It was four-thirty on a late July Friday afternoon in the suburban town of Northridge, thirty-five miles northwest of Chicago. The big electric clock on the wall of the Stylist Beauty Shoppe said as much. But it said a good deal more to Ardith Willaman.
Because every Friday night at the Stylist Beauty Shoppe meant that Mae Burroughs, the thirty-eight-year-old buxom dishwater-blonde woman who owned the beauty salon, would dish out punishments for customer complaints and poor service and failure of an operator to make her quota for the past fortnightly period.
Ardith Willaman was twenty, her glossy, jet-black hair coquettishly formed in a psyche knot, drawn back severely from her high arching forehead, and leaving her dainty ears bare. She had an oval-shaped face, with large, widely spaced dark-brown eyes fringed with thick black lashes that needed no mascara whatsoever. Her nose was dainty, Grecian, with thin and widely flaring wings, and her mouth was soft and petulant, with a hint of sulkiness to it-and also sensuality. Ardith Willaman was five feet five and a half inches in height, and she was a virgin, though of late her regular boyfriend Bill Matthews was importuning her to agree to be engaged. The only trouble was, as Ardith well knew, that Bill had the notion that being engaged meant bed privileges, and she wasn't so sure it was a good idea. Her best girlfriend, Nancy Elderson, had told her that once a man fucked a girl, he lost respect for her, and that if she wanted to marry Bill, she ought to hold out for the ring before she let him get into her panties.
The thought of panties, however, made Ardith Willaman squirm uneasily in her chair, and that wasn't a good idea because she was attending to old Mrs. Curdman, sixty, an inveterate gossip and malicious talebearer, who already had had two of the girls punished by Mae because she had complained about their work. The trouble was, you never knew when you might be told to let your panties down and to bend over a table for a spanking from Mae herself until the shop had closed on Friday night and Mae herself called all of the girls into the back room and read them the riot act. Indeed, for all she knew, she herself might be one of the unlucky ones tonight.
Mae Burroughs, following her divorcing her husband six years ago, had wangled a very lucrative settlement from the philandering Edward Burroughs, since he happened to be the vice-president of a growing plastics firm in Northridge. She had gone to beauty operators' school, got her license, and, using part of the proceeds obtained from the settlement, opened the Stylist Beauty Shoppe about five and a half years ago.
She had begun in the homes of some of her friends and neighbors, won herself a little reputation, and then branched out. The operators she hired, however, were either mature and attractive women in their early thirties or very late twenties, usually either divorced or still single, the rest being drawn from beauty schools. Her good friend Wilma Foster, the forty-year-old spinster head of the Foster Beauty School, Inc., did most of her recruiting for her. As a matter-of-fact, Ardith herself was a graduate from Wilma Foster's school and had spent exactly three months under Mae Burroughs' supervision.
In all, besides Mae herself, right now there were eight operators. Half of them were girls a little younger than Ardith or about her own age, and the others quite a few years older, like Ethel Chadwick, twenty-nine, a light-brown-haired divorcee who had been there eight months, and Mavis Purcell, thirty-one, also a divorcee, auburn-haired but still a novice so far as Mae was concerned, since she was just finishing her second month at the shop.
Ardith's parents had died when she was fourteen, leaving her in the custody of an elderly and cantankerous aunt who owned a little bungalow on Surrey Avenue on the east side of Northridge. Ardith's father had been an insurance underwriter and her mother a grocery store owner's daughter, and they had left her a small trust fund which her aunt was regulating until next March, which would be her twenty-first birthday, per the terms of their will.
It wasn't as if Mae Burroughs had concealed her peculiar and very humiliating methods of trying to get her operators to do a better job and to eliminate complaints and improve the shop's overall performance and revenue. After all, when Mae had interviewed her after Wilma Foster had sent her down with a letter of introduction, the buxom divorcee had leaned back in her swivel chair, frowned at the pretty brunette and then said, "There's just one thing I'd like to tell you, Ardith. This is a rather unusual sort of shop. It's true it's in the suburbs, but we do a tremendous business. A lot of it is word of mouth, some of it is just drop in, and then we do a little advertising. A girl can make anywhere from seventy to a hundred dollars a week and sometimes half as much again in tips if she's on her toes all the time."
"That sounds wonderful!" Ardith had said eagerly, wanting Mae Burroughs to like her.
"Yes, it is. But then we have all the slackers, who think that just because they have their certificates, they can do a half-ass job because our patrons don't care to go all the way to some of the fancy salons in Chicago. I won't tolerate slipshod work, and I don't like complaints and remarks that my girls don't give good service and aren't courteous. We hold a kind of trial every week here, Ardith."
"A trial?" Ardith had wonderingly echoed.
"That's right. And if I get too many complaints against a girl, she gets a spanking. I dish it out, and I can assure you that once a girl is spanked by me, she doesn't especially care to get any seconds."
"You mean-that if I-if-if-" Ardith couldn't finish.
"I mean exactly that," Mae Burroughs had grimly finished for her. "In fact, before I hire you, Ardith, you've got to sign a paper agreeing to punishment like that if you deserve it. Mind you, I'm fair as fair can be, but I just have a certain integrity and reputation to maintain, and I won't let any new operators spoil it for me. The other girls will be on their toes too, and it wouldn't be fair to have one rule for a newcomer and another for the oldtimers, you understand."
Ardith, who liked people and was sweet if reticent at times, blushed violently. She had never before been spanked in all her life, and even her old Aunt Marcy had grumblingly commented that, in the light of what most modern girls were, Ardith was a welcome relief-although she was too much of a mouse for her own good, in Aunt Marcy's opinion. But the thought of having her bottom bared, bent over a table and spanked by this strangely domineering and cynical woman made her almost squirm uneasily. However, she consoled herself with the thought that because she liked the work and wanted to earn her own independence and livelihood, she would probably work very hard and not draw any complaints on herself. And so the upshot of it was that she had agreed and signed the paper which permitted Mae, without any danger of civil suit or reprisal, to spank her whenever in Mae's estimation she required it.
She had discovered that all of the operators in the salon had signed just such a document. Two weeks ago, blushingly, she had watched none other than Ethel Chadwick, the tall, svelte brunette divorcee, tearfully prepare herself for a sound spanking. One of her customers, Mrs. Rudolph, had come to Mae and complained about Ethel's lackadaisical handling of her wishes to have a really "unique" hairdo, and she hadn't been at all satisfied with the wave that Ethel had put into it. It didn't comb out properly. So Mae had called the woman back, herself attended to the redo, and of course poor Ethel had had to pay with her bottom.
It had been extremely humiliating, and Ardith had blushed for shame for Ethel's sake as well as for her own. To see a twenty-nine-year-old, five-foot-eight-inch mature woman take off her dress and slip, let down her pantygirdle and then bend awkwardly over Mae's desk and grasp the front edge with both hands, exposing her oval-cheeked, carnation-tinted bare ass to a humiliating spanking would have been enough to make Ardith herself want to turn invisible or sink through the floor with dire shame.
But Ethel hadn't been able to sink through the floor or turn invisible. Mae, rolling up her sleeves, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling, had put her left palm on the chinkbone of the humbled, nervously quivering divorcee. Then with her right hand, she had begun to smack Ethel's jutting bare ass with the full strength of her arm. Forty-five hard spanks had turned that soft pink-and-white epidermis into a flaming red sunset, and Ethel had cried and kicked and struggled just like a little girl being spanked, begging like a child for pardon.
She had had to lie over the desk and continue to offer her naked well-thrashed bottom to all eyes while Mae sternly lectured the other operators.
And now another seance was about to begin. At exactly five-fifteen, as soon as the last appointment was taken care of, the shop would be officially closed, the shades drawn, and then Mae Burroughs would summon her octet of beauty salon operators into the back room for judgment, sentence and then summary execution.
CHAPTER TWO
The last customer had left, and Ardith Willaman squirmed uneasily on her chair as buxom Mae Burroughs rose from hers on the other side of the shop, clapped her hands for attention, and called out, "All right, girls, settling up time's here again. Let's put everything away nice and neat, turn out the lights and draw the shades, lock the front door, and then all of you come into the back room."
It was the shop owner's custom, Ardith knew even from her relatively short tenure at the beauty salon, to insist that all operators watch the punishment of their errant colleagues. Mae also, doubtless out of her own sadistic pleasure, never told the unfortunate victim that she was scheduled for punishment until after all of them had filed shamefacedly into the back room. Thus from week to week, the suspense was always augmented, and any girl who had irritated a customer or had some wrangle with her or Mae herself or felt guilty over some small blunder in procedure or the use of beautician supplies, would of course go into that back room with very definite qualms.
Nor did it do any good for any of the girls to remonstrate on a Friday evening that they had dates or dinners to prepare or anything else; it was mandatory for everyone to attend until the seance was over.
To the best of Ardith's knowledge, there was no one in the shop who was married (though actually she was wrong about that). Ethel Chadwick and Mavis Purcell were, of course, divorcees and by chronological tenure the oldest operators employed by the dominant salon owner. As the bustle of cleaning up began, and as all the girls hastily put away the tubes and jars, arranging their tables neatly, Ardith found herself glancing sympathetically at Rose Mallows, a relative newcomer like herself, who sat at her left. Rose was biting her lips and glancing nervously at Mae Burroughs, and it was certainly a giveaway expression, which indicated to Ardith that Rose believed herself to be destined as one of the spanked culprits for tonight's settling time.
Rose Mallows was twenty-two, about five feet five and three-quarter inches in height, with dark-brown hair coiffed in a pretty guiche bob, with the point of curls coming forward at the middle of her cheeks. She had a round heartshaped face, with big blue eyes and very thick iashes, a Grecian nose with thick very sensuous wings, and a soft tremulous mouth. The white uniform, which again was mandatory for all operators, hugged an extremely voluptuous figure, -lined the bold glory of round closely spaced titties, hugged the slim waist, and almost lasciviously carressed the plump buttocks and round womanly thighs. Rose's skin was an entrancing carnation tint, that adorable pink-and-white soft-sheened epidermis which made her quick to blush. She had been there four and a half months, and all Ardith knew about her was that she lived with her grandmother, her parents having long ago divorced and remarried, that she had had two years of college until there just hadn't been any more money, then had worked days in an office and taken beauty school training nights.
