Employee discipline is more than a matter of profit-and-loss to the Darvison duo. Using corporal punishment, George Darvison and his Sapphic sister, Lorraine, paddle their way into the panties of delicious virginal girls. Bondage, spanking and sexual humiliation get things rolling for the pair and these disciplines are followed by wild orgies of intercourse, cunnilingus, fellatio and intimations of anal love. The helpless secretaries are used more for sex-slaves than dictation, but these sado-sex games are not without their rewards.
CHAPTER ONE
The girl standing in front of George Darvison's desk would have captured the attention of every red-blooded male at the nosiest and most crowded cocktail party. She was about five feet seven and a half inches tall, with brunette hair styled in a very modish, short bob, her face was an exquisite cameo-like oval, and normally she was cool and poised, a kind of regal goddess who condescended to walk among mortals for an allotted span.
This warm July Friday afternoon, however, she was far from poised and she would soon be anything but cool. Biting her full red lips and staring fixedly down at the floor, she listened to her employer deliver a scathing diatribe on the subject of her disloyalty.
"Miss Winton, it's just come to my attention that you've made some rather derogatory comments about our business tactics in going after the Hadley account. Worst of all, you had the tactlessness to make these remarks in the presence of a rival advertising agency employee."
"But, Mr. Darvison, if you'll only let me explain-" Lydia Winton nervously stammered, fixing her boss with a despairing look.
"You deny, then, that you mentioned a special presentation we made to Benjamin Hadley to a certain Mack Burton a few days ago?"
Lydia Winton gulped and turned scarlet. Mack Burton had for the past three months been her steady boyfriend, and had talked to him about the Hadley account after they had been lying side by side, naked and relaxing after a vigorous fucking which she had thoroughly enjoyed. "I am sure-please believe me-there has been a terrible misunderstanding, Mr. Darvison," she faltered.
"I'm sure there has," brown-haired, thirty-nine-year-old George Darvison grimly retorted as he lit a cigarette. "Yesterday evening, I happened to stop by at the Tavern Club for a cocktail before going home, and Bob Porterfield, for whom this Burton person works, started telling me that he thought I was going back to the days of the Roaring Twenties in trying to land the Hadley billing. When I asked him what the hell he meant, he just winked at me and said, 'Oh, come on now George, don't be so damned modest. Sending that sexy brunette call girl over to old Benjamin's apartment with a tape recorder so he could play your pitch on his proposed winter campaign was a stunt I wish I'd thought of. But I thought that paying for a prospective client's piece of tail went out with World War ff So you see, Miss Winton, you've been talking out of turn. Now before you say anything, let me add that Porterfield went on to quote chapter and verse, and it came out that Mack Burton is an assistant account supervisor for him. And Mack Burton was the one who fed that tasty bit of gossip into his boss's ear. He couldn't have found it out from anybody else except you, Miss Winton. Now what have you got to say to that?"
The tall brunette blinked, bit her lips, and looked down at the floor, while a flaming blush suffused her cheeks and forehead. George Darvison leaned back in his swivel chair, puffing his cigarette and angrily contemplating his private secretary. A confirmed bachelor, and head of the North Michigan Avenue agency of Darvison, Ruggers & MacCloud, he shared a spacious six-room apartment in Hyde Park with his career-mined, auburn-haired sister Lorraine, five years his junior and equally unattached-though for a very different reason.
"Well, Miss Winton, what have you got to say for yourself before I fire you?" he scowled at the lovely, unnerved brunette standing with head bowed and her slim fingers nervously twisting at her sides.
"Oh please, Mr. Darvison, don't-don't do that! I-I like my job-and-and I need it very badly! Please, I didn't mean-I really didn't-I don't know how-"
"But I do," he angrily interrupted. "You see, I can put two and two together as well as any man. And when Bob Porterfield told me that his assistant account executive let him know that he'd had this juicy morsel of scandal from a pretty girlfriend who worked in my own agency, I found it very easy to deduce that it could only have been you. You will recall that I asked you for a date a few months ago, Miss Winton, and you told me you had a boyfriend who worked in another advertising agency. So you see, nobody else except yourself could have let Bob Porterfield find out how we just managed to land the Hadley account. And it's none of anybody else's damned business! Benjamin Hadley happens to be an old puritanical throwback with suppressed desires, and when his wife died two years ago the old fool discovered what he had been missing all these years and decided to turn girl chaser before his time was up. He's all of sixty, and he's trying to make up for lost time. I happened to find that out from his advertising manager, and that's why I hit on the idea of making my presentation on a tape recording and having a very attractive play-for-pay girl take the tape recorder up to his house in Winnetka. And if it hadn't been for that little trick, we'd have lost one of the most profitable pieces of new business that's come along in years."
"But I never dreamed-you have to believe me, Mr. Darvison-I didn't think Mack-that is, Mr. Burton, I didn't think he'd ever repeat anything I said in confidence-oh, I'm so-Pm so ashamed and so sorry, Mr. Darvison, I really am!" Lydia Winton was on the verge of tears as she lifted her large, dark-brown eyes to fix on his stern, handsome face with a poignant look.
"I suppose," he said sarcastically as he crushed out his cigarette and eyed her intently, "You were naive to think that bedroom confidences are sacred. It appears that your boyfriend, Miss Winton, isn't exactly a gentleman, because he tells everything he knows. Don't you agree with me?"
Now poor Lydia Winton was scarlet even to her earlobes as she bowed her head and clutched the front of the desk for support, being able only to nod her head in acknowledgment.
"Fortunately, we've already got the account, so it doesn't matter what Bob Porterfield thinks," George Darvison continued as he lit another cigarette and relished the mounting suspense and anguish of the lovely tall brunette standing so contritely in front of his desk. "If this sort of loose talk gets around the town, there's going to be a lot of double dealing and I'd rather not have that. The next time you indulge in after hours amours, Miss Winton, I strongly advise you to talk about anything except what goes on here between nine and five, do I make myself clear?"
"Why-yes, s-sir," she said very faintly. "Are-are you going to f-fire me, Mr. Darvison?"
"I really should. And if I did, you'd find it very hard to get another job in the advertising agency business in Chicago. Nobody is more down on possible spies and informers than the people in this business, as I think you ought to have guessed by now. How old are you, anyway, Miss Winton?"
"T-twenty-f-four, Mr. Darvison. I'm just so dreadfully ashamed and sorry, I really am!"
"If you weren't as old as that, but in your teens, I'd know exactly how to punish you," he went on. "Of course it's none of my business, but if I were you, I'd break off with this Mack Burton fellow. He's not very trustworthy if he blabs not only what you've told him but also lets his boss gather that the two of you had been to bed together."
"I-I don't know what to say, Mr. Darvison," Lydia Winton's voice was choked and again she bit her lips. "I-I know you've got every right to fire me, but please, please give me another chance. I--I'll do anything!"
"Don't tell me you need this job so badly as that."
"But I do! I-I live with my mother and she's not too well and she's going to need a major operation very soon. I just can't afford to lose my job."
"I take it, then," he smiled with a kind of sadistic enjoyment, "That when you had your little session with that ungentlemanly young advertising executive, it didn't take place at your house?"
Once again color flamed hotly in Lydia Winton's lovely, patrician face as she shook her head, utterly crushed. The knowledge of her lover's perfidy had shocked her, and she was utterly without defense. While it was true that she wasn't a virgin, Lydia's ardent nature-though very effectively camouflaged by her rather austere and aloof attitude-had driven her into the arms of the magnetic, glib and sexually expert rival advertising agency executive. And her mother, Mrs. Matthew Winton, had been ailing for about five years. Lydia's father, an insurance underwriter, had died about a decade ago and left his wife and daughter only about twenty-five thousand dollars, since his secret vice had been gambling and much of the money that would otherwise have gone in legacy to his widow and daughter had been squandered on trips to Las Vegas and Freeport.
Again George Darvison crushed out his cigarette and then leaned back in his swivel chair, contemplating the anguished young woman. "You'll break off with this fellow then, if I don't fire you?" he demanded.
"Oh yes! He-he oughtn't-oh it makes me feel so ashamed, Mr. Darvison!"
"You apparently aren't a very good judge of character, because you picked a weakling. It isn't much of a man who goes around bragging of his sexual conquests, you know. But now let's get back to your earlier remark that you'd do anything to keep your job. I said a few minutes ago that if you were a teenaged girl, I'd know exactly how to punish you. I mean just that, Miss Winton. And if you accept, I'll keep you on probation and consider the incident closed."
"What-what kind of p-punishment do you mean, Mr. D-Darvison?" she looked up at him with widened, humid eyes, still grasping the edge of the desk to support herself.
"I mean a good sound spanking, Miss Winton. What you did was childish, and as such deserves appropriate punishment."
"You-you, you'd-you'd spank me instead of firing me?"
"That's it exactly."
"Oh my gracious! I-I never have been sp-spanked before-oh dear!" Again the lovely mature brunette fidgeted and looked down at the floor, the red of shame spreading slowly over her forehead and cheeks. He felt his prick harden at the sight of her, and ruthlessly pursued his advantage: "Well, that's the alternative. Of course you've every right to refuse, because after all you're twenty-four. But then I am afraid I'll be obliged to call the agency Monday morning and get a replacement for you, Miss Winton."
"Oh no! I just can't-I have to have this job, Mr. Darvison-I-I'll take the sp-spanking!"
CHAPTER TWO
George Darvison abruptly rose, walked over to the door of his private office and locked it. Next, moving to the windows, he drew the Venetian blinds. "Everyone is gone, so we may as well get it over with here and now, Miss Winton," he calmly observed. She turned her scarlet face towards him, still holding onto the edge of the desk for support. "What-what do you want me to d-do, Mr. Darvison?" her voice was faint and trembling now.
"You say you've never been spanked before in all your life. Not even as a child?"
"Oh no!" she gasped, closing her eyes and shivering.
"In that case, suppose you stay just where you are and lean forward, with your palms flat down against the surface of the desk, Miss Winton. I'll prepare you myself. It will be perhaps a little less humiliating for you that way than going over my lap," he said dryly as he moved towards her.
"Oh yes it would! Oh my gracious!" Lydia Winton gasped again, as a new flood of burning embarrassment deepened the red in her ivory cheeks. A little awkwardly, she bent forward at the waist, cautiously extending her magnificent torso along the top of the desk, resting her palms down along the smooth mahogany surface. She pressed her left cheek against the desk, and closed her eyes. A fit of voluptuous shivering, born out of apprehension as well as secret titillated sensuality, rippled through her.
He approached now, stooped down and caught up the hems of her bright rayon print skirt and the chaste beige nylon half-slip beneath it, and Lydia Winton uttered a startled cry: "Oh dear-do you-do you have to do that, Mr. Darvison? Oh can't you please do it-do it over my c-clothes?"
"Hardly," was his ironic retort. "I told you how I was going to punish a sixteen-year-old. It would be exactly like this. You must expect to experience a little humiliation, considering how tactless you were, you know, Miss Winton. Now please hold still!"
The authoritative snap of his voice quelled her momentary revolt, as she again hesitantly stretched her upper body back along the desk, closing her eyes and quivering nervously. Expertly, he rolled the dress and half-slip up beyond her waist, tucking them neatly so that they wouldn't fall back down and protect her condemned behind.
His eyes sparkled now at what he saw. Lydia Winton's bottom comprised two very spacious, oval-shaped globes, with a broadening crease separating them, and the white nylon panties clung to those resilient hillocks like a veritable second skin. He could see the dark tabs of a narrow garter belt adhering to her charcoal-brown nylon stockings, and this deshabille which forced out her magnificent behind so prominently and invitingly had already given him a tremendous hard-on.
"Oh do hurry, please hurry, Mr. D Darvison," she begged in a trembling, almost inaudible voice. He could see the highset, sinuous calves flex and quiver through the gauzy nylon hose, and he had a sudden irrational lust to fuck her then and there. It had been some months since he had really had an exciting piece of pussy, and his sister hadn't helped at all, what with her tantalizing boasts about the girls she had to discipline where she worked. For Lorraine Darvison was office manager for a medium-sized insurance firm on the Northwest Side of Chicago, and as such was solely responsible for about sixty girls and women serving as file clerks, secretaries, office girls and other subordinate positions. And since she was an imaginative lesbian sadist, she had a constant supply of love slaves at her disposal.
George Darvison's fingers were trembling as he now extended them towards the waistband of Lydia Winton's panties. But as his fingertips brushed the nylon garment, she uttered a startled cry, half-lifted herself on her palms, and, turning her face back towards him, gasped with consternation: "Oh no-not that-oh please not that-don't do that to me, I'll just die of shame, Mr. Darvison, oh please, can't you see-can't you see I'm just dying of shame already-can't you sp-sp-spank me over them, please? Oh do leave them on, I beg you!"
"Absolutely not, Miss Winton!" he curtly responded. "You're forgetting again that I'm treating you exactly as I would a teenaged girl who has been very indiscreet and naughty. If it humiliates you, so much the better. Besides, you can hardly expect me to see how thorough a spanking you have had unless your bottom is properly bare for the chastisement. But of course, if you want to stop now, we'll consider the matter ended and I'll see that you get a severance check at once."
"Oh Lord-oh no-I-I guess I have to-oh but please, for G-for Heaven's sake, do it quickly, please do it quickly and get it over with!" she panted.
His fingers now inserted under the waistband of the nylon veil, and very gradually and greedily drew them down off the promontories of her magnificent bottom. The warm creamy skin shivered and flinched at this indecent exposure to the eyes of a male, and Lydia Winton uttered a choking groan as she closed her eyes and shuttered, abandoning herself. With breathless and deliberate attentiveness, George Darvison now lowered his secretary's panties to her kneehollows, and then stepped back to admire the visual beauty of the mortified young woman. The shadowy groove between the cheeks of her luscious, naked posterior was maddeningly and almost shamelessly wide enough to let him catch a glimpse of the fig-like mound of her cunt, framed by very thick, crisp, black silky pussy curls. Her legs bent and flexed uncontrollably, and he could see the muscles of her naked bottom tighten and spasm as she uttered a soft sobbing groan: "Oh pl-please-oh do hurry-I feel so ashamed, I wish I could d-die!"
It was all he could do to keep his composure and to go through with the deliberate and impersonal mechanics of administering a sound spanking to that creamy, quivering ass. Posing his left palm on the small of Lydia Winton's back, he drew back his right hand and administered a stinging, noisy slap on the summit of the right bottom globe. His secretary uttered a stifled gasp and promptly huddled her thighs together, in an instinctive-if ingenuous-attempt to conceal the most intimate parts of her unveiled anatomy. On the creamy epidermis, a bright pink splotch, outlining his palm, at once sprang up. It was esthetically satisfying, but what was worst of all, it was making his prick try to tear through the fly of his neatly pressed trousers.
The second slap visited the other bottom-cheek at exactly its ripest sector, and once again Lydia Winton uttered a sobbing groan and squirmed forward on the desk, turning her face to the other side now and keeping her eyes tightly shut. He could see in a kind of profile the crimsoned face of his tall, svelte, mature secretary, and he could see also that now her fingertips were pressed down hard against the desk instead of her palms, denoting her emotional stress.
The mark on the other globe was equally bright, assuring him that Lydia Winton's bare bottom was extremely sensitive and therefore ideal to spank. The resilient, springy feel of her behind when his palm had made those two impacts was also highly arousing to the virile bachelor.
Then, taking a deep breath, he began to spank her vigorously. Alternating on the squirming, weaving, tightening cheeks of Lydia Winton's outthrust, reddening naked behind, George Darvison brought his palm down energetically on first the right cheek and then the left, beginning at the top of her bottom and working down to the tops of her thighs, then back again. Lydia Winton groaned, squirmed and twisted violently, kicked up one pump shod foot, then the other, then tried to cross her nylon-sheathed ankles as she seemed to extend herself further over the desk in what appeared to be an effort to escape him. But his left palm continued to force her down in position, and without modifying or altering the regular progression of the spanking, he administered the sonorous slaps with about five seconds between each.
She caught her breath several times as a particularly stinging slap seemed to exacerbate her highly tautened nerves. After about the twentieth, she began to turn her face restlessly from side to side, then tilted back her head and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes very wide and humid, while she sobbingly emitted "Ohhaah-oh please-oh do get it over with-oh I'm so ashamed ouch-aahh-oh it hurts-Oh Mr. Darvison-I'm sorry-I didn't mean to s-say it-please-owwoohhplease stop-you're hurting me-oh please!"
By the fiftieth, she was crying unabashedly, twisting and squirming her hips this way and that, as if she were trying to rub her pussy against the edge of the desk and so obtain relief from the burning waves of spanking pain that now besieged her voluptuous naked posterior. Tears ran down her flushed cheeks, and from time to time she glanced back over her shoulder to implore mercy, while her fingertips scrabbled over the gleaming surface of the desk.
At last he paused, breathing hard, his eyes blazing, and his prick threatening at any moment to burst through his trousers. "I'll give you a little time to rest, Miss Winton," he hoarsely remarked. "Then we'll finish your punishment."
"Oh no! Oh for heaven sake, Mr. Darvison-it hurts-oh please, no more! Haven't you sp-sp-spanked me enough already? Oh I beseech you, don't do it anymore, oh please don't!" she wailed.
"You're acting like a baby instead of a twenty-four-year-old woman, Miss Winton," he scolded.
"A proper spanking is meant to hurt, and you have had only half your portion."
"Oh but please, it really hurts-oh I'm so ashamed-it's so un-un-uncomfortable-oh won't you let me go now-I promise-I won't ever do anything like this again-not ever-but oh please have mercy!" she sobbed.
"I had in mind using my ruler or my belt to finish off your punishment, Miss Winton," he announced.
Lydia Winton turned her face back over her shoulder, a look of utter consternation on her tearstained, contorted visage. "Oh nooooo! Oh merciful heavens, of please no more, oh don't do that, I couldn't stand it, I'd just die, Mr. Darvison! Oh please, I-FU do anything in the world-but please let me off any more, please."
"Well, seeing that it is your first spanking, perhaps I will relent and finish the rest of it with my hand as I started. But you had better come over to the couch and get over my lap so I can control you, Miss Winton," he at last decided. He moved over to the couch and seated himself, while the piteously sobbing young woman slowly and unsteadily straightened, and then, burying her face in her hands, burst into muffled sobs as she slowly and reluctantly crossed over to him, hobbling in the most delicious way because her panties had tangled at her calves.
He seized her by the hips and drew her down on over his lap, stretching her out completely on the couch as she gave way to a crisis of tears. Once again, his left arm this time wrapping round her slim waist, he adjusted the rolled-up skirt and slip well up onto her shoulder blades, and then began to spank with greater vigor than ever. This time, however, he concentrated on the upper and lower summits of her behind, and in a few moments Lydia Winton was kicking her stockinged legs into the air in a mad flurry of pain, wailing and squealing tearfully at nearly every spank: "Awwwrroohh! Oh please, Mr. Dar-aiii! Oh that's enough, I just can't stand anymore, truly I can't! Owwou! I won't ever do it again, boohoo, I promise I won't-aahhrrww! Oh please please, oh do stop, you're hurting me so!"
Her voice rose shrilly as his hand descended with louder, more stinging impact than ever. Finally he paused, his face livid with lust, breathing hard, his prick monstrous as it thrust up against his fly and prodded her wriggling loins.
"Do you think you've learned your lesson so that you won't go gossiping about office secrets again, Miss Winton?" his voice was thick and throbbing with pleasure.
"Oh, why-yes, oh I'll never-never do it again-oh do stop, I'll be so good-I'll do anything you want-only let me off any more, I'm begging you, Mr. D-Darvison!" Lydia Winton wailed.
Slowly he took her by the waist and lifted her, and then to his amazed delight, she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth, whimpering as she squirmed over his lap, her clothes still up fucked, her panties now worked down to her ankles. "Ohh, you h-h-hurt me so, oh Mr. Darvison, I-I'll be so good!" she moaned almost hysterically.
His hands moved round to cup and squeeze the flaming, hot ovals of her naked, well-spanked bottom. Lydia Winton parted her lips as his tongue drove between them, and with a sobbing, shuddering little sigh, she locked her arms even more tightly round him and pressed herself against him so that the hardened tips of her bubbies rasped against his chest. Slyly he slid his left hand round in front of her, and with his forefinger began to feel for her clitoris. Her pussy was already suspiciously moist, and as he touched the nodule of her deepest emotions, Lydia Winton groaned and hugged him even more shamelessly, her tongue now responding to his in an abandoned capitulation and searched for sexual solace.
He shifted her onto her back on the couch, his hands gripping the backs of her knees and thrusting her knees back up against her titties, while he swiftly knelt before her. Now he removed his right hand to yank down his zipper and to draw out his swollen prong, and then, once again gripping her legs tightly and upturning her flaming behind and seeing the gaping pink cleft of her cunt and the puckering rosette of her ass-hole, he thrust himself to the very balls in a single massive lunge.
"Ohhh, oh G-EEE, oh yes, yes, Mr. D-Mr.D-Mr.Darvison-oh give it to me-f-f-fuck me-oh poor bottom-oh how you hurt me-aahh-ooohhhaahh!" she moaned.
In her frantic kicking, both her pumps flew off, but George Darvison was far too occupied with the most exquisite of all possible denouncements. His aching prick thrust in and out of Lydia Winton's moist, tight cunt chasm, and suddenly she uttered a wailing and her body thrashed and squirmed violently in the throes of pussy creaming.
With a groan of exultation, George Darvison felt himself explode, and sank forward, buried to the hilt inside his secretary's contracting, shuddering and spasming cunt sheath.
CHAPTER THREE
With some little annoyance, George Darvison realized that he wouldn't be able to take Lydia Winton back to his apartment tonight after taking her out to dinner. Lorraine, his thoroughly lesbian-conditioned sister and a career woman of no little renown in the insurance field (though she had very cleverly managed to keep her real penchants for domination quite unknown to her associates), had already told him this morning that she wanted the apartment to herself tonight.
He knew perfectly well what she had in mind. Indeed, though they had lived together for the last four years, he had several times been on the verge of asking her why the hell she didn't take her own place. At least twice a week, he glumly reflected, he had to stay downtown at the club or even go to a hotel when he wanted a piece of tail, simply because Lorraine was using the apartment to subjugate one of her cute fillies, some new secretary or file clerk who had blundered down at the insurance office and was being faced with the alternative discharge or else. And the "or else" invariably meant a sound spanking and then consolation in Lorraine's expert embrace. Though Lorraine was more the "butch" type, and adored wearing leather boots and gloves and one-piece gusseting corselets, she could also on occasion be tender and almost lyrical in her approach to a particularly innocent girl who had not yet learned the sweet mysteries of Sappho.
After the explosive coital reconciliation which he and his secretary Lydia Winton had just enjoyed, he rose slowly from the couch, mopping himself with a handkerchief, and then bent over and kissed her on the forehead. "There now, Lydia darling, it's all over and it's forgotten. Do you know, I'm sort of glad we had this little misunderstanding at the beginning. I'm frank in telling you I've wanted to do this to you for some time now."
Lydia Winton blushed violently to her very earlobes and the roots of her brunette, disheveled curls. Slowly she sat up and, averting her face from him, tugged down her up-rolled dress and slip. Her panties had twisted off her ankles during the frenzied climax of what had followed her first bare-bottom spanking across his desk and been transferred to the couch so that he could control her wrigglings and twistings with greater ease. She gasped as she saw them lying on the floor, stooped and retrieved them, and then tried to wad them up into a tiny ball and conceal them, her blushes only deepening. "I-I don't know what you must think of me, Mr. Dar-Darvison," her voice was faint and tremulous. "I-I'm so awfully ashamed."
"There's no need to be. You're quite a girl, Lydia. Now the difference between me and Mack Burton is that I have no intention whatsoever of letting anybody even in this office find out what's happened, any more than I would let my best friend or even my sister Lorraine find out about you. I only hope it won't make you uncomfortable when we see each other again Monday morning-we will, won't we? You do want to keep your job?"
"Oh yes! I-I just have to. It's for M-Mother's sake-I just have to, Mr. Darvison. But I mean-I'm not I'm not this sort of a girl all the time, you do have to believe that, I'm afraid you think I'm awfully cheap and ... " and then, with the paradoxical and incalculable unpredictability of the female, Lydia Winton burst into tears and buried her face in her hands, her panties once again dropping to the floor.
With an ironic smile, George Darvison stooped, retrieved them himself, and put them into his trousers pocket. "I think you'd feel better if you used my washroom, and then we ought to have a good steak and perhaps a bottle of wine over at the London House. I can't let you go home in this distraught condition, Lydia."
"Oh no! Mother will worry."
"Is she really that much of an invalid that you can't stay away from her at night?" he wanted to know.
