The Colonel Comes Home – 2

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(Continued from The Colonel Comes Home)

Sylvia Palacios had obviously spent the morning preparing for her audience with the Colonel. The daughter’s hair and cheekbones must have been her father’s but the black eyes came from the one standing across from him. He hadn’t asked her to sit. She was his height, wide shouldered and rounded of hip. Her breasts, no doubt she thought her best feature, were bound up, pressing proudly against her bodice. She was not striking or beautiful as Laurencia was becoming but pretty enough in her own right.

“Did you ride the burro up?”

“No Colonel. I have a pony-left me by my husband. It’s old but knows the trails.” She had walked the pony slowly, so as not to sweat in the oppressive heat of the day. And even if she did, she had powdered and oiled enough not to offend. The breezy deference that she showed upon entering the veranda began to wither as she wasn’t offered a seat. Nor was there a glass for her as the Colonel drank what looked to be wine. She expected a work table full of maps, plans and papers but it was clear and spotless. Just the Colonel’s glass and a pitcher and the wine. She was thirsty and growing nervous.

He looked at her from the side-as if cocking his head from the smoke of a cigar.  “That is some daughter you have there, Senora.”

“Oh yes, Excellency. She is my pride.” So, she thought, this IS about Laurencia. The girl had told her they’d just talked-that the Colonel was too busy to do anything else. Had she lied? She had better not have lied to her.

Muffled shouts from the river below and the buzzing murmur of estate chatter joining the cicadas, birds and monkeys in a blanket of sound made the silence settling between them that much more uncomfortable. “Are you alright Senora? You look to be sweating”, he asked as he poured himself another cup of water. Her upper lip glistened in the sun and a tiny drop slid from her armpit as she watched him drink. “Here”, he said rising. “Let’s walk over to the railing-look out over the river. There’s a breeze.”

He stood aside as she passed but leaned in toward her hair. “Whatever is that scent you are wearing?”

“Guava”, she said surprised and a little confused. Given the cool reception she hadn’t expected a compliment. “I make it…”

“Very nice.”

He led her gently to the railing where the valley and the river from eastern bend to western bend opened to her. “Beautiful, is it not?”

“Yesh”, she slurred slightly, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Should I ask for water? she wondered.

“Here, here”, said the colonel taking her arms from behind and placing them on the railing, leaning her a little forward. “Breathe”, he told her helpfully. “Take deep breaths.” He sucked air puffing his chest to show her and she followed suit hesitatingly. “Still not enough!” he fussed. “Here”.

He took her hand and placed it along the bracing board below the rail causing her to bend completely over, the rail digging at her waist. “Let your head hang…” She dropped the other hand to the board but uncomfortable, tried to stand. The Colonel lay his hand-as firm as a locust post-across her back.

“You do not move Senora”, he said sternly all cordial pretense gone.

“Colonel…?” she asked trying to look back over her shoulder. She was startled to feel her dress and slip pushed up over her head and the air of the veranda play against her underneath.

“Excellency!” she cried.

He slapped her rump firmly as he might a recalcitrant donkey and she yelped.

“Silence!” he barked rubbing her ass, his calluses catching on the silken undergarments. They were not cheap. Nor too tight. With a yank he loosened them, then worked them down over her bottom. Below her knees, her legs were slender-like a girl’s-but thickened at the top. She whimpered lightly as he ran his hand over the deep dimples on her backside and thighs. Her skin, the color of clam shells, mottled pink with his handprint.

She had clenched her cheeks together so he forced the flat of his hand between her legs pushing and slapping at the inside of her thighs. She reluctantly shuffled her feet apart releasing the soft scent of eucalyptus.

“Colonel”, she begged. “Everyone will see.”

“Yet, you would send your daughter up here for me to use? Would you be so modest if it was she bent over the rail here?”

She flinched at his rough touch between her legs; he squeezed the thickness of them then pressed the side of his hand against her dry slit. “Is this how you would have had me use her? Here? Like this?” He prodded with his finger.

“No Excellency! You are mistaken! I never….”

