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…)

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Beth

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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

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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…

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…….