There was one other fact Ardith knew about Rose Mallows: Rose had a boyfriend by the name of Frank Busby, about whom she was obviously quite fond. He was an insurance salesman, twenty-six, and according to Rose, tall, dark and handsome. However, she hadn't said whether they were engaged or just how far they had gone; but judging from Rose's nervousness tonight, Ardith guessed that very likely Frank and Rose had had a date and it was going to be delayed because of the inflexible spanking session now about to commence.
At last the shop was deserted, everything neatly in place, and Mae Burroughs, standing at the back door, herded her girls into the back room, much as a shepherdess might herd her flock of sheep. There was a smugly satisfied look on her face, and her eyes seemed to be glowing with more than usual animation.
The back room was spacious, and at its far end there were neatly arranged stores of supplies like cartons of curlers, lotions and creams and the usual paraphernalia which has constant daily usage in a beauty salon. Nevertheless, there was ample room for a wide black-leather-padded couch against the opposite wall, and for some ten narrow low-backed chairs arranged five on one side and five on the other. And finally in the center, there was a heavy straight backed chair, which, as Ardith had already discovered, was called the spanking chair. Sometimes Mae used it, or again the couch, depending on her whim. On the chair tonight, Ardith noticed as she took her place in one of the chairs near the couch, there lay an ominous-looking oval-shaped black wooden hairbrush, as well as a strap made of glossy brown leather, about two feet in length, two and a quarter inches wide, a quarter of an inch thick, to which at one end an extra piece of leather had been stitched to form a convenient grip for the wielder.
All eight young women fell silent as Mae Burroughs carefully locked the back door, then moved to the spanking chair and stood behind it, her hands grasping the top as she glanced from right to left to survey her flock. There was a malicious little smile on her lips, and Ardith shivered. She thought to herself that she would just die if she ever had to be spanked in public like this. It must just be dreadful. But then, her own heart beating a little faster than usual, she stared at Mae Burroughs and waited for the latter's decree, hoping and praying that her name wouldn't be on the woman's lips.
But it wasn't, at least not tonight. "Now then, girls, we've got to settle up accounts again. By and large, I think you're all doing a pretty fair job, but there are a few slackers every so often. And one thing I just won't tolerate is daydreaming and gossiping, or personal phone calls. Mavis Purcell, I've told you at least a dozen times to keep your love life out of the shop. I don't like all these phone calls you get, especially when you're in the middle of doing a wave or a manicure. Now like yesterday, just after lunch, you ought to have told that gentelman friend of yours to call you after hours or make some other arrangement."
Auburn-haired Mavis turned as red as a beet and hung her head. "I-I'm sorry. I-I'll tell him not to call me anymore, Mrs. Burroughs."
"You'd better. But just so you won't forget, Mavis, you're on the schedule tonight."
"Oh dear!" the divorcee groaned, her face suddenly reddening as all the other operators stared at her. "I-I'm supposed to have dinner with him at six."
"I'm sorry, but you're going to be a little late, I'm afraid. What I will do is punish you first, though, if that's any consolation to you," was Mae Burroughs' ironic retort. "And if you'd like to call him right now, just tell him you're goiny to be a little late."
"Oh-pi-please, can't you-can't you do it next week, I'd take double-but-"
"Absolutely not! You either take it tonight, Mavis Purcell, or you walk out of here looking for another job!" Mae Burroughs snapped.
"Can I-can I use the phone then, now, please, Mrs. Burroughs?" Mavis was very close to tears, as was evident by the way her voice broke and the way her eyes were blinking.
"Yes, but be quick about it. You're first, you know."
There was an uncomfortable pause while Mavis, reaching for a Kleenex in the pocket of her white uniform, sniffled and blew her nose, then walked over to the extension phone to the far right of the door which led to this back room. She dialed once, made an error, had to hang up and dial again, and her face was furiously red because Mae Burroughs was staring at her, standing there with arms folded across her spacious bosom, looking very stern.
"K-Ken? Oh gosh, I'm glad I caught you before you left the office. I-I have to do some extra work on a customer at the shop, Ken. Can we make it for later-maybe about seven? Oh fine! I'll meet you at the restaurant, then. See you." She put down the phone, and turned back, staring piteously at the dominant shop owner.
"Thank you, Mavis. Of course I don't guarantee that you'll be going to that date at your very best, but I'm sure you'll find a way to explain to your boyfriend why you were late," was the salon owner's sarcastic comment.
"Oh my goodness, I wouldn't dare tell him a thing like that!" Mavis wailed, and there was a peal of nervous laughter from some of the operators. It was immediately quailed by Mae's stern look: "Keep quiet, all of you, because some of you may find it isn't a laughing matter either, just like Mavis here. All right now, I haven't finished. Mavis is first. But you, Ginny Wilson, I've watched you all morning and you've been extremely wasteful with our supplies. Supplies cost money, and the more you use on a customer without any need, the more profit you throw away. You keep that up, and you won't be worth your salt. So I think you need a lesson too, Ginny. It'll be the first for you, but I assure you it won't be the last if you don't show some improvement. And one thing more, I notice you've been coming to work late a couple of times the past few weeks. That has to stop. We make appointments, our lives depend on them, and if you're the least bit late while a customer has hurried the kids out of school and neglected her chores just to get over here at a certain time and then doesn't find you, it creates a lot of bad will and hurts business. Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-yes, M'am. I-I'm sorry."
"You're going to be a good deal sorrier before the evening is over, Ginny. All right, Mavis, I'm ready for you. You may prepare!" Mae Burroughs said, as she picked up the hairbrush and seated herself on the straightbacked chair.
Ginny Wilson, a willowy twenty-three-year-old sandy-haired young woman who had worked at the shop for seven months, gulped, turnt. scarlet, and bowed her head, closing her eyes. The others, including Ardith, were looking at her not only with a kind of sympathy but also almost a morbid curiosity. It would indeed be Ginny's first time, and that always occasioned more than nominal interest on the part of the other girls. Perhaps, based on the old adage that misery loves company, all of them were eager to see someone else besides themselves be punished, and particularly one who hadn't ever felt the stinging impact of Mae Burroughs' strap or hairbrush before. Of course there were times when Mae varied the treatment, and she was known to give a spanking just by hand, though that was rare.
Mavis Purcell had begun to prepare. First she had carefully unbuttoned and then drawn up the white uniform, under which she wore a pink slip, strapless bra and matching pantygirdle, charcoal-brown nylons and trim though low-heeled brown suede pumps. She hesitated a moment, then removed the slip. Since there ware only eight operators and ten chairs, there were at least three chairs now for her to put uniform and slip over, which she proceeded to do. Then, biting her lips and staring pointedly down at the floor, she fumbled for the fasteners of the pantygirdle and then began to tug the sheath down from her ample hips. The pale white rosy-flecked skin of her opulent bottom came into view, together with the extremely thick bush of her cunt. When the pantygirdle reached her lower thighs, she stopped, hobbled forward a little, and quickly laid herself over Mae Burroughs' lap, reaching back to grip the bottom rung of the chair and closing her eyes, while she clenched her plumply contoured thighs and calves together as tightly as she could. The muscles in her bottom flexed and rippled, as she instinctively tightened them to steel herself for the oncoming ordeal.
Mae Burroughs did not at once begin the spanking, however. Instead, laying the hairbrush on the victim's back, she proceeded to rummage for the supporters of the down tucked pantygirdle, unfasten them, and then yanked the sheath down to Mavis Purcell's stockinged calves. As if this were not enough, she next rolled each stocking down to the knees, exposing plump but delightfully contoured thighs, and Mavis was heard to utter a faint gasp of shame at this additional exposure of her person. Then, tucking her left arm around the victim's waist, Mae Burroughs lifted up the hairbrush and calmly patted the ripest curve of each bottomcheek, and remarked, "Get ready, Mavis!"
"Ypyes, M-M'am," the auburn-haired divorcee groaned, and she was seen to take a still tighter hold of the chair rung, tightening all her muscles in an understandable defense.
The hairbrush rose slowly, and Ardith followed it with widened eyes. It poised in the air for what seemed an interminable moment, then flashed down with an angry Thwackk to flatten the roundest, plumpest sector of the right buttock. Instantly, Mavis Purcell squirmed, her face twisted back, her eyes wide with alarm, and her lips were parted in a stifled "Ohhhh!" which testified to the exemplary vigor of that first spank. As if that were not enough, confirmation was at once visible in the bright red outline of the applicator of the hairbrush on her pale creamy flesh.
A second spank followed at once with hardly a pause, decorating the left buttock with an equally bright mark. Mavis Purcell crossed her calves, waggling the uppermost pump to and fro in a kind of nervous anxiety, again she gasped, and again her body seemed to stiffen and jerk under the impact of the hairbrush.
Ardith glanced at the buxom blonde shop owner. Mae Burroughs' eyes were narrowed, fixed on the target before her. Her lips were tight, her nostrils pinched, but there was color in her cheeks and the glow in her eyes indicated that she was finding this diversion extremely pleasant. The hairbrush came down again for the third time, then a fourth, alternating on the bottomcheeks, each blow smacking just a little below the mark left by the first two. These seemed harsher, as was evidenced by Mavis' faintly sobbing, "Aahhh!" and the sporadic squirming of her naked hips. Mae Burroughs now seemed to press her curving left arm more tightly, forcing the victim closer to her, and waited a moment until she was satisfied with the culprit's posture. Then once again the hairbrush rose, hovered, fell emphatically against the base of the right bottomglobe.
"Owwohh, that hurts! Oh please, Mrs. Burroughs, please!" Mavis called out in a voice that rose in pitch and trembled noticeable.
In answer, the beauty-shop owner brought the hairbrush down on the base of the left bottom globe, with even severer impact. Mavis kicked up one leg, uttered a frantic squeal, and immediately plunged one hand back to protect her reddening, plump bottom.