“Maybe here?” He slipped his thumb into her deep crevice and pushed firmly at her anus.

“NO!! Please…”

“Which of your daughter’s holes would you have had me enter first?” He slapped her again, the loud report echoing. The second handprint-like a discarded glove-appeared over the first as he unbuckled his belt.

She began to blubber when she heard the slithering snap of the leather being pulled from his trousers. It was a sound she remembered too well from childhood. “I’m sorry Colonel” she cried.

“No doubt you are. You will learn from this.” He kneaded her with his left hand. “Do not clench-it will be worse, trust me.”

The first cut of the belt stole her breath-she couldn’t scream as the soft leather stroked equally across both globes with enough left over to snap at the side of her hip. Her lungs filled as the burn spread and she cried out at the second stroke startling a screaming macaw into flight. The third stroke was better aimed, snapping at the center of her right cheek leaving a bright strawberry kiss.

After the sixth stroke she settled into the reality of her thrashing, biting her lip and grunting at each blow. Through her tears she saw peasants across the river pausing to watch the Colonel whip a white woman. Behind her most of the staff had scattered. The women never wanted to be around when the Colonel was in a whipping mood lest some forgotten transgression be remembered. The men nearby might pretend they weren’t watching but would see what they could until their hardness became unbearable and they retreated to the darkest corner of the barn or a willing maid for relief.

Buenila, on the other hand, stood contentedly beside the stone fireplace, bony arms crossing her flat chest. She wouldn’t miss a stroke. If it were up to her, he would whip more of them. If she were capable, it was a job she would be happy to undertake.

While Sylvia Palacios sobbed silently through her thrashing, tasting the copper of blood from her bitten lip, holding still was impossible. She jerked at each stroke, raised on one toe, then the other. Squatted-straightened, balanced on the rail spreading and thrusting-all modesty gone as she revealed herself openly to anyone with eyes. The Colonel, his rage dampened, aimed well, raising new welts and crossing old. The tops of her legs were not forgotten. The senora was bucking like a heifer in a branding cage when he stayed his arm to take stock. Her backend was crossed with pink and red stripes decorated with starbursts of purple. She bent, spent and sobbing, over the rail this time welcoming the respite of his rough hand surveying his handiwork.

“I think my work here is done”, he said rubbing and closely inspecting. He hadn’t broken the skin which was good. This was the jungle after all and any wound was an invitation to infection. The Colonel gently took her slip, then her dress and dropped them over her naked behind.  “Come, Senora,” he reached out a hand. “Arise. Come on. Up, Up…”

She stood on shaky legs and accepted the clean, silk handkerchief the Colonel offered. Her face, as red as her bottom, was smeared with tears, powder and snot. She worked at it, sniffling as he led her to a chair.

“Here”, he said. “Sit.”

She snorted lightly into the handkerchief. “Now you offer me a seat?”

The Colonel’s mouth twitched; the ghost of a smile below his mustache. “It’s canvas”, he said. “Look-it will be fine.”

She smiled ruefully with her eyes at least and sat, lowering herself lightly, gripping the chair arms. It took a few wriggles and adjustments before she could sit, listing to one side.

“There” he said.

Then she noticed the fresh pitcher of chilled water and a cup in front of her. She reached, then stopped. “May I?”

“By all means” He poured himself a glass of Port, also new to the table, and without much prodding heard the story of Sylvia Palacios. At least the rehearsed, well-told story. About how her father had given her for use to her uncle, then when he grew tired of her she was offered to a provisional reagent whose name escaped the Colonel. As she droned on his attention was pulled to her white underpants lying on the dark wood like a dead gull. It was curious that the sight of the discarded silk aroused him more than her naked bottom had.

He had tired of her story-and tired of trying to fathom how much truth was in it.

“Your father”, he asked. “Is he still alive?”

“No Excellency.”

“Your uncle?”

“No. They both died in the last war.”

“Pity. I would have liked to kill at least one of them for you.” Then, after a pause “What do you think about what happened to you today?”