"No, it's just that she needs that operation, but she'd worry so dreadfully about me unless she knew at the start of the day that I was going to be away in the evening."
"Then call her. Tell her you have to work overtime. Now don't worry, it'll be all right," he said soothingly as he leaned down and caressed her hair. Lydia shivered, bit her lips, and then stammered, "All-all right, Mr. Darvison."
"I think under the circumstances you would be justified in calling me by my first name this evening. I don't recommend it during the day of an ordinary business week, but for this once, considering what's happened between us, I should rather like it," he said with a gentle hint of sarcasm in order to ease the emotional strain which he could perceive she was undergoing in guilty aftermath. He thought to himself how curious it was about the old Latin proverb that after coitus all animals are sad, including the two-footed animal and his mate. Frankly, that quick hot fuck on the couch had been one of the most exciting erotic experiences of his career, and he had reason to believe that Lydia Winton herself had actually enjoyed it, judging from the furious acceptance of his and her complete orgasmic surrender to the stroking of his virile cock. It also confirmed a pet theory of his that many a girl who had been called "frigid" by her boyfriend might herself be surprised how really passionate she could be if he would only turn her across his lap and fantail her lovely ass until it was nice and red, because the heat thus engendered would spread in front to her quim and render her quite acquiescent to fucking.
He didn't regret the spanking, however. If only from the viewpoint of his male pride, she had it coming in a way, having turned down his attempts to date her. And the fellow she had picked to sleep with instead, Mack Burton, he happened to know personally, was a two-timing louse who would sell his own lover for thirty pieces of silver. Bob Porterfield would do well, he reflected, to keep an eye on that aspiring account executive or he might And his own shop sold out from under him.
But at the moment he was much more concerned with keeping Lydia Winton on the payroll and also gently but masterfully guiding her towards a different and more intimate kind of relationship on a regular basis. It was high time he had a mistress. And it was also high time that Lorraine found her own damned apartment!
He watched the lovely brunette, swaying a little, still sniffling softly, cross over and enter his private washroom, and then he sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette and pondered the enchanting hours ahead of them. She had just called her mother and told her about the overtime, and from her, he had gathered that everything was going to be fine. He couldn't take Lydia to the club, obviously, but after dinner there were a number of fine hotels who asked no questions and who already knew him for many a business meeting or conference conducted in their ballrooms or private suites. As for baggage, a briefcase and a stenorette would suffice even the most prying room clerk, and he might even dictate a few letters later on. It might take Lydia's mind off how naughty she had reflected.
Lorraine Darvison parked her Rambler near the rental offices of the East View Park Apartments and turned to give a quick, greedy look at the young woman seated beside her. It was Phyllis Trenton, just twenty, with light-brown hair in a chic bob, a soft sweet and wistful face, gray-green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was already quivering and trembling to denote uncertainty and the most delicious kind of apprehension. Lorraine Darvison loved this type of girl more than any other, and that is meant literally.
Lorraine herself at thirty-four was in the prime of her physical beauty. It delighted her to see how many men openly lusted for her, and to know that she could flout them with merely a scornful and contemptuous look or gesture. Not that she hadn't given the opposite sex a fair try in her earlier days, particularly in college. There had been several affairs, but they had all been too brief, too selfish from the male's part, and with little pleasure for her. She had found that her name was being bandied about campus at Northeastern until virtual unknowns were coming around to the sorority house to ask for that "roundheeled redhead with the big bombers." At that point, she had forsaken men, till about eight years ago. Then she had really fallen desperately in love, and the vicious betrayal she had experienced on that occasion had thoroughly converted her to lesbianism.
Lorraine Darvison was five feet eight inches in height, and she still had the same superb, breathtakingly ripe, high-perched round and closely spaced titties which had attracted the attention of every red-blooded male on campus. They still were without sag, and she could go without a bra if she so desired. Her auburn hair was cut in a trim, rather mannish do. Her cheeks were slantingly high-set, with a kind of Eurasian look to her face, augmented by the obliquely set and rather large hazel eyes with very thin brows and thick but short lashes. That auburn hair was natural and owed nothing to the henna or tint bottle, and it was a slightly darker shade between her long, beautifully sculptured, nervously muscled thighs.
She glanced up at the second floor apartment just to make sure that the lights were not on and that her brother hadn't double-crossed her. She knew perfectly well that he didn't like her sharing the apartment and particularly forcing him on a weekend evening to go to his club or somewhere else when he wanted a little diversion. But the fact was that Lorraine Darvison was secretly drawn towards her brother, who resembled the one man with whom she had fallen desperately in love with and who had betrayed her. She knew that George wouldn't act like that, and she had really been passionately responsive to that fickle lover. Perhaps subconsciously she yearned for an incestuous relationship with her own brother, though she would have been the first to deny it. However, tonight she was thinking that perhaps it would be wiser to buy a little bungalow out near the insurance company, or perhaps even farther west in a secluded neighborhood where she could conduct her growingly complex experiments in discipline and subjugation to her heart's content.
She had met Roger Carter about eight years ago, when she was working in this same insurance company as a receptionist. He had been sent by the West Coast headquarters as an efficiency expert, and he had noticed her the very first day. He had wined and dined her, even written sonnets about her. He was suave, devilishly handsome, and he had a line that had lured many a virgin to her cherry's doom. But Lorraine had swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker, even to the point of believing that Roger was going to marry her and take her back to Los Angeles with him. He was there six months, they were constant lovers, and he initiated her even into fellatio, which she had once sworn she would never do for any man, no matter how much she loved him. But by then she was so madly in love with the responses which he coaxed from her magnificent body that even this hitherto odious ritual was performed as a kind of grateful token of her love for him.
Roger was not married, but the betrayal came simply from the fact that he already had a mistress back in Los Angeles whom he had no intention of supplanting with Lorraine. For him, she was simply a pleasant diversion while he was away from his beloved Los Angeles and his Rita, a sultry olive-skinned Mexican half-breed whom he had found in a nightclub on Olivera Street and who was a devoted masochist and loved to be whipped, handcuffed and blindfolded, and then buggered at the end of a disciplinary s'ance.
On the next to last night they had together, Roger had attempted to take the virginity of Lorraine's ass hole, and had even tied her wrists with his handkerchief and her ankles with her own nylon stockings. Then he had spanked her ferociously, till she was really in pain and pleading with him to stop. He had thought that she would be roused by the same sadistic fervor that he displayed to Rita, but Lorraine was a sadist herself, and hence this was humiliating and really painful for her. But when he tried to pry open her reddened bottom-cheeks and thrust his cock into her puckering ass hole, she twisted herself off the couch, tore her wrists free, and brought her fist up into the pit of his stomach till he doubled over. Then, in a furious passion of hate and revulsion, she began to kick him with her high-heeled pumps, spurning him and cutting at his face until he at last turned out to be a coward and tearfully confessed that he had no intention of marrying her.
And from that day forth, Lorraine Darvison had sought her sexual pleasures with her own tender and easily dominated sex, just as she meant tonight to do so with the apprehensive young brunette who sat beside her in the Rambler.
Phyllis Trenton had started work at Great Occidental Life and Casualty Assurance Company two weeks ago as a file clerk. She had run away from her home in Macomb, Illinois because her strict parents had wanted her to marry a pompous, already fat twenty-six-year-old assistant manager of a grocery store there whom she absolutely detested. The young man's father had been a dear friend of her father's, but Phyllis Trenton saw no reason to sacrifice her maidenhead for the sake of paternal friendships. She had suffered a few dates with Buddy Henshaw, and he had an inane laugh, was a detestably loudmouthed extrovert who patted her on the bottom in public and thought it highly hilarious. Also, he had a body odor for which he did very little, and even his hands were moist and clammy.
Phyllis' aunt had left her a little money, and she had taken this and come to Chicago and found herself a job and a small room near the insurance company. Being still quite naive and a virgin even at twenty, though she was quite cognizant of the difference between a man and a maid, and with a rural background which had given her absolutely no preparation for the chicanery and office politics one finds in a fairly large company, she had unwittingly made a few blunders during her first few days at work. Lorraine Darvison's secretary was not really a girl but an old-maid spinster named Miss Kathryn Danbury, forty-seven, spiteful and envious of Lorraine's position, since the latter was far younger than herself and extremely attractive. Lorraine herself would have been surprised to learn that that the spinster had even secret yearnings about a girl-loving relationship with her, which would have absolutely revolted her had it been made known to her.
At any rate, Jane Dougald, brunette assistant to Lorraine, had been about to fire the tearful Phyllis when Lorraine had happened by, sauntered into the office, and asked to know what it was all about. She had told her subordinate she would handle the affair, had marched the tearfully grateful young woman into her office and lectured her severely. Then she had told her, "You know, she's right, you really do deserve to be fired. But I'm going to give you another chance. I want you to have dinner with me and we'll talk it over. I may decide to fire you after all, and then again I may change my mind, it all depends on you."
Phyllis Trenton twisted her hands together in her lap, as she slowly got out of the car and meekly followed Lorraine Darvison into the lobby of the apartment building and up the stairs to the second floor. The view looked out on Lake Michigan and the beautiful South Shore Drive park before it, and it was one reason why Lorraine was reluctant to move out northwest, because there was hardly anything quite so scenic to compare with this Hyde Park locale. Besides, she split the rent with her brother, and it was really a steal at that price. And when, just like tonight, she was allowed to have the entire apartment for her kind of private disciplinary quarters, she was more reluctant than ever to think of breaking up the menage with her good-natured brother.
"Let's have supper first and then get serious later, Phyllis," she said lightly as she went into the kitchen. Mutely, the young brunette followed her, too scared to do otherwise, hoping against hope that somehow she would manage to talk this beautiful, sophisticated woman into keeping her on the job. She wouldn't go back to Macomb, she'd rather die. And already her father had managed to track her down and called her angrily on the long-distance phone and told her that she had better come to her senses and come back and marry Buddy. And she'd told him that she wouldn't ever do that, and she could earn her own living, and besides she was practically of age. But now she had to make good her boast, because Aunt Lucy's money wouldn't last for more than a year if she were out of a job, and if she were fired after just two weeks here, it certainly wouldn't help her get another job.
"How about some cottage cheese salad, rye bread toast, some iced tea, and maybe some strawberry shortcake? That ought to do on a hot night like this, don't you think, Phyllis?" Lorraine Darvison turned with an engaging smile to the trembling young brunette. "Oh come now, Phyllis, don't look so gloomy. It isn't the end of the world. My goodness, even if you lose your job, there are plenty of better places. You could try the Loop, for example, and I'm sure you might even earn more money. Great Occidental isn't especially known for giving high salaries to inexperienced young girls like you."
"I know-but-but you see-I-my parents are from a small town, and they wanted me to marry a fellow I just hate-and-and I ran away and I saw the ad and it was the first thing I did see and so I want to hold this job. I-I want to show them I can make my own way, and I don't ever want to go back there," Phyllis suddenly blurted out, then burst into tears.
Lorraine's small, ardent mouth quivered, for her nerves were particularly susceptible to the emotional anguish of an attractive young girl or young woman. The thin wings of her aquiline nose twitched, indicating that her sensual interest in her imminent victim was already very definitely beginning. Her eyes swept Phyllis' quivering body, in a plain brown cotton dress which, modest enough, could not conceal the lovely uptilting, narrowly spaced gourds of her young titties, the supple, narrow waist which gave way to the lovely, almost mature rounding hips, and fine round thighs. This was virgin pussy, and it was also a virgin bottom, Lorraine Darvison was certain. She meant to enjoy both, each in her own perverse and pleasurable way.
Whenever she conquered a girl at the office, she saw to it that there was never any favoritism openly shown, no sign by which any suspicious co-worker could ever detect the slightest degree of intimate relationship after hours. And invariably, she managed the affair so adroitly and ingeniously that the victim was left believing it was she who had really been guilty of being wanton and lascivious, and therefore in no way would she ever dare breathe a word of what had happened between them.
As a general rule, Lorraine Darvison rarely prolonged an affair, once she had conquered a virgin to the lesbian way of love. It was not that she was promiscuous, but the dangers of a lengthy liaison were obvious. Eventually the apprehensive girl, once having surrendered, would begin to take for granted the intimate relationship between them, and then begin to demand equality and perhaps even tribute. It could lead to blackmail and disgrace. However, Lorraine was also clever enough to reward those paramours of hers who had shown her particular pleasure. They would often receive small raises, be given additional responsibility, and so they would have nothing but praise for her and look back upon a passionate evening during which their bottoms had been made to redden most satisfactorily and their pussies to moisten and finally cream with almost a happy and grateful outlook.
Without waiting for Phyllis' response to the menu, she went ahead and prepared it, and then suggested that they eat out at the kitchen table. She raised the shade, opened the window, and the cool air from the lake blessedly came in to relieve the sultry humidity of the day. "You see how nice it is to be out here near the lake, Phyllis? That's one reason I would hate to live around work. And if you had a job in the Loop, you could live out in a neighborhood like this or even out on the Near North Side and be in walking distance and have the lake and everything else to enjoy," she gaily confided.
But Phyllis Trenton was still so apprehensive about the impending loss of her job that she could only look down at her plate and sigh, while a few tears glistened the comers of her lovely gray-green eyes.
"Oh, come on, eat your supper, it's not that bad," Lorraine teased. "I tell you what, I promise I'll give you at least another week's trial."
"Oh, would you, Miss Darvison? I'd work ever so hard, I'd try not to make those same mistakes. I really do want the job."
"For the life of me, I can't think why, Phyllis. But now, you see, you've had a week's reprieve, so for heaven's sake eat your supper and get that gloomy look off your face. You look just like a person who's been condemned to be shot at dawn."
"Oh, thank you! I'm ever so grateful, Miss Darvison. And it does look awfully good. Thank you again!" Phyllis smiled tremulously, and began to fork the cottage cheese. Lorraine Darvison leaned back with a triumphant little smile on her small red mouth. That gratitude was going to be translated somewhat later into passionate cohesion, but not until this delicious morsel had her pretty, creamy bottom well spanked. There was nothing, Lorraine Darvison reflected, like a spanking to make even a mature woman act like a little child, and to obey implicitly any order given her.
CHAPTER FOUR
The wistful-featured, young brunette looked vastly relieved after she had eaten the light, tasty supper which her office boss, Lorraine Darvison, had prepared. The auburn-haired lesbian sadist contemplated her prey with a deliciously excited feeling, half gloating and half anticipatory. She urged Phyllis to help her do the dishes, in order to get the girl to be more at ease and to begin to talk about her own background and personal problems. She had already learned that Phyllis had run away from her parents in Macomb because she didn't want to marry some fellow named Buddy. That was a good sign in itself, Lorraine thought, because often the best neophytes for lesbianism were those who have had a brief, unpleasant encounter with a man for the first time and had been shocked by the male ego and sexual brutality and selfishness. They could respond all the more easily to the tenderness, to the wily and cunning ways a woman like herself knew only too well in extracting confidences which would lead in turn to trust and devotion and finally to physical passion.
Phyllis had a very pale white skin which excited her. The short sleeves of the dress revealed these, and the dress hugged those lovely round titties and saucily rounded, upstanding bottom-cheeks and delightfully curved thighs and calves. She lit a cigarette and offered Phyllis one, but the latter blushingly shook her head: "I don't smoke, Miss Darvison."
"You may call me Lorraine, dear. Let's go into the living room and watch TV for a few minutes. But tell me more about yourself. So you didn't want to marry this fellow?"
"Oh no! He was just awful, and I couldn't stand him. He-he was always trying to" pat me out in public, you know, and he was loud and, well, I just couldn't think of marrying a man like that."
"Let's sit down here on the couch. There, I'll go turn on the TV, but not too loud." Lorraine Darvison moved over to the color console, turned it on, then returned to the couch. She smiled gently at the still slightly apprehensive light-brown-haired girl, and inwardly devoured her with a brooding look that conjectured what was going to happen very soon.
"Relax, Phyllis," she murmured, "there's nothing to be worried about. Now tell me some more about yourself."
Haltingly, the pretty small towner began to tell the auburn-haired dominatress about her childhood and how strict her parents had been with her. At about this point, Lorraine shifted herself just a little closer to her intended victim and interrupted, "Tell me, Phyllis dear, did they ever spank you?"
"Oh no! They weren't strict that way Miss Darvison, but they just watched over me all the time. I guess maybe they wish I'd been born a boy, but Mom couldn't have any more children after I was born."
"I know, dear. It's an old story. And then they wanted you to marry somebody that was probably very youthful to them to be sure you'd have security and maybe help them too. It was just too bad he didn't catch your imagine. But maybe," this with a pause and a long intent look, "just maybe, Phyllis, you really don't like boys after all. Had you ever thought of that?"
"No, I really don't know if that's true or not, Miss Darvison." Phyllis Trenton leaned back against the couch and frowned meditatively. She was really adorably ingenuous, Lorraine Darvison thought to herself, and her pulse began to quicken at the thought of subjugating this tasty piece of virgin pussy. She could just imagine the delicious confusion and mortified shame Phyllis was going to feel when she was compelled to prepare herself for a good sound spanking on her naked white bottom. And then the exquisite moments of consolation after that would be unforgettably thrilling.
"Well, dear," she said at last after the girl's voice had trailed off and the rather colorless story of an unexciting adolescence had been told, "what you really need is someone to watch over and guide you. Now the things you did to antagonize Miss Dougald, my second in command, really wouldn't have happened if you'd had more experience or been told by someone how to behave on the job with a big company."
"Yes, I-I know, Miss Darvison. I'm awfully ashamed of myself. I'll work so hard next week you'll want to keep me."
"We'll see. But there's something else, you know. In many ways, you're still a very young girl, quite immature and you're-likely to make more mistakes in the future unless you really are taken in hand," Lorraine pursued. By now her thigh was just brushing the girl's and her right arm had slyly curved round Phyllis' waist.
"I suppose I will. And I'm certainly going to try real hard to make you want to keep me."
"You know, it's a very good thing for a girl to be disciplined every so often, just to keep her mentally alert and aware of her past mistakes so she won't commit any more in the future."
"I suppose so."
"Well then, do you know what I told myself when I heard that you'd gotten into all that trouble so unnecessarily your very first week?" Lorraine Darvison stared deeply into the girl's widened, somewhat humid eyes.
Phyllis shook her head. "I don't know," she faltered.
"Why, if you were my own daughter, I'd have said that what you needed was a good sound spanking. In fact, I still think that. And I would much rather give that to you than fire you. I think it would snap you out of this rather silly naivete which is still so much a part of you, Phyllis dear."
The light brown-haired girl beside her blushed furiously, blinked her eyes, and twisted her hands nervously in her lap. "You-you mean that if you did that you wouldn't fire me, Miss Darvison?" she at last asked in a trembling little-girl voice.
"That's quite right. I might be inclined to give you a great deal more probationary indulgence, a great deal more than a week. Because, very frankly, dear, if I let you stay next week and you don't improve, my second in command is going to insist that you be fired, and I'll have to go along with her. Great Occidental spends a good deal of money in training girls; it costs roughly about two-thousand dollars per employee. So you can see for yourself that if we spend all this time with you and then you don't pan out, we've just thrown away all that money. Now I'm a great one for rehabilitation and developing employee incentives, which is why I'm personnel manager where I am. But that's why I brought you over here tonight, so it wouldn't be in the office and so that you'd feel more at ease with me. I like to look upon myself as a sort of foster aunt, Phyllis dear. And for your own good I do very definitely suggest that you think over the idea of accepting a good sound spanking instead of having just one week to prove yourself."
While she spoke, Lorraine Darvison had tightened the grip of her right arm around Phyllis Trenton's waist. She felt the girl's body quivering, and her own passions began to seethe along her inner thighs, making the lips of her ardent pussy twitch and moisten. She could feel her nipples hardening with tumescence as she stared hungrily at the girl's bowed head, and the soft lovely white neck. She could hardly wait to unveil all these treasures and have that lovely virgin bottom lying across her lap under her dominating hand.
"I-I don't know, I never have been spanked, not ever, Miss Darvison," Phyllis nervously stammered, her blushes spreading now almost to her throat. She was so deliciously virginal, so childishly innocent that the lust of the accomplished lesbian imperatrix was intensified from moment to moment. And by gently lowering her arm and placing her hand against Phyllis' right hip, Lorraine Darvison was able to discern that her victim's bottom was delightful and resilient, enticing flesh for the sacrifice to Sappho.
"If you're thinking that you're going to be awfully ashamed, Phyllis dear," she murmured huskily into the girl's ear, "you needn't be, not really. That's why I said that I wanted to act as a sort of foster aunt to you. I'd be your Aunt Lorraine and you'd be my naughty little niece Phyllis who has been a naughty girl and is going to get her pretty bottom spanked. And when it's over, you'll be forgiven, and then on Monday it'll be as if nothing had happened. I'll just tell my second in command that I'm the boss and I've decided to let you have at least a month to prove your worth to the company. And also, if you do justify my confidence in you by giving you this rather extraordinary chance to make good, there'll be a little raise to give you a further incentive to do still better from then on. How does that sound?"
If George Darvison had been present, he could not but have admired his sister's casuistic cunning in entrapping her victims. Doubtless, however, he would not have stopped at that, for Phyllis and almost every such girl whom Lorraine Davison chose to follow her to the apartment for a very intimate seance of confessional, penitence and atonement and then consolation, was the kind of tasty, lovely pussy that would most appeal to his virile prick. Indeed, this was one reason out of sheer envy that he had decided very definitely to ask Lorraine to find her own place and to leave him to his unencumbered apartment so that he might pursue his own amatory ventures.
Sensing that she was rapidly gaining the advantage because Phyllis Trenton's inexperienced emotions were already being displayed through the girl's blushing indecision and shy, shrinking awkwardness, Lorraine Darvison followed through:
"That's quite right, dear. If you'll let me be your aunt and punish you the way an aunt would punish a naughty little niece, I promise you that you won't have to worry about your job, that is, unless you make a terrible blunder. And I just know you won't. You're a sweet, trusting girl, and you're from a very small town and you haven't learned how to deal with people who are ambitious and greedy and ruthless. That's why I want to help you and be your friend."
"But you say that if I let you-let you spank me, then everything will be all right? But I'm so ashamed-isn't that for children-I'm twenty and..." It was evident that Phyllis Trenton was finding this dilemma extremely disturbing, judging from her violent blushes and her frantic refusal to look Lorraine in the face. Her slim little fingers twisted more and more nervously in her lap and she stared studiedly down at them.
"I give you my word, Phyllis dear. And it's not shameful, because it's an act of love in a sense. Only the two of us will know about it. And you'll be safe on your job and you'll be in line for promotion as soon as I think you deserve it plus a raise. Isn't that attractive to you?"
"Oh yes, I do so want to make good, I have to, I don't ever want to go back to Macomb!" the lovely brown-haired young woman stammered.
"Very well, then all you have to do is just submit yourself. I won't be cruel to you, you're such a sweet thing. You agree?"
It was all Lorraine could do to keep from pouncing on this timid mouse of a beauty, for her cat-like instincts told her that the prey was now readily within her grasp. And yet she had no wish to hasten this lovely interlude, this shy and trembling, faltering indecision which beset her lovely virginal captive. The sweet nuances of humiliation, of gradual hesitation and final yielding, intoxicated the dominant lesbian and roused all her mature and sophisticated lusts. She had no intention of brutalizing Phyllis, but she wished to subjugate her thoroughly, so that she could feel as if truly she were the guardian and keeper of this tender virgin's pussy as well as her psyche!
Finally Phyllis Trenton took a deep breath and nodded: "All right. But please, I'm so ashamed, I don't know what to do, what do you want?"
"Shh, dear," Lorraine Darvison breathed, as she leaned over and kissed the pale white cheek of the delectable novice to Sappho's realm. "Just come along with me, and I'll show you just what to do. It won't be half so bad as you think. My goodness, you mustn't be scared of a little spanking! You mean to say they never did it to you when you were a child?"
And when the girl could only blush the more and shake her head mutely, Lorraine's heart bounded with exultance. She rose, took Phyllis by the wrists, and led her trembling and undone, towards her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door and then her eyes greedily appraised the shrinking beauty, from head to toe. "Why don't you take off your dress and slip, dear?" she suggested. "And I'll change into something comfy."
"All right, Miss Darvison."
"Oh no, from now on I want you to call me Aunt Lorraine. Of course, you won't do that in the office, but here alone with me. I want you to, Phyllis dear. Let me hear you say it."
Phyllis Trenton simply could not raise her eyes to meet those of the dominatress. Shivering, her face really scarlet now even to her hair roots, twisting her fingers in front of her, she finally managed in a very faint voice, "A-Aunt Lorraine."