"You take that hand away at once, Mavis Purcell! Just for that, you get five extra!" the buxom blond dominatress scolded. Sobbing, Mavis Purcell restored her hand to the rung of the chair, lowered her head, and her shoulders were seen to heave with choking sobs.
Now the hairbrush began to fall more quickly, though perhaps not so harshly. Nevertheless, the rapid stinging smacks continued to alternate on the opulent asscheeks, rising from the base to the summits and then to the tops of the divorcee's hips. Mavis Purcell tried to be stoic, but couldn't. After about eight or nine of these, she began to cry and sob, to twist and wriggle her naked ass, and to turn back her face and implore mercy: "Owww, Mae Burroughs! Oh please don't SPANK SO HARD! I'll be more careful, honest I will-ahrrrrrrgh, it hurts me, please let up, please, I'll be good! Owwouuu!!"
"You've been with me long enough to know what I expect of you Mavis," .. Mae Burroughs held the hairbrush in the air as she took time out to respond to this entreaty. "You are simply thoughtless and careless, and you think because you're the oldest one here you've got a safe job. Well, let me tell you, young woman, you've got another think coming if you've got any such notions. And by next Friday, Mavis Purcell, I'd better see an improvement, or you just might get your final walking papers. Now keep still and take what's coming to you!"
With this, the hairbrush went to work again. Now the spanks were even more rapid, falling in a quick flurry but still alternating on the reddening asscheeks. Mavis' fingers were seen to shift frantically and restlessly along the rung of the chair, her head rose, then bowed, then her face turned back with the tears running down her congested cheeks as she sought to appeal for pardon. Her bottom lunged and twisted, arched and wriggled, and first one foot kickeed up and then the other until one of her pumps flew off and nearly landed in Ardith's lap. By now, Mavis Purcell had given up all guise of being brave; she was sobbing like a schoolgirl and pleading cravenly for mercy: Oww! Boohoo, oh I can't stand it-I'll be good-I'll be so good-oh please, Mrs. Burroughs, let me off just this onceahrrr! Ouuu! Please, oh you're killing meeeeyeowwwHl'll be careful, I'll be the best operator you've got, I swear I will-ahrrrohhh!!! Oh please stop, oh stop now, please let up, you're killing me!"
Her energetic movements forced Mae Br troughs to pull her half-naked body back cU er to her with her left arm, and each time that occurred the spanks seemed to be more vengeful, harsher and louder. Again she paused, contemplating her handiwork.
Ardith's eyes contemplated it too, with a horrified fascination. The pale creamy bottom was a violent red now, darkening most at the summits and the base, the tenderest and ripest parts where the hairbrush had delivered its most severe kisses. Head bowed, shoulders heaving, Mavis Purcell wept like a child, begging mercy, making all sorts of promises for good conduct if only it was over now.
But it wasn't. For now Mae Burroughs, shifting her arm down toward the victim's hips, and pushing her hand almost to Mavis' groin, began to spank the woman's thighs. Wild squeals, babbled supplications, hysterical prayers to be let off, avowals that she was dying and couldn't bear another stroke, poured from the unhappy divorcee, whose face was now constantly turned back towards her indomitable executioner. The other girls who watched were pale and trembling, but all of them without exception kept their eyes as if hypnotically drawn to that burning, darkening, inflamed bare ass which bounded and twisted, weaved and jiggled, contracted and yawned in the most salacious and uncontrollable manner under the implacable hairbrush.
"There!" Mae Burroughs triumphantly concluded with a final pair of spanks just where the victim's thighs joined the flaming bottom, drawing wild yells and frantic kickings from the sufferer. "Now do you think you can behave yourself and do a proper job here, Mavis Purcell!"
"Oohhh-y-y-yes, M-Mrs. B-Burroughs, oh my, oh Lord, you just about killed me, oh my poor seat, ohhhahhhh, yes, yes, yes, I'll be good, oh for God's sake no more, oh please, I'm dying!" the victim wailed.
"All right. You can get up now and dress. If you like, you can leave. I've no doubt you'd like to get to dinner and sit down and eat," Mae Burroughs sarcastically mocked the sobbing divorcee as Mavis totteringly rose to her feet, only to clap her hands to her burning ass and to rub it and shift ludicrously from foot to foot.
There were some nervous giggles, for the emotions of the witnesses were varied, but all were indubitably impressed. Ethel Chadwick had her legs crossed, and her right hand was rubbing her knee, her left pressed against her swelling bubbies, and her face was flushed. Ardith, her face also flushed, was wideeyed, and not a little terrified. Rose Mallows was blushing and trying not to look at the wholeheartedly sobbing auburn-haired divorcee. The latter's pantygirdle had fallen to the floor and become disengaged after she had left the executioner's lap, and Mavis now hastily collected her slip and pulled it down over her, utterly forgetting the pantygirdle.
"Don't forget your heiniebinder, Mavis," Mae Burroughs mocked, and now there were more giggles, but their sounds were strained and nervous, befitting the mood which had fallen upon the spectatresses.
"I-I don't want it-leave it-oh please let me go," Mavis gasped tearfully.
"As you like.Rose, would you be kind enough to pick it up and hand it to our naughty girl?" the salon owner smilingly requested.
Rose gasped, nodded, hurried to pick up the sheath and to hand it to the divorcee, who grabbed it, and then hurried to the back left of this large room where a closet door gave access to the wardrobe of the operators. There she put on her dress, took her light coat and felt turban and put it on, and then awkwardly walked to the other side of the room where there was a narrow exit door that could be opened only from the inside. Without saying a word to any of her colleagues or to Mrs. Burroughs, she opened the door and disappeared.
"I rather fancy that Mavis is going to need a pillow in that restaurant she's going to with her boyfriend," Mae Burroughs wisecracked.' Then her eyes narrowed as she studied the flush, intent faces around her, and in a decisive voice she now declared, "Now then, Ginny Wilson, it's your turn!"
"Oh, no!" the willowy sandy-haired young operator gasped, turning pale as all eyes now fixed on her.
"Oh, yes!" Mae Burroughs grimly corrected. "You just about lost us that Mrs. Rendstrom with the stupid way you did her permanent. She called me yesterday evening and told me that some of her hair was falling out. You singed her, Ginny. Well, we didn't exactly lose her, because I myself am coming down tomorrow to rectify your mistakes. But you're going to pay for them just the same. Now get your things off and get over my lap this minute!"
CHAPTER THREE
Mavis Purcell winced with every step, and she had folded her pantygirdle and stuffed it into the pocket of her light coat. She hailed a passing cab, and ordered the driver to take her to the Fanchon Restaurant, where she was to meet Ken Prescott, who had been dating her for about three weeks now.
Very gingerly, she seated herself on the edge of the seat, her lips forming an anguished O, and she grabbed hold of the doorstrap for firmer support. "Don't-don't drive too fast, driver, p please," she implored.
It was only about a six-block ride, but she couldn't have walked if her life had depended on it. Her bottom seemed to be one entire mass of burning flames, and the flesh seemed to be contracting and drawing from that heat. Oh, how Mae Burroughs had laid on the hairbrush!
Arriving at the restaurant, she breathlessly told the driver to wait, and awkwardly hobbled inside. The cabdriver grinned at her, scratched his head and wondered whether maybe she was having her period. Either that or a corncob stuck up her rear end, he concluded with a lewd chuckle. He himself wouldn't have minded getting a piece of that lush ass of Mavis Purcell's, for that matter.
Ken Prescott was at the bar having a quick one while he waited for his girlfriend. He was forty, and his first marriage had ended in a divorce about seven years ago. He was black-haired, wiry, suave and soft-spoken of manner and speech, and he was an excellent insurance salesman. A number of his prospects were females, and he had signed them up not only for policies but also for giving him pussy when he came by. He had been hoping to get as much from Mavis Purcell, since she had had a fairly sizable settlement from her errant husband. On the other hand, she was really stacked, and he had always gone for redheads in a big way. Up to now, however, he hadn't got much farther than just holding hands and maybe one little quick smooch their last date. And frankly, he didn't intend to waste any more time on her if she wasn't going to put out. There was a cute little goldenh aired bride of about six months a couple of miles away whose husband was going to take out a big policy with him, having just got himself a nice promotion on the job. And Ken Prescott had a feeling that Claudia Evans, the bride in question, had the bedroom eyes of a nymph and that her husband wasn't really giving her all that she needed. So if Mavis didn't come across, he was going to see if he couldn't cultivate Claudia.
What was his astonishment, therefore, to have Mavis hurry up to him and whisper, "Ken, I've changed my mind about dinner. Won't you come to my place right now? I've got a cab waiting, honey. And there's food enough in the frige for us to make do with, if you don't mind too much. Please?"
He had never heard such urgency in a woman's voice before. Her face was blushed, her eyes were big and humid. He looked her over, and her figure seemed to be even more tempting than ever-that of course was because she wasn't wearing her pantygirdle, though he didn't know that. "You've got a date, baby," he said exultantly, taking her arm. "Let's go."
Mavis Purcell lived on the third floor of a relatively new six-story furnished apartmenthotel. Up to now, she'd been extremely discreet about bringing men up there, because for one thing she knew perfectly well that whenever an eligible man went out with her and found out that she was a divorcee, he somehow got the feeling that anything went. Well, it didn't. She resented a man's taking her for granted on the vulgar theory that just because she had known what fucking was, she would miss it and take it from anybody with a prick. It wasn't exactly true. But tonight-well, that was different. She watched while Ken took out his well-filled wallet and paid and generously tipped the driver, then got out of the cab, wincing again because even the slightest movement or bending made the fire start up all over again in her opulent ass. But she could see the admiring look that Ken Prescott was giving her, and it was worth it.
In the self-service elevator, he pressed her, "Why this sudden change of heart, baby? You've been standing me off for weeks now, and all of a sudden you want me to come up to your place. I hope you realize the implications."