She looked at her hands and tried to fashion words that would have the ring of truth. It took but a few moments. “I was wrong, Excellency. And deserved everything you gave me. I insulted you…”

“Your daughter…”

“My daughter. And should have been whipped. I apologize.”

“Not to me. Go now. Prepare a meal for your daughter and apologize for being such and awful mother.”

“I will Excellency. I will tell her….”

“You will tell her nothing. You will show her-by attention, by doing everything moving forward to show her how important she is to you.”

“Yes Excellency.”

“Now go. I’ve spent enough time this week with Palacios women.”

She rose gingerly and looked toward the rail spotting her underwear. She went to retrieve them.

“Leave them”, said the Colonel, not sure why.

“Yes sir.” She looked away from them like they didn’t exist and with a slight curtsey, disappeared from the veranda, across the patio and was gone. The voices of the house, stilled for a while, began to buzz again.

At the gate Sylvia Palacios wondered about the hard, worn leather of the saddle. She had no choice, it was too far to walk. Placing one foot in the stirrup she put the other one over and sat. No, she thought, wincing, as the pony started to walk. Her bottom felt burned and shrunken. She stood in the stirrups trying to look regal as she passed everyone who knew why she wasn’t sitting astride her little pony.

That little bitch will pay for this, she thought darkly. My shame will be her pain.

 

(Continuing…)

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Maddie – 2

 

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(Continued from Maddie Marx)

Happily for Maddie she didn’t have to hop after her ear for long. They were going no further than the room Chelsea and Gennie had just visited. The original group of a dozen or so still mingled but it looked as if the physicals were over. Tommy Bellow, his jeans up and a drink in his hand, was standing against the wall chatting with Nurse Kim. All conversation stopped as Chelsea dragged Maddie-still yelping “Ouch! Ouch!”-into the room.

Gennie followed trying to be inconspicuous. She was equal parts mortified, excited and aroused. Is Chelsea really going to spank that girl here in from of everyone?

“Please Ma’am…not in front of everyone…OWWW!” as her ear took a strong twist before being released. Maddie gave the room a quick glance. Holy shit! She thought, there’s a hundred people in here!

Chelsea surveyed the room. “Excuse me”, she said coolly. “Is there a paddle here I can use to thrash this girl?”

I guess she is, thought Gennie and a bird in her chest flapped a wing. She slipped over toward Tommy and Nurse Kim. “Hi”, whispered Gennie, not wanting to call attention to herself. Tommy winked at her and slid down the wall a tad, giving her space to fit in. Gennie had to look up.

“You’re taller than I thought…” she said.

“Well, standing up, sure”, he grinned. Gennie flushed.

“I have this”, Nurse Kim said moving to the corner and retrieving what looked to be a yardstick but upon further review, was a little thicker and wider and varnished to a bright gold. There were bright red numbers etched on it though no one thought it had ever been used to measure anything. Except perhaps one’s endurance.

“Ah, perfect”, said Chelsea taking the offered implement. “Remove your blazer, Miss Hawkins. It’s liable to get a little warm in here for you.”

Maddie fumbled at the thick tortoiseshell buttons and tried to still her shaking hands. This is what she wanted after all. Wasn’t it? Pretty much, yeah, but maybe she had ended up with more than she bargained for as her mother always used to warn her. Her hands grazed her chest as she doffed the blazer and she was conscious of her nipples-firmly ensconced in her bra and blouse-aching as they hardened. Sheryll would joke that Maddie could come at the sight of a hairbrush. That was an exaggeration, of course. Just. But an exaggeration.

Chelsea took the blazer and lay it gently over a chair. “Stand here”, she said indicating a spot in front of the desk. Maddie moved slowly, outwardly reluctantly, into position. “Bend over” was Chelsea’s next command, “Palms and elbows on the desk.” Maddie did as she was told feeling her skirt lift slightly in back.

She held her breath, knowing what came next. The room collectively inhaled as Chelsea pinched the hem of the thick tartan skirt and lifted it up over Maddie’s back.

“You’ve given me no choice, Miss Harris”, she intoned.

“There’s always a choice Ma’am” said Maddie glancing back over her shoulder.