"There, you see? It's so easy. All right, you be a good girl, and I'll get ready while you're doing the same thing. And don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," the lesbian declared.
She then disappeared into her bathroom, for in a wardrobe closet which was at one side of this very spacious room, she had stored a dominatress costume she especially preferred when dealing with just such tempting, ingenuous victims as the charming, demure and naive Phyllis Trenton.
Swiftly stripping naked, she put on shoulder-length black gleaming gloves, and matching boots which took her to mid-thigh. Next came a pair of black rubber panties, which fitted the oval cheeks of her behind and her crotch like a second skin, and even suggestively shaped out the prominent mount of Venus, to the very lips of her cunt. For a brassiere she thoughtfully donned a black rubber bra, specially designed for her by a mature dressmaker on the West Side who shared her own sadomasochistic penchants. Lorraine Darvison's breasts were large, widely spaced, ripe pears, and she did not really need a bra in spite of her maturity. The rubber clung to the skin, shaping them out, even emphasizing the turgid nipples which projected out lasciviously as if seeking caresses.
And finally, there was one thing more: the instrument of punishment. She had promised Phyllis a little spanking, and she meant to keep her word. But first it would be done by hand and then, as a finale, there would be a few stinging smacks from the hairbrush, just enough to agitate this delicious virgin's emotions to passion-pitch and total surrender. She decided that tonight she would play a more dominant role than usual, and compel this tasty white-skinned morsel of virgin quim to learn the art of gamahuching. Her pussy began to twitch and moisten even at the thought, and with the snug rubber panties biting into the mouth of her cunt, Lorraine Darvison shuddered and felt all the wakening urges of her perverse lusts.
She therefore took from its hook in the wardrobe closet a plastic hairbrush, pale blue, with stiff nylon bristles, into which a hole had been pierced at the handle end so that it might dangle from the hook. It was a small brush, not like the old-fashioned black wooden ovals so classically used to chastise the bottoms of recalcitrant teenagers. But in Phyllis' state of confusion, Lorraine was certain that it would be the final element, a kind of catalytic agent which would precipitate the virgin's emotions into the abyss of complete capitulation and to girl-fucking without restraint.
At last, taking a perfume atomizer and delicately wafting some of the exquisite French scent to her throat, her armpits, her waist and finally the back of her neck, Lorraine Darvison opened the bathroom door and emerged into her bedroom. The bed was huge, a sort of queen-sized double bed. There was a small footstool near one side, and occasionally this was used as a kind of penitence stool on which the victim of the moment would kneel and bow her head and shoulders forward onto the side of the bed to yield up her tender flinching bottom for a delicate, voluptuous chastisement which would prepare her for total obeisance to the dominatress' orders.
Her eyes glinted with an ardent glow of desire as she saw Phyllis standing there near the dresser, staring fixedly at the floor, clad in only white cotton bra and panties, her flesh-colored nylon stockings of a rather cheap quality and not too finely deniered, and being held near the tops of her lovely rounded thighs by old-fashioned elastic garters over which the tops were rolled. Indeed this girl was a treasure, with this amusing anachronism of cotton under things. She made a private note to herself to buy Phyllis a new wardrobe of scanties in which the charming brunette could pose for her in subsequent sessions. For there would be subsequent sessions, no doubt about it. The shape of those lovely round bubbies, that sweet milky-white skin, and the jouncy round cheeks of Phyllis' virgin ass excited her, as did the prominent plump mound of that virgin cunt, that soft love-fig which the panties shaped out so suggestively.
"How lovely you look, dear," she complimented the blushing, confused young woman as she moved to the edge of the bed and seated herself. "Now come over here and stretch out over my lap, so you can rest comfortably on the bed itself. You'll see, it'll be over in no time, and you'll be ever so glad you got your punishment over with."
Phyllis slowly moved towards her dominatress-executioner, and then when she looked up and saw the startling subjugation attire of the office supervisor, she uttered a gasp of disbelief: "Ohh! M-Miss Darvison, whatever have you got on?"
"My spanking costume, darling," Lorraine Darvison laughed gently, patting her lap. The hairbrush was placed carefully at her right and behind her so that it would be out of the sight of Phyllis. "Be a good girl and come over my lap for your Auntie Lorraine."
Phyllis hesitantly crossed to her but over to the left, and Lorraine sighed with exasperation which was mixed with even greater desire. Thei ngenuousness of this girl surpassed belief, but on the other hand it was just this kind of an innocent victim whom the dominatress must relish as a prospective girl fucking partner. "No, no!" she rather testily interposed. "Over on this side, dear. That's it. Now don't be afraid, just stretch yourself all out, that's nice. Push yourself a little closer to me-that's lovely! You're really a very lovely girl, and I'm so glad that we had this little chat so that we can get to know each other better. I know that my assistant would have fired you on the spot, but that would be unjust. Now, tell me, are you ready for your spanking, Phyllis?"
"Y-yes, but oh do please get it over with, please hurry! I'm so terribly ashamed!"
"I shall be very angry with you, dear, if you don't start calling me Auntie Lorraine. I like my naughty little niece to say that to me while I'm preparing her big naughty bottom for a good sound spanking," Lorraine crooned. Her eyes were devouring the upstandingly rounded, jouncy cheeks of Phyllis Trenton's virgin ass, as they lay upturned over her lap, the thin cotton panties shaping out their rondures in the most appetizing and suggestive way. The material even followed the broadening crease between the globes, that mysterious pathway which led to the two most prized orifices and both virgin, her cunt and ass-hole!
Now, hiding her face in her hands, Phyllis lay there quivering and readied for punishment. Her legs were tightly locked together, and the heels of her pumps waggled a little as she restlessly shifted her pump toes against the sheets. It was obvious that she was entirely apprehensive, and all her emotions were flowering and at the crux.
"Now raise yourself just a little, dear, I might have to take your panties down for your spanking, you know."
"Oh no! Oh please don't do that! Oh I should die of shame if you did that, M-Miss Darvison."
"What's this? Didn't I tell you to call me Auntie Lorraine? I'm going to be very angry with you, dear, if you don't start doing it right now. So angry, in fact, that III have to give you the hairbrush after I've spanked you with my hand," the dominatress severely urged her victim.
"Oh but please, you didn't tell me it would be like this, oh I've never been, I've never let anybody see me naked before! Oh please don't do it to me that way, can't you spank me over the panties, A-Auntie Lorraine?" Phyllis tearfully quavered, looking back over her shoulder with widened gray-green eyes in which tears were glistening. Her appealing innocence, her delicious demureness, made Lorraine Darvison quiver with unappeased ferocious lust. If she had her own way, she told herself, she would bind and gag and blindfold this lovely piece of quim and thrash her within an inch of her young life until she was groveling on the floor and ready to lick her boots and everything else that was desired of her. But she had no wish to frighten this tender little pigeon unduly until she at last had her in the toils of lust.
"Now don't be silly, a big grownup girl like you," she scolded, using a tone she might to a child. "In the first place, since you've never been spanked, you don't know that a spanking must be complete and thorough. Well the person who spanks can't see how thorough it is unless the bottom is bare. That way, I shan't give you more than is due you and I'll be able to see the marks. Now stop being so silly and lift your hips up just a little. Or do you want me to tie you for the spanking?"
This threat terrified the chagrined and shamed young beauty. "Oh no! I'll let you do it, but oh please, please do it quickly, or I shall just die of shame being like this!" she whimpered and at the same time, she docilely arched up her hips.
Instantly Lorraine's gloved fingers began to draw the cotton sheath down from those jouncy milky bottom globes. Poor Phyllis contracted them all she could, exerting all her muscular force to hide the most intimate secrets of her body. And when at last the panties reposed at mid-thigh, her magnificent naked ass was upturned and quivering and tensing, she burst into anguished tears of shame and distress. Lorraine let her exhale her sobs and plaints for a minute or two, and then once again curved her left gloved arm round the supple milky waist. "I'm going to spank you now Phyllis, get ready," she announced.
She raised her hand.
"Oh ashamed," the girl brokenly groaned.
Lorraine's answer was to tighten her glove around that satiny bare waist, and at the same time her eyes fixed avidly on the tensing round hemispheres of Phyllis' bare upturned ass. She had an impulse to draw off her gloves so that her bare fingers might revel in contact with that virgin white flesh, and then thought better of it. It was necessary, and swiftly, since the girl was obviously wavering on the brink of total yielding, to crush any revolt from the very outset and thus be able to dominate her thoroughly the very first night.
With this in mind, she called out coldly, "Attention, Phyllis, I'm going to spank you. Now stay in position. You may cry out all you like, but don't try to wriggle off or you'll make me very angry. Are you ready, dear? Tell your Auntie Lorraine you are!"
"Yes, oh please, Auntie Lorraine, oh please get it over with! If you only knew how awful this is for me. I beg of you! Owww! Ohhh! That hurts!" Her plaintive appeal was broken off by a sudden squeal of pain as Lorraine Davison's gloved right hand descended with a crisp smack on the very center of the right bottom cheek, flattening the springy young white flesh, and letting it jouncily restore its original temptingly rounded contour. Instantly, on that fine white skin, the bright pink splotch, outline of the spanking palm, stood out. Lorraine scrutinized it eagerly, and was delighted with her good fortune. Phyllis was one of the most deliriously spankable girls she had ever had under wing. And she promised herself that the girl would not leave until she had become a complete and servile bed partner, tutored in all the arts of gamahuching, pussy-rubbing and humble fealty to the mistress.
The second slap followed almost instantly, decorating the left bottom cheek at its summit with an equally bright pink outline of that gloved hand. Phyllis lifted her head and called out, "Owww, ohhh, oh please, not so hard, it hurts me, it really does, A-Auntie Lorraine!"
But the auburn-haired dominatress was enchanted to find that already her victim was subconsciously surrendering herself; the token of it was that usage of the childishly endearing term which presumed an intimate relationship between the two of them and quite forgot the austere and impersonal liaison between employer and employee. Yes, by the very sign of calling Lorraine by that juvenile term of kinship, lovely virginal Phyllis had proclaimed her willingness to submit!
Tightening her grip around the girl's quivering waist, she roamed her gloved right hand all over the naked, flinching bottom. Phyllis lay sobbing quietly, her face still buried in her hands, her shoulders bowed and hunched, and her nyloned calves rubbed together nervously as her pumps twisted this way and that way. It was plain to see how mortified she was at having to show her naked bottom to this mature beautiful woman. And yet the psychological aura of lesbian domination was already in this room, and it would take feverish hold of this tender white-skinned neophyte.
Now she began to spank in earnest. Alternating on the cheeks and beginning at the tops of the girl's hips, first right and then left, her gloved palm rose and fell abruptly, with scarcely ten seconds between spanks. Startled by this alteration in the tempo as well as the severity and sting which this hitherto unfamiliar chastisement imparted to her virginal flesh, Phyllis Trenton began to sob and groan, then finally to kick her lovely legs back and forth till one of her pumps flew off. Then at last, in sheer desperation, her face screwed up, reddened and wet with tears, she plunged both her hands back to her flaming behind and whimpered, "Oh no, oh please not any more, Auntie Lorraine. Oh it hurts me, I can't stand it any more, please let me off, I'll be a good girl, I'll work so hard!"
"You naughty girl, take your hands away at once, or I'll tie them for you!" Lorraine threatened, feigning an angry look, though inwardly she was with lust for this delicious morsel. "Are you going to be a good girl and submit as you promised you would, Phyllis? I've never had such a naughty niece before. I really vow I shall have to tie you after all."
"Oh no! I'll be good. Please don't do that! Only please, can't you tell me how much more I have to get, so I can stand it? It's just awful now, my poor seat hurts me something fierce, Auntie Lorraine!"
"It's meant to for your own good, dear. Now let me see you clasp your hands together in front of you. That's a good girl. Now get ready. I'm going to give you about thirty more good slaps on your bare behind. And I want you to be grateful for them, because they'll teach you to be disciplined and to be obedient when you're given them again."
Phyllis began to feel her mounting passions. Again her eyes laved the flaming hemispheres, and her left arm took even tighter hold of that supple hare milky waist. And once again she resumed the attack. Her right hand rose and fell even more crisply, with five seconds between each spank. Phyllis began to wail and to call out and to beg for mercy after about a dozen more, twisting and kicking, trying frantically to look back in appeal to her executioner. But Lorraine Darvison remained impervious to such anguished pleas, going on spanking until she believed that the flaming expanse of Phyllis Trenton's voluptuous virgin bottom had received an impartial and thorough discoloration from its virginal and lilial white to an angry, flaming red.
In her struggles, Phyllis had kicked off both her pumps. Her hands twisted frantically, her knuckles whitening, and she felt the urge to smother.
She reached out, sensuously and finally paused with her gloved palm resting over the crease of those two luscious, swollen ass cheeks, Phyllis Trenton's hips were weaving and squirming, and Lorraine could feel the girl's hairy virgin cunt hole rubbing over her thigh. It was an intoxicating sensation, and it was the precursor to even more bawdy delights to come.
"It's almost over now, darling," she spoke crooningly, and she leaned forward and stroked the girl's tumbled light-brown hair. "Now I want you to count out ten spanks, and say 'Thank you, Auntie Lorraine' after each, do you understand."
"
"Y-yes, but oh please, make them quick, my poor seat is on fire!"
"You'll see, you'll be able to bear it and then we'll kiss and make up. And that'll be the nicest part of all," the auburn-haired imperatrix promised. She reached to the right and picked up the brush, then resumed her tight grip of Phyllis Trenton's bare waist with her left arm, so that the flaming, swollen cheeks of the victim's behind was upturned at exactly the proper angle. And slowly lifting the brush, she brought it down with a nasty little crack! And Phyllis Trenton uttered a piercing cry of: "Eyouwoouuu!! Oh please, that hurts awfully, oh what are you spanking me with now, Auntie Lorraine?"
"That isn't what I told you to say, you naughty girl. Just for that, it'll go on being one until you finally start counting. Get ready!" Once again the hairbrush rose and fell, decorating the base of the left buttock with an even more fiery mark that superimposed over the uniformly scarlet pattern left by the gloved hand spanking.
"Ahrrr, oh please, oh it hurts, one, oh thank you, Auntie Lorraine, but oh please, please do it in a hurry, I'm just dying now, my poor seat hurts me so!" the naive virgin wailed as again she kicked and flailed her legs to and fro in the air.
The spanking went on. Almost hysterical by about the sixth spank, poor Phyllis missed two counts, and had to take the swats over again. When the tenth was finally officially counted out, she was dissolved in tears, and she was wriggling her hips this way and that, unconsciously grinding her furry cunt against her executioner's lap. Lorraine, however, did not miss this delightfully provocative and suggestive nuance. If Phyllis wanted a girl rub, she would certainly be accommodated very shortly!
Putting down the hairbrush, she began to stroke the sobbing girl's head and shoulders with her gloved right hand. Then, releasing Phyllis' waist with her left, she pulled off her right glove and it was her bare hand this time which wandered over the flaming cheeks of that well-spanked bottom. The spasmodic movements and the flexions all through the globes fascinated her. And the contrast between the upper white thighs and the lower back with the violently angry-red escutcheon imprinted on the girl's well-thrashed bare ass, added more fuel to the fire of her perverse yearning to conquer Phyllis Trenton body and soul.
Gradually the girl's sobs began to diminish, though her body still shook with the tremors of emotional and physical aftermath. Lorraine Darvison's palm could take that for a hand spanking-only a few strokes of the little brush and that tender white flesh was quite warm. And that warmth, she knew from long experience, would finally pervade Phyllis Trenton's virgin pussy and render her as submissive as the spanking had done to make tender her hitherto unprofaned maiden bottom to the rigors and humiliation of corporal punishment.
"There, there, Phyllis dear, now it's all over. Now we're friends again, your Auntie Lorraine and you," the auburn-haired imperatrix purred. "Aren't you glad it's over? Don't you feel better now that you've been punished? And you know that you have another chance and you can go on and get a raise and more work and you won't have to be afraid of being fired?"
"Oh yes-oh but it hurts so-it still does hurt-ooooh, I never want another spanking like that-oh it hurts!" Phyllis whimpered.
"You big baby! Now come on, roll over onto the bed, and we'll see just what the damage was." Lorraine's voice was trembling now with her own impatient desires, so long suppressed. She helped Phyllis shift herself over to the center of the bed and to roll over on her stomach where again she covered her face with her hands and abandoned herself.
Deftly and carefully, now kneeling up, Lorraine Darvison slid down the panties and removed them completely. Then, drawing off the other glove, she began to caress the flaming bottom with both hands, knowingly and savoringly, while Phyllis continued to sob and sniffle, squirming restlessly as the soothing caresses began to waken strange and unfamiliar sensations in her virginal young loins. She was utterly delicious thus, with only the narrow bandeau of the white cotton bra and the flesh colored stockings held up by elastic garters veiling her magnificent young nakedness. Slyly now, Lorraine found the catch of the bandeau and loosened it, and the bra fell to release those wonderful young round titties. Instantly Lorraine's left hand glided toward the girl's bare side and on to the side curve of her left breast, her right palm continuing to stroke the feverishly smarting, angrily reddened hillocks of Phyllis Trenton's well-spanked ass.
"Ooooohhhhh!" the light-brown-haired victim sighed, shivering a little at the touch against her breast, "that does feel a little better, Auntie Lorraine-oh my goodness, it hurt so awfully, I didn't think I could stand it-ohhhh!"
"Shhhhh, darling, just lie there and be still, that's a darling," the imperatrix crooned. And now her other hand visited the right tittie, till finally she slipped both hands under the girl and cupped those wonderful virgin love globes, her fingers tightening over them possessively.
"Ohh-oh, you mustn't-I'm n-n-naked-oh please don't A-Auntie Lorraine," Phyllis Trenton gasped, turning her scarlet face back up to her executioner who was now willing to be her lover-initiatress.
"I want you to give me the kiss of peace, to show that you forgive me, darling," Lorraine Darvison breathed as she lowered her head toward the still softly sobbing girl.
"Yes-yes, Auntie L-Lorraine-oh please-don't touch me there-it's not right-nobody ever-I'm so ashamed to be n-naked like this-"
"I told you to be quiet, dear. Now kiss me. Lift your face up and kiss me good and hard. You're such a darling, such a big baby, that I love you very much, little Phyllis from the small town who doesn't want to marry a nasty man. I don't want you to either, darling. Kiss me now!" the dominatress commanded.
Putting her palms against the sheets, Phyllis lifted herself partly, and thus her naked bubbies became the full prize of Lorraine Darvison's avidly expert hands, which kneaded them, caressed and fondled them, while the imperatrix put her mouth to Phyllis's in a long and passionate kiss.
With a little moan, Phyllis surrendered herself. Her eyes closed, her bubbies were like restless doves in Lorraine's caressing grasp. They rose and fell shudderingly, as her emotions became high pitched and enervated. She lifted one leg and then lowered it, she rubbed her thighs together and she squirmed her pussy into the sheets. Lorraine's crafty eyes took all this in, and now the dominatress purred, "Now roll over onto your back-wait, I'll get a pillow for you. There now, it'll feel much better."
Slowly Phyllis Trenton obeyed, and her bottom pressed down against the cool pillow and she gasped, "Oh that does feel better, oh my goodness, you've hurt my poor s-seat so much-oh, Auntie Lorraine, I won't ever let you spank me again-"
"If you're a good girl, I won't have to. Now lie very still."
Lorraine straightened on her knees, her eyes veiled and misty with lust. They swept that magnificent nakedness, they saw the panting rounds of the titties, the wide shallow dimple kiss-nook of the bellybutton, and the thick dark-brown curls which framed that adorable virgin twat, those soft pink lips now twitching in emotion that she herself had roused so ably.
Then once again her hands caressed the heaving bubbies, tweaking the nipples with her thumbs, and then moved down to caress the belly, finally the sides of the hips, and then gradually and lingeringly on towards the abdomen where the fleece began to grow that led to that delicious virgin cunt. Phyllis's head began to turn from side to side, and long shuddering gasps exuded from her parted lips. She raised one knee unconsciously, as if welcoming these caresses, as if libidinously giving access to her pussy. And once again Lorraine Darvison noted this new change in her victim's emotions and understood the moment had almost come for total surrender.
Phyllis had begun to squirm her bottom against the pillow, to ease the smarting sting and the heat of the spanking. And all these unconscious gyrations only accentuated the lascivious offering of her cunt, making the pink lips gape and pout deliciously.
And now at last Lorraine's right hand trailed down the thickening fleece to find those lips, and with her fingertips she began to rim the dainty cunt hole.
"Oh don't-oh you shouldn't do that-oh please, take your hand away-oh Auntie Lorraine, I don't want you to-I-mfgggmmfagggghhhhh!! ! ! ! "
For now the dominatress had lowered herself over that abandoned body, and with her left hand grabbing a tittie, her mouth sealed Phyllis Trenton's into silence. Her tongue began to delve between the young girl's lips, as her right forefinger continued to rim the tasty, moistening and twitching cunt hole. And so a miracle was effected: gradually, instead of repelling her seductress and tightening her body, Phyllis Trenton began to sob and gasp, to arch herself to that finger's caressing. And Lorraine Darvison could feel the girl's pussy lips grow moister still and more mobile in their convulsive spasms as all her sexual yearnings were being awakened to the .crux.
"Now you can't tell me that hurts, darling," she purred as she broke off the kiss, staring greedily into Phyllis's tear-blurred, dilated eyes. "I want to make you forget the spanking, dear. Your Auntie Lorraine wants to love you. Now don't fight it, kiss me again. Put your arms around my neck and kiss me hard."
"Oh yes-oh, Auntie Lorraine, I want you-I want you to love me-I want you to like me and keep me on the job, I want to do everything you want me to do-oh it feels so good-oh-mmm-oh-oh, you're tickling me-oh what are you doing-it's driving me-it's driving me crazy-oh Auntie Lorraine-oh my-ohhlmlihhhh!! ! ! ! ! "
For now Lorraine Darvison's forefinger had entered between the cunt lips, finding the virgin barrier, and then retreated to the dainty button of the clitoris which she began to flatten and roll and arch in the most scienced way. Meanwhile, quickly tugging down her own panties, she now merged herself with the naked, feverishly excited victim. And Phyllis Trenton's arms wound tightly round her neck, and their mouths met, as slowly Lorraine Darvison began to grind cunt to cunt, her forefinger still poised against the girl's clitoris and feeling it grown turgid with revitalized emotion.
And thus it was that Lorraine Darvison conquered a tender virgin just as, this same evening, her brother had made a mistress and lover out of his private secretary!
CHAPTER FIVE
What Lorraine Darvison didn't know about the woman she called rather sarcastically her "second in command," Jane Dougald, was that the latter was as decidedly a Lesbian as she herself, and perhaps even more ambitious.
Jane Dougald was thirty-two, but looked slightly older because she wore horn-rimmed glasses, kept her black hair drawn high away from her arching forehead and plaqued it at the very base of her neck in a kind of round twist. She was about five feet six inches in height, quite slim, with long, supple calves and thighs, and a boyishly compact pair of ass cheeks.
However, very much like her auburn-haired superior, she had really a superb pair of titties, these being round and closely spaced, their inner curves almost kissing each other when she moved quickly. Also, she had a tawny skin that was devastatingly unflawed, except for a tiny black beauty spot on the inner curve of her left tittie, alongside the narrow valley between those luscious love globes, and an even tinier brown birthmark on her lower abdomen, very near her cunthole.
Jane Dougald was not at all inclined to be a switch-hitter, for the very good reason that she had run away from home at the age of sixteen from a small town in Louisiana where her stepfather had believed that with her mother's death, Jane, as the oldest of the children, was the logical candidate to replace her mother in bed for fucking purposes. He had prepared Jane for this event by giving her the strap repeatedly from the age of fourteen on, and he very-likely would have fucked her, even at that tender age, if it had not been that her mother was still alive and able to protect her.
However, Jane had to forfeit her cherry as the price for getting away from home, because when her lanky, almost illiterate and horny stepfather had chased her, strap in hand, yelling at her that either she was going to spread her legs and let him fuck or he was going to take the skin off her ass for sure, she had run out into the road and flagged down old Henry Burford.
Henry Burford was sixty-two, but still mighty spry for his age. He had a little produce farm a couple of miles away from the Dougald acreage, and he had buried three wives whom he had worn out through hard work and childbearing.
As a matter-of-fact, old Henry had been casting eyes of avid lechery on luscious Jane's sinuous calves and long, sleek thighs when she went about the field in blue jeans that shaped out the boyishly tight, saucy, firm round cheeks of her charming ass as well as the even then considerably well developed rounds of her bubbies.