"Just shut up, Ken honey, and wait until we get inside my place," she whispered huskily. Her eyes were big and humid, and they were also a little red and swollen. He noted this but was tactful enough to keep his mouth shut for the time being.
Once inside, he took off his suit coat and draped it over the back of a chair near the door, then, in short sleeve shirt and tie, walked towards her after she'd put away her coat on a hanger in the closet, took her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth.
To his amazement, her arms immediately clung round his shoulders, and with a little whimpering sob, she pressed herself tightly against him. Her lips parted, and her tongue drove between his.
"Hey, wait a minute, baby, on an empty stomach yet?" he hoarsely joked, putting his hands on her shoulders and moving away from her to stare greedily into her flushed face.
"Damn you! Does a woman have to throw herself at your feet, Ken Prescott? I want you to-to have me-right now, and to hell with supper. If you're thinking more of your belly than of me, you can just walk out of here and never come back again!" she hissed.
"Say, baby, you're acting mighty uppity all of a sudden. Maybe what you need is a good spanking," he grinned.
He wasn't prepared for the shocked look on Mavis Purcell's face, nor her pathetic gasp, "Oh for God's sake, not that! Oh honey, I'd die if you tried it-just take me in your arms and love me up, oh do I need it!"
"Well, I certainly am not going to spank a dame that wants to be fucked," he said coarsely, because he wanted to see just how far Mavis Purcell would go tonight. After all, it was either Mavis or Claudia, because he happened to know that Claudia's husband was out of town tonight and tomorrow night too.
Once again he wasn't prepared for Mavis Purcell's reaction. "Yes, you big ape, I want to be fucked, if that's what you call it! Can I make myself any plainer than that? You've been sniffing after me for weeks now, only this time I'm ready. Now show me what a great lover you are, and please hurry!" she almost tearfully exclaimed.
With an oath, Ken Prescott grabbed her, swung her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laid her down on the bed and then swiftly began to take off his trousers, shirt and tie. His prick was already bulging, and Mavis had hastily arched her still burning bottom off the covers and yanked up her dress and then the slip. When he glanced over, he had the shock of his life, because she was bare and the thick dark-auburn fleece of her cunt was in bold display.
"Baby, are you stacked!" he panted. He clambered onto the bed, husked off his shorts, flung them to the floor, and got at once between her thighs. There wasn't any preamble. And Mavis didn't want any. The hairbrush had been preamble enough. That was the maddening secret which she didn't really want men to know about, but tonight she just couldn't help herself. Because when she was a little girl, her handsome thirty-year-old uncle had paddled her butt for something, she couldn't remember what right now, but she had wriggled and twisted so over his lap that she'd felt his hard-on rubbing against her tummy and pussy. And even though she'd only been eleven, she'd actually creamed. Just thinking about fitting her little cunny to his rigid ramrod while the hairbrush was coming down and beating a hot tattoo on her even then plumply rounded pale-white bottomcheeks had roused her frantically.
And this harsh spanking tonight by Mae Burroughs had been so painful that it had just about driven her over the edge, so much that even though she knew that Ken Prescott was just out for pussy and probably wasn't going to propose an honorable marriage, she had to have it right now or else go crackers.
The moment he put his prick against the soft twitching moist lips of her cunt, Mavis moaned and arched to him, reaching out for him with her arms. His couth came down on hers, her arms locked round his shoulders, and then his hands went under her bottom and discovered what was making her so hot. She squealed when his fingers sank into the flaming, swollen cheeks, but at the same moment he dug himself to the hilt and everything was forgiven. Wailing in delight and pain, Mavis flung her legs over his, and began to grind herself rhythmically. Even the tortured anguish of her blazing bottom, aggravated by her up and down movements which banged her inflamed bottom against the covers, proved to be a kind of aphrodisiac as he began a vigorous in and out maneuvering inside her tight warm sheath.
Now his tongue was prying inside her lips, and hers was responding to him, emulating the friction which his prick and her cunt were engendering so exquisitely farther down. She clenched her legs over his behind now, which arched and tautened hers painfully, and again the waves of heat and smarting sting were blissful stimulants to her own maddened passions.
Little whimpering sobs and groans exuded from her mouth, and her bubbies rose and fell in a frantic turbulence. All of a sudden she twisted her face from his and cried out, "Oh God, I'm coming, oh Ken darling, give it to me, shoot me full of it, oh Ken-aahhhh!"
His body bucked and twisted, as with a final dig he felt himself explode. Mavis uttered a wild cry, sank his teeth into her shoulder, and her own body arched and jerked convulsively as her own climax met his and passed it.
A long moment later, as they still lay enmeshed, his prick still gripped by the convulsive contractions of her warm cuntwalls, she moaned, "Oh my God, how I needed that, darling! Oh Ken, that was just heaven!"
"What the hell did you do to your bottom, sweetie? It's hot and swollen, I can feel it," he panted.
"You big ape," she muttered almost tenderly as she nibbled at his earlobe. "I got my ass spanked, that's what. At the shop. That's why I had to call you and tell you I'd be late. That damned bitch took a hairbrush to me in front of all the girls."
"So that's what makes you tick, you lovely red-haired piece of cunt," Ken Prescott muttered. "Tell you what, let's go have a quick sandwich or something, just to take the edge off, and then back to bed with you. I'm going to keep that ass of yours sore and warm all night long, and that's a promise."
"Oh lover, let's!" Mavis Purcell sighed as she squeezed him against her panting titties, a look of rapture on her flushed, tearstained face. She was almost ready to forgive Mae Burroughs.
* * *
Ginny Wilson was biting her lips and trying her desperate best to look nonchalant as she hastily pulled off her white uniform and then her slip. She had no need for a pantygirdle, for her bottom was compact, almost boyish, the cheeks tightly set with an almost invisible crease between the globes. They were, nonetheless, jouncy and resilient. Her loon sleek thighs, her charmingly high-set and sinuous calves, and the slimness of her waist made her look like a long-legged young colt-but there was nothing boyish about her titties, two high-perched, closely spaced round young cantaloupes whose wide dark-coral aurolae and ripely pouting, thrusting nipples strained so snugly against her tight white nylon bra that they could be plainly seen. She wore panties and a garterbelt, tan-colored nylons and the usual low-heeled shoes. All the girls tried to wear attractive footgear, but of course eschewed high heels because their days were spent standing and high heels placed too much stress upon the racehorse-like muscles of their lovely legs.
Ginny's hair was done in a ponytail, and she also wore clip-on imitation-jade earrings, a present from her boyfriend Ben Harchton, a twenty-seven-year-old announcer for one of the suburban radio stations. They had gone to high school together, and then he had gone to the West Coast to finish his college and major in radio and advertising and journalism, spent a year or two in a small California town making his mike debut, and then his dad, who was one of the town commissioners, had wangled him a job on the station here. Everybody, including Mae Burroughs, knew that one day Ginny and Ben were going to get married. But right now, Ginny's bottom belonged to Mae and even Ben couldn't have saved it had he been there.
Ginny was used to spankings, perhaps more than most of the others in this salon. Her parents had always been very strict with her, and even as late as the age of eighteen, she was still going over her mother's lap for a bare-bottom handspanking when she came in late from a date and ignored the curfew imposed. Her father, however, had left most the disciplining to her mother, and so perhaps Ginny was more used to taking a spanking from a woman than some of the newer girls would be. At any rate, she didn't even wait to be asked to take her panties down, but hastily shoved them down to her lower thighs, and then draped herself across Mae Burroughs' lap with the attitude of a person who is anxious to get an unpleasant experience over with just as quickly as possible.
One reason that Ginny worked instead of preening herself for eventual marriage with her guy was that Ben Harchton was practically an orphan, both his parents having died when he was only four, and he'd been brought up by an elderly aunt who just managed to make things meet for her nephew and herself on her small pension and the returns of some stocks and bonds she'd bought some years before. Besides, Ginny's parents didn't really approve of Ben, because they rightly suspected that while he had been on the West Coast, he had done a good deal of philandering. They much preferred to have her pay attention to David Moriarity, a personal friend of her father's, who was forty-five, gray-haired and fat, and an officer of the local bank. He had been a widower for the past ten years, and there was no doubt that he was hot for Ginny; personally, Ginny detested him.
That was why she put up with the spanking sessions Mae Burroughs maintained as discipline for her corps of operators, even though it went against the grain to have an exhibition like this made so public. The money she was earning she was putting away in her own savings account, for a honeymoon for herself and Ben, and then maybe a down payment on a nice furniture set. And then there'd be a baby one day, and you'd need a crib and clothing and all those things Her eyes closed, her soft little mouth tensed, she gripped the rungs of the chair and waited. She had delightful pink skin, and Mae Burroughs' eyes devoured it, watching it ripple and tighten as Ginny's assmuscles contracted in anticipation of the first burning kiss of the black wooden hairbrush. Ginny was about five feet seven, and her long, lovely body was somewhat uncomfortably placed over Mae's lap, so that her head and shoulders were bowed down more towards the floor than with a girl of medium stature. This also helped tighten the muscles of her charmingly upreared bottom. Mae Burroughs now planted her left palm solidly on the middle of the pink satiny back, at which Ginny opened her large hazel eyes and sucked in her breath, knowing that this portended the beginning of her ordeal.
Then the hairbrush fell with a crisp whack on the upper right cheek, then one on the left with hardly a pause. Mae Burroughs liked to begin a spanking that way, just to see how well the victim's skin marked and what the victim's reactions were. Depending on her mood, the girl's beauty had also the gravity of the offense for which the culprit was being punished, she had various methods of spanking. But the one she most preferred to demonstrate was one that was never exhibited here in the back room of the shop. That was done for the most serious of offenses, and it took place in her own little bungalow on Courtelyou Road.
She paused such a long time now that Ginny nervously glanced back, and at that very moment the hairbrush came down with an emphatic Crack Ginny squealed, kicked up both lovely long legs, hastily crossed her ankles, squirmed uneasily, bent her head down and closed her eyes very tightly.