“Eyes front Missy!”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Maddie settled. She was fine with the view she was offering. Field hockey was a memory but she spent enough time at the gym and playing in an intermediate coed soccer league to know she was in shape. Of course, Sherryl would pinch her bottom now and again and say something supremely witty like “I found that five pounds you were looking for” but she was a beanpole. Maddie was fine with her backside.

She felt the stick touch her and rub back and forth smoothly over the cotton. She gritted her teeth and waited.

“It’s a good thing she’s not in my class”, Nurse Kim piped up.

Chelsea stayed her stick for a moment and turned toward the throaty lilt of the beautiful mahogany woman.

“Why would that be Nurse Kimani?”

“In my class, three detentions would automatically assure a punishment on the bare bottom.”

“What?” thought Maddie. “WHAT?” She had been spanked in front of others certainly. Usually it was the four of them drinking spritzers and playing cards at Emily’s apartment. Or at the Lodge. That was fun. And hot. This? “Say yuck, she told herself. YUCK!” but no word came out.

Chelsea looked toward her charge and thought she saw her head dip slightly. A nod? An assent? She’d given her the safe word-she could opt out of anything at any time. They definitely had the attention of the room.

The bright white cotton strained across her strong bottom. Looking at her hamstrings and the cut of her thighs, Chelsea-and everyone else for that matter-knew she was an athlete. “What the hell…” thought Chel warming to the task. “No ‘Yuck’, I’m playing.”

“I’m new to this school”, Chelsea announced as if on stage. “I’ll go with Nurse Kim’s suggestion.” Then, without another word and minus any flourishes, Chelsea stuck her thumbs in the elastic and pulled the panties down quickly off Maddie’s bottom. They fluttered to the floor.

“Oh dear GOD!” screamed the voice in Maddie’s head. “I’m bare ass in front of a room full of strangers! Too late for ‘Yuck’ now.” What had she been thinking? Her mom tittered again: something about biting off more than you can chew. No, I’m fine…she said to herself. This is fine. I can handle this. Happily, her bottom was full enough to secrete her most intimate parts inside and under voluptuous folds and crevices. Still, she held her legs primly together already feeling a dampening there.

“That is a beautiful ass”, said Tommy quietly to Gennie.

“Yes”, she agreed. “Very.”

“You like that?”

“You don’t?”

“Yeah, but….”

“Don’t worry. I thought your bum looked very sweet too with the thermometer sticking out of it.”

His no-doubt witty rejoinder was interrupted by the sharp CRACK of Chelsea’s stick across the fulsome center of Maddie’s bottom. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Don’t let your mouth write a check that your ass can’t cash”, echoed in her head. It wasn’t her mother saying it, but she got it.

She braced for the second swat and even pushed her bottom back a little. Chelsea delivered a smack that echoed off the crown molding and hardwood floors. The bad girl flinched but uttered not a sound.

The third was harder still then the forth the hardest. She slapped the table hard. “Dammit!!” she hissed through gritted teeth. Chelsea listened, but heard nothing else.

“You have something to say Miss?”

“No”, she winced.

Chelsea reared back and struck again and Maddie took it silently.

“She’s good…” Tommy whispered.

“I’d be crying….”

“She might get there…Your friend is really working her.”

By the time she paused there were six bright red stripes across the girl’s ass and she had started to wriggle and undulate in a way that threatened to expose all that she had wanted to keep hidden.  Chelsea gave her a break to compose herself. Not being able to help herself, Chelsea patted, then rubbed both creased cheeks feeling the slightly raised welts.

“A few more Miss Hayes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’m going to place them lower…here”, she illustrated, sliding her finger, then fingers, along the untouched softness of Maddie’s sit spots. The girl gasped at the touch and growled low in her throat as the torturing touch lingered then stroked back and forth, back and forth leaving their own little white paths. “These will be memorable”, Chelsea whispered close.

“Yes Ma’am” Maddie said.

The stick’s first assault on the soft bottom cheeks was firm and loudly cracking. “You BITCH!” thought Maddie gritting her teeth and tensing back there. Chelsea saw the tightness in the cheeks; the clenching dimpling the skin and tightening the doors to all the openings. This would never do. So instead of swinging away and swatting, Chelsea slapped lightly but firmly.