He had, though Jane didn't know that at the time, asked Burr Endimer (Jane's stepfather) only six months back before her running away from home if Jane would care to hitch up with him. And Burr Endimer had turned down the proposal because he himself had ideas as to who was to fuck his own stepdaughter first and take the prize of her cherry, as well at that of her brown hole cherry and that of her mouth. Burr Endimer might have been a backwoodsman (though a damn good farmer) but he was extremely randy and didn't much care into what orifice his prick was inserted, so long as he got relief.
Old Henry let her into his chugging ramshackle old Ford just a few steps ahead of the cursing, running Burr Endimer, who was brandishing the leather strap all too familiar to Jane's tender bottom. With a chuckle, he put the car into high and outdistanced the furious farmer, then turned to Jane, winked at her and said, "Looks to me, gal, you've got yourself into a passel of troublement. I don't suppose you figger on going back to old Burr none, do ya?"
And when Jane Dougald (as soon as she had got to Chicago, she had changed her name back to that of her original father, so as never again to be reminded of her randy stepfather) shook her head, old Henry cackled and said, "Well, now, gal, I oughtn't to be party to sech a thing as puttin' daylight between a gal and her step-pappy."
"But me, I can take you as far as Baton Rouge and give you a coupla bucks to get you train fare outa Loeeseeana, so's old Burr won't be able to track you down none. And you don't hafta tell me where you're gonna go 'cause that way old Burr kin ask me all he wants where you went and it won't be no lie if I tell him I don't know, savvy, Janie gal?"
So naturally Jane Dougald had gratefully agreed, because she was almost shaking as with ague at the mere thought of what would happen to her if Burr Endimer could ever catch up to her with that awful strap.
She would have had her ass ripped raw for sure, and then her cherry would have been just as raw when old Burr got done and like as not she'd have had to stay in that old rundown farmhouse and look after the other kids (two boys of seven and nine and her sister Susie, who was eleven and who would probably be next in line for Burr's fucking privileges) for just about the rest of her natural life.
There was just one hitch to old Henry's generous proposition. It entailed Jane Dougald's being sweet to him. Along the way to Baton Rouge, he kept eyeing her with a knowing smirk, and just before they got to the outskirts of the city, he said to her, "Now look here, honeygal, I don't mind doin' a little gal like you a favor 'cause I kin see you're in real trouble."
"Only you oughta know right now, I'm sorta smitten on you a whole lot. Fact is, I talked to yer step-pappy not so long ago 'bout you're being Mrs. Burford. Course I can see now why he turned me down. He was figgerin' to keep you fer hisself, and I can't say as I blame him much for that. Only I'm gonna give you fifty bucks and treat you real good, so I want a little lovin'. How's that set with you, Janie gal?"
She had thought it over, and shivered a little, and then she had compared what life would be like back at the Endimer house with regular doses of the strap and having to he under her lanky, hairy, nasty-smelling, mean old stepfather, maybe every night, except those times she had her monthlies.
And even though old Henry wasn't the most prepossessing male in Christendom, he at least didn't have a strap and he was going to give her money to get away from Louisiana. So she simply nodded and blushed, folded her hands in her lap and waited.
It turned out that old Henry Burford didn't really want to make a big production. He was quite content to do it in the back of his old rundown Ford, and so, since it was very dark when they reached the outskirts of Baton Rouge, he just parked his car off the highway and told Jane to get into the back seat and let down her blue jeans.
She had been working in the fields that afternoon and had gone in for a glass of milk before supper to refresh herself before finishing up her chores when Burr Endimer had put it to her that either she fuck or she got the strap. That was when she had started running, when she had said, "No, Mr. Endimer I ain't gonna spread fer you none. You're my paw by marryin' my maw, and that ain't legal nor right and anyhow, I hate yer guts and I ain't gonna do it."
That was when he had gone for the strap and got in just one lick across her ass which made her howl, clutch her bottom, and run like blazes towards the road. That was when old Henry had been driving along at the time.
At least it was dark enough to hide her blushes as she got into the back seat and let her jeans down. It was a little uncomfortable in the back seat with its old upholstery just about rotted away, so she figured she'd better take her jeans completely off.
She had just a pair of skimpy white cotton pants on and a matching bra, because Burr Endimer didn't believe in wasting money on children's clothes, especially on hers, since he figured to keep her buck-naked at night and working out in the fields in her jeans by day.
Old Henry was wheezing as he clambered into the back seat with her, and his cock was stiff already with yearning.
"Please, Mr. Burford," Jane had whimpered a little, "please take it easy and be gentle, huh? I ain't never done this before with no one."
"That's jist why I want to be the first, honeygal," he had cackled gleefully. "Now, you ain't got a worry in the world about my givin' you a kid. Damn fool doctor two years back told me I was all dried up in my balls-I think he said I was sterile or somethin' like that.
"Anyhow, the upshot is, I couldn't put a load in yer even if I wanted to. So that ain't gonna fret you none. You jist open those legs real nice and wide for old Henry, and me, I'm gonna give you a real poking that'll hafta do me all the nights ahead when I sit in my rocker and think how you could have been the fourth Mrs. Burford."
She had squenched up and put her knees up and opened them wide, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth and waiting. He had sort of crouched on all fours and gotten over her, and she had felt his stiff cock prodding her inner thigh and finally the furry slit of her cunt hole.
Then it was inserted and she let out a gasp: "Oh, Mr. Burford, I can feel you in me!" and he had groaned and gasped, "You sure can, honey. Now git ready 'cause I'm gonna shove it in real hard and fuck you real hard."
Then there had come a searing pain, and Jane Dougald had let out a yell and he had clapped one hand over her mouth so that anybody driving by wouldn't hear, and now he was lying all on top of her, his big hard prick fumbling away inside her sore, tight quim.
Fortunately, it hadn't taken very long. He had given three or four ins and outs, and then let out a yell himself, and sort of sagged on her, and she could feel his hot juice spurting all the way inside. Then after a while he had got off her and panted, "Crimenintiy, gal, that was real good, that was, much obliged!"
After that, taking a dirty handkerchief out of his pants, he had first wiped off his bloody cock and then her bleeding pussy, and then got back behind the wheel. He had taken Jane Dougald to a little hotel just inside Baton Rouge, and since it was a Saturday night and some of the dry goods stores were still open, he had even bought her a dress and a pair of pants and tittie cover (as he called it) as a sort of grubstake, besides the fifty dollars which he had already given her to get out of town with.
But that was the first and only time Jane Dougald had ever been fucked-by a man, that is. She had enjoyed off and on a passionate relationship with devoted sisters of Sappho, who at times used rubber dildos, which they anointed with vaseline or cold cream and shoved in and out of her still tight cunt.
Those occasions were delicious for her, and she had come to the point of wishing to do this herself, partly out of a kind of subconscious penis-envy and a desire to dominate, where all her life before she had been dominated.
The fifty dollars had taken her almost to Chicago, and she had worked two weeks in a little greasy-spoon lunchroom on the highway between St. Louis and Chicago, where truckers pulled in. One night she bribed a trucker five dollars to drive her into Chicago and then had to fight him off because he had wanted to park the truck off the highway and give her what she needed.
In order to save herself from being raped, because he was a hulking, hairy brute, Jane Dougald had conquered her revulsion, gone down on her knees, opened his fly and sucked his prick. Then, grudgingly, he had driven her as far as Gary and forced her to get out there and shift for herself.
Whenever she felt particularly annoyed because Lorraine Darvison was her big boss at Great Occidental, Jane Dougald had only to look back and remember the events that took place a little after her sixteenth birthday.
It gave her a sense of humility, and at the same time an even more determined incentive to surpass the auburn-haired dominatress so that she, not Lorraine, could have sole charge of the timid, tender virgin pussies in the office.
Some of them were small town girls, or girls just starting their first really important jobs, and all of them were malleable and pliable. She was well aware that Lorraine had her pets and would pardon a girl for what seemed to be a really grievous fault and not fire her.
Then the girl would come back the following Monday looking very meek and timid, and occasionally when the tall redhead went by, she would almost cringe. So Jane Dougald was able to put two and two together and conclude that the girl had bought her reprieve by a little girl fucking or gamming, or maybe even spreading her soft legs for a little dildoing or reaming, as the price for pardon.
And she resented Lorraine and wanted to have these goodies all to herself.
So tonight, just as Lorraine was experimenting with Phyllis Trenton, Jane Dougald had gallantly decided to hold the Damoclean sword over a nineteen-year-old sandy-haired blonde named Elsie Palmer. Elsie had joined Great Occidental thee weeks ago, and she was utterly a fiasco.
She daydreamed, she was thinking about her boyfriend all the time-and he was in Vietnam, which wasn't doing Elsie any good at all. Her parents were divorcing, and they hated each other's guts, so poor Elsie had to take a cheap little apartment of her own in order to survive.
In fact, that was why she had run out on them, in order to escape the constant wrangling that had been going on.
Lorraine Darvison had even mentioned to Jane that one of these days somebody was going to have to talk to Elsie Palmer very seriously, or else fire her. And this time, Jane Dougald intended to beat Lorraine to the privilege.
So on Friday afternoon, just before quitting time, when she had seen Lorraine leave and Phyllis Trenton walk away in a different route, although obviously the two were going off together in her surmise, she had stopped beside Elsie Palmer's desk and said very briskly, "Elsie, I want to talk to you in my office right now."
Elsie had timidly followed the black-haired Lesbian into the latter's office and immediately started to blubber. "I-I know what you're going to say. You're going to fire me. I just can't help it, Miss Dougald, I just can't. It's everything, it is."
"I haven't heard from Harold in a month, I haven't. I don't even know whether he's a prisoner or still alive. And then my folks split up, and my Mom called me last night and wanted me to come back home and I wouldn't. It's just awful!"
"You poor dear, I can sympathize with you," said Jane as she came around from behind her desk and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "The trouble is, the bosses around here expect efficiency, and they don't care what your personal life happens to be.
"I'm going to give you another chance, though. I want you to have dinner with me tonight and then come to spend the evening in my apartment. Maybe I can give you some tips that will help you to keep the job. We've had lots of girls like you who've had problems, Elsie, and I think you're a good, fine, hardworking girl at heart, if only we can get you back on the right track."
And that was why this evening, while Lorraine was spanking and then girl fucking shy, blushing Phyllis Trenton, in her brother's apartment, Jane Dougald was about to do the same to Elsie Palmer in her own comfortably furnished apartment about a mile from Great Occidental.
Jane Dougald had come a long way since the greasy-spoon waitress work. She had lied about her age and got a job in a department store, stayed there about three years and saved a little money.
Then she had gone on to a grocery cooperative, where she had learned in night school how to keep books and do a little simple bookkeeping, as well as be an efficient secretary. She had worked there eight years, and then the organization was broken down into a regional operation, and almost everybody was fired, including herself.
Then she had answered a blind ad and got herself a job as assistant personnel manager at Great Occidental, and worked there four long years, always hoping to get the top job. But Lorraine had it and wasn't about to let it go.
Jane had taken Elsie to dinner in a little Bohemian restaurant not far from the office, famous for its duck cooked Bohemian style with red cabbage and boiled potatoes. After strudel and coffee, she had driven Elsie home in her little Datsun, and then she had given Elsie a long and rather motherly lecture on how to make good in a big city or a big company.
Next, with the pretext that the weather was very warm and the air-conditioning wasn't working too well, she had urged Elsie to take off her dress and slip while she did the same thing.
Then, hungrily seeing Elsie's carnation-tinted skin and round, lovely thighs, and small but beautifully firm titties, lust overcame her. She had told Elsie that the best way to atone for one's mistakes was through accepting punishment, and now she added that it should be punishment from someone one liked very much. Now she offered to be Elsie's "big sister" as long as the girl worked for Great Occidental.
Thus it was that Elsie Palmer rather surprisedly found herself lying across the svelte bare thighs of her immediate supervisor on the job, her panties being rolled down around her knees, despite her feeble and blushing protests, and her plump, tightly-spaced round ass cheeks being stingly spanked by Jane's efficient hand.
Then, when it was over and she rose, sniffling and in tears, rubbing her flaming bottom, Jane's eyes fixed on the dark brown patch of pussy hair and suddenly, gripping Elsie by the hips, she had pressed her mouth against that delicious cunt and began to suck and lick until Elsie uttered a shriek of ecstasy and spent.
The rest of the night, stark naked, the two women lay together on Jane's bed, girl rubbing, french kissing, exploring each other's bodies with avid hands, until at last they fell asleep, sated by the sweet exhaustion which followed throbbing sexual achievement.
And so it was that this memorable Friday night brought George Darvison a mistress in his secretary, Lorraine Darvison a passionate and devoted little Sapphic concubine, and Lorraine's "second in command," a secret bed partner who for the moment would satisfy her ardent needs until such time as Jane Dougald's ambitions to be Number One in Great Occidental's personnel supervision came again to the fore.
CHAPTER SIX
George Darvison had taken Lydia Winton over to the London House for a first-rate steak dinner, Cherries Jubilee, and a bottle of pleasant Chablis, most of which he had drunk. Lydia Winton, at first extremely shy and wont to blush constantly whenever he looked at her, because she could remember the spanking in his office and the fucking which had followed, had very few such gustatory pleasures.
Her invalid mother had consumed most of her free time at home, and of course the two of them had never gone out. What George Darvison began to suspect, from some of the young woman's chance remarks, was that perhaps her mother was not quite so sick as she made out, or else made capital of that sickness to keep Lydia under her thumb, jealously guarding her from any man who might want to do exactly what he had done only a few hours before.
He found her utterly charming and ingenuous, and he even had a brief, rash resolve of contemplating marriage, something he had avoided very strenuously all these years. If he did marry her, it would be a certain way to get Lorraine to move out of his apartment.
Again he grumbled to himself, thinking that he could not take Lydia back to the comfortable apartment because his sister was probably spanking and girl fucking one of her sweet little pets right about now.
Dinner over, he persuaded the again blushing secretary to accompany him to the Sheraton-Chicago, where he was quite well known. First they went back to the office, however, where he got a Stenorette in its case so as to make it look official when they entered the hotel to check in together. It would be a business conference; he would be dictating to her.
In a few minutes, a bellboy had escorted them to the fifteenth floor, shown off the features of it, and pocketed a dollar bill, then deferentially disappeared, closing the door behind him.
"You must think-you must think I'm just awful!" Lydia Winton again gasped, her face turning crimson as she looked down at the floor. "I've never done anything like this in my life before, I really haven't."
"Of course you haven't, you darling," George Darvison said huskily, feeling his prick rise hard in his fly as if he hadn't just had some of the most exciting relief he'd known in months. "I wish to hell I could take you back to my apartment, but my sister's giving a party at the moment. Never you mind, Lydia baby. I'm crazy about you."
"I-I ought to be so awfully ashamed-and I am-except that-I-I don't know what came over me-and I oughtn't to let you do it again-and suppose-" she began to babble as he held her very tight and began to kiss the top of her forehead and then her dainty nose.
"And suppose what, you little worrywart?" he teased, patting her voluptuous bottom playfully. "You'd better tell me, or I'll spank you again."
"Oh no-not again, it still stings!" she gasped as she backed away, and in the most charming and naive way possible put her hands back to protect her delicious behind.
George Darvison's prick was about to tear through his fly now. He wanted this sweet little bitch, and he wanted her for good. Besides, if he married her, he would have to break in a new private secretary, and there would always be time for diversion. He could eat his cake and have it, too.
"Don't be scared, I won't spank you-unless you're naughty again. What would you say if I asked you to marry me, Lydia?"
"You can't mean that, Mr. Darvison."
"I will spank you if you don't start calling me George for sure when we're together, Lydia baby," he ordered. "Now I'll repeat the question. Will you marry me?"
"But-but it's impossible-you can't love me-I mean-why, this is the first time-"
"Love is a very strong emotion, Lydia baby. I've already learned as much about you and that luscious shape of yours as I need to know so far as I'm concerned. You and I just had about an hour of the most passionate fun a man and woman can have, and a lot of couples never get that much even in a married lifetime."
"I-I suppose that's true-" Now she was really blushing divinely, even to her earlobes. "But still, Mr. Darv-I mean, George-it's so soon, so sudden-"
"Look, if you're worried about your mother, I'm fairly well off and I can help take care of her. Besides, I have a feeling that she wants to keep you home in the nest all the time. I also think she's not quite so sick as she thinks."
"Oh, but she is, George! And she is going to need that operation. It-it's her stomach. The doctors say there's some sort of tumor and she really has to have an operation. That's why I had to have my job."
"Well, that's something else again. Just the same, I think she'd be better off if she had her big girl married off and knew she was going to have security from now on. You're twenty-four, Lydia, and that's certainly a marriageable age."
"I-I know. I thought-I thought that awful Mack Burton was going to-was going to-"
"Don't let me hear his name again, baby. Although on the other hand, I probably ought to be grateful to him. If you hadn't been shacking up with him and blabbed about the Hadley presentation, you and I would never be this close to each other and you wouldn't be here with me in this hotel room getting ready to have your clothes taken off and properly loved up. Now you hold still while I undress you this time."
"Oh my-oh darling-this is awful-I-I feel like a call girl here in this hotel room!"
"That makes it all the more fun," he chuckled lewdly as he began to remove her bright nylon print dress and then the beige nylon half-slip. "There we are-you've no idea how gorgeous you look in bra and pants, Lydia baby.
"That's the sort of sight that gladdens a man's eye and makes him want to have a girl for the rest of his life, especially night-time," he praised her. He moved towards her now, unhooking the bandeau of the nylon bra, and Lydia Winton gasped and shivered, then closed her eyes and put her arms around his neck as she felt his hands cup her high-perched, widely spaced, firm round titties.
They had brownish-coral aurolae, and exquisitely pert, crinkly buds. He rubbed his palms over them until he felt them stiffen and tingle, and Lydia squirmed and moaned. Now he slipped down her panties, and she gasped again.
"Oh no-I shouldn't let you-oh George, what are you doing?"
"Getting that sweet bottom of yours ready for a good sound spanking if you aren't reasonable, Lydia baby," was his husky answer.
Now she stood, covering her blushing face with her hands, in just her garter belt, pumps and hose. His eyes feasted on her panting titties, on the thick black triangle of pussy hair, on the shivering, lithe columns of her nylon sheathed thighs, and when he moved around behind her, he could see that her bottom was still delightfully marked from the spanking, though the angry red hue had by now diminished and was a barely visible pale pink.
Instinctively she tightened the muscles of her luscious ass, and he chuckled again. Her ingenuous reactions enchanted him. At twenty-four, Lydia Winton was a delectable paradox and there were worse things ? man could do than marry, especially if he could get back his own luxurious six-room apartment in Hyde Park and have some privacy when he wanted to fuck and spank a sweet piece of cunt like this.
Swiftly he undressed down to his shorts and socks, and then, while she still stood there in a kind of dazed and passive abandon, he sank down on his knees, caressingly ran his hands over her satiny warm ass, then began to kiss her cunt and finally to prod it with his tongue.
"Ohh, what are you doing to me? Oh George-ahhh! Oh my heavens! Oh, George, you shouldn't-it's wicked-ohhhhahhhhauuu! Oh, it tickles-oh, you're driving me crazy-darling, do stop-I'm going to faint-I know I am-aiii-oooooohh!"
He felt her loins jerk and twist violently as the spasms seized her, but his fingers dug into the well-spanked hillocks of her naked ass to maintain her there. His tongue found her clitoris and rolled it back and forth to draw her across the brink and down into the abyss of total capitulation.
He rose just in time to catch her, for she was about to collapse, languorously shuddering and moaning.
"Well, baby, are you going to marry me? That's just a sample of the loving you'll get once you say yes, Lydia," he muttered.
"Oh, yes-I don't care what Mother says-oh yes-that was so wonderful-I wouldn't-I wouldn't even mind-"
"What wouldn't you even mind, you sweet little devil?" he asked, raising her chin with a forefinger.
Her lashes fluttered, and then in a very faint whisper she said, "I wouldn't even mind if you wanted-if you didn't do it hard, that is-if you wanted to sp-spank me again, George dearest. It felt so good, it made me so hot and naughty, that's why I let you do this now-Oh, George, I'm all mixed up, but the answer is yes, oh yes, darling!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
After George Darvison had got his blushing brunette secretary to agree to marry him and had sealed the bargain by gamming her to come, he proceeded to exercise his premarital rights by lifting her in his arms, carrying her over to the very comfortable double bed which the Sheraton-Chicago had so properly provided, and then, removing his shorts, slowly entered her with his throbbing prick.
This time he didn't hurry, because the mad edge of lust had been dulled by the swift appeasement on the couch in his office. As a consequence, by working and stroking her cunt sheath gently and slowly, he was able to retain his spunk for quite some time and to draw Lydia Winton to gasping ecstasy until at last she clutched at him and of her own accord locked her arms and legs around him, glued her mouth to his and instinctively began to grind her cunt up against his grinding prick to taste every massive inch of his throbbing male ramrod.
"I think we're pretty well suited for each other, Lydia," he said at the end of that very satisfying fuck. "And now do you know what you're going to do, little girl? You're going to take a shower, get dressed, and then you and I are going to pay a visit to your mother."
"Oh my goodness, George, we can't do that."
"Why not? We have to tell her or we can't get married."
"I-it would be a terrible start-it might shock her-"
"It'll shock her some time or another, and better now than later. Do you want a spanking again?"
She giggled, blushed, then shook her head.
"All right," he concluded masterfully. "Go take that shower or you really will get it, and then you'll have to take a shower with cold water."
Her happy laughter made his prick stir again with longing. It was going to be very pleasant being married. And of course there would be the honeymoon. He had been a little at loose ends, wondering where he would go this summer, and of course Lorraine wouldn't go with him, since she had her little pets to look after.
But now, with a brand-new wife he could foresee all sorts of wonderful new experiences sharing restaurants, scenery, museums, dark corners in which to have a quickie, all sorts of delightful little punishments and penalties.
He could even treat his lovely mature young bride like a girl-child, dress her up in rompers and bobby socks, sandals and a bow tied to her black hair and make her come to her Daddy for a good sound bedtime spanking before assuaging her with a good hard fuck.
He would teach her how to French. Idly he wondered, while he heard the water splashing in the shower, whether she had ever Frenched Mack Burton. He felt angrily jealous about even that thought. He wanted to be first with luscious Lydia, even to taking the brown hole cherry that he was certain she still possessed.
Meeting Lydia's mother wasn't quite so difficult as even she had foreseen. Marcella Winton was a placid, gray-haired woman, who wore a shawl even in this warm weather and who was somewhat old-fashioned in her outlook. When George Darvison told her he was madly in love with her daughter and they planned to be married as soon as possible, she only frowned and said, "I've always tried to protect my little girl, Mr. Darvison, but you seem like a nice man and she has said some very good things about you.
"I'm sure you'll be able to give her financial security, which I, alas, can't. You see, Lydia's father died about fifteen years ago, and he didn't leave too much insurance, just this little house. It's been a hard struggle, but then I've been ill the past four or five years."
"You're sure you won't mind my living away, Mother?"
"Of course I will. But then, there's your cousin Kate."
"Oh, that's right!" Lydia gasped. "Maybe she could come and live here and look after you when I'm on my honeymoon with George."
"That's what I meant," Marcella Winton said soberly. "Dr. Davis came to see me this evening. He thinks the operation ought to take place in about two weeks."
"We'll be back before then, Mrs. Winton," George Darvison assured her. "We'll fly to Hawaii and be back the day before so both of us can wish you well."
"That's very considerate, Mr. Darvison. Well, Lydia, I want you to be happy, you know," Marcella Winton exhaled a weary sigh. "I'll just call Kate now and make arrangements."
So Lydia saw her boss-husband-to-be to the door where they exchanged a very long and passionate kiss. This time Lydia giggled when his hands found her jouncy bottom and squeezed it through her dress and panties, and he whispered, "I'll see you Monday, you gorgeous dish, you. But you'd better wear a more sedate outfit and certainly not short skirts, or I might just be tempted to be very hard handed with you again. I'm going to have to start remembering that I'm saving all that for after we're married."
"You big brute, do you mean you're going to spank me after we're married?"
"I certainly am, baby, but I won't let you change your mind. Have a good weekend, darling, and I'll have an engagement ring for you when you come to work bright and early Monday morning." He gave her a last kiss and left the house, feeling exhilarated as he hadn't in a long time.
Kate Furbison was the daughter of Marcella Winton's younger sister Madge, who had married a well-to-do farmer in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Kate was now nineteen, with hair as golden-tan as the stalks of wheat ready to harvest in that very section where she was born and lived all her life.
