she would have liked.

Geneva stepped back, her heart flapping loose in her chest. She had taken her spanking a couple of weeks before and none since. She thought there would be another-he’d threatened, for sure-but she thought he might be kidding. But she’d never been paddled nor had she ever seen anyone paddled.

She didn’t know where to look. At Chelsea? It wouldn’t be right to stare at her naked butt though it was right there in front of her. Living together for a year-some of that time as lovers-had given her ample opportunities to see her naked, top and bottom. But not like this. She didn’t know if she was embarrassed, or embarrassed for her.

She looked to him for an idea of what she should be doing but he didn’t look her way, standing as he was beside Chelsea absorbed in the task at hand. His grey eyes were clear and focused as hers flitted about until it became apparent that she couldn’t not look-couldn’t not witness. She watched Chelsea’s bottom cheeks quiver as he patted her once, twice with the paddle to measure, then reared back. Good Lord, he was taking a long swing! She held her breath. Then it flew hard and fast-HOLY SHIT!-landing firmly on target with a sharp CRACK!

Chelsea absorbed it with little more than a rise onto her right toe. “Oh Jesus”, Gennie whispered to herself as the second swat landed and both hands involuntarily flew to the top of her head as she rocked up on her toes.

He adjusted the next swing and hit Chelsea again, full force on the left cheek then again across both with a loud SWAT! She grunted at that and broke her knees slightly. He stepped back. “Go ahead”, he said.

She held the workbench and squatted deep to try to relieve the burning in her skin.

“Can I rub?” she asked down on her haunches.

“Yeah, sure.”

She stood and rubbed her backside softly but quickly.

“How you doin’?” he asked.

“Not great” she said dryly but firmly.

“You good with this?”

“Yep!” She said sharply.

“You deserve this?”

“Yep!” she bit off.

Without being told, she straightened and repositioned herself. Looking past her throbbing bottom Gennie saw the muscles in Chelsea’s arms and shoulders flex and bunch as her fingers trembled gripping the bench. She didn’t move when the next swat landed with a loud CRACK! but Gennie did, spinning to look out into the yard. Enough is enough!

The few remaining swats landed loudly with nothing but a grunt and one stifled “Oww”. How could she stand it? Gennie wondered breathless, but then, by the time she thought it, she had. “Pull your pants up”, she heard him say. Still not turning around she heard the jingle of the belt and the rustle of denim. “Go to your room”, he said gruffly.

Go to your room? Was she actually being sent to her room? Somewhere, deep inside, Gennie felt the shadow of a memory slide past as Chelsea brushed by her walking purposefully toward the house. Her cheeks, glanced on the way, were dry-but flushed. Chelsea was gone inside and probably up the steps as Gennie still watched the door through which she had disappeared. He approached from behind.

“You OK?”

“Yeah…Jeeze…”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. Here…” he handed her a tube of ointment. “This will help. Go take care of her.” She held the tube and looked toward the house. “Go. She’ll want to see you about now.”

(Continuing…)

A Second Chance

behind-the-tops

(Takes place same day, across campus from The Intervention)

He was pulling his door closed behind him and didn’t even see her coming. “You’re in trouble there, Timmy”, she said brightly.

He jumped-startled. Chelsea Fisher, backlit by the glass door to the street looked almost bigger than life coming back onto the hall from a softball game.  She, as was typical, carried some of the field with her-dirt on her bare thigh and up the side of her tight shorts, grass stain on her other hip. The eye black that she wore on each cheekbone was smeared and glistening with perspiration. She enjoyed being an athlete and having an excuse to carry off the swagger that she came by naturally.

“Did we win?” he asked trying to move the conversation in a different direction. No dice.

“Found a half case of empties in your room this morning when you were in the shower.”

“What were you doing in my room?”