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP landed the stick. “You need to loosen up Miss Hayes…loosen up and open up.” The paddle was now an onslaught of light cracks in the same place, pinkening rather than reddening the skin. The room seemed to lean forward noticing the shift in tone and tempo.

“Holy shit!” whispered Gennie leaning into Tommy. “This is….”

“Yeah.  Very. Punishment’s over”, he said. “This is reward…”

“You better open girl,” said Chelsea with a menacing smile. “I could do this all night. SLAP—SLAP—SLAP!!

She was already wriggling again trying for relief, but was afraid to open. What if they saw how wet she was. She didn’t know, of course, but it felt like a river was running through her. SLAP—SLAP—SLAP! Oh dammit, she thought. SLAP—SLAP—SLAP! So what? Who cared who saw what? SLAP—SLAP!! ALRIGHT! she pushed backward, not revealing much, not opening completely but making the effort. Chelsea struck once more on the top of the left leg allowing the tip of the stick to impact lightly inside the firm thigh.

“Very good”, announced Chelsea. “Are you finished?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you ma’am.”

“Alright then. You may stand and pull up your panties.” As she did, the crowd dispersed with murmurs of approval all round. “That was hot”, was heard. “I bet her butt is hot.” “I’d like to feel it and see….”

“Shame to cover that up”, said Chelsea. “It’s very pretty-very well marked.”

“You did your job”, Maddie said softly. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet.

“Are you OK? I gave you the safe-word…I figured that…”

Maddie looked up, her face almost as red as her bottom but her eyes shining. “There are only two words I want to say to you”, she said huskily her throat conspiring to choke them off.

“What are those?”

“Fuck me.”

(Continuing…)

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

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(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…)

A Whipping – Part II

(Continued from A Whipping)

The Punisher regarded her coolly, hiding any feelings behind an implacable mask. He had never wavered in his responsibilities or shirked his duty though the things he had been offered in this room would send a priest pounding for entry at the doors of Hell. He was looking beyond the woman on her knees before him until, deciding, he pushed away from the bench and strode purposefully toward the steps; not pausing as he took one, then another up toward the courtyard.

“Noooo Roger, please!” she bawled and sprawled prostrate on the cold floor crushing her silken beret against the stone. “I’ll die Roger! I will die up there in the courtyard…” She wished suddenly that she wasn’t as strong a woman so she could swoon like some stricken damsel and impress him with her desperation. It wasn’t to be, though. All she could do was weep openly on the stone floor and beg.

She heard the door’s heavy bolt slide definitively closed. Then the cross beam fell securing it. She snuffled and fell silent lifting on an elbow. Roger appeared back down the staircase and crossed to her, reaching down to offer a hand. “Come, Ellie, get up…”

“But Roger…” she took his hand.

“We won’t be going up into the courtyard. And no one will be coming down.”

She held onto his hand but couldn’t rise, slipping down onto her haunches-a hollow husk, completely drained by the cold fear that had filled her totally.

“But what…what will happen?”

“I can’t let you off Ellie. Can’t do it.”

“No! No! You shouldn’t. As I said-I fully expect to…

“I will cane you right here and now.”

“Oh Roger, never will anyone so happily accept a caning as I will today.”

“Best save your gratitude. This will be…more than last time.”

“Yes Roger, I understand. What must I do?”

“Go. Behind the screen”, he pointed to the standing divider in the corner.  “Disrobe to give me access to your bottom. Bare from waist down…cover the rest as you will.”

“Yes, Roger”, she gasped, hurrying lest he change his mind.

She quickly doffed the beret and the veil hanging them on a hook. The dress came off simply enough and she at least had the good sense not to have worn a corset. She pulled at her slip, then her knickers. It was endless! Which is why the serving class was not allowed underclothes when they worked. Their chastisements were so regular that the time expended undressing and dressing again would be too great.