Of medium height, Kate had a sweet heart-shaped face, huge blue eyes, a dainty little ripe, full mouth, and a charming pug nose, as well as freckles which made her even more charming. Madge had recently phoned Marcella Winton to tell her that she and her husband Dan were going to Ireland to visit Dan's relatives for the first time, but that Kate wanted to spend the summer in Chicago, perhaps investigating some of the art schools and colleges in which she was interested.
Kate had already shown some talent in high school for watercolors and seemed quite culture-minded and not the least interested in boys, despite the fact that she was intensely lovely. Marcella Winton had demurred at first, in view of her own ailing condition and the impending operation, but now that Lydia had broken the dramatic and unexpected news of her coming marriage to her boss, Marcella Winton intended to have Kate visit her.
It would be nice to have a sweet young girl around the house, just like Lydia had been. And while neither Lydia nor George Darvison in the least suspected it, fate was working out its own amusing complexities to weld the beautiful brunette with her boss and also with her own mouthwateringly delicious cousin.
Kate Furbison arrived the very next day after Marcella Winton's phone call, and Lydia's mother joyously welcomed her. There was a shining radiance to the wheat-hued hair of the girl, with her sweet heart-shaped face and its frank look and soft, slightly husky voice.
But while it was true that Kate Furbison was technically a pure virgin to man, it was also true that she had discovered the sweet joys of frigging in her own chaste bed. Nor was she unaware of the lecherous looks which sturdy young boys and men sent her way when she walked down the streets of Cedar Rapids.
Her parents had cherished her and never raised their hand to her, so she was also virgin to corporal punishment. Yet there was a singular quirk to her makeup which no one yet had discovered and of which she herself was as yet unaware: her omnivorous reading as a child and adolescent had acquainted her with the stories of the Christian martyrs, of the methods of the Holy Inquisition and of the Gestapo in our modern times and their heinous brutality to the helpless female captive.
There were times when Kate Furbison, alone by herself at night, her soft finger between her carnation-satiny thighs, pretended that she was a beautiful young Circassian virgin seized from a wealthy caravan by Bedouin warriors, bound and gagged and flung over the back of a horse whose rider carried her on to a hidden slave mart in an ancient city where, with other companions in misfortune, she was made to ascend the block in chains, wearing only a long cloak which could be easily removed by unbuttoning two buttons in both front and back. She was saved for last, and she could see the fierce faces of bearded sheiks, powerful Negro eunuchs sent there by their wealthy and powerful masters to bid for the most beautiful slaves for harem.
Then the dealer had her brought out and her beauty displayed to the populace, and she burst into tears and closed her eyes as the garment fell away to the platform and she was naked in her shackles, the thick bush of light blonde pussy hair exposed at the peak of her rounded, lusciously curvaceous thighs, the round, high-perched globes of her closely spaced titties shudderingly rising and falling with their dainty aureoles circling those nuzzling tips which were her nipples, crinkly and palpitating.
The charming niche of her deep, narrow belly-button seemed the proper place in which to fit a gem of great price. And then she was made to turn, to display the ample yet beautifully and firmly resilient hillocks of her virgin ass, and the Arabian slave dealer put his hand upon the cheeks of her behind and yawned them apart to show the dainty rosette of her puckering anus, as a further proof of her hitherto untouched virginity.
The bidding waxed furious as she stood there with the sun hotly beating down upon her trembling, satiny-skinned body, and then at last a strong, heavily black-bearded man in the robes of an emir ascended the platform, cupped her titties, made her open her mouth and show her teeth, made her bend over again and himself opened the cheeks of her behind and prodded her dainty shrinking ass-hole with the tip of his finger, and then as two Namibian slaves forced her down upon her knees and held her by the shoulders, stooped and put his forefinger into her cunt and forced it home until he felt the barrier of her maiden seal and attested for his own satisfaction her cherry.
In a word, Kate Furbison had a latent yearning to be dominated and mastered, but by a man. It had not happened yet, for the young men in her circle were callow, typically small-townish in their outlook upon womanhood. To be sure, when they discussed her, it was always in the most lurid four-letter terms, but invariably their only imaginative concept was to "get into her pants, fuck that sweet tight little cunt of hers, ride her down and make her yell for mercy." They had no knowledge of the voluptuary's art.
And meanwhile Lydia and George Darvison had embarked upon their ten-day honeymoon, for Lydia insisted upon being back in time to go to the hospital with her mother, even though Kate had managed to come to Chicago far earlier than had been expected.
George Darvison had wired ahead for reservations on the top floor of the newly opened nineteen-hundred room Sheraton-Waikiki Hotel which was ranked as one of the world's five largest and stood towering over the ancient Halekulani, one of Honolulu's three original hotels on the famous beach topped by mighty Diamond Head.
Lydia thought herself in paradise, and after dinner in one of the magnificent dining rooms of the sumptuous new hotel, she and George strolled along the beach, taking in the sights, walking as far as the colony surf, where Michel's famous restaurant opened onto the beach, but a stone's throw from the beautiful blue Pacific.
George took her hand and whispered "It's been a long trip, baby, and you just might want to fall asleep, and that's the last thing I want you to do tonight of all nights!"
She had blushed divinely, for indeed it was her wedding night, though of course they had tasted in advance their conjugal pleasures. They walked back hand in hand like young lovers, and the self-service elevator whisked them to the top floor where their suite with its lanai faced the ocean.
They stood out there again hand in hand, staring out over the dark blue waters of the deep, still ocean, seeing in the distance the lights of planes going to the other islands or perhaps back to the mainland, or even on to Japan and Australia
Just before dinner, George Darvison had gone to one of the elegant shops in the new hotel and purchased a purple and gold and red muumuu for Lydia. At his order, she had gone directly to the bathroom after they had returned from Michel's and put it on, and this and a pair of sandals was to be her only costume for this moon of honey, which of course is the literal translation of the French "lune de miel."
"It's like a dream, George darling," she whispered as she stood beside him, his hand gently fondling her firm young ass and his left hand crossed over to her front to caress her belly and to insinuate his finger down to that sweet trench in which his prick would soon hide with all its vigor. She shivered and moaned softly, feeling herself deeply stirred, and her own darling little hand brushed his inner thigh and then over the crotch of his new Dacron slacks, feeling the bulge in his fly already.
"Oh my goodness! Now I know why you wanted me to drink that coffee, you naughty boy!" she whispered thrillingly.
"I'd love to do it to you right out there on the lanai," he whispered, "just so both of us can return Chicago with this scene inscribed in our minds and hearts forever."
And before she could stop him, he had stopped, lifted her muumuu and then, tugging tight and clutching tight the gathered folds of the vivid garment in the middle of her back in his left hand, he let down the fly of his trousers, loosened the closure of his shorts and released his swollen prick, prodding it against her warm ass.
"Oh darling, you're wicked-right here in front of the moon and everybody! Mmmmm-hrnmmm!"
"Nobody's going to see," he breathed hoarsely, "not even the pilot in that plane way out there. Now come here to your boss-and I do mean boss, baby. Remember, naughty girls get spanked by their boss, baby, so behave."
"Yes, sir," she replied, shivering and closing her eyes as she locked her arms around him.
She felt his prick head prod the fleecy curls of
, her cunt and then pry open the love lips and engage inside her sheath. She uttered a sigh of delight at the fierce rigidity of his ramrod, and then he slowly thrust in until he was buried in her to the balls.
Then, playfully, once he had thrust his prick in her to the balls, and tightening the clutch of his hand on the up-trussed muumuu, George Darvison began to apply noisy slaps to Lydia's quivering, firm, satiny bare ass cheeks with the flat of his other hand.
"Ohhh-ahhh-oh please, don't spank me-oh George, I didn't do anything-oh lover-Mmmmm-oh darling-oh, it makes me so squirmy-oh, you devil-I can see what our married life is going to be-I won't be able ever to sit down, and it's all your fault-I ought never to have gone to work for you-oh darling-now-oh, I'm getting so hot-oh, give it to me hard, hard, hard on my bottom, too-oh George darling, now, now-oh dearest!"
She had begun to squirm and twist herself, and at first, blushing and protesting, she had appealed to him not to spank her. But as he began to dig his prick back and forth, accompanying his ins and outs with more resounding slaps all over that lovely bare ass of hers, Lydia began to writhe and squirm, and at last thrust her loins back and forth in frantic abandon.
Her face was a mask of exquisite lust, the eyes sparkling, dilated and humid, the nostrils shrinking and flaring, and now their lips met and her tongue of its own bold will foraged between his lips to tell him she was truly and completely his.
And thus it was that for ten ecstatic days and nights, George Darvison and his wife who had been his spanked secretary reveled in the joys of the fiftieth state which has been called by many the closest thing to the Garden of Eden since Adam and Eve were driven out by Eve's sinful curiosity over the apple.
CHAPTER EIGHT
However, George and Lydia didn't return in time for the latter's mother's operation. Just two days after the couple had flown off to paradise, Kate Furbison had to telephone Marcella Winton's doctor because she had suddenly become quite ill. They rushed her to the hospital and an emergency operation was performed, a great success.
Happily, the tumor was not malignant, and so it was that by the time George and Lydia returned, Lydia's mother was resting comfortably and about to be released to go home. Kate had been at her bedside every day and had more than made up for Marcella's daughter's absence.
Meanwhile, Lorraine Darvison had reluctantly agreed, following a long-distance phone call from her brother in Hawaii, to quit their apartment. As a matter-of-fact, Lorraine was progressing delightfully in her affair with Phyllis Trenton, and the auburn-haired dominatress foresaw that having her own little place near Great Occidental might give her more opportunity to seclude herself with this delicious morsel of pussy and train the girl to be her total slave.
She had engineered a quick though small raise for Phyllis, and on the Friday night which saw George and Lydia Darvison preparing to fly back from Honolulu the next morning, Phyllis had entered Lorraine's office to thank her for this mark of favor and the reprieve.
"I told you what would happen if you were a good girl, darling," Lorraine Darvison smiled engagingly at her prey. "Now why don't we celebrate your raise by having dinner and then coming out to my apartment for a nice little loving chat?"
Phyllis blushed adorably, staring down at the floor, and then falteringly nodded. Lorraine began to feel her pussy lips twitch and moisten with anticipation. She drove the pretty, small-town girl to the Loop for a Chinese dinner at Jimmy Wong's and then back to her brother's apartment where she would enjoy a final night as mistress-dominatress.
She had already found a very attractive furnished bungalow which was being sublet about a mile away from the office, had paid a deposit the night before to the rental agent and would move in over Sunday. But tonight she wanted to bid farewell to her brother in a kind of psychological and nostalgic last-time usage of this apartment where she had had so many amorous encounters.
She was going to miss his presence, because they wouldn't be seeing each other so much now, with his having a brand-new wife and living on the South Side, while she lived practically on the other side of town toward the west.
It didn't take long to cheer her up, however, because after a charming little t�te-...-t�te, Phyllis very obediently and blushingly removed her dress and slip and then went over Lorraine's lap for a playful little spanking over her panties.
After it was over, she was obliged to stand up, lower her panties to her knees, and turn her bottom to Lorraine for inspection. It was delightfully pink and Lorraine grasped the girl by the hips, turned her around, bent her head and began to gam her.
Soon Phyllis was moaning and squirming, shifting from pump to pump, and her fingers were clutching Lorraine's hair, her head flung back, her face a mask of mounting passion, the young beauty was drawn to the pitch of pussy passion.
Lorraine Darvison used this as a playful pretext to accuse Phyllis of becoming a naughty little hussy, which of course deserved punishment. Despite Phyllis' squeals, the dominatress led the squealing beauty by the earlobe to the bedroom, and there compelled Phyllis to strip stark naked.
She donned the black leather gloves and boots and nothing else. Then, taking up the blue plastic nylon-bristled hairbrush, she ordered Phyllis to get on all fours as she seated herself in an armchair, up-tilting her bare bottom within range of the hairbrush.
Leaning forward as she sat in the chair, Lorraine Darvison pressed her left hand on the small of Phyllis' back and began to apply stinging little swats with the hairbrush all over the up-thrust, quaking, flinching ass cheeks, while Phyllis frantically licked and sucked and kissed pussy until the dominatress achieved furious orgasm.
They spent the night together in each other's arms, and then Lorraine artfully suggested that she move over to Phyllis's place until they could both enter her new bungalow on Sunday. George would be home Saturday night, so she couldn't stay another night in his apartment. Besides, she told herself that once George laid eyes on sweet Phyllis Trenton, he might just start to get ideas in the wrong direction.
George and Lydia got home on Saturday and went right to bed, without fucking. The long, arduous flight on top of their hectic ten-day honeymoon had exhausted them, and George had already turned his thoughts to getting back to business on Monday. On the flight homeward, he had told his brunette bride that if things continued to go well, they might take another ten-day vacation and round out their honeymoon in grand style. Perhaps they'd go to Jamaica this time.
Now there was the problem of breaking in a new secretary, and when George phoned Lydia's mother's house, the phone was answered by Kate Furbison, who had just come back from the hospital with the good news that Mother Winton would be home in a very few days, feeling much better and completely out of danger.
"You tell her that her favorite daughter sends all her love, and that we're very happy for her, Kate," George said pleasantly. "Are you enjoying your stay in Chicago? Although, on the other hand, I don't guess you've had much time to do any sightseeing, what with being a practical nurse all the time."
"Oh, that's perfectly all right. I just love Aunt Marcella. And I'm so glad she's going to be better. It will make it easier for everybody. I know she was sort of cross with poor Lydia lots of times, but only because she wasn't feeling well, and that's all over now.
"Besides, this is just the beginning of summer, and I want to see the lake front and the beaches, and then go to the Art Institute and check some of the art schools I might get into in the fall. I think my parents would let me stay here."
"Well, it would be nice if you could find yourself a part-time job or something, Kate. I don't suppose you've had any business experience?"
"I can take shorthand and type. I learned that in high school, and I kept it up back home."
"Hey, that gives me a terrific idea. No, it might be too much of a chore for you at first. An advertising agency gets pretty busy."
"What were you thinking of, Mr. Darvison?"
"Come on now, Kate, you can call me Cousin George now. It's all in the family. I was thinking you could try your hand at being my new secretary if you like. When I married Lydia, I made her stop working. It would be too distracting to have her around the office all day long."
"Why, I'd love to try to help you. And I confess I'd like to make some money, too. I wouldn't expect too much at first, because I'm probably not really very good and after all, I haven't had actual office experience, not really."
"Well, you could try. I can give you some letters and dictate a general reply and you could probably type those up. You sound like a very intelligent girl."
"Thank you, Mr. Darvison. I'd certainly like to try my hand at it."
"All right," he impulsively decided, "come down to work at nine tomorrow and I'll really take advantage of you. Let's see-I think I could start you at about eighty dollars a week for a start, and if you make good, you can do a lot better. But I warn you, I'm a very exacting boss."
"You must be a good one, or else Cousin Lydia wouldn't have married you," Kate gaily laughed. And that was how Lydia's nineteen-year-old virginal cousin came to work for George Darvison and became his private secretary-and a good deal more, as we shall see!
CHAPTER NINE
George Darvison was really enchanted with Kate Furbison. Frankly, he hadn't expected her really to qualify for the job of private secretary, not after Lydia's competence. But on Monday morning, after he had given her two quick letters, dictated while he turned to the window and smoked a cigarette and looked out on Michigan Avenue's bustling traffic, which was typical of a summer morning, he was pleasantly surprised to find that she had been able to capture every phrase and even every comma of punctuation without a mistake.
And when she answered several of his phone calls, took messages, relayed them swiftly and efficiently and had one of his clients ask him where he had got that nice sweet polite girl, George Darvison began to think that perhaps it would be a master stroke to keep Kate on in Lydia's place. Economically, at eighty dollars a week, it would be a steal. Psychologically, it would delight Lydia and Lydia's mother, and he knew that he had yet to win Marcella Winton's favor as her son-in-law.
But he found himself staring more greedily than propriety suggested at the luscious young blonde who seemed so amazingly poised in a big-town advertising agency, considering her small-town antecedents.
She wore a brown rayon dress, her wheat-colored hair was styled in a very modish bob which left her nape deliriously bare, and her delightfully curved calves and round womanly thighs were elegantly sheathed in charcoal-brown nylons.
There was nothing about her attire to suggest a rural bumpkin, and there was nothing about her figure to suggest that she was still a sheltered and innocent child.
He decided to take her out to lunch at the London House across the street, and there he complimented her on her showing for the first day. Kate Furbison blushed and modestly lowered her lovely eyes.
She had found him quite attractive, and this was worrying her a little, because she knew that he was married to her cousin Lydia. But the fact was that he was actually the first man she had seen who really stirred the slightest interest in her virginal bosom. In fact, when she had gone to the ladies' washroom just before lunch, she had a sudden recurrence of that by now frequent dream-fantasy in which she found herself a helpless slave-girl destined for the auction block and bid for by a heated crowd of lecherous buyers, all of whom yearned to be her lord and master.
Lorraine Darvison had returned to her office at Great Occidental, happily relaxed after a weekend of passion which had found her first spending Friday night being gamahuched by Phyllis Trenton in her brother's apartment, then spending Saturday in Phyllis' own little modest apartment near work, and finally on Sunday, having a kind of official "housewarming" by bringing Phyllis over to her rented bungalow.
She was in such good spirits, indeed, that her second-in-command, brunette Jane Dugald, glanced sharply at her this morning and pursed her lips with jealous envy. True, Jane had had her own delightful little interlude with a girl who promised to be even more servile than Phyllis, but nonetheless she had already marked Phyllis' charms, and coveted them hotly. One of these days, she told herself, she was really going to go after Lorraine Darvison's job and oust the auburn-haired imperatrix.
By the end of Monday afternoon, George Darvison was convinced that Kate Furbison was a rare treasure and that he was going to keep her at least through the summer as his private secretary.
She had further intensified his admiration-though of course not for her work!-by bending over with her back turned to him in order to take out a folder from the bottom file cabinet drawer, and in so doing her skirt had lifted to show him her beautifully rounded thighs and just an inch of soft pale-pink-satiny thigh-flesh above her nylons.
The jutting contours of the lovely virgin bottom which her skirt tightly shaped out in that posture made his prick throb with longing and his right palm itch to spank. And so it was Lydia, Kate's more than kissing cousin, who had to be the "whipping girl" that night for George's fierce arousal.
Lydia had prepared dinner, and was very proud of it. However, when she was doing the dishes, she dropped a dinner plate and broke it. George had retired to the bathroom to take a quick shower and shave, which he often liked to do before going to bed on a summer evening. Roused by the clatter of the plate and Lydia's squeal of dismay, he emerged in just his bathrobe, having just toweled himself.
Entering the kitchen, he saw Lydia bending down in the act of picking up the shards of the dinner plate. She had put on a zipped red satin housecoat which he had bought for her on the next to last day of their honeymoon in Honolulu, and it did devastating things to his blood pressure as he watched her voluptuous bottom jut out tightly against the clinging material under which she was naked.
"Oh-George-I'm so sorry-I guess I dropped this plate, and I was trying to be so careful," she wailed as she turned towards him, blushing hotly as she saw the glitter in his eyes.
"That was very clumsy of you, Lydia. And it's a very valuable plate, too, very hard to replace."
"I know. I'm so awfully sorry."
"Not as sorry as you're going to be, young lady."
"What-what do you mean, George darling? Oh no,-oh, for heaven's sake-you're not going to-oh no, George, I beg of you, please-not tonight, please!" She wrung her hands in anguish.
He had taken hold of her earlobe and was marching her to the bedroom. As she moved ahead of him, squealing and twisting and trying to disengage that tender membrane, he applied a few open-palmed spanks to the seat of her housecoat.
The feel of her firm jouncy bottom made his prick throb with anticipation. Arriving in the bedroom, he unbelted his bathrobe and let the folds gape open so that his stiff prick thrust out at once. Then, seating himself on the edge of the bed, he tugged down the zipper from the top of her neck to the shinbone, and pulled the housecoat down to festoon in a crumpled, glistening heap around her lower thighs as he bent her across his lap, at an angle so that her feet were still on the floor but her upper body lay along the side of the bed.
In this pose, her left arm was pinned up against his body and her right hand was awkwardly placed to protect herself even had she wanted to. Putting his left palm on the small of her glossy white back, he began to spank her naked bottom cheeks with gusto, alternating on the globes, first right and then left, while Lydia squealed and sobbed, twisting her bare hips every which way to escape the stinging avalanche of spanks. "Owww-oh stop-I didn't mean to-I didn't do it on purpose-oww, that hurts so!-oh, please, George, please don't-I'll be good-oh stop!"
Her wrigglings forced her belly and fleecy lower abdomen up against his rigid prick, and by now she was well aware of the effect that this spanking was having on him. But also by now the repeated spanks had left her voluptuous bare seat a furiously bright pink, and the heat was beginning to be most uncomfortable.
She tried frantically to evade, and then at last tried to plunge her right hand back of her to cover up. Instantly George Darvison gripped it with his left hand and, pulling out his bathrobe belt from the loops, doubled it and began to smack her with the doubled felt belt. With the downward-flicking angle with which he applied this improvised little whip, and on flesh already sensitized by the vigorous smacking of his palm, Lydia Darvison began to sob and groan and twist violently in protest: "Oww-what are you spanking me with-oh, it hurts, oh please, George, please let up, I didn't mean to-I'll be more careful, I promise I will-oh please, I'll do anything-anything-"
"When I get through with this, young lady, I think maybe the hair-brush will help you remember the lesson of not breaking any more plates from an heirloom service," he threatened.
"Oh no!" There was wild alarm now in Lydia's sobbing voice as she turned back her tearstained face towards him, "Oh, I'll do just anything, I swear!"
By now his prick was nearly bursting, and her agitated offer to serve him in the most humble slave-like way arrested the descent of his right hand. "Anything?" he grimly echoed, then applied two more swift strokes with the doubled belt.
"Ohh-ahhh-oh yes, anything, I swear I will, oh please let Up," she wailed.
"All right. I'm going to put you to the test, young lady. Get up now and get that housecoat off entirely!"
When he released her, Lydia straightened, with a grimace and a lovely moue as she rushed both hands to her naked seat and rubbed frantically for a moment. Then, mindful of the danger of incurring further displeasure, she stopped and pulled the rumpled, down-fucked housecoat completely off her lovely legs, and stood naked in sandals, quivering and blushing amid her tears.
He shifted himself over to the edge of the bed, spreading his legs wide, then pointed to his cock. "On your knees and pay homage to your lord and master, slave," he said in a mock-authoritative voice.
Lydia's tear-filled eyes were wide as saucers as she slowly sank down on her knees, not without wincing again, and then, clasping his wiry calves, stared at the dark-veined scepter of his manhood.
"Start in at once, or I'll get that hairbrush after all," he threatened.
"Oh, yes, yes sir!" Lydia gasped. She leaned forward and promptly put her lips to the tip of Ms prick and began to slush and suck noisily to placate him.
He shuddered, staring down at her. But he was also in his mind's eye seeing Kate Furbison doing this exact thing. The double image of lust served suddenly to make him utter a cry and, twisting his fingers in Lydia's black hair, cry out to her, "Get ready, I'm going to come-and you better swallow every drop, or it will be the hairbrush-now, now-you sweet bitch, now!"
Lydia gasped, then spluttered, coughed and choked, but valiantly managed to swallow down his spunk.
She didn't know it yet, but she had just taken the place of Kate Furbison. Nonetheless, she had no reason really to be ungrateful for the attention her new husband gave her that evening. For after he had lifted her up and carried her onto the bed and laid her on her back, he flung himself beside her and began to gamahuch her, then finally reversed himself so that once again she was proffered his prick. And by dint of tonguing him, she roused him to a new zeal so that he was able to give her one of the most glorious fuckings of their brief but already very passionate married life.
CHAPTER TEN
Miss Kathryn Danbury was debating with herself what to do. She had been in the women's washroom on the fourth floor of the Great Occidental building, and of course had primly knocked at the door to the toilet stall she occupied. She thought it absolutely disgusting that a lot of the young girls would talk back and forth and not have the decency to close the doors. And then she had heard footsteps this Tuesday morning and then voices. Perking up her ears, she had listened agog, her eyes widening, and she had recognized the voices. One belonged to her immediate boss, Lorraine Darvison, and the other, she was certain, was that of Phyllis Trenton.
Phyllis was saying something in a kind of quick, flurried voice: "Oh, Auntie Lorraine, it was so wonderful last weekend, can we-can I see you again this Friday night, please?"
And then the auburn-haired personnel supervisor's voice had retorted, "Shh, Phyllis, don't you have better sense? I've told you never to call me Auntie Lorraine except when we are together. Just for that, young lady, your bare behind is going to get a good dose of the hairbrush Friday night. Yes, all right, you may come over to my bungalow at seven o'clock for dinner, and don't be late. For every minute you're late, it'll be one extra spank. Now hurry up and get out of here before people start wondering why you're following me around so much."