“You’re a two-time offender sonny. As the RA on this floor it’s my job to conduct searches when there are suspicions of the presence of alcohol. Freshmen! You guys weren’t even quiet last night!” She said this with a bit of a grin but held up her finger before Tim could defend himself. “And…I said not a word last week when that kid-the redhead…what’s his name…?”

“Randall. Randy Johnson….”

“Right! I said nothing when he stumbled down the hall from your room puffs of weed trailing behind. Let it slide…But last night. Again?” She leaned close enough that he could smell the peppermint gum before she poked him in the chest lightly with her finger. “I get the feeling that you don’t respect my authority”. The grin was still there but there was something else in her eyes. He had to look up a little to meet them and his breath was coming in small gulps. “So come on down to the room so I can write you up.”

“Dammit!” he said almost in a whine.

“Come on”. When she turned he saw that the grass stain on her hip bloomed across her strong bottom where his eyes fell. He followed behind like what he was-an errant schoolboy-happy that she wasn’t dragging him by the ear. But something in his mien felt right as he followed her, dragging his feet.

Chelsea slowed her pace but didn’t look back. She could hear him there, slinking behind. Good. He was following her. She never knew how far she could push the “authority” thing. That he had slid in obediently behind was a good sign. She lightened her step a bit.

They stopped in front of her door at the end of the hall. “Here”, she said tossing him her fielder’s glove so she could pull her key over her head where it hung on a shoestring. Hanging the key around her neck was retro as hell but it worked for her. Indeed, she had caught enough guys-and more than a few girls-staring at it nestled in her cleavage that she made it part of her wardrobe-changing shoestrings to match her clothes.

“Yes, by the way”, she said opening the door.

“Yes, what?”

“We won. Seven to three.”

“What did you do?” he said following her inside.

“Three hits-sliding catch in right. That’s where this grass came from” she rubbed her hip and slid her hand unselfconsciously over her backside. Tim’s heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What about that?” he asked pointing at the dirt on her thigh.

“That’s because I’m a klutz. Stumbled rounding first and had to scramble back. Totally embarrassing. Sit”, she pointed to a couch that took the place of a second bed in a room that should have been a double. Perk of being a Resident Assistant.

She took off her cap and shook out her blonde hair vigorously before pulling it into a loose pony tail. “Look at this mess” she grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and rubbed at the dirt on her leg. “Just dust but…what a klutz!” She shook her head seemingly smiling at the memory and turning, bent to pull out the lower desk drawer.

Tim watched every move with the rapt attention that only raging hormones could engender. He knew she was giving him a show and she knew that he knew-but it didn’t matter. By the time she sat at her desk with the infraction form he was beginning to thicken and sat back to try to get a little control of himself.

“Unfortunately, I know your name and home address by heart…” she said writing.

“This is going to be my third one…”

“Yes it will.”

“And my parents will find out?”

Diligently printing in the blocks on the form she didn’t even look up. “Oh, a lot of things happen. A letter on the Dean’s stationary to your parents. The letter in your official file. The implied threat of expulsion or suspension…”

“Jesus…”

“Serious stuff.”

“Chelsea. Please.”

She didn’t look up from her writing. He found he was gazing at her thigh then shook his head quickly to snap back to the business at hand.

“Come on…” he said again-more of a plea this time.

“What? What am I supposed to do? You’ve been so blatant about what you were doing. Some kids sneak stuff-we know that. But you are right out front.”

“Come on Chel. I thought we had an understanding”, he said more of a wishful thought than anything.

“What understanding? I caught you, I wrote you up. I caught you again…”

“Classes are killing me. I’m just trying to bust loose a little. This…isn’t who I am, Chelsea. It was just….I don’t know. First time being on my own…Trying to see where I’d fit in….

“Isn’t this the same speech you gave me three weeks ago? Are you going to tell me about your parents mortgaging the house or something to get you in here? No-I’m finished with your rap.”

His face was pleading and his eyes were bright. Now it was her heart that was pumping a little harder. For the first time she thought this really could happen and it brought a tickle down below. Of course her arousal was edged with the fear of not knowing how he would react, but the uncertainty of the path she had laid out was a big part of the fun.