Bare on the bottom, she rubbed her hands along her thighs and backside feeling strangely chilled. Since Olivia, her topography had changed a bit and she suddenly wondered what he would think. It was vain, she knew, given all the women he has seen in this room. She thought of taking her top off over her head but decided to leave it-not wanting to seem too wanton. She doubted that Roger expected to see her walking nude from behind the screen. So, with a deep breath, she stepped from behind the barrier.

Roger was a man of discipline in more ways than one. He locked eyes with Eleanor as she stepped toward him, having no need-or apparently desire-to see what was below her waist. Her heart swelled at his gallantry.

“This way Missus”, he said, being more comfortable in the formality of his office for the time being. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led to the bench. He showed her how to kneel on the platform which placed her legs a little wider than her shoulders and helped her to bend forward across the bench.

“Would you prefer to be bound, Missus?”

She feared that the pain might make her a coward. “The legs, yes. And across the back. Leave my hands free if you would.”

“As you will”, he said formally.

She was conscious of him behind her affixing the straps around her thighs. She could feel his warm breath on her bare bottom as he reached between her legs for the buckles. The thick belt cinched her waist to the bench and she was set.  Once bared and bound she had naught to do but wait. Her insides roiled as she lay her cheek on the leather padding. Her last caning had been a simple ‘bend over and lift your skirts’ affair; almost a lark between old friends. This was more like…

(Continuing…)

A Whipping

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“A whipping Roger?”, she asked surprised. “Are you sure she said a whipping?”

“Yes, Missus”, the big man replied. “She was very specific.”

“Well…” Eleanor cleared her throat. Her hands shook a little and she paused to try to cover the quiver in her voice. This certainly was a deviation from plan.

“I’ve never been whipped Roger.”

“No missus. Not many of those anymore.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I expected some chastisement. Perhaps a caning-six of the best maybe-I had gotten that a couple of years ago, remember?”

“I do missus. Four years ago. Before you were Mrs. Plumm.”

“Yes! Yes…and that was a tight caning, if you’ll recall. You laid it on well.”

“I do remember. Didn’t really enjoy that, you know.”

“Oh, I know that, Roger. You made that clear at the time and I appreciate it. I did deserve it, I’ll admit. Still hurt like the devil.”

“The cane-especially applied wet- is wicked…”

For months she had feared her needs growing slowly from a tiny worm that tickled her belly to a fearsome serpent that constricted her from the inside stealing her breath and clouding all good thoughts. She glimpsed it once in the looking glass, flickering its cold, red tongue from behind her eyes. The vision so roiled that she’d smashed the glass with a pot later explaining that she’d dropped it in her own clumsiness.

Her weakling efforts to assuage her own urges were akin to bailing a sinking vessel with a teacup. With little Olivia at the maiden’s quarters she was alone to subject herself to whatever she thought might relieve the pressure that rang in her ears.

Their manner of dress made it easy to cover the marks she left on herself. Her natural reticence made the time alone in her home seem less conspicuous to anyone who might care, but she knew in a warm recess of her consciousness that standing naked in the cold woodshed, face pressed to the rough wall, swatting her bare thigh with a wooden spoon or coming perilously close to touching herself with a hot poker from the fire was leading her down a path she might not want to travel. Thus her plot to land in the Punisher’s chambers, which seemed to have worked too well.

“We’ve know each other a long time.”

“Since we were toddlers, Missus.”

“We played together!”

“Simpler times, Missus.”

“Please Roger, call me Ellie, as you used to.”

“Yes Missus.”

“In all that time have you ever known me to do anything that would warrant a…”

“Please Missus, leave me out of that part of it. Only one person decides the punishment for ladies of your class and it’s certainly not me. I just carry out the sentence.”

“But a whipping…” she gasped, realizing. “…Roger-is it to be public? In the square?” She held her hands to her breast, eyes like saucers.

“No…not in the square, per se.”

“Per se?”

“In the courtyard. Right up the steps there to the crossbar beneath the oak tree.”

“Whipped in the courtyard?” her voice carried an edge of desperation.

“They’ll be no announcement made! Nothing to draw a crowd. We’ll just go up.”