The spanking progressed. But now it was very slow, augmenting the ordeal, and also it was haphazard. Mae Burroughs amused herself by applying first one spank to the upper curve of a buttock, the next right down to the crease, and the third to the base of the opposite cheek. With the next blow she might strike the very same place last punished by the hairbrush, and then the next four or five would land haphazardly all over the squirming, reddening bottom. In this way, the culprit had no way of knowing in advance what to prepare herself for, which also added to her ordeal and to Mae's great pleasure. By the time thirty-five stinging smacks had been meted out, Ginny was sobbing and wailing like a child, kicking her legs frantically about, sometimes almost twisting herself off Mae's lap until the dominatress had to pull her back by vising her arm around the young woman's waist, and twice she reached back to cover up her seat. This cost her an additional penalty: eight smacks on the bare thighs, and after the hairbrush spanking had been concluded on the bottom, poor Ginny had to endure the additional martyrdom of having her tan-colored nylons rolled down to her knees and then count out each of the eight penalty swats.
"There now, and I hope you'll learn from this lesson, Ginny!" Mae concluded. "The rest of you, just remember what you've seen. You might be next, so watch it! All right, see you tomorrow. And don't forget, Ginny, you've got Mrs. Victor to work on, and she's very exacting. I don't want to have any complaints from her about you I'd hate to have to give you a repeat spanking next week because it would have to be much worse, you understand. Good night, all of you."
CHAPTER FOUR
Sylvia Fane had been hired about the same time as Mavis Purcell at the Stylist Beauty Shoppe. It was Mae Burroughs' practice to replace her operators almost at once whenever they left for varying reasons. Sylvia and Mavis had replaced Betsy Jergens and Sue Harkins two quite attractive young women in their middle twenties who had gotten married. As a matter-of-fact, Sue hadn't even bothered to give Mae Burroughs notice. She had been soundly spanked on a Friday evening for having ruined a permanent being given to one of the shop's most affluent customers, and the matron was supposed to have had a dinner date for that very night. She was furious, insisted that Mae fire the unfortunate auburn-haired operator, and she had been mollified only by Mae's promise that the girl would be severely punished and that the shop, naturally, would take care of her hair without charge whatsoever, including of course this ruined permanent.
And so no sooner had the matron left, still exasperated over the way she was going to look to her guests, Mae had snapped to Sue, "Go lock the door and pull the shades down, and then get yourself ready for a sound spanking, young lady. You've been here eight months, and you came accredited from a good school, so there's no excuse for your having ruined Mrs. Ellison's hair the way you just did!" Sue had been a tall, young beauty, and everybody knew that she had been engaged for about a year to Mack Dalbert, an affable twenty-nine-year-old electrical engineer. Sue had had just two previous spankings since she had come to work at the shop, and of course she had watched all the other girls get theirs on Friday nights when reckoning time came around.
Sue squirmed and flushed, her head hanging, as Mae scathingly lectured her while at the same time ordering her to prepare. Hoisting up the uniform and removing it, then her slip, sue had presented herself in a pantygirdle and bra which were matching in their beige tone, and even matched her beige nylon hose which the tabs of the pantygirdle hoisted up so snugly without the slightest wrinkle. She had undone the tabs and then unfastened the pantygirdle and tugged it down to her knees and got herself across Mae's lap while the latter continued to scold and lecture. The spanking had really been exemplary. About fifty with the hand, until even stoic Sue had begun to sniffle and groan and look back frantically over her shoulder at Mae's stern, flushed face.
Then there had been a short pause and again a resumption of the lecture. Then Mae had used the hairbrush fifty more times, till Sue was pleading like a little child and crying, kicking her legs and twisting. At the thirtieth, she had flung herself off Mae's lap, and the angry owner had commandeered the help of Ethel Chadwick and Winifred Korman, a twenty-eight-year-old coppery-haired bespectacled young woman who had been married at twenty-five and divorced a year later because she had quarreled with her husband over his constant traveling and his job and they just couldn't patch it up.
Winifred and Ethel had helped catch hold of the sobbing, pleading Sue and put her back across Mae's lap, and then, at Mae's order, had knelt down and one had held Sue's wrists and the other her ankles while the spanking was resumed.
For trying to get away, Mae had not only given Sue the full fifty with the hairbrush but then commanded each of her other seven operators to line up and give the pleading and weeping beauty two good hard spanks on each bottomcheek with the hand. That had meant twenty-eight more swats, and Sue had lunged and wriggled and kicked in the most frenzied manner imaginable, not caring that she showed off her gaping pink cunt.
She had been told that she was to report for work on Saturday, but she didn't show up and there wasn't any phone call. Angrily, Mae phoned Sue's boarding house and talked to the landlady. And the landlady had told her that Sue had left early that morning with her handsome young electrical engineer and that they were eloping and that Sue's new hubby had just accepted a job in Detroit.
Sylvia Fane, the very youngest of all the operators presently employed in Mae's shop, had thus far escaped Friday punishment times, but this time her luck had run out. She had been late to work twice this past week, and only yesterday she had bungled a permanent which didn't hold and which had left a middle-aged matron's hair looking stringy and dull. The woman was to come back tomorrow morning for a redo, and Sylvia was going to be obliged to give it under Mae's baleful eye. Not only that, Mae sarcastically pointed out amid the hush which had fallen over the other operators as they watched poor Sylvia get herself ready for punishment, if it wasn't done correctly tomorrow, Sylvia was going to have to remain for a second dose on her big bottom.
Ardith Willaman squirmed uneasily in her chair. So far she had been awfully lucky, but she had taken real pains not to find herself across Mae's lap. She thought she would just die if that ever happened to her. She'd been out on a date last Saturday night with Bill Matthews and again he'd begged her to announce their official engagement. And she'd still held off, because she knew he would expect bedtime privileges. They had had something of a quarrel about it, even, and she had told him that while she was certainly not an old-fashioned "square," just the same she didn't think it was a good idea for them to start an affair until they knew they were going to be married for sure. And she didn't want him to think she was cheap.
She blushed now and tried not to look too closely as she watched poor Sylvia get ready. Mae Burroughs sat on the straightbacked chair which was in the very center of the working area of the shop.
Miserable, dejected, her head bowed, Sylvia awaited the order to prepare herself.
It came now as Mae stared up at the unhappy culprit and snapped, "Get yourself ready fast, Sylvia! You've come awfully close in the past few weeks to earning yourself your first spanking here, so you can be sure that it's going to be a good one now because of what you just did."
With a sigh, Sylvia Fane removed the white uniform and then her slip. The girls gasped in admiration at the unveiling of her delectable figure. She was on the svelte side, her calves high-set and sinuous, her thighs long and rather slender, though they began to amplify as they neared the compact, upstandingly rounded cheeks of her bottom with its wide and deep crease already shaped out by her clinging pink nylon panties. The matching bra snugged over orange-like breasts, widely spaced and quite firm, thus accentuating the slimness of her waist. As she put the slip and uniform over the back of the chair nearest her, which happened to be an empty one beside Ardith, Mae Burroughs pursued, "Take your panties completely off now and then get yourself over my lap!"
"Please, Mrs. B-Burroughs," Sylvia quavered in a choked, contralto voice, "just this once, can't you leave them on? I'm so ashamed-I never have been spanked before, honest I haven't!"
"Not even as a child?"
"N-no, M-M-M'am," Sylvia Fane groaned, clasping her hands in front of her and twisting her slim fingers as she glanced imploringly at the stern-faced dominatress.
"Then this is all the more reason why your first paddywhacking has got to be one that you'll remember a long, long time, Sylvia Fane," was the inexorable decree. "Now get them off in a hurry!"
With an audible groan, Sylvia inserted her fingers in the waistband of the pink nylon panties and began to tug them down. Then suddenly she uttered a sob and pressed a hand over the thick black fleece of her cunt as the final veil dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of it.
"Stop that foolishness and get over my lap, young lady," Mae crossly ordered. "We're all girls here, and we know what a girl has between her legs. Now be quick about it."
Once again there was the sound of nervous giggles and gasps as poor Sylvia, desperately fighting tears, hastily laid herself across Mae Burroughs' spacious lap. The dominatress fitted her left arm round the satiny slim waist, but did not at once reach for the hairbrush. Her eyes feasted on the upturned, quivering globes of Sylvia's condemned ass, for there could be no doubt that one of her greatest pleasures was in initiating an operator who was coming over her lap for the very first time in the shop. And the fact that Sylvia had just admitted that she had never before been so punished made the session one of extremely titillating appeal to the sadistically sensual shop owner.
"Is that a fact," she grinned, winking at the other girls. "Well, honey, it looks as if you've got a real tender bottom on you, so you can expect a good hot warming before I'm finished with you. As I always say, a first spanking ought to be one to be remembered and felt. Get yourself ready, Sylvia girl!"
Sylvia uttered a moan at this dire threat, and promptly tightened her legs together as much as she could. But Mae's eyes were shining as she now shifted the girl a little closer to her, and then at the same time began to unfasten the stocking tabs and to roll them up and wad them inside the band of the garterbelt. "I don't want that to get in the way when I start whacking your big heinie, Sylvia," she explained, while the unfortunate and almost naked young victim squirmed and gasped, dying of shame to know herself the cynosure of all these eyes.
Sylvia Fane had lost her parents when she was only eight, and her grandfather and an aunt had brought her up. They had been extremely strict with her, and it was only the last few months, now that she was beginning to earn her own living, that they even allowed her to go out on regular dates. She had a boyfriend, by the name of Dave Ruxton, twenty-four, a Northwestern graduate in journalism, who was working in his father's printing plant at the very bottom of the ladder and one day would take over the chain of four suburban newspapers which were issued weekly throughout this and adjacent suburban areas of Chicagoland. Sylvia had only permitted Dave a few lengthy kisses, and she was extremely sensitive about being touched, that was because she knew her own weakness. She had already discovered the sweet joys of frigging herself at night when she couldn't sleep.
She closed her eyes as tightly as she could now, and tried to imagine herself on some distant astral sphere where nothing like this could happen. But she could hear the hum of the fan, and the low murmur of the girls who were watching her, and she was dying of shame and wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible. Dave was going to call her tonight after supper, he had mentioned earlier this week, and maybe she would go out to a late movie or something like that with him.