“Please Chelsea. I…I don’t know you really but…”

“Hopefully you’ll be around next semester to get to know me better.”

“I can’t get…You can’t do this.” He said dejected. “You can’t.”

“Watch”, she said-continuing to write moving in for the kill.

He stopped and sighed. “Look. I’ll do whatever you say that doesn’t involve a letter or a report.”

The words fit cleanly into tumblers in her head and turned. Just like that, she knew that she had won her second game today. “Alright. Enough.”

“Enough?” he asked.

“My closet”, she said nodding toward it.

“What?”

“Go open the closet.”

He stood uncertainly and went to the closet. “Open it”, she said again.

She pretended to be finishing up the form and heard the door open.

“What?” he asked. She looked up and saw two blouses hanging on a hook. “Idiot!” She said to herself, then aloud “Behind the tops.”

He pulled them back to see a paddle hanging on a hook. That’s exactly what it was-wasn’t a bath brush, not a hairbrush-nothing that could be mistaken for anything else. Not the long decorative ones he had seen Greek pledges carrying around either. A sturdy round nasty piece of wood with a rubber gripped handle.

“No way”, he said still staring at it.

“What?”

“No fucking way….”

She shrugged and went back to the form.

“Chelsea! Come on….” She continued writing.

“I’ll need your signature on this.” She looked at him clear-eyed and held out the pen as if the other conversation wasn’t going on.

His belly went cold remembering his last spanking-which was also the first one he could remember. He was much too old for it-thirteen and in the seventh grade. His parents were on a cruise and had his aunt-his mother’s younger sister-staying over to “keep an eye on him.” Aunt Karen was only about ten years older than he was and had just started teaching at a high school one town over. He guessed he was testing her and stayed out two hours past curfew. When he finally got home she was waiting for him in the living room with a hairbrush and no amount of pleading could convince her not to use it.

Chelsea was saying nothing but he felt her staring. “You just can’t”, he started then stopped. “I can’t just let you paddle me.” He sounded completely deflated. Like he was sickened by the idea.

Dammit! she thought she had him. She felt a trickle of sweat on her back. The more people she came to with this proposition who turned her down, the more the chance she’d get busted. That someone would tell. So far she had spanked two girls on the hall-this was her first time trying a boy. She squeezed the pen so he wouldn’t see her hand starting to shake.

Even at thirteen he had been bigger than Aunt Karen and could have refused her; strong enough that she couldn’t have forced him. But he didn’t. And for a while he wondered why he hadn’t. He blamed it on the anger in her eyes, but there was something else there that he couldn’t unravel then. But he did remember clearly laying over her lap on the big living room chair and feeling the sting of the paddle through his jeans. All through it she never stopped scolding him; how he scared her, he was her responsibility, he had to respect her…on and on. He had the feeling then and later that she was just saying whatever came into her head to justify what she was doing.

He couldn’t remember how badly it hurt when it was happening but he did remember wishing, face down and hands on the floor, that she had made him take his pants down. That was all he could think about as she kept whacking him and lecturing him. He even thought about stopping her-calling a time out-and volunteering to take them down. For years he wondered how she might have reacted-what might have happened then. She must have seen something in his eyes when she let him up-more likely felt something through his pants-that made her look away from him. Her face had been flushed and her forehead glistened when she told him to go to bed.

Hard to imagine she couldn’t figure out what he did when he got to his bedroom-when he finally got his pants down to rub is burning ass. Then it hurt-she had packed a wallop. But only his left hand was on his butt as he lay there in the darkness. The right was otherwise engaged.

The next morning Aunt Karen was gone to work when he came downstairs but had left the cereal out and a note that she would be back that afternoon. And when she came home she said nothing about the night before. Nor did he-then or ever. Through countless family dinners, holidays and birthdays, it was never mentioned again.

To be continued…