“When?!”

“Well…now, I suppose.”

“It’s midday Roger. The courtyard will be full of workers taking their ease!”

“What am I to do?” his voice too carried an edge. “The time is the time!”

“I’m a wife and mother! Have lived inside these walls all my life! Everyone knows me!  To be stripped naked and whipped in the courtyard is unacceptable!”

“With cause Missus! There is cause.”

“I know that! Cause for punishment-a caning, a strapping, even the birch-but not for that!” The tears that she was holding, only letting one at a time slide down her cheeks, began to flow freely.

Eleanor slid closer and hissed, “You know a whipping isn’t right. You know what she’s doing, don’t you? She wants to get even for…”

“Again, Missus, I don’t want to get into that!”

“Call me Ellie, please! It’s me. Ellie, Roger. Please…”

“What would you have me do?”

“Anything…nothing…something other than a whipping in the courtyard.”

She knew that by reputation the Punisher was incorruptible. That he had been plied with all manner of wanton offer over the years was assumed-that he had accepted any of them was universally and vociferously denied.  But he was also Roger Peterman, her childhood playmate who had stolen a kiss or two before they knew what class meant in the kingdom.

He was leaning against the bench she had only heard of. Padded on top and on two kneeling platforms attached to the legs. Higher on one end than the other, it canted ever so slightly downward so once positioned upon it, the unfortunate’s bottom was the highest point of her anatomy. Straps hanging from the legs and left no doubt about the forbidding furniture’s usage.

The gossiping whispers over tea of this one or that one having to visit the Punisher’s chambers became less titillating when faced with the hard reality of a spanking bench and the man leaning against it truly contemplating her fate. That she had been a part of those leering gaggles was undeniable. Knowing that she would be the subject of them was unimaginable. “Naked in the courtyard”, was all she could think of. As her cold serpent coiled, she felt she might puke.

The oppressive silence of the big man’s contemplation pressed down on her until she-without planning to-dropped to her knees onto the cold stone floor. “Anything Roger, you know that, I will do anything to avoid walking naked up those stairs. Please, sir. I am begging you.”

(Continued…)

“However…” Part II

Tidy Whities

From http://www.firmhandspanking.com by way of Tumblr

Continued from “However…” Part I

Mary Elizabeth took a seat in one of the leather chairs in the small seating area around the bar, where Lynette lounged, one elbow on the marble surface like an extra in a western. Dana had to assume that’s where they remained because, to face Taylor where she sat on the couch, she had to turn her back on the ladies.

Dana had not come dressed for a workout. She had thrown on a blue nylon sweat suit on her way out of the house but it was more for lounging. Which is what she was getting set to do, she guessed. Or not. “You have to take those sweats down, dear.”

“Really?” she asked startled.

“Are you going to tell me that after a lifetime in gyms and locker rooms you are going to go shy on us all of a sudden?”

“No, no… I just didn’t know…” Taylor cocked her head to one side as if trying to understand what she was saying. “Nothing…never mind…” Dana untied the drawstring and allowed the loose nylon to slither down her legs feeling the air snake around her. It was now Dana’s turn to open her hands in a “Ta-da!” moment feeling chillingly exposed even in the warm gym. None of the others wore shorts-Lynette came closest with tight Capri’s.

“Very nice”, said Taylor. Figuring she knew the next step, Dana shuffled over to Taylor’s right side and noticed for the first time the rings she was wearing. Oddly, she wondered if she’d feel them. She was about to lower herself across her lap when the woman stopped her.

“Please dear…I do not spank panties. Even ones as cute as those.”

Dana shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. She could feel the eyes behind her that would be looking at more than her back…She looked to Taylor to perhaps plead for some kind of mercy but the woman’s eyes seemed to have none of that in them. But her arched brow and dancing eyes seemed less threatening than…daring. Is that what this was? wondered Dana in the rapid fire synapses flickering through her head. Was this a big game of truth or dare? She was definitely getting a teenage pajama party vibe…maybe an…initiation? Was that it? An initiation into…what?