Then there had been the sound of footsteps and the door had closed, leaving Kathryn Danbury aghast at what she had just learned. Not that she hadn't suspected Miss Darvison of being just a little too fond of the pretty young things who came to work for the company, but she had never dreamed it would go this far. If that wasn't the most shameless thing she had ever heard of in all her life!
She hastened back to her desk, and when she was summoned in to bring her book to take dictation from the auburn-haired dominatress, she was completely poised and gave absolutely no sign of the telltale conversation she had just overheard.
But her cunning mind was at work, and it was particularly malevolent. She was tall, angular, and her mousy brown hair had several patches of gray to indicate that she was nearly at the milestone of fifty. She had been terribly fond of Miss Darvison and she had even dreamed in rare emotional moments of being in bed with the auburn-haired supervisor. Now, she thought to herself, she might have a way to force
Lorraine to yield to something which otherwise would be perfectly unthinkable.
In the first place, Lorraine's brunette assistant, Jane Dougald, had happened to stop by her desk Thursday afternoon when Lorraine was upstairs conferring with Mr. Bodey, the chief underwriter of the company. And Miss Dougald had as much as suggested that she would like very much to have her work for her instead of for Lorraine and might even be able to get her a raise in salary. And then Jane Dougald had said to her, "Now this is a confidential secret, Miss Danbury, and if you breathe it to a soul, I'll deny it and call you a liar to your face and get you fired, do you understand me?" And when she had nodded, the svelte brunette had whispered, "I've a pretty good idea that our big boss, Miss Lorraine Darvison, is fooling around with some of the pretty young things who are starting then first job here at Great Occidental. If you and I could get something on her, we could get her fired in disgrace, then I'd have her job, and as my confidential secretary, you'd be worth a good deal of money to me. See what you can do about it."
And now Kathryn Danbury had proof. But better yet, she was in the rare position of being able to wreak a double-edged retaliation on both these much younger and very attractive women and punish them once and for all for not including her in their Sapphic sports.
Jane Dougald, basking in the adoration of the little slave girl she herself had conquered (as we have earlier witnessed), had made the mistake of leaving a note marked "personal" on her desk. Shortly after she had conferred with Kathryn Danbury, she had gone on a coffee-break. And the spinster had hurried back to Jane Dougald's desk to tell her that she was going to cooperate and that she already had a few suspicious concerning her own auburn-haired boss. Then she had seen that note. There was no one else around, and she had surreptitiously taken out the folded sheet of paper and read an astounding document. It was a passionate love note from Elsie Palmer, the pretty girl whom Jane Dougald had spanked and made go to bed with her. And it mentioned the girl's ecstasy over the experience and begged for another rendezvous as soon as possible. More than that, it actually hinted rather boldly for a raise, reminding Jane Dougald of her promise that if the girl submitted and improved in her work, a raise would be forthcoming.
Kathryn Danbury replaced the note very quickly in the envelope with shaking fingers, and hurried back to her desk. And that was how she had learned that the younger assistant personnel supervisor was just as bad as Lorraine Darvison. And naturally, after eavesdropping in the washroom, she was now provided with enough ammunition to have them both where she wanted them!
Kathryn Danbury had really never cared much for men. She had had an older brother who had teased her unmercifully and there were times when she had cheerfully wished him dead. He gratified her by enlisting in the Army and making a career of it, finally settling down as an Army engineer in Panama. About once a year she had a letter from him, usually around Christmas time. She had been gawky and taciturn as a young girl, with hardly any redeeming physical features, except that she was tall and possessed sturdy health. But she was never asked to a prom or to the movies, and so it was natural that she should grow up to spinsterhood. What was not so natural was that she cherished a secret passion for having as her love slave a very beautiful and desirable girl who would be lusted after by men and yet who would prefer her own company to that of any man. It never quite worked out that way, but on this particular Tuesday, Kathryn Danbury had begun to dream with a rather quickly beating heart that it would just for once....
But she had waited so long and specifically for Lorraine Darvison for so many months that she could afford to be patient. That was why she said nothing until Friday noon, just before the auburn-haired dominatress was about to go to lunch, and then she got up from her desk, turned and walked stiffly into her boss's office and said somewhat haltingly, "Miss Darvison, may I have a word with you, if you please?"
"What is it, Kathryn? I was just about to go out to lunch," Lorraine Darvison snapped. She had to put up with this old crow, she had told herself, because it would bewilder evil minds who thought that she was "that way" about her own sex and prove them quite far off the track; and after all, the woman was efficient as a secretary. Just the same, Kathryn Danbury was so dowdy with that awful hair and those drab black long skirts and old-fashioned shirtwaists which had gone out after World War I.
"I shan't take a minute, really Miss Darvison. Could we maybe close the door?"
"Say, Kathryn, what's this all about?" the auburn-haired beauty put her hands on her hips and stared coldly at her private secretary.
"I think you'd find it to your own best interest, Miss Darvison, if you'd listen to me for just a minute in privacy." Kathryn Danbury had never before in all her life of forty-seven thwarted years felt the giddy power which now rippled through her. She was almost smiling, which she rarely did.
"I see you're in a mysterious mood. All right, I'll indulge you. But you can have just two minutes and that's all. I see-you've got a bit of juicy scandal. Maybe about Jane Dougald? That would be worth two minutes. All right, go close the door and have done with it and then let's hear your mysterious news, Kathryn." It was one of Lorraine's foibles that she called this woman who was older than herself by her first name, instead of the quite business-like "Miss Danbury." But at the moment, Lorraine Darvison was savoring only her own little bungalow and having delicious Phyllis Trenton as her bed bitch, that sweet white-skinned body offered up to her whenever she wanted to spank that lovely bottom or rub against that darling soft squirmy cunt.
Kathryn Danbury closed the door and then approached her supervisor's desk. "Miss Darvison, I know all about you and that Trenton girl. You know, you were going to have her fired some time back or rather, Miss Dougald was. And then you stepped in and saved her hide, and now you've given her a raise."
"What the devil are you talking about, Kathryn? Are you out of your mind?"
"I don't think so, Miss Darvison. You see, I was in the washroom Tuesday morning. And you and Miss Trenton were having a very interesting conversation. Now I don't know how Mr. Corolixa, vice president and general manager of Great Occidental will take this. Mr. Corolixa was an extremely righteous, churchgoing man, and it was he who had the thankless task of firing top supervisory personnel at Great Occidental. Lorraine Darvison knew perfectly well that if this conversation were reported and further investigated, it would be her job and moreover, that Joseph Corolixa would take personal pains to see to it that she was blacklisted in Chicago-moral turpitude would be just one of the major reasons given.
She bit her lips and gripped the edge of the desk to keep from swaying, and then she stared almost frantically at the smirking, gray-haired, tall angular woman, with her steel-rimmed spectacles, who stood opposite her desk in the perfect attitude of an efficient secretary waiting for an order. "What is it that you want?" she managed to gasp.
"I'll tell you something else, Miss Darvison. I've had a yen for you for a long time, but of course you'd never notice a poor stick like me. You just go for those sexy little dumbbells like Phyllis Trenton. But you see, Miss Dougald isn't any better. She's got her own little teacher's pet, because I saw a note that the girl wrote to her. It was just disgusting. I think Mr. Corolixa would just love to see it. And do you know something else Miss Darvison? Miss Dougald came to me last week and offered me a better job with her and more money if I'd sort of spy on you and find out if you weren't playing around with some of the girls you're supposed to be in charge of."
Lorraine Davison closed her eyes and wished that she could sink through the floor. This abominable, blackmailing creature had her where the proverbial hair was short. "All right, Kathryn," she gasped, very pale and trembling, "I know when I'm licked. So I'll give you a bigger raise than she would have done."
"That would be nice, of course. But that's not all I want."
"No?"
"Oh no. You were supposed to have that date with that Trenton girl this evening and maybe all weekend at your place, weren't you, Miss Darvison?"
All Lorraine could do was nod, and stare at Kathryn Danbury as if she were on trial before the Gestapo.
Finally she forced herself to say in a voice that quivered although she fought to keep it steady: "What exactly do you want of me, Kathryn?"
"Everything, you naughty girl," the mousy-haired, bespectacled woman hissed. "Instead of keeping your date with that wicked little Trenton bitch, you're going to keep it with me. And Miss Dougald is going to give up her date with her little darling. I want the two of you over at my apartment tonight, and here's the address. I've written it down very carefully so that you can't mistake the directions. It's only a few miles from here, after all. And it's very comfortable, I can assure you. You see, I own the entire building. The second floor where I have my apartment, is the nicest and the biggest and the airiest. You will be there at seven won't you, Lorraine?" At this time with particular and emphatic relish, Kathryn Danbury used her boss's first name.
Lorraine Darvison gulped, turned scarlet, then lowered her eyes. A sort of sickening nausea seized her at the pit of her stomach. Oh no, it was just impossible, unthinkable! This creature-this drab mouse of a woman who had spent all her life taking letters and doing secretarial work and probably never even traveling beyond the city in all her days, she couldn't possibly be-oh no, it just couldn't be!
But Kathryn Danbury hadn't waited for the effect which her ultimatum had on the beautiful boss. Instead, she had said, "Thank you for your time, Lorraine," and then marched out of the office, halting at the door just a moment to add, "Don't be late, please. I should be very angry and of course I should have to punish you for it, Lorraine," And then she was gone, leaving an auburn-haired imperatrix sitting down heavily on her swivel chair and gripping the edge of the desk as if to reassure herself that this wasn't all a dream. Unfortunately it wasn't ... .
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A few minutes later, Kathryn Danbury stood in Jane Dougald's private office. Jane also had been going to lunch, and she was very irked at being delayed, because she was going to have lunch at a little Bohemian restaurant a few miles away with her sweet darling, the girl who was going to spend the weekend with her. "Well, Miss Danbury, what is it? Are you going to take the job I offered you?"
"Not exactly, Miss Dougald, I think I have a better one in store for me."
"Oh I see. In that case, we've nothing to talk about. Now if you'll excuse me-"
"Just a minute, please Miss Dougald. I happened to see a little note a certain young lady whom we shan't mention left you the other day. It's a very compromising note, and I wonder what Mr. Corolixa would say if I just happened to go to his office and tell him what I had discovered was going on in this department."
Jane Dougald's mouth fell open, and her eyes widened and fixed Kathryn Danbury with a horrified incredulous stare. Finally, her faltering hand groped for her horn-rimmed glasses, took them off, set them down on the desk, and then she quavered, "I-I do hope you won't do anything as foolish as that, Miss Danbury."
"Maybe I won't. But that depends on you, Jane," once again the vindictive and now triumphant spinster rubbed salt into the raw wound by using the assistant supervisor's first name as intimately as if they were already lovers-which was precisely what Kathryn Danbury intended the svelte brunette to be.
"What-what do you mean, what are you trying to tell me?"
"Well, for one thing, you aren't going to have any dates this weekend with that cheap little hussy. We won't even mention her name, because I know that you wouldn't want Mr. Corolixa to know about it. And if the girl herself were to be compelled to go to see him and make a confession-"
"Stop! You don't have to draw me a diagram, I'm a big girl now," Jane Dougald at last recovered some of her aplomb, but it was rather unconvincing.
"I thought you would understand, Jane dear," Kathryn Danbury said softly. "Instead, I want you to be in my apartment tonight. Make it about eight-thirty. I shan't serve you supper, but I think you'll find the evening most entertaining. And I would advise you to be there, because otherwise I shall have to mail a letter which I have already written in very great detail to Mr. Corolixa. He would get it Monday, I do believe, in spite of the poor postal service we're experiencing these days-"
"All right, I'll be there. Now where is it-"
"I've already typed it up on this little file card, Jane. It's not too far from here. And I own the whole building, and there's only one other tenant on the first floor, and he's out of town right now. So we'll have it all to ourselves, you might say. I'll be expecting you."
She turned and walked out of Jane Dougald's office. The brunette assistant supervisor sat slowly down in her chair, just as Lorraine Darvison had done in her own office. Then, clenching her fists, she ground her teeth and hammered on the desk in a paroxysm of frustrated rage and humiliation.
"Here now, Lorraine dear," Kathryn Danbury wheedled, as she leaned back in her kitchen chair with a smile of triumph. "Eat your supper like a good little girl, or mama spank real hard."
The auburn-haired dominatress, personnel supervisor at Great Occidental, had kept her unavoidable rendezvous with the gray-haired spinster who was formerly her private secretary at the office, but now tonight her dominating mistress. It had already been a sickening experience for the haughty lesbian dominatress. No sooner had she entered Kathryn Danbury's apartment than the gloating creature had told her to undress completely, go into her bedroom and put on a special outfit which she would find in a dress box that had just come from Marshall Field and Company. Lorraine had found a blue and white polka dot pinafore which was sleeveless, and which took her from the middle of her bosom to just below her pussy, hiding perhaps an inch of her upper thighs. This, a pair of open-toe button-strap shoes and yellow bobby socks, and finally a very skimpy pair of white cotton panty briefs, comprised the entire costume which Kathryn Danbury insisted she put on for this evening of reckoning.
The woman had followed her into the bedroom and stood there with hands on hips, smirking at Lorraine's discomfiture. "You'd better not argue, Lorraine dear," she had cooed, "Otherwise I'll just have to mail that letter to you know whom."
So Lorraine had conquered her pride and, standing there naked and shivering with shame and loathing had put on the costume. It was indeed scandalous: her big breasts shoved against the bodice of the pinafore, and the hems just about did cover the thick dark-auburn fleece of her cunt-hair and perhaps a little of the tops of her svelte thighs. But her magnificent long legs were bare and tawny sheened from just above her ankles to practically all the way up her thighs, and she had never felt so naked and ashamed before in all her life, not even when Roger Carter had had his new mistress tie her up and then humiliate her.
To make matters worse, Kathryn Danbury had prepared supper-the most humiliating kind of supper one could imagine. It consisted of a bowl of mush, covered with milk, and another bowl in which bits of bread and roast beef finely cut up and a little lettuce had been placed. Both bowls were on the floor, and Lorraine was now down on all fours crouching and bending her face to the mush bowl.
She had protested of course, but Kathryn Danbury had merely said, "There's really no need for you to waste your breath, Lorraine dear. That letter is going to be mailed if you don't do every single thing I tell you to, so stop grousing and do what you're told at once, or else I'll have to spank you good and hard."
Lorraine was well aware that in her groveling posture with her head bent down and her bottom up, the broadly oval, lusciously full and resilient cheeks of her behind were very lasciviously on display and that the skimpy white little panties were chafing her along the deepening crease which led to her ass-hole. They snugged her very tightly at the crotch, and the thick mound of her cunt was also indecently shaped out. But she didn't dare complain now, because Kathryn Danbury had changed into a one-piece gleaming red leather corselet, with matching shoulder-length gloves and knee-length boots, and she had a leather paddle gripped in her right hand and she meant business with it. It was a rectangular paddle, and it stung. Lorraine had already had two swats across her panty-sheathed behind for having dared to protest the ignominy of this supper.
She managed to eat it all and then straightened up her face red, tears glistening in her eyes. "Miss Danbury, now that you've had your fun and your revenge, can't we talk this over?" she groaned.
Kathryn Danbury shook her head and her smile deepened. "Oh no, Lorraine. There's nothing to talk over. You've been a bad girl and heaven knows how long. Maybe ever since you started to work for Great Occidental. Maybe even when you were a receptionist eight years ago. You just have to learn a lesson. You have all this responsibility, you have charge over all these nice young girls, and you corrupt them. You really have to be punished, otherwise, you're going to be fired and blackballed. Now which do you prefer?"
"I guess I'll take the punishment," Lorraine Darvison groaned disconsolately.
"Now that's being a good little girl and showing sense. It won't be so bad, cheer up. Of course you won't be able to have Phyllis Trenton any more, but you'll have me. And I can be a very nice mistress-and oh by the way, from now on, Lorraine, would you please call me mistress every time you address me, otherwise I'll just have to use this paddle on your big bottom."
Lorraine ground her teeth and finally sullenly replied, "All right, m-mistress."
"That's fine. We're going to get along just dandy, you and I. I know that you're a warmblooded girl, and that itchy little pussy of yours needs a lot of attention. But I can give it to you. You see, Lorraine honey, I've wanted you for ever so long. You never guessed, did you? But now you see me as I really want to be, far away from the office, leading my own life. We can have such wonderful times together, and I'll keep you interested all the time. And you'll be faithful to me too, because otherwise the president of the company is going to be a very shocked man when he hears what a dirty little bitch you've been."
"Yes, mistress." Lorraine Darvison groaned. She was beginning to wonder if this nightmare would ever end. She was also beginning to wonder if it wouldn't be best to resign her job and go to another city and start all over again. She had some money saved, and George could help her. Maybe in an ad agency in New York or Los Angeles or with some of the other people he knew in the big towns. Anything would be preferable to this. She had never been a slave in all her life, except at one time when Roger Carter had double crossed her and then buggered her after having degraded and whipped her in the presence of his new mistress. But this was infinitely worse. This was something that she just couldn't take very much longer.
"Now you see how nice things could be when you're a good obedient Little girl, dear?" Kathryn Danbury's voice was high-pitched, denoting her sensual excitement. "But first I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a little spanking for what you did to Phyllis Trenton. Of course I'm not going to do anything to disturb her, because she's had her raise and she apparently is working out pretty well. Only you're going to have to tell her that all of these meetings from now on are going to stop. You did call off the date for this weekend, didn't you?"
"Yes I did, Mistress, right after you talked to me in the office."
"That's fine!" the bespectacled spinster purred. "And now, crawl to my bedroom behind me and get ready for your spanking. After that, we'll kiss and make up and we'll start from scratch. Oh you can't begin to imagine how long I've waited for this, Lorraine darling!"
So saying, she walked ahead of the scarlet-faced office supervisor, who humbly crawled on all fours to her bedroom. Arrived in there, Lorraine was ordered to close the door while Kathryn Danbury seated herself on a straight-backed chair. Then she patted her lap with the paddle. "All right, dear, come lay yourself over my lap," she instructed.
"Oh for heavens sake, mistress, please, not with that awful paddle!" Lorraine groaned.
"Yes your punishment has to be severe so that the lesson will stay with you, Lorraine. And if you argue I'll just give you double. Come over my lap this instant before I count ten, or you shall have fifty good hard swats on the bare bottom!" was the ultimatum!
With a groan, Lorraine crawled to the chair, slowly got up and was about to lay herself across the spinster's lap, when the latter stopped her. "I'm surprised at you, Lorraine. You know that spankings are always given on the bare. Now kindly pull your panties all the way down to your calves before you get over my lap. It'll only be uncomfortable for you if you have to get up and pull them down once you're across in position, you know."
"Damn you!" Lorraine hissed, biting her lips with ill concealed venom.
'Tsk, tsk, you really must watch that naughty temper of yours, darling. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you five extra spanks for that alone. Now hurry up and do what I told you to!" Kathryn Danbury hissed.
With trembling fingers Lorraine Darvison reached behind her, took hold of the very tight white cotton panty briefs, and then yanked them down to her calves. Then, slowly she laid herself over the spinster's lap.
"Put your palms right down on the floor. That's it. Now jam the toes of your sandals down on the other side. That will stick your big bottom up very nicely. This nice little pinafore is already pulled up well over your bottom, Lorraine dear. However, just to make sure you won't have the least bit of protection for your spanking, I'm going to roll it up all the way to your armpits. And don't you dare budge!"
So saying, the mousy, bespectacled spinster proceeded to roll the gay polka dot pinafore up till it was well out of harm's way, and Lorraine's magnificent body, the tawny skin gleaming under the light fixture from the middle of the ceiling, shiveringly remained exposed in that ignominious posture of juvenile chastisement.
Kathryn Danbury placed her left arm around Lorraine's waist, and the auburn-haired office supervisor shivered and closed her eyes. She clenched her long, beautifully sculptured thighs together, to conceal the most intimate parts of her body from this detested woman's glance. The muscles rippled gloriously, and the cheeks of her bottom flexed and quivered in the most libidinous way.
"Now then, are you ready for your spanking, Lorraine?"
"Yes, but for God's sake get it over with, mistress!" she gasped.
"Tsk, tsk, you mustn't be so anxious or so rude, dear! Don't you know that a mistress does exactly as she pleases? Now tell me in a very sweet humble way that you are ready for a good sound spanking with the paddle on your big naked seat. I want to hear you talk to me just that way, Lorraine. Do it, or else!"
Grinding her teeth to suppress the furious revolt that rose within her, the practically naked auburn-haired victim gasped out in a husky voice, "Pl-please, m-mistress, I-I beg of you to give me a good-sound sp-spanking on my b-bare s-seat, and punish me for being naughty with Phyllis Trenton."
"Why, that's very good. You see what you can do when you put your mind to it, Lorraine? I'm going to teach you so many lovely things, and we're going to have the most wonderful summer together you can think of. All right now, I'm going to give you your spanking. And I don't want you to move out of position. You may cry all you like-in fact, I wish you would. I'm going to give you thirty. Plus, of course, the five extras."
"Oh good Lord, that's awful, oh please, not with that dreadful paddle-won't you please use your hand, mistress?"
"What, wear out my hand on that big hard tail of yours, Lorraine? And I'm sure you didn't spank naughty little Phyllis with just the flat of your hand. You probably used the hairbrush, didn't you, you naughty girl?"
"Y-yes, but please, my God-I'm too old for this-and-"
"You're too old to be fired in disgrace and maybe have the newspapers hear of what you've been doing to decent young girls at Great Occidental," Kathryn Danbury snapped. "Now get your bottom ready. And you're going to count each one of them, or else they won't count. Understand me?"
"Yes, yes-mistress. But please, for God's sake, not too hard!"
Hardly had she finished speaking when the spinster's left arm tightened about her waist, and the paddle swiftly descended across the tops of both upturned bare, tawny-sheened hips. Lorraine uttered a wail of pain, for the furious pain was even more than she had suspected on the bare skin. "Awwrr-one-oh take it easy, for God's sake, take it easy!"
"My goodness, you're a little scaredy cat, I see. I might have to tie you if you don't stay in position. Now keep counting, because there are twenty-nine more, plus the extras, of course," was the reply.
Lorraine ground her teeth, closed her eyes, tightened all her muscles and wiated. Again the paddle crashed down, this time across the base of both naked ass-cheeks, and she kicked up one leg and wailed, "Oww, two, for God's sake, you're killing me!"
"You have a very sensitive skin, I can tell. And you probably haven't been spanked very often, at least not lately. My, you should see the red marks on your big behind, Lorraine dear. Yes, that's two, twenty-eight left, plus the five. Get yourself ready and don't leave position!"
The nightmare continued. But it now became an inferno, as Kathryn Danbury, savoring her cruel victory over the once ruthlessly imperious auburn-haired office supervisor of Great Occidental, continued to raise and lower the paddle over that magnificent bare ass. Frantic with pain as the spanking went on, cruelly prolonged because Kathryn Danbury allowed at least thirty seconds between each successive blow, Lorraine Darvison did her best to endure her torture. She kicked first one leg up and then the other, sometimes both at thy same time. She wriggled and twisted; she bawled and groaned and screamed by the twentieth. By then, her bottom was a fiery red, and the cheeks were flinching and quaking and rippling uncontrollably. She wriggled and twisted some more, groaning. Also, she was crying like a baby, and Kathryn Danbury paused to get a better grip on the paddle and also to readjust her hold of the perspiring naked waist of her victim as she chided: "You really must be very sensitive. Why, we're not very far past the halfway point, and you're crying like the rest.
"And don't forget, if any you fail to count will be extras and also if you get out of position, you'll get two extras, understand?"
There was a pause.
"Oh my God, just end it. I'm on fire, please stop, end it!" Lorraine wailed.
The paddle crashed down again and Lorraine shrieked, rushing both hands back to her bottom.
"That will never do. Now you take those naughty hands away at once, and it's still twenty. Try that again and you'll get five extra," her tormentress warned.
Clenching her jaws, and twining her fingers till the knuckles whitened, Lorraine Darvison tried her best to endure the rest of her thrashing. But by the officially counted-out thirty spanks, she rolled off Kathryn Danbury's lap to the floor, and then knelt up, rubbing her bottom frantically, tears running down her face as she sobbingly panted, "Oh my God-please, have mercy, haven't you tortured me enough? Oh, I can't stand any more. I truly can't, I'll do anything you want, anything, but put down that awful paddle!"