Now she uttered a loud "Ohh, oh please hurry!" as she felt Mae's right palm graze the cheeks of her voluptuous naked young ass, and move slowly and deliberately over both gloves, patting, appraising and stroking the satiny olive sheened flesh.
"So you're eager to get your first spanking, are you? Well, seeing as it's your first time, I don't suppose I'd better keep you in suspense much longer, then," Mae joked. "How don't forget to stay just where you are and don't try wriggling off my lap, young lady, or you'll get a good hard extra dose, remember that! Now then, we'll just see about warming you up for the hairbrush!"
Sylvia's heart sank. If she had thought to get off with just a handspanking, she already found herself condemned to a two-part punishment. And just as she was beginning to squirm a bit and get herself a little more ready for the first taste of chastisement she had ever known, as her hands were shifting on the bottom rung of the chair, Mae Burroughs' right palm came down like a plummet and flattened the ripest curve of her bare right asscheek.
"Ouch!" she couldn't help squealing, and glanced back with widened, startled eyes. Now a giggle ran through the entire shop, but it was quailed immediately by Mae's stern and deliberate look at all of the girls as much as to intimate that if they found this funny, she would be happy to accommodate each one of them in turn after Sylvia had had her just desserts.
Mae's palm lay exactly where it had fallen, almost caressing the naked bottomcheek. It was vibrant and quivering, and she could feel how warm it was already.
The second spank landed on the other cheek, also at the ripest sector, and Sylvia's body jerked convulsively. The sharp sting and especially the humiliatingly loud noise of impact between Mae's palm and her bare behind overwhelmed her with outraged virginal modesty. Mae noticed that her skin had very vividly marked already, the splotched bright pink outline of her palm standing out on each globe now as she slowly lifted her hand and contemplated the magnificent virgin posterior entrusted to her special care. She noticed also with a grin of secret amusement how tightly Sylvia's legs were clenched together, and how the muscles stood out along the sinuous calves and slender, gracefully sculptured thighs. But the deeply and widely hollowed crease between those twitching asscheeks exposed a good deal more than Sylvia wished to show, she was certain.
Since Mae's divorce six years ago and the lucrative settlement which had enabled her to ppen this profitable shop which also provided her with so many of her sexual delights, she had been in no hurry to find herself another man. She had discovered that spanking a pretty girl or mature woman's bottom afforded her indescribable pleasures, and these had led, not a year after Edward and she had parted company for good, to a secret Lesbian liaison with one of her favorite operators-who had, alas, left two years ago to get married.
Tonight, she confessed to herself, she was feeling especially randy, and she was going to have to do something about it. It wouldn't be with Sylvia, not yet. However, a young virgin like Sylvia could certainly be lured down the pathway to Lesbos. No, tonight, she was going to take home with her the second girl to be spanked. Or rather, woman, since the eighth operator, already watching with widened eyes, crossed legs that shifted constantly, and a very pale complexion, was none other than Genevieve Borschey, the thirty-four-year-old honey-haired and only married operator in her entire shop. Genevieve's husband, two years older than herself, was a major of infantry and had been in Viet Nam for the past eighteen months. He was expected back in September on an extended furlough. Genevieve had been a beauty operator before she had married Jim Borsley five years ago, and the day he had been sent to training camp to brush up on his officer's reserve status, she had applied to Mae for a job and got it at once. And Mae had already seduced her into Sapphism, persuading her that it was far better to pussyrub and get her jollies that way than to cheat on Bill with another man.
She stared lingeringly at Genevieve, until the latter blushed violently and lowered her eyes, then recrossed her legs and began to swing the uppermost, charcoal-brown-stockinged limb as a sign that she was on pins and needles. Mae grinned to herself; it would do Genevieve good to watch Sylvia's first thrashing, and she wasn't expecting at all to be punished tonight. That would make her all the more submissive to Mae's demands in bed tonight.
But now her attention was drawn back to the restless, agonized young beauty lying practically stark naked over her lap, head bowed and shoulders down, hands gripping the last rung of the chair as tightly as she could, the muscular tensions that rippled through Sylvia's naked oliveskinned ass excited her, and now, tightening her left arm domineeringly around the victim's waist, she resumed the handspanking with a flurry of six or seven crisp quick smacks at random all over both upturned, juttingly rounded cheeks.
This sudden resumption made Sylvia squeal and squirm, cross one leg over the other, then put both pump toes back down on the floor, then cross her legs the other way, all at the same time she glanced feverishly back fit her executioner.
"Getting warm down there, baby?" Mae jeered, and was rewarded by the giggles of her nemials.
"Remember to stay in position," she contented herself with saying, and then again resumed. Now the spanks fell more slowly, and more harshly too. Alternating on the buttocks, Mae Burroughs soon imparted a vivid crimson tinting to the olive-satiny hillocks, from the tops of Sylvia's hips down to where the stockings had begun to sag, which meant a few good stinging smacks to her upper thighs, regions especially tender in a virgin, as Mae well knew. In all, she gave the girl about forty slaps, and the surprising thing to her was that Sylvia didn't beg for mercy. Nor, for that matter, did she cry out. All that was audible were stifled gasps, the sudden suckings-in of breath, and the widening, humid eyes which occasionally turned back to fix her with a kind of poignant and yet courageous appeal. Nevertheless, Sylvia's hips swerved and wriggled under some of the harsher smacks, and when at last Mae paused with her right palm pressing over the deep wide crease at the base of Sylvia's reddened ass, Sylvia exhaled a long sobbing "Ohhhh!" that indicated that her stoicism was rapidly nearing its limits.
Mae stopped now, looked triumphantly around at her brood and there was almost a maternal tenderness in her crooked, moist smile. For all of these beauties except Ardith Willaman had been her children in the sense of going over her maternal lap, having their bottoms exposed for castigation. There was a kind of spiritual incest here which thrilled the buxom blonde divorcee almost indefinably, and she could feel her own pussylips twitch now as Sylvia Fane squirmed uneasily across her lap, perhaps praying that her punishment was over.
But it wasn't. "Just hand me the hairbrush there, will you, that's the girl, Ardith," she said jocosely, because Ardith was at her left and nearest her, and the big wooden hairbrush lay on the edge of Ardith's table where she had purposely put it.
Blushing and with a little gasp, Ardith handed her the hairbrush. Sylvia Fane looked back and uttered a gasp of horrified astonishment: "Oh my goodness, please, you're not going to spank me with that now, are you, Mrs. Burroughs?"
"I don't see anybody else's bottom ready for it, I can tell you that. Yours is nice and warm and red, and so the brush is going to sting very nicely, Sylvia. Get ready!"
"Oh please, let me-let me rest just a minute-oh it stings so-please, I-I don't want to make a scene, I want to bb-brave-but please give me a minute!" Sylvia pleaded, much to Mae's surprise.
"Very well. One minute. And I think I'd better put my leg around yours because you're likely to try to twist yourself off once you get the brush on that red tail of yours, my girl," Mae Burroughs said roughly.
So saying, she slid her right leg from under Sylvia's thighs, and promptly clamped it over the young beauty's stockinged calves. Sylvia uttered a gasp, reached down and took an even firmer hold of the chair rung, then closed her eyes and bowed her head. A perceptible tremoring rippled through her almost naked body, indicating that she had prepared herself for the resumption of the spanking.
Now Mae Burroughs tightened the grip of her left arm around the victim's satiny waist, and Sylvia gasped aloud again at this intimation that the more serious part of her chastisement was at hand. She tried to contract her bottom muscles, just as the brush rose and fell with a nasty little "Thwack!" on the edge of her right hip. Taken by surprise at its greater burning sting than Mae's hand, she uttered her first real cry of the session: "Ouchh! That hurt!"
"Owwouu! That does hurt, oh please!" Sylvia was calling out in a nervous, trembling voice, frantically looking backwards with big tearfilled eyes.
The crisp intonation of the flat wooden back of the brush against Sylvia's naked, crimsoned ass was a sensual music for Mae Burroughs. It was crisp and emphatic, and she could see the flesh flatten and then spring up under each blow. That was why she prolonged the thrashing, waiting almost twenty seconds between spanks, and giving poor Sylvia ample time to differentiate between the pain of the last blow and the one about to fall.
By the time she had reached thirty, Sylvia was sobbing like a child, lifting her fists in the air as if all too ready to cover up her blazing ass. Mae warned her about that between spanks. "Don't you try it, honey-" Smack!-"it'll only cost you extra!" Crack!
"Oww-ahrrr-oh please, I'll be good, I'll be awfully good, don't spank anymore, please, Mrs. Burroughs!" Sylvia wailed and then burst into really hysterical sobs which made her shoulders shake and even her lovely titties jiggle.
"Very well. You've had this coming for quite some time, Sylvia, and I hope it's going to do you some good. You may get up now and dress. But don't leave yet, you have to wait for the last spanking. It's one of our rules."
Sobbing, Sylvia slowly straightened, and Mae even helped her to rise, leaning forward and grabbing both Sylvia's firm boobs and thus helping to lift the sobbing almost naked girl to her feet. Now Sylvia did rub, foregetful of the fact that her crisp pussythatch was displayed to everyone. Then she drew her slip on, and next went back to the closet to get her blue cotton dress and dragged that out, completely abandoning her panties. She had pulled out the tabs of the garterbelt, but didn't try to adjust them to her sagging stockings, which were now down at her knee hollows. Then, sniffling and still very red in the face, she went back to her chair and stood.
"Give her a pillow, someone," Mae said good naturedly, "I think she's earned it."
"All right now, let's get on with it, it's getting late. Genevieve, front and center!" Mae ordered.
"Oh, no!" the honey-haired matron gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.
"Oh yes, Genevieve! The way you slopped over Mrs. Caston's facial and that frizzy do you let her walk out with, I've been meaning to give you hell and this is the time. Now you get yourself over my lap pronto!"