Dana’s revving brain froze at the sound of Lynette’s voice from behind her. “Her mind does tend to wander, doesn’t it Taylor?”

“Do you want some help with those?” Taylor asked looking up at her.

“No, sorry”, she said for what seemed to be the thousandth time and put her thumbs in the waist band of her panties and rolled them down. They clung to her-and only got as far as the tops of her thighs.

“That’s fine”, said Taylor reaching up for her hand. “Come on now.” Dana lowered herself across the woman’s lap. She wriggled a little to get comfortable-as much as that was possible-and pulled a pillow up under her. She tried not to think of the picture her bottom presented, being her highest point right now. Especially after Taylor pulled her panties further down. “There”, she said-happy with them at mid-thigh.

In truth, the touch of a woman’s hand to her bare bottom was not new to Dana. Not entirely common-and not recent-but not new. That woman’s hand spanking her bottom definitely was, though. She couldn’t remember ever being in this position-maybe as a child, no, definitely as a child, when they lived in that apartment and it was only she and her…”OUCH!” her reverie was interrupted by a sharp smack. Then a second. “OW!”

“Someone has low pain tolerance”, came Mary Elizabeth’s voice.

“Was just surprised…”

“You just surprised her, Taylor. Didn’t really hurt.”

“Oh, is that right?”

The third smack was the hardest and Dana gritted her teeth as the spanks fell, trying not to cry out but allowing gasps and muffled yelps. The stinging pain with each smack was something she expected, even something she deserved. She guessed. In this context. Of being over the woman’s lap and being spanked. She must have deserved it. “OWW!”

But what she didn’t expect was the feeling that was welling between her legs. Whether it was the heat building in her spanked bottom or the vibrations that Taylor’s hand sent south, where Dana had been dry scant minutes before was now beginning to dampen in a way it hadn’t, sadly, for months. She began to wriggle a bit against Taylor’s thigh, not so much to evade the next smack as to rub against something. Suddenly Dana coughed nervously-

“Oh-wait, wait, wait…Taylor.  Wait please…”

“Wait? What? I thought I wasn’t hurting you.”

“No, it’s not…you are…I mean you are…but I’m fine. I mean…I’m…”

Taylor turned her bright eyes back to Lynette and Mary Elizabeth.  The three women in the room who were not face down exchanged knowing glances. Mary Elizabeth blushed, but winked in a vain effort to cover.

Goddam Taylor was right, thought Lynette as she poked Mary Elizabeth in the shoulder. “I think that’s our cue”, she said. Mary Elizabeth rose reluctantly.

Approaching the couch and Dana’s upturned bottom, Lynette poked her firm, pink right cheek with a perfectly manicured finger. Dana jumped at the feeling and registered another tiny zap between her legs. She heard Lynette tell her “You best not be late next week because I’m bringing my own paddle-and you won’t enjoy that half as much as you’re enjoying this.” She smiled then kissed the tip of her index finger and touched it to Taylor’s lips and the two of them took their leave.

Once alone, Taylor said, “I hope you don’t think you’re done” and slapped her with a crisp smack that cupped her cheek and resonated, vibrated, down her leg. Dana, alone with her tormentor, felt free to let her moans more fully form.

“Bring your legs together”, Taylor ordered. When she did the woman let fly with a tattoo of quick spanks to the bottom of the bottom so that the sounds and vibrations echoed down into the chasm between her legs, then deeper, settling into the warm wet folds of her increasingly needy pussy.

“Taylor!” Dana was breathing heavily and undulating over her lap.  “This is amazing…I don’t know…”

“Here let me help you”, said Taylor, herself breathing in tight little gasps. “…lift your legs…” When she did Taylor reached down and pulled first her sweatpants then her bunched white undies off of her feet and tossed them aside.

“Now you can spread your legs a little.”

The next spank was wide handed over her near cheek and Taylor allowed her hand to linger there. Allowed her fingers to slide down between. Allowed herself to feel the heat emanating from Dana’s pink bottom. Suddenly Taylor wasn’t interested anymore in punishing her charge but rather in something that was entirely different. And something that could have been her plan all along.

To be continued…