"You come back here this minute, you naughty girl. I've a good mind to start all over again from one. Ah, I thought that would bring you to your senses. That's it, now you roll up that pinafore, because it tumbled down in all that nonsense. Good. Now hold your hands tightly together and cross your ankles, and I'm going to hold your waist very tight and give you a good hard pinch every time you try wriggling off. You had five extras left, but for getting off my lap, that'll make five more. You've got ten more to count, and I want to hear every one of them." Her dominatress proved to be an intrepid torturess and voluptuary. Lorraine Darvison was incredulous at the way this mousy, docile, self-effacing spinster had taken such emprise over her, who herself had been such a vaunted imperatrix. entwining her fingers again till the knuckles not only whitened but cracked, crossed her bobby socks-clad ankles one over the other, and tensed all her muscles. Fiery waves of pain ran through her, and she groaned and sobbed as Kathryn Danbury put her left arm round her victim's naked waist in a vise-like hold.
The last ten spanks were dreadful. It was all Lorraine could do to keep from shrieking and flinging herself off her executioner's lap, but somehow she managed to endure them all and to count them out, thought her voice rose to a highpitched shriek at each of the last three though her voice rose to a high pitched shriek at each of the last three
She was allowed to rise, and danced from foot to foot, rubbing her bottom frantically, heedless of the lascivious display she was making. Her titties jiggled, and the thick dark fleece of her cunt was plainly visible.
"Now that that's over, dear, you may go to the living room and kneel in the corner in penitence for half an hour. After that, I shall forgive you, and then give you new orders so that you will show homage and respect to your new mistress," Kathryn Danbury ordered.
Lorraine had to crawl on her knees back to the living room and then remain in the corner, and at Kathryn's strict order, keep her pinafore rolled up so that her blazing bottom was exhibited.
One can imagine her horror when the doorbell rang a few minutes later. "Oh, for God's sake, mistress, don't let anybody see me like this, I beg of you. I did everything you wanted me to, I was obedient, please don't shame me this way!"
"Relax, slave," Kathryn Danbury grinned cruelly. "The person who is going to see you is going to be a slave herself. Now shut up or I'll give you another dose of the paddle."
As Lorraine's sobs subsided, the spinster went to the door and opened it. "Come in, Jane dear. So nice to see you. I'm glad you're prompt," she gloatingly purred.
Lorraine Darvison uttered a cry of horror, turned her tearstained contorted face round and beheld her nemesis and bitterest rival, black-haired Jane Dougald.
"My Gosh!" Jane Dougald gasped as she saw Lorraine kneeling there with her well-thrashed, very red naked ass in lewd display there in the corner.
"Yes, dear," Kathryn Danbury cooed. "You see, I've already given her her punishment for corrupting sweet little Phyllis. Now it's your turn. Take off everything."
"Now wait a minute-"
"Let me say just as I did to Lorraine a few minutes ago," the implacable spinster interrupted, "that I've written a letter to the head of the company.
It's going to be mailed, and it gives facts and documentation over how naughty both of you wicked creatures have been in corrupting the nice innocent help we get here in Great Occidental. Lorraine has sensibly seen the light of day and doesn't want the president to know what she's been doing. I daresay you wouldn't care to be fired and have all the news in the paper?"
"No, you devil, you blackmailer-"
"Watch your tongue, Jane, because that has just cost you an extra dose. Now strip naked fast!" the amazingly reborn spinster commanded with an incisive flourish of the paddle.
Turning scarlet, the slim black-haired younger woman began to obey until at last she was naked as the day she was born.
"That's nice. What lovely titties you have, Jane. Now first I'm going to give you a little spanking, to pay you back for all you've done to those poor girls. And well see. Maybe if you both are nice, I'll forgive you. But first the spanking. Get over here on my lap this minute, Jane Dougald!"
Seating herself on the couch, the corselet-clad spinster beckoned to the shamefaced, naked brunette.
With a groan, Jane Dougald stretched herself on the couch over Kathryn Danbury's lap. She too endured the humiliation of feeling her bare waist clamped by the spinster's wiry left arm. And then her flinching naked ass-cheeks cringed as the leather paddle patted them. Kathryn Danbury's eyes glittered with lust as first she contemplated her handiwork on Lorraine's more voluptuous and broader behind there in the corner and then the pale white, tightening hemispheres of the younger woman's upturned and helpless posterior.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lydia and George Darvison were fucking this Wednesday night, about an hour before midnight, both naked and with the air conditioner gently wafting cool breezes on their bare skins. Lydia was sighing comfortably, her arms locked around her husband's shoulders, her beautiful bare white legs clamped around his calves to pin him to her securely. They were in no hurry, because they had discovered that a leisurely fuck was even more delicious than a rapid one, though there were of course occasions when passionate savagery was the order of the day. Tonight was a kind of retrospective love-making s'ance in which each could review the joys thus far achieved and dream of those still to come. So George, his face buried in the warm hollow between his young wife's titties, his prick imbedded in the hairs inside her tight and quaking cunt, so that he could feel the wonderful and indescribable luxury of her tight cunt walls lapping and clamping and kissing and nibbling at his burrowed ramrod, had his eyes closed and was thinking not so much of his beautiful wife, but of her cousin, the enchanting blonde, Kate Furbison.
This was Kate's third day at the office, and thus far she had really filled the bill quite satisfactorily. She had a soft, sweet voice on the phone, she was conscientious and thoughtful, she quickly corrected any mistakes and didn't make the same one twice. She was, in a word, a jewel.
Of course she still had her jewel, which was her cherry. George knew this because Lydia had already acquainted him with all she knew of her young cousin's life. Kate, it appeared, had pretensions of being an artist, but she really was tired of the small Iowa town and wanted action. Also, it was Lydia's guess, Kate was the sort of girl who, although she wouldn't come right out and say so, really wanted a masterful man to dominate her.
George knew perfectly well that he could qualify in more ways than one. However, such a relationship would still be touchy. As a newly married husband, it would hardly be flattering to Lydia to find out that her spouse had designs on her own much younger cousin. But now that George had learned that Kate had perhaps a latent masochistic streak in her, he was conjuring up ways and means of putting this news to best advantage.
He knew perfectly well how he had got himself this gorgeous wife who was now naked under him, her cunt hole taking firm measure and devotion of his prong. He had done so by spanking her and threatening her with discharge as the alternative. Now, of course, as the happy result of all this, he was about ready for another kind of discharge, that of hot gushing gism deep into Lydia's churning womb.
But of course if Kate were letter-perfect in her work, he would be hard put to it to find a proper pretext for condemning her to a good bare-bottom spanking in which she could expose all her virginal charms, and by dominating her, perhaps induce her to yield up the flower of her cherry. The mere thought made him quicken his digs in and out of Lydia's cunt, and she suddenly began to groan and, shifting her legs up over his bottom, panted, "Oh darling, I'm getting awfully squirmy! On please, give it to me, fuck me hard, lover!"
"You have really become a wanton, greedy cock-loving little bitch, my adored Lydia," he chuckled hoarsely as he made ready to accommodate her. He put his hands under her bottom and gripped the cheeks with both hands, luxuriating in the feeling of holding a beautiful young woman thus and feeling through her own spasmodic muscular reactions all the stress he was putting to her cunt by this repeated friction.
"I never dreamed when I first confronted you with the serious blunder about the Hadley account, that I was letting myself in for anything like this, and I'm very glad I did."
"You're wicked, that's what you are, George Darvison," she panted. "Oh darling, you just drive me crazy. I've never been so hot to be loved up. I don't know what it is, but you drive me wild! Oh-Now, George darling-for heaven's sake, give it to me now. Now-now-now!"
Her voice rose shrilly as she began to leap and bound and arch under him, and with a series of quick hard thrusts, he felt himself explode deep within her as the lashing wave of spunk burst upon the shore of her love canal. Lydia Darvison sank her teeth into his shoulder and dug her fingernails with all her might into his back.
"Holy heaven, woman!" he gasped, "you'll mark me for life."
"I want to. So that if you ever dare take off your clothes in front of another woman besides myself, she'll know you're my property," she gasped as they kissed and their tongues lashed and rubbed together.
After they had their ablutions, George thoughtfully went to the kitchen to bring his beautiful brunette wife a cold drink. As he lit a cigarette for her and handed her the glass of lemonade, he said speculatively, "You know, your cousin is doing very well at the office."
"I talked to her on the phone this afternoon when you were out for your coffee break, darling. She just adores her job. You know something else? She might even give up this notion of being an artist and make working her career."
"That's not a bad idea. Besides, not only can she make some money, but she'll get herself exposed to some very eligible young men. There's one fellow by the name of Dick Bundy in my office, a real new-business-getter from 'way back. He's about twenty-nine and hungry, so he's going to do very well for us. He's clean-cut, he doesn't drink and so far as I can determine, he doesn't have a steady girl. He'd be just the type for Kate."
"You don't have to turn into matchmaking, lover. And I'll bet something else you don't think I know about you."
"What's that?"
"That you've got a hard-on for little Kate yourself, that's what," Lydia teased, then flicked the tip of her tongue into his ear.
He felt his prick throb with newly regained vigor. "So you've figured it all out, have you?" he asked huskily as he reached for her titties and began to fondle them, then lowered his face and kissed each nipple in turn, flicking his tongue over it and then tracing the circle of the aureola.
"Ohh, I like that, lover, I like that awful much-yes, I've got it figured out, and I think it would be just darling if you made Kate a woman. Only I want to know about it when you do."
"You mean you actually wouldn't mind if I fucked her?"
"Of course I'd mind. But personally, I think she'd love it."
"You mean to say she's gone so far as to tell you that?" he asked incredulously.
"Not quite in so many words. She's a sweet, sort of innocent girl, you know. But I gathered from the way she was raving about you that she thought you were just about the last word and knew all about everything."
"I see. You remember what happened to you when you got naughty in the office?"
"How could I ever forget?" Lydia blushed appropriately.
"Well, maybe I could introduce her bottom to the hairbrush or the flat of my hand and get her warmed up."
"I'd just love to see that. I might even want to do it myself."
"Say, I've just had a terrific idea! She just might be more amenable to having that done to her if you were around to be a sort of chaperone," he said thoughtfully.
"That was what I had in mind, darling. Besides, it would make me dreadfully horny-to use your silly male expression. Girls get horny too, in case you didn't know it, and I'd just love to have her watch us screw," said his amazing and rapidly-learning young wife.
"Come here, you!" he said huskily. He was seated on the edge of the bed, and he took hold of her titties and shifted her as she helped willingly onto his lap. Then, making her sit astride his thighs, he arched himself until his prick tip was fitted into her moist, quivering cunt. Then he sat there and thrilled to his own young wife's initiative while Lydia Darvison went up and down on his stiff prick until both of them had their second and deliciously prolonged come.
It was Friday afternoon of Kate Furbison's first week as George Darvison's temporary private secretary. She had already had two offers of dates from eager-beaver young account executives, and Dick Bundy, the handsome, black-haired new-business assistant supervisor at the agency, the man whom George Darvison had recommended as potential suitor for Kate's charms, had also stopped her in the hallway and asked her if she would like to go out with him sometime, and she had said yes.
However, it was a rather weak "yes" because, to tell the truth, the wheat-colored-haired farm-town girl was completely infatuated by her magnetic and mature boss. Indeed, some of her daydreaming was spent wondering just how her Cousin Lydia made love to him and what Lydia's sensations were, and whether he dominated her just the way Kate always dreamed herself of being dominated by a powerful and masterful lover.
On this Friday afternoon, she was wearing a very modish and, for her, quite sophisticated costume. It comprised a pleated blue skirt and trim white blouse with Peter Pan collar, charcoal brown nylon hose and dainty open-toed brown suede pumps. Her lovely hair had been bobbed only yesterday noon during her lunch hour, a kind of feather bob which was very buoyant and youthful, and called attention to the lovely if ingenuous contours of her sweet face. George Darvison had noticed her all day long, because in his opinion a pleated skirt did more to shape out a woman's thighs and ass than almost any other kind of covering, and he found himself craning his neck like a schoolboy every time she stopped at the file folder, watching her skirt hike up above her knee hollows and disclose the lovely, gradually curving, womanly flow of her really gorgeous young thighs.
The skirt also clung at times to the cheeks of Kate's enticing ass, and he could tell that the broadening crease between the jouncily upstanding, voluptuously rounded firm hillocks of her virgin behind was indeed a provocative passageway that would lead to both her maiden offices. Both times he had gotten the urge in his balls and prick just from staring at her, and, remembering Lydia's admonition to him of a few nights back, he desperately wished that his brunette wife might be on hand so that he might contrive a very delightful menage a trois.
Norm Kashin, the agency's commercial art director, had brought in some samples of India ink for him to approve, with little two-by-four cards placed beside each bottle showing a quick sketch made from that particular ink. George Darvison himself was something of an amateur artist, and indeed had at one time, toward the end of his college term thought seriously of going into commercial art. As a result, and since he was the boss, even the art director paid him the courtesy of letting him pass on the major art supplies for the agency.
By chance, the larges bottle of a particularly midnight-blue ink had not been firmly stoppered, and fate decided to take a hand in aiding George Darvison's quest for a much more intimate relationship with his new temporary private secretary than might otherwise have been attained under normal circumstances.
It was about four-thirty, and he had just given blonde Kate two urgent wires to send off, plus a letter which could be done on Monday morning. But Kate, wishing to impress her new boss, and because she was also secretly smitten by him, promised faithfully that she would get the letter out in time for his signature before five o'clock rolled around.
He could hear the clattering of her typewriter and smiled at her efficiency. She was really like a charming innocent little schoolgirl, so eager to please. There was a pang of remorse in his heart, but only momentarily. He was really happy with the way the marriage to Lydia was working out. However in case Lydia had never shown up, he told himself he would be quite happy to start all over again from scratch and take blonde Kate as first his spanked secretary and then his bed bitch, and then perhaps his wife.
As he was mulling over this happy hypothetical state of affairs, Kate Furbison rose from her desk and hurried back into the office. As she did so, she inadvertently bumped the door, and the door in turn bumped the little table on which the bottles of India ink had been placed. The bottle of midnight-blue ink toppled and then fell onto the new carpeting, staining it irretrievably.
Kate stopped in mid-flight, her eyes widening in horror and put a hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp of anguished annoyance. "Oh dear!" she gulped.
"Now that was very clumsy of you, Kate," he said angrily, rising from the desk and walking over towards the spreading stain.
"Oh, I'm so sorry-I don't know how it happened-I thought that table was out of the way-here, I'll get it-oh my!" Again, feverishly eager to please, she had stooped and picked up the guilty bottle, but in so doing had moved it a little too vigorously so that the end of its contents splashed out on his freshly-tailored Dacron slacks.
"Damn it! There goes my best pair of summer slacks!" he snarled. "Really, Kate, that was extremely careless of you! How could you do such a silly thing?"
Trembling, very pale, she set the little bottle carefully back on the little table behind the errant door, and then she uttered another cry of anguish. The letter she had just typed had been tipped toward the carpet as she had knelt down to rescue the ink bottle, and it was certainly not in any condition to send to a client.
His eyes fell on it, and his face darkened: "Now that's really too much! All that efficiency can be wasteful. You've just had a very fine demonstration of it. Really, Kate, it's exasperating, and it's almost enough to make me want to fire you!"
"Oh no-oh, please don't, Mr. Darvison-honestly, it wasn't my fault!"
"Then whose was it? Look at that carpeting! I'll have to have the whole room re-carpeted now. It will be impossible to get that stain out. That's one of the most permanent India inks there is, and my pants, too-that was really very thoughtless and very careless!"
By now, Kate Furbison was in tears, and she bowed her face in her hands and sobbed.
Seeing this, as he always did in the presence of a woman who was crying, and especially a pretty one, George Darvison began to feel his prick tingle with desire. And then his eyes widened with delight, because he had just found a pretext which would aid in introducing sweet Kate Furbison's virgin ass to the voluptuous joys and pangs of corporal punishment.
"Yes," he repeated harshly, "I've a good mind to fire you right this minute. All the good work you've done this week has been blotted out-no pun intended-by what you've done just now. I told you, you didn't have to finish that letter, but no, you insisted on showing off. Well, unfortunately for you, Kate Furbison, you've shown me a very erratic side of your nature. The job of private secretary to the boss of this agency-myself-is a very demanding one. If under crisis you can't react better than that, I certainly shall have to look for a replacement."
"Oh, I beg of you-oh, please, I'm so sorry-I'll pay for your trousers-and the carpeting too-"
"Hardly. The carpeting would take several months' salary. As for my slacks, forget it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go, but I'll give you a week's severance pay, Kate."
"Oh dear-oh please don't-I-I like it so much here-I really thought I was-oh, Mr. Darvison, I'll do anything-oh, please, I'll give anything if you won't fire me, if you ll give me another chance!" she wailed.
The sight of her lovely heart-shaped face raised to him, the tears brimming over in her large dark eyes, rolling down her cheeks, made his prick harder than ever. He was almost aching with the desire to rip her clothes off and fuck her as hard as he could. But as a voluptuary he fought the impulse, knowing only too well that prolongation and preparation are half the excitement in paving the way for a new priapic experience.
"Shut the door, Miss Furbison," he said very coldly. Still sobbing, she did so, and then looked up at him with tear-glistening eyes, wringing her hands, the very picture of a young beauty whose plight is poignant and anguishing to her and who seeks to propitiate her inexorable judge and executioner. She looked, indeed, like a little girl toeing in for a sound spanking, and that was precisely what George Darvison intended to give her here and now!
"You say you want to make restitution for your naughtiness, Miss Furbison," he demanded.
"Oh yes-anything-please-I-I-want to work here, I like all the people and-and you, Mr. Darvison-oh please don't fire me, please! Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. I promise I'll try ever so much harder and work ever so much harder to make you want to keep me-please!" she implored.
"You know, you're not much past the age of spanking, Kate. If you were my daughter and you'd just done a silly thing like that, do you know what I'd do to you?"
Kate Furbison began to tremble, and she slowly raised her tear-stained face to his, her eyes enormous with questioning.
"No-no. What-what would you do, Mr. D-Darvison?" her voice was husky and trembling with emotional agitation now. What he had just said to her suddenly roused, even in full daytime, the burning phantasmagoria of her secret "slave-scent" in which she was a helpless and naked Christian slave upon the auction block about to be dragged off by a cruel, hawk-nosed courtier who had a coiled whip in one hand and clutched her with the other while he dragged her to the whipping post to teach her to obey her new master from the very start.
"I'd spank her bottom good and hard, Miss Furbison," he told her.
"You-you think-" she could not finish. Her throat was dry, her lips were trembling, and her magnificent round virgin titties rose and fell violently against the Peter Pan blouse. Her fingers twisted to and fro, and she swallowed several times, but not a sound would emerge from her lovely red, kissable mouth.
"I'd spank her bare bottom," he repeated, "and I'd teach her to be more careful in the future. And then I'd put her on strict probation after that, and if she made just one little mistake, she'd get a doubly hard spanking. Yes, Miss Furbison, that's exactly what I'd like to do to you right now-if you were my daughter. But since obviously a boss doesn't spank his own employees in this day and age, I shall have no other recourse than to fire you with a week's severance pay."
Kate Furbison shuddered, closed her eyes and once again shuddered as all the turns of her daydreams seemed to seethe within her, slowly fixing into place like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, until at last they made this scene of hers which she had so long imagined vividly real, as if it were happening right there before her.
"I-I guess I do deserve it," she finally managed in a trembling little-girl voice. "But please, if-if you'll only not fire me, would you spank me instead, and then-and then put me on probation, please, Mr. Darvison?"
"Of course you're not serious. You're practically a grown young woman, all of nineteen, aren't you."
"Y-yes-s-s-sir."
"And I'll bet you've never been spanked in all your sweet young life."
"No, no, s-sir."
"But you would agree to it of your own free will, if I gave you another chance to keep this job?" he pursued.
She nodded violently. She was trembling now, her fingers twisting in front of her, biting her lips and by now waves of scarlet made her lovely pink skin the more vividly appealing to all his lustful instincts.
"All right, Miss Furbison. You go back to your desk and type up a paragraph statement saying that of your own free will you will allow me to punish you instead of firing you, and that you will think of bringing no action of civil suit against me. Is that understood?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Darvison. I'll do it right away!" she gasped. Then she turned and fled, closing the door behind her.
George Darvison went back to his desk, opened the humidor and took out a cigarette. He found that his fingers were trembling, even when he lit it. He drew a along, deep breath, and then glanced down at his ruined slacks. His prick was standing out like a flag pole, practically threatening to burst through the fabric, and his balls felt so full and ached so, it was almost as if he hadn't had a piece of pussy in years.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once again the door opened and Kate Furbison, her eyes downcast, her cheeks even rosier than before, slowly entered the office, carefully closing the door.
"Suppose you lock it, Kate," he commanded, having returned to his desk and crossed his legs to hide for the moment the monstrous erection which was threatening to rip his slacks and ruin them even more beyond redemption than they had been already by the India ink.
"Oh yes-Fm sorry. There. Here-here you are, Mr. Darvison. I-I made it up-I-I think it's all right. Please-please promise me that if-if you do it, you-you won't fire me.
She stepped forward to his desk and handed him the sheet of paper. He scanned it quickly and fought the impulse to smile. It read as follows:
"I, Kate Furbison, being of sound mind and body, do hereby authorize my boss, Mr. George Darvison to spank my bottom very soundly because of the mistakes I made and for ruining his carpet and his trousers with the India ink and for ruining the letter, too. I understand that this will be done to me instead of my being fired as I deserve, and I promise I will never think of bringing any kind of suit against Mr. Darvison whom I admire very much as a boss and as a man. Respectfully,-" and then followed her signature scrawled in ballpoint pen.
"I think this will satisfy very nicely, Kate," he told her. "You're quite sure now, are you, that you're ready to go through with this? I warn you, I shall spank you on your bare bottom and very hard. You did a great deal of damage, and it's going to cost a pretty penny to fix it, you know."
"I-I understand. I deserve it. Besides, I don't think you ought to treat me any different than you did Cousin Lydia, Mr. Darvison."
He almost fell out of his chair at this. "Where the devil did you find out that I ever spanked Lydia?" he wanted to know.
"From her, Mr. Darvison," she ingenuously replied, glancing at him and then lowering her face again and turning redder than ever, if such a thing was possible.
"I think this will do very nicely, Kate," he repeated. "But before I spank you, I just want to be very sure I'm not forcing you into this. I want to know if in your own mind you agree that you ought to be spanked."
"Yes-yes, sir, I ought to be, and good and hard."
"So Lydia told you that I spanked her?"
"Yes, Mr. Darvison. In fact, she said that's how you fell in love with her and married her."
I trust you don't expect the same thing is going to happen to you, young lady. One wife is all the statue books allow in this particular state.
There was a pause.
Then she spoke.
"Oh my! I-I hoped you'd say that. I-I'm sort of stuck on you, Mr. Darvison. I know there are lots of nice boys in the office and they want to take me out on dates, but the truth is-and you're going to think me just awfully wicked and terrible-I-I was hoping-you-you'd do something like this to me."
Now his prick was really aching for fair, and George Darvison had to master himself so that he would have perfect control. This was a tender virgin, and spanking her luscious bottom was one thing, but fucking her quite another. So he decided to play the role of father-confessor and stern paternal executioner and nothing more.
"Very well," he said soberly "It's very flattering, but it's not going to spare your naughty bottom from its due. Now then, let's see how well do this. And one thing more, you do understand it's going to be on your bare bottom, don't you?"
"Oh yes, that's the only way a spanking should be given, Lydia told me, and I agree with her."
His eyes widened. He would have something to say to Lydia when he got home tonight. He was willing to bet a week's profits that his brunette wife had engineered this whole scheme. Well, Kate might get more than she had bargained for, because he had never seen a bottom so temptingly spankable as the one Kate Furbison had exhibited to him in her pleated skirt when she had stooped over in an effort to retrieve the spilt India ink bottle.
"I think first you had better take off your skirt and whatever else you've got under it, Kate," he decided. He rose and walked over to the couch and seated himself. He watched Kate Furbison fumble with the fastenings of the skirt, then let it fall to the floor, festooning her lovely charcoal-brown nylon-sheathed legs. Under it was a white nylon half-slip, and this too she unfastened. When it draped her ankles, she stepped out of both garments, retrieved them and placed them on the desk, then stood holding her hands in front of her, her eyes lowered to the floor, awaiting further orders.
He was breathing quickly, and he found it difficult to do even that. She was wearing white nylon panties, extremely short, so short that they showed off just the hint of her luscious pink-satiny ass-cheeks and in front they molded out the plump fig of her virgin cunthole, with the dark-blonde pussy triangle. She was wearing a garter-belt, and the tabs clung tenaciously to the tops of the nylon hose, pressing hard against her firm round supple thighs.
"All right, Kate, you may get yourself across my lap. I'D take your panties down and prepare you for the spanking," he said hoarsely.