Genevieve groaned while everyone stared at her. She was well made, with a rather meek sweet face, large gray eyes, a straight nose with thin and very widely flaring wings, and a somewhat overripe mouth. She had soft baby-' pink skin, and her body was as buxom as Mae's, with broad but firm bottomcheeks, highperched, closely spaced big round boobs, and plump thighs. She was inclined to be passive, and also masochistic. Mae had discovered this when she had been with Genevieve one night shortly after Bill had gone to Viet Nam. Genevieve had had a weeping fit she couldn't control, and Mae to hide her own compassion, had scolded Genevieve and told her she was going to spank her if she kept it up. Well, she'd kept it up, and so Mae had pulled Genevieve over her lap, turned up skirt and slip, and then, to Genevieve's horror, rolled down the pantygirdle and begun to spank energetically. Before the night was over, both women had girlfucked several times and Genevieve had found her solace.
CHAPTER FIVE
Aware that every eye was on her, the honey-haired matron pulled off her uniform and then her slip, and stood in her bra and pantygirdle, with flesh-colored nylons unwrinkled and gauzy on her plumply contoured calves and thighs.
"Take the pantygirdle off entirely," Mae ordered peremptorily, and was obeyed. Genevieve's dark-golden bush was extremely thick, disappearing between her thighs and going up towards her asshole. It covered almost completely the plump lips of her soft pink cunt, and Mae had often teased her about this and once threatened to shave Genevieve down there, which had utterly horrified and shocked the meek, lush matron.
Eager to get it over with, she made no fuss as she came straight to the chair and bent herself down over Mae's lap, gripping the rung and closing her eyes.
The spanking began. Like the one she had given Sylvia Fane, it was prolonged, gentle at the first, very energetic at the middle, and then almost lingering and caressing at the end. She watched Genevieve closely, and she saw the matron squirm and gasp, and then towards the end of the spanking begin almost imperceptibly to arch her asscheeks up to the castigating palm as if yearning for more pain. Decidedly, she told herself, Genevieve was as randy as she was. That was going to be very good tonight.
This time it was Winifred Korman, her bespectacled and coppery-haired operator, who handed her the hairbrush at her command.
Now she made Genevieve humble herself even to the point of servile degradation. She urged the woman to squench forward a little and support herself on her palms, thus leaving her legs up in the air and arching her naked reddened ass up in the most provocative and vulnerable manner imaginable. She then called Winifred to hold onto Genevieve's ankles so the victim wouldn't lose her balance.
This done, she draped her left arm around Genevieve's waist, and began to use the hairbrush. She gave Genevieve exactly thirty spanks, fifteen to each cheek, starting at the top and going down to the base and up again. Genevieve burst into tears at the sixth, was sobbing like a child at the tenth, begging for mercy at the fifteenth, and for all of the next fifteen swats howled and sobbed and moaned and pleaded that she would be a very good girl if only Mrs. Burroughs would stop. But throughout it, the way she weaved and squirmed her hips, and the way she attempted to rub her furry cunt against one of Mae's knees, indicated only too well to the beautyshop owner that Genevieve Borseley was just dying to be girlfucked tonight....
Finally it was over, Genevieve was helped to her feet, and as the tears streamed down her cheeks, she hopped from one foot to the other, holding her bottom and rubbing it feverishly, then she pulled on her slip and uniform, tucked the pantygirdle into her purse, and with tear-swollen eyes and a husky voice bade Mae Burroughs good night.
It was only a kind of au revoir, because by about eleven o'clock that night Genevieve would come to Mae's house for consolation.
Sylvia Fane walked heavily towards the door, biting her lips at the good-natured jibes of her coworkers Ginny Wilson and Rose Mallows. "Well, now you're one of us," Ginny declared with a giggle. "Boy, you sure held out longer than I could have. You're awful brave, Sylvia."
"Not really. Boy, does it burn!" Sylvia sighed. "Well, I guess I'd better hurry home, because they're probably wondering if I didn't get lost or something. And I don't dare tell them what made me so late."
"Don't you have a boyfriend, Sylvia?"
"Well, sort of, but they don't like it very much if I go out. I guess they're old and you know how old people are. They get sort of jealous. Anyway, what with trying to learn this beauty business and keeping our of Mrs. Burroughs' bad books-which I didn't do tonight, that's for sure-it keeps me busy enough," Sylvia murmured.
"Well," Ginny leaned over to whisper, "I'll bet if you had a boyfriend right now, you'd let him take you to his place and really screw you good, honey! That's the best cure after a spanking, take it from me!"
She wasn't really accurate about that. Last Friday night, after her spanking, she'd gone home for supper and her parents had razzed her a little for being so late. Of course she hadn't dared to tell them why she had been, and when they asked her why her eyes were red and she seemed to walk so slowly, she'd fibbed and said that she'd had a quarrel with one of the catty girls in the shop and they'd almost come to blows and then she'd slipped and fallen. They'd accepted that.
And then she'd called Ben, and he'd agreed to meet her at the drug store about four blocks away. She'd told her parents she was going out to buy some toothpaste and perfume, and they were both watching a TV special so they didn't bother too much about giving her the third degree as they sometimes did when they suspected she was going out to meet that reporter they didn't like.
Ben had met her there, bought her a soda, and then walked her into the park. He'd taken her beyond the statue to Hobart Northridge, the English merchant who about ninety years ago had settled in this peaceful little suburb of Chicago and after whom it had been named. It was dark and quiet and no one was around. She'd flung herself into Ben's arms, kissing him so passionately that she could feel his hard-on press right against her pussy almost the minute she hugged him. And then she'd whispered to him how she'd had to take a good sound spanking from Mae Burroughs and how her poor bottom was still burning up from it.
He'd put his hands behind her then, gently caressing and patting and stroking the quivering cheeks, and she'd almost gone crazy with wanting to be fucked. It had been all both of them could do to hold back from doing it right then and there on the grass or even standing up. He'd promised that he was going to talk to her parents in another couple of weeks, because he thought he was going to get a good sound raise and then they really could be married. And Ginny was begging him to hurry because she couldn't wait much longer.
In fact, she'd been shameless enough to tell him that she'd probably go home tonight and dream about him and put her finger down there where she could feel his big stiff thing-that's what she had called it.
He had got very red in the face, and then, glancing frantically around, he had zipped down his fly and pulled out his prick. Ginny had almost fainted, it was so big and red and thick and hard. Then he'd lifted up her skirt, and started rubbing himself against her cunt till she could feel it press through the lips even through her panties. It had been almost as good as a fuck, and she had held on to him tightly, and his sinewy fingers had dug into her spanked ass, and then she had felt herself just about explode and faint. And she had told him after she had recovered, "Oh Ben, oh my darling Ben, you've just got to get that raise, you've got to marry me, I can't go on like this much longer! After seeing what you've got there for me and after feeling it just now, I won't ever be content with my finger again, lover!"
* * *
"Mae darling?"
"What is it, precious?"
Genevieve Borsley and Mae Burroughs were in bed together, both stark naked. Genevieve had come a little after eleven, wearing just a fur coat and a bra and panty set and highheeled sandals. Mae had been in her bathrobe, having watched TV with growing impatience and boredom, and having fortified herself with a stiff highball.
As soon as Genevieve had come in, she'd taken off the fur coat, then Mae had pulled down her panties and made her bend over and show her her bottom. It was still quite red, and Mae's lusts flared. "Come to bed this minute," she had hissed.
By now they had just eased the first savage ferocity of their passion, Mae's sadistic yearning and Genevieve's urgent need to be dominated. In fact, Genevieve had closed her eyes and pretended it was Bill on top of her, grinding his prick against her eager cunt, after having given her a good sound spanking for having been so naughty with another woman. She was deliberating whether she should tell him when he came home from Viet Nam. He'd never really punished her; oh, sure, a couple of times just in fun he'd given her a swat on the rear, and then pulled her down on the bed and screwed her, and it had been terrific. But until Mae Burroughs had taught her what a spanking could really do to unwind a girl, she hadn't dreamed how horny she could really get once her backside had been turned red and stinging the way it was tonight. "Mae?"
"What's on your mind, honeybunch? Kiss me good now, and put your hand on my pussy. I want you to frig me a little before we start loving up again," the dominatress purred.
"When I got home tonight, Mae, I found a letter. It was from Bill. He says there's just an outside chance he might get his furlough ahead of time-isn't it wonderful!"
"Why that's fine, precious! I suppose I can arrange to give you a couple of days off. You'll want a second honeymoon all over again, won't you, you randy little bitch?" Mae laughed knowingly, as the two women lay on their sides facing each other. Her left hand had begun to stroke Genevieve's squirming bottom, finding that it was still warm and twitching from the spanking. Meanwhile, gingerly and blushingly, her eyes closed, the attractive honey-haired matron had put her right forefinger up against Mae's bushy cunthole and was delicately tickling, though with the ineptitude of a rank amateur.
"But you're not going to forget our little games and fun are you, precious?" Mae wanted to know.
"That's what I meant to tell you about, Mae. Gosh, I feel-well, in a way I've really been wicked and unfaithful to Bill."
"What sort of nonsense is that? You keep talking like that, and I'll really give you a spanking, Jinny."
"I don't care! I've got half a notion to tell Bill-oh don't worry, I won't mention who it is."
"I'll say you'd better not!"
"I want him to punish me. I want him to spank me good and hard and then love me. that way, I'll be his all over again," Genevieve decided.
Mae burst into husky laughter. "I can see right through you, baby. You're really transparent. And all because I tanned your bottom good in front of all those girls this afternoon, isn't it? Well, there's nothing wrong with having a man fantail your big ass, Jenny girl. Only you'd better sound him out and see what he thinks about it. I mean, some guys think a woman who sleeps with other women is really a bitch, worse than if she took another man. I mean it. I knew one girl who used to work for me some years back just when I opened the shop, she had a case on one of my young operators. Well, her hubby found out, and he whipped the shit out of her and then got a divorce. You don't want that to happen to Bill and you, do you?"