Kate Furbison moved slowly towards him, from his right, and then without a word or hesitation, stretched herself out upon the couch and covered her face with her hands. She kept her lovely legs tightly closed together, and his eyes feasted on the upturned, jouncily-rounded hemispheres of her young ass. The posture exaggerated the tight cling of the pantie-briefs over those posterior globes, and he stared at them for a long moment before at last, drawing a deep breath of decision, he inserted his fingers in the waistband and commanded, "Raise your hips a little so I can take your panties down for the spanking, Kate."
She did so, and he whisked them down to the hollows of her lovely dimpled knees. He felt his prick threaten to burst at the sight of her lovely carnation-satiny, pink-and-white behind, with its deepening shadowy groove separating the luscious hillocks of one of the most beautiful naked bottoms he had ever seen in all his life.
Kate shivered and uttered a little sigh. She seemed to press herself down even more tightly over his lap, and when she had resettled herself after allowing him to remove her panties, she was lying with her lower abdomen directly over the protruding tip of his prick which was violently protruding against the surface of the ruined Dacron slacks.
Slowly his left arm curved around her waist, and then his right hand rose and described a crisp, brief arc. The noisy, "Smack!" resonated in the room and Kate gave a little gasp and squirmed nervously in his grasp, the lovely muscles of her thighs and calves flexing nervously under the gauzy nylon hose. On the lovely pink epidermis of her naked ass-cheek, the bright evidence of his palm was outlined very vividly.
He added a similar splotch to the other globe in exactly the same place, admiring the decorative effect. Once again Kate gasped and squirmed, but she kept her face tightly covered by her hands, and her posture was as humbly abject as he could have wished for.
Her beautiful bare ass was even more resilient and springier, if such a thing were possible. He had to grind his teeth to keep from interrupting this chastisement in favor of something far more intimate. But he vowed that he would not sully her virgin seal.
Nevertheless, he would compensate by really making her know she had a good bare-bottom smacking.
So his hand began to rise and fall crisply, with scarcely more than five or six seconds between each spank, alternating on the luscious, firm, elastic cheeks of Kate Furbison's upturned and proffered ass. George Darvison did not spare her. Starting at the tops of her hips and working down to the tops of her thighs, he covered her naked bottom with flaming palm-marks.
Her stoicism utterly amazed him. Lydia had burst into tears long before Kate did. It was not long, indeed, until the forty-second spank, for he had counted each one to himself in secret, that she at last began to moan and then to cry, her shoulders heaving, but that crying was controlled and muffled. Not that she hadn't shown some signs of discomfort long before this, to be sure. One dainty foot had kicked up from time to time, sometimes both at once, then waved them frantically in the air. Her naked hips lunged and swerved several times, and little gasps and muffled "Ahhhh's" and "Ohhhhh's" had escaped her lips.
"Are you beginning to feel sorry for being such a naughty girl, Kate?" he paused to ask her in a hoarse, trembling voice. His palm was stinging and her bottom was now really blazing. It marked, he noted with some surprise, even more vividly than did Lydia's white-skinned bottom.
"Oooooh! Yes, Mr. Darvison, I-I'm ever so sorry I was such a n-naughty girl. Oh please, punish me good and hard so I won't ever do it again, please!"
"All right, since you insist. But I think it's time for something more than my hand, which is getting rather sore on that big hard bottom of yours, Kate." With this, he paused to unbuckle his leather belt, doubled it, and once again resumed hold of her waist, and brought the doubled belt down smartly with a crisp "Crackkk!" over the base of her flaming bottom.
"Owohhhh! Oh, that does hurt! Oh please, Mr. Darvison, I'll be good!" Kate wailed. One foot flew up, and the pump flew off and thudded on the floor. A second smack laid the belt an inch above the preceding stroke, and again she kicked up her feet, but this time both feet went up and the other pump flew off to join its mate somewhere on the carpet.
Her wail told him that her stoicism was rapidly fleeing. Also, her bottom had begun to twist and wriggle frantically as if to throw off the blazing heat which he had engendered.
"So you're at last beginning to feel it, are you, young lady? Good! Maybe a few more will teach you to be less clumsy in the future," he harangued her.
The belt came down three hard times, first across the summits, the second across the ripest portions of her juicy ass, and the third over the tops of her naked, wriggling hips.
"Oww-ahrrr-oh, it hurts me so-I'll be good-I'll never do it again-oh please, dear Mr. Darvison, please let me off now-I've been spanked enough-I can't stand it anymore, truly I can't-I'll be so good!"
"Just a few more, so as to make sure you've learned your lesson, young lady," he told her. The belt fell five more times, but this time vertically, two to each cheek and then the last right down the crease which divided her luscious, inflamed, naked ass.
Kate Furbison shrieked, wriggled and twisted, arched her bottom up in the air and then dashed it down. She was grinding her cunt against his hard cock, kicking her legs and sobbing, and then after the last blow of the belt, she plunged back her hands to her flaming, swollen behind and began to rub frantically as the tears coursed down her face.
She had twisted her tearstained face back over her shoulder to him, and her eyes were huge and blinded with tears. "Ohhhahhhh! Oh, how you spanked! Oh, I hope now you'll let me keep my job, will you, Mr. Darvison d-darling? Oh my, it hurts awfully, but I deserved it. But may I have my job-oh please, may I? FU do anything-anything you want-if you'll only keep me on, dear Mr. Darvison!" she was whimpering.
George Darvison quite forgot his resolve. He lifted her off his lap and seated her on it instead, and then, his hands on her titties, he kissed her mouth hard. With a little moaning sob, Kate Furbison wound her arms around his neck and gave him her mouth passionately as she wriggled her flaming bottom over his lap, rubbing her cunt and bottom against his frantic cock.
"Ohhh, oh darling, I wanted you to do this so much-you don't know-it hurt so much-but it's so good-oh, please, are you going to do to me what you did to Lydia? I want you to, I want you to have all of me, I want to be your girl, your slave girl," she moaned.
"But you're a virgin, baby, and I'm married to your cousin. I'd be a real dirty dog if I did it to you," he gasped.
"I don't care-I want to lose my cherry-you don't know how much I do-I've always dreamed of a strong handsome man like you who would whip me and make me his-I don't care for these namby-pamby boys who just want to go out on dates and don't know what stuff like this is like-oh please, George darling, fuck me good and hard now that you've whipped me so good-won't you please?" the amazing young virgin panted.
George Darvison uttered a groan of resignation, by which he absolved himself from all his puritanical vows concerning the chastity of sweet Kate.
"All right, baby, but you've got to remember you asked for it," he warned her. He lifted her up, then drew down the zipper of his ruined slacks. To his amazement, Kate got down on her knees, and, putting her hands on his thighs, began to lick and suck his prick.
"My God, where did you-but Kate-you're a virgin-where did you learn that?"
"Lydia told me how much you liked it, darling-do you?"
"Oh God, do I-oh baby, oh Kate-if you keep that up, I won't have any spunk left to fuck you with-oh Kate-that's wonderful-oh my sweet bitch-you gorgeous sweet bitch-FU spank your ass again if you don't take it all now-here it comes-" he moaned. He arched himself up and Kate gobbled up all his cock that she could until her cheeks bulged, her hands digging into his thighs as she felt him spurt his juices deep into her gullet.
Swallowing hard, she managed to down them, then knelt upward, panting, her eyes shining through her tears. He lay weakly back on the couch.
"I never would have believed it in all my life-but, Kate-"
"Shhh, George darling," she teased. "Cousin Lydia told me I was to do this. I'm glad you didn't fuck me yet, but you will, won't you, when Cousin Lydia's there to show you how I want to be loved up? Just this way, after a good hard spanking, so I can't do anything and I'll be your little slave girl. Oh, I want it so much! Please, George darling, will you love me up this weekend over at your house with Cousin Lydia?"
So that was how George Darvison spanked one secretary and married her, only to find another secretary whom he also spanked and who had determined to be his lover, too. That very night, indeed, he and Lydia and Kate were all in bed together, naked, and Kate lay over his lap to be spanked by his charming brunette wife, her own cousin, while she again sucked and licked his prick to hard readiness. And when he was ready, it was Lydia who guided sweet Kate to treat him as a pasha should be treated: George lay on his back with his head pillowed in his arms while Kate mounted astride him, her flaming bottom turned back to Lydia, who had a little hairbrush and gave her occasional smacks just to instruct her to obey. Taking hold of her own soft cunt lips, Kate yawned herself to the spear which loomed below her, then lowered herself slowly till she felt it bang up against her virgin seal.
"Oh my, it hurts a little, just a little, Cousin Lydia."
"It's going to hurt your big bottom a lot more if you don't get down there and give him your cherry, lover," Lydia threatened and gave her cousin a good hard spank across the bottom. With a squeal, Kate let herself go and uttered a cry as she felt his spear pierce her virgin barrier and make a woman of her. And then George Darvison had all his harem dreams come true as Lydia stood over his body, facing Kate, who knelt over his cock and raised and lowered herself upon it, for he could see that Lydia had plunged her fingers into Kate's blonde curls and was forcing Kate to gamahuch her even while his prick was making Kate a woman-and what a woman, too!
It is wintertime now, and Kate Furbison is still working as George Darvison's private secretary. Lydia is going to have a baby, and she has generously told
Kate that the latter may take her place and keep George happy and content until she is ready for proper fucking.
As for Lorraine Darvison and Jane Dougald, they are no longer working for Great Occidental. They both decided that being the slave of Katherine Danbury was certainly not compensation enough for the loss of all their sweet little "teacher's pets." So Lorraine is now in Los Angeles, where she is the personnel supervisor of a large engraving company. She has already found herself an eighteen-year-old brunette who has been initiated in the pleasures of voluptuous spanking and then girl fucking.
Jane Dougald has a similar job in a St. Louis building and loan association where she is office manager, with her own little "pet" to console her for being homesick.
And yet there has been a happy ending for the charming young girls who had fallen under the sway of Jane Dougald and Lorraine Darvison. Phyllis Trenton, for instance, is married to one of the assistant underwriters at Greater Occidental. He has discovered that she is passionate in bed, but even more so when she is first spanked with a hairbrush and made to suck his cock. As she wriggles and squirms and squeals under the blows of the hairbrush, she sometimes shuts her eyes and thinks of Lorraine Darvison who once introduced her to this delicious prelude and preparation for love.
As George Darvison himself says, "A spanked secretary is usually a satisfied one-in more ways than one, and that goes for bed, too!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
And then, before George knew it, he was in the hospital waiting room, playing the role of expectant father and pacing around with a cigar in his mouth. George, as always, was a little premature, and hadn't been able to wait for the birth of the baby to break out with the cigar.
There was another man in the waiting room, too, and he and George got to be a little chummy during the hours they spent together.
"This your first?" the man asked.
"Mmmmm," answered George at first, somewhat put off by the inane question of the other father-to-be.
"I knew I'd end up knocking my babe up sooner or later, but I didn't think it would be this soon."
"What?" George asked, and looked up, surprised at the comment of the man.
"Yeah, I guess she just goofed with her pills one night and that's how it happened." The man looked up at George and smiled. George exchanged a knowing sort of glance with him, and that was how the bond between them was established.
It seems that there's a certain sort of look between men who know where they are and how they got there, and when that look happens, nothing can keep them from breaking down and recounting their experiences to one another.
George briefly outlined the history of how he'd got to the waiting room, and then asked the other man about his experiences. Just for the information, the man's name was Harold.
"It started a long time ago," said Harold. "I became involved with an aunt of mine when I was thirteen. She was into this discipline thing, and I was her object.
"It started the Christmas after my thirteenth birthday when she came for a visit. I walked downstairs, and there was Aunt Sally, beaming at me. It was funny, because she had never looked at me quite that way before. She was an attractive woman, I'll never deny that, and I was feeling the buds of my sexuality then.
"I mean, I used to spend a good deal of time in my room, alone and with friends, giving myself erections and then jacking myself off. It was the kind of thing everybody did, and it gave us thrills. So I needn't tell you how excited I was by this attractive young aunt of mine who made my prick rise without even a touch.
"I mean, even before she said anything to me, I was off having fantasies about her. Fucking her, sucking her, I had done it all in my mind before dinner that night, and I couldn't bear to look her in the face.
"Little did I know what was in store for me. That night my mother, father and little sister went out to the movies. Sally had said she was tired from her trip and wanted to rest, and I was being my usual belligerent teenage self and refusing to go out with the family.
"I was sitting in my room having more fantasies about Sally-I called her that in my mind now-when she walked in.
" 'Hi,' she said. I answered her in kind, and sat up on the bed, glancing down at my prick to make sure it was lying flat. It was. She came over and sat down on the bed. Aunt Sally was not a subtle person, by any means. She said what she wanted to say, and did what she wanted to do. That was for sure.
"Right away, as soon as she sat down, she spilled out what was in her mind. 'Have you ever slept with a girl?' she asked me. I stuttered out some answer like, 'Uh, well, uh, no, not exactly.'
" 'Not exactly?' Sally said. 'What do you mean, not exactly?'
" 'I mean no,' was my answer.
" 'Ah,' she said. "That's good.'
" 'Why?' I asked.
" 'Because I like to seduce virgins.'
"Needless to say, I was rather stunned by this whole conversation. I mean, there I'd been, lying in the bed having fantasies of fucking this bitch, and she came out with this comment that she liked seducing virgins. I mean, now, what could I do?
"The answer was simple. I didn't do anything. I didn't have to. She stood up immediately and ordered me to stand up, too. I did. It seemed as if I had no choice, and besides, I was curious as hell.
"When we were standing on the floor, Sally reached back and unzipped her dress completely, letting the garment fall down on the floor. I was frozen, mentally and physically. There before me was the first naked woman I had ever seen.
"Her body was slender, and yet full in the right places. Her breasts were ripe and round, and the nipples jutted out into the air. Her curving hips melted into firm, strong calves, and just in the center there was the biggest mass of pussy fur I had ever seen. Of course, I had never seen any pussy fur before, but this was the biggest patch I could have ever imagined.
"My eyes must have been pools of wonder. I know they must have been opened wider than I'd ever opened them, because later, when I shut them, they ached from being stretched so much.
"After Sally had stood there for a moment, she spoke again.
" 'Take off your clothes,' she said. What could I do but obey her orders. And besides, I was a curious youngster, always willing to try something new. I took off my shirt first, then my shoes and socks, and finally my pants and undershorts.
"Aunt Sally didn't touch me as I stood there naked in front of her. It was funny, too, because I'd thought she was going to. You know, diddle with my prick, or something like that. And I was graced with quite a prick, too, if I do say so myself.
"But she just stood there, and looked at me for a while, then went into her purse, from which she extracted a very small strap of leather.
"It frightened me, of course. I wasn't schooled yet in the glorious feeling of being whipped during or before sex.
" 'Wh-what's that?' I asked, stammering in my fear.
" 'Just something that will make you feel better when you fuck me, that's all,' answered Sally.
"I didn't want it. I'd never been whipped in all my life, and I didn't want it to start now, that was for sure. But again, I discovered that I had no choice in the matter.
" 'Lie down on the bed,' ordered Sally in a kind, but extremely firm voice.
"I did as she asked. I figured that I wasn't in a position to dispute her orders. I lay down on my back, and waited for the whip.
" 'No!' spoke Aunt Sally. 'On your stomach.'
"I rolled over. Then I waited for the minute when she would whack me with the little strap, but it didn't come, not yet, anyway. Instead, I felt the flesh of her ass coming down on my thighs. It was cool and soft, and I'd never felt such a sensation in all my life.
" 'Feel good?' asked Sally.
"I laughed uncomfortably, because I was still slightly embarrassed. 'It feels good,' I said.
" 'Good,' she answered. 'That's how it should feel. Now, I'm going to prepare you for our fuck in a special way. I'm going to give you a massage, and then I'm going to whip you up a little. Okay?'
" "Okay,' I answered. What else could I say? I figured she wouldn't do anything that would really hurt me, right?
"Her fingers started moving up and down my back, rubbing into the muscles and circling the bones. At first they pressed hard, digging into the flesh and the muscles, molding the stuff into different shapes and forms.
"Then she became gentler, and her fingertips trailed over the top of my skin, raising goose-bumps on the flesh and making me shiver all over. Her thumbs rubbed up and down my spine, loosening it and getting me ready to give her the fuck of her life.
"Nothing she did annoyed me. I loved it all. I wanted more, and then more, and I started moaning and twisting underneath her. 'Harder,' I found myself murmuring, 'harder, harder, harder.' She obliged me with her fingertips and the long, hard lengths of her fingers themselves, pressing them deep into the form of my back and leaving white marks that turned red when she took her fingers away.
"Then she moved her hands down to my ass, and plunged into the crack that was between the mounds of tight flesh. It was a sensation I'd never experienced before. Of course, all of this was never-experienced-before material, but this thing was something special. Her long fingernail dug into my ass-hole, and wiggled around in there until I was really squirming. It hurt me a little, but it was an enjoyable kind of pain, and I wanted more.
"Just as I cried out for more, Sally withdrew her finger and said, 'No. No more of that. It's time for something else now. She picked up the leather strap at her side and moved back on my legs so that she was further away from my ass. Then, whack!! the little whip came down across my pampered flesh and left a mark. Smash!! It came down again and filled my body with tingles.
"I liked it. I'm telling you, it was really a strange, delightful experience. The little leather strap kept flouncing down across my ass and I kept jumping a bit under it, every time it hit. Sally started to laugh, she was enjoying it so much, and so did I. It didn't hurt that much, you see, and I figured I might as well laugh instead of cry.
"The whole thing was filling my body with tingles and thrills of heat and cold. I started twitching and Aunt Sally began jumping up and down on my legs. That was what hurt me, because she was right on my knees, and I thought my legs were going to crack in half. I began to cry out, but she was terrifically excited, and it didn't seem that I could get through to her.
"And then suddenly she rolled off of me, and turned me over, and lo and behold! I had the hugest erection I'd ever had in my life! I was surprised, because I hadn't even felt it growing, I'd been so intently concentrating on the strapping.
" 'Wonderful!' cried Sally. 'You see? It worked. It always works. This is the only way to have it!'
"She reached down to me and put her arms around me, pulling me over on top of her as she rolled down onto the bed. Then, I guess, changing her mind, she pushed me back on my back, and mounted my thighs. I had read about this kind of fucking, and I was ready for it. The whole thing had me terribly excited, and already, I was sweating from every pore in my body.
"My prick was huge, really huge. It was hard and red and bouncing around in the air as if it had a spring attached to the bottom of it. Sally grabbed it with her hands and placed it right into the muff of hair that curled over and around her mound of womanhood. I wondered for an instant how the whole thing would feel, but I didn't have to wonder long, that was for sure.
"Sally held my rod firmly between her hands and touched the head of it to the pink, glowing, wet lips of her cunt, that gazed at me from there between her spread, bent-up legs. She was sitting on top of me, and all I had to do, for the moment, was let that pecker of mine glide into the glistening hole. Shit! Can you imagine how I felt? I was in my glory.
"I glanced down again and saw the trembling tip of my prick disappear into the darkness of Sally's cunt. Shock-waves of heat and cold penetrated my body, and I trembled all over. It was too much for me. I thought I would come any second, just from the excitement of her touch, but I didn't. She ordered me not to. That's why I didn't, I suppose.
"An inch, then two inches, and then three, of my prick went jamming down-or up-into Sally's canal, and I could feel her muscles tightening against mine and pressing down on the thickness of my young cock. It was a thrill, a real thrill, and I wanted to make the most of it. Everything was going well. I could tell by the gleam in Sally's eyes.
" "Get it all the way in, Harold,' she said to me, glancing down into my eyes and smiling. Tush your hips up and get that thing in me all the way, darling.'
"I did what she asked me to do, and pushed my hips up towards her legs. Sure enough, my pecker sank up to the hilt in the soft flesh of her cunt, and my hardening balls slapped against her legs and the curling masses of matted black cunt-hair that seemed to twine us together.
"And then I found that my hips wouldn't stop, that the one movement upward had triggered off a series of bounces and humps that couldn't stop. So I let them go, and in a crazy rhythm, they kept crashing up to Sally's hips, which were also pushing down towards mine. Every time I went up, she came down, and my prick pushed in and pulled out of her cunt incessantly.
"It was a tremendous feeling. I could feel the sloppy juices of her twat splashing against my prick and bathing it in ecstasy. In and out I went, in and out, again and again. Up and down, until the pressure built to boiling point inside me, and the heat was too much for me to take. As Sally came down on me one final time, I jammed my hips up and let fly a stream of come that filled that aching cunt of hers until it overflowed.
"Her muscles grabbed at my shooting, withering prick, and held me inside. I thought I'd die from the sensations that were filling my body, but I didn't, as you can see.
"As my pecker withered up, Aunt Sally pulled herself off of me, and moved down on my body. Her head nudged aside my legs and moved in between them to where the come still dripped out of my prick and onto my thighs.
"Her breath came pantingly as she gazed at my rod, and her tongue flicked out at the head. Now this was something I had often dreamed of, but never figured on happening.
" 'I'm going to suck you, you know,' said Sally to me, as if I didn't know.
" 'I know,' I answered her, 'What's stopping you?' was my next rather brazen question, for she'd stopped moving her tongue.
" "There's something that has to be done first,' Sally said. And that's when she moved her hand to the side and picked up the little leather strap.
Holy shit! I thought, she's not going to get my prick with that.
"But she was, and again, there was nothing I could do, because I wanted the experience, the total experience, of this woman and everything she had to give. So, what the hell, I figured once again, she's not going to cut off my balls, right?
"Sally wielded the strap, and sat up for an instant while she walloped my groin. The strap flicked out again and again, sending stinging pain through my prick and my legs, but I didn't complain. In fact, it felt rather good, so I lay there, trying to enjoy it.
"Afterwards, when I could see red welts on my groin, Sally dropped the strap and resumed her sucking position. Her tongue moved out again and caressed the tip of my succulent prick, lapping around in circles and getting all the remaining juices off of my withered piece of flesh.
"It felt good, and I wanted more, so I moved my hips up against Sally's face and grabbed her head with my arms. She liked that, I could tell, because her head started bobbing up and down very fast.
" "Give it to me!' I started yelling. 'Give it to me, Sally!' which probably surprised her some, but what the shit did I care at that point? I was having a terrific time, and I didn't want it to stop for anything.
"My hips were ramming faster and faster against Sally's mouth and face, and I felt my prick growing to an immense size again. I knew I was in for another smashing orgasm, and I could hardly wait. My balls were slapping against her cheeks, hard and hot, and her teeth were digging into my prick.
" 'Shit!' I shouted out. 'Holy shit!' and that's when I blasted her full of my juices, hot and steaming and eager to please her gaping mouth.
"She let wad after wad penetrate her orifice, and then started sucking again, swallowing the cream and begging for more. I gave her all I could, and she gulped it down, panting all the while.
"My prick was withering again, and Sally reached out with her tongue and lapped up the final come-drippings that were surrounding it. I had had it at that point, and didn't think I could take another sucking. My prick was really pretty tired out.
"Sally had had it, too, I guess, because she sat up and smiled at me for awhile, and then stood up and put on her dress.
" "That's all for today,' she said.
" 'What about later?' I ventured.
" 'No,' she spoke firmly. 'I will let you fuck when and only when I want to. This is a course in discipline, and not solely pleasure. You cannot have everything you want whenever you want it.'
"That didn't make sense to me, because, as I said before, Sally always got whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. But, what the hell, who was I to argue with this woman?
"I got dressed, and just in time, too, because the next moment, my parents and little sister came home from the movie."
The man paused for breath. George looked up at him and smiled. "Did you ever fuck your aunt again?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah, sure," said Harold, laughing. "Remember, we had a whole Christmas vacation to go at it."
"Right," answered George, "I forgot."
"Yeah," mused Harold once again, "old Aunt Sally was really something. She had a cunt like no woman I've seen since. Even my wife in there hasn't got a cunt like Aunt Sally's."
"By the way," said George, interrupting the man's musings, "you didn't tell me how you got your babe in there all knocked up."
"Oh! Right!" Harold laughed. "I forgot all the hell about that, in the midst of Aunt Sally. What do you know about that?"
"Well?" asked George, persisting.
"Sure, sure," smiled the man, "it happened like this. One day I was walking along the street when-"
A nurse walked into the room, and called for Mr. Harold Simon.
"Uh, oh, that's me!" Harold cried, jumping up. He left the room and George never saw him again. But what the hell, he figured, he had a good yarn about Aunt Sally under his belt now, and old Harold had helped him pass away the hours. His fatherhood was a heavy thing to bear, and George somehow knew that the life he had been living was over, at least for awhile.