"N-no, of course not, Mae darling. But oh my goodness, it makes me so wild! Like right now when your hand's on my bummy and squeezing it, and I think of how ashamed you made me when you made me get over your lap and just about strip bare for everybody to look at, I-well, I was practically almost there-"
"I knew you were when I was giving you the hairbrush, precious. The way your big ass kept jumping up to get more cracks, I knew you were just about ready to cream in your little pussy. I'll fix that. And if Bill doesn't spank you properly, you can always sneak over here at night when he's asleep and I'll give you what you need. Now shut your sweet mouth and let's fuck," Mae Burroughs whispered.
With this, she applied a stinging slap to Genevieve's voluptuous bottom, hissing at the same time, "Now frig me, you bitch, the way I told you to-stick your finger in and rub my button, or I'll take a whip to that sore tail of yours, I mean that!"
Whimpering and groaning in the throes of her masochistic fervor, Genevieve Borseley obeyed. She pressed herself frantically against Mae's cunt, while her finger dug well in, rubbing the clitoris, as her other hand cupped one of Mae's big though rather flaccid boobs, and her tongue entered Mae's mouth.
Soon both women were pussy-rubbing, Mae's legs locked over Genevieve's, her hands squeezing Genevieve's ass, French-kissing until they both attained their orgastic paradise.
CHAPTER SIX
Frank Busby had taken Rose Mallows to the movies Thursday night, but his real purpose had been to try to persuade her that it was high time they got serious about each other. He'd been selling insurance now for about two years, and he was building a good clientele. If things went the way they looked right now, he ought to clear about fifteen thousand dollars this year in commissions. And his supervisor only yesterday had praised him for writing "clean" applications, the kind that went right through the underwriters without any holding up for want of facts or questions about the safe risk intangibles.
Frank Busby was keen to get married, and perhaps because his own childhood had been an unhappy one through the quarrelling and ultimate breakup of his parents' marriage, he was bound and determined that it was going to be soon. That was why he understood all about Rose, because the same thing had happened to her when she was about thirteen.
So they had stood in the lobby of the apartment building where her grandmother lived and argued for at least half an hour. And at the end of it, Rose had had tears in her eyes and she had said to him in a rather stiff, strained voice, "If that's the way you feel, Frank, maybe we better not see each other for a while. I just don't want to be bullied into marriage. Of course I like you, you know that. But we're both young, I'm earning my living and Grandma needs me."
"I need you too, Rose. Don't you think a fellow has feelings? There are plenty of girls I could go out with if I wanted just-you know what. But I want to marry you, can't you get that through your lovely head?"
"Don't make yourself out to be such a martyr, Frank Busby," she had snippily retorted. "Girls have feelings, too. But you don't see me going out with every fellow, do you? We can wait."
"I'm not so sure," he had glowered. And then, with an angry look, he had added, "When you change your mind, call me. I won't bother you till then. Good night."
As she finished her breakfast, Rose was thinking back about last night and wishing she hadn't said the nasty things she had to Frank. He was really a wonderful fellow, and so awfully patient. They had been dating about five months, and he'd never really once been fresh. Oh sure, he'd kissed her, and that was lovely. But he hadn't tried to make her or anything like that. Just the same, it wouldn't be fair to leave Grandma now, now when she was starting to talk so gloomily about going into a home. She owed Grandma Davis a lot of loyalty for having seen her through the tough years of school. Of course she would have liked to have gone on with college, maybe even got into teaching, but there just hadn't been enough money. Grandma had some savings and a little insurance, and that had just about seen them through. Now at least, thanks to the job at the Stylist Shoppe, she could pay her own way and maybe even save a few dollars in case anything happened to grandma. But marrying Frank would just about mean abandoning Grandma, and that wouldn't be right.
When she got to the shop, nearly all the girls were busy, including Mae Burrough herself. Mrs. Courtley, a nervous, giggly, attractive auburnh aired woman of twenty-nine, was waiting for her for a manicure. Mrs. Courtley had been married six months, and she was so in love with her husband that it was almost funny, the way she wanted to tell everybody about how happy she was.
"Rose, have you got a boyfriend?" she suddenly heard Elaine Courtley ask.
"Yer-yes, I have."
"I know I should really look after my cuticle better, but you know, when a girl's just married, she has so many things on her mind wanting to please her husband and keep a nice house and all that. You know. Or maybe you don't. Are you going to be married, Rose?"
"I-I don't know."
"Oh but you should!" Elaine Courtley sighed, rolling her hazel eyes and then giggling irrepressibly. "There's nothing like marriage to settle a girl's nerves. Now you take me, Rose. Why, I almost had a nervous breakdown when I was in college, working so hard. And I was scared of boys. And now, well, I feel I just don't know how I could have been alive all these years without going to bed with a fellow. You know. It's so wonderful! Tom is such a wonderful lover. So considerate, and so passionate-my goodness, sometimes I feel like a sinful woman-you know what I mean."
Rose Mallows' cheeks turned scarlet. She set her teeth and tried very carefully to buff Elaine Courtley's nails. But Elaine was moving her hands, trying to gesticulate in her attempt to describe the rapture of fucking. And suddenly she squealed: "Oww, that hurts!"
Mae Burroughs, at the front, quickly turned, her eyes narrowed and calculating, at this sound from a valued customer. Rose happened to intercept her glance, and turned an even more fiery hue as she industriously bent her head and tried to rectify her damage. She had set down the buffer and taken up the cuticle scissors and had been very carefully snipping Elaine Courtley's left little finger when suddenly the giggly customer had pulled her hand away as she had been going on about Tom's amorous abilities. And now there was a tiny spot of blood on the corner, and Rose was hastily applying a cotton swab with antiseptic to it, making soothing noises and trying to propitiate Elaine Courtley.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, honest I didn't, Mrs. Courtley," she whispered. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be drawn to Mae Burroughs' attention, because this was Friday. And she had thought that she had been in for it herself a couple of weeks back. And Mae had looked up and seen this little business, and it would just be awful if she were one of the girls to be spanked when the shop closed late this af Fortunately, the rest of the manicure was concluded without any other difficulty, and Elaine Courtley rose, inspecting her nails, and beamed approval. Then she took out her purse and handed Rose a dollar tip, walked to the front of the shop where the cash register stood, while Mae Burroughs momentarily left her own customer to take the money and ring it up and to wish Mrs. Courtley a very happy weekend.
As she went back to her customer, she considered Rose Mallows very thoughtfully. Rose hadn't yet been spanked, and she had been itching for quite some time to see that luscious, undulating bottom bared over her lap and reddening under the hairbrush. She had almost called Rose a few weeks ago and this little episode right now reminded her of it. Well, she would just see what Mrs. Tennyson thought of Rose's work before making any conclusions for the session this afternoon.
But Mrs. Tennyson was in a particularly embattled mood. Two of her cats were sick, and she was convinced that that nasty neighbor of hers, old Mrs. Durwald, had probably poisoned them. Rose tried to be sympathetic, but she just couldn't. Moreover, Mrs. Tennyson wanted her sparse gray hair fluffed up, and it was practically impossible. She was trying to talk the irascible old woman into a more reasonable hairstyle when finally Mrs. Tennyson exploded, "Well, I like that! How long have you been working in a beauty shop, anyway? Good gracious, I should think that when a customer wants something, all she has to do is ask for it, and now you're giving me an argument!"
"Please, Mrs. Tennyson, I didn't say that. I was only trying-" Rose desperately tried to placate the woman. But already Mae Burroughs had whispered something to her customer, and was coming over. Rose's heart sank, and her tender bottom began involuntarily to squirm and tingle. Oh Lord, she thought to herself miserably, that's all I need now.
"What seems to be the trouble, Mrs. Tennyson?" the beauty salon owner beamed. "We always want our customers to have what they want, don't we, Rose dear?"
"Y-yes m'am, but you see, Mrs. Tennyson wanted an upsweep and "Then let her have one by all means. Of course you could modify it. And the hair does seem to be a bit brittle. A good shampoo with plenty of protein body to it so the hair will take a permanent, that's what I'd advise. See to it, please." Fixing Rose with a steely look, she turned and walked back to the front of the shop.
"There, you see, young lady?" Mrs. Tennyson maliciously and triumphantly demanded. "Next time I'm going to ask for Mrs.. Burroughs, you wait and see."
The rest of the day was easy by comparison, but when four-thirty neared and Rose was finishing her last customer for the day, an oppressive apprehension began to take hold of her. Mae had been giving her a few fixed glances and a thinlipped smile whenever they were intercepted. It would be just awful if she were down on the list for today. And it wasn't fair, either.
Just as her last customer left at about a quarter of five, the phone rang and Mae Burroughs at once answered, then frowned disapprovingly and called, "Rose, it's for you. Please don't tie up the line, you know."
"I-I'm sorry, m'am." Rose's cheeks were burning as she hurried up front and took the phone. Guardedly she said. "Yes? Rose Mallows here."
"Rose, it's Frank. Say, I'm sorry as hell about last night, honey. Can we have dinner tonight, maybe?"
"I-I think so. I can't talk long, please, Frank."
"I understand. Tell you what. Meet me at Torcer's Coach House, you know where that is. Make it about six-thirty?"
"Yes, I'll be there. Thank you very much, goodbye." Rose hung up and hurried back to her chair. Then she began to tidy up the table, quite well aware that Mae Burroughs was staring at her again.
And now again it was five-fifteen, the last customer had left, the front door was locked and the shades drawn, and the eight operators quailed as Mae Burroughs ordered them all to the back of the shop.
Of late, the dominating shop owner hadn't made the culprits bend over the desk, but had taken them over her lap. The reason was known only to Mae Burroughs herself: her own Lesbian passions were warming this time of year, and the physical contact of having a pretty young woman squirming over her lap with bottom bared and reddening under the hairbrush excited her much more than the more passive though easier way of compelling the culprit to assume the proper pose over the desk and submit herself. As a matter-of-fact, when she had spanked Sylvia Fane last week, she had experienced a furious orgasm while Sylvia had wriggled and kicked and sobbed and pleaded for mercy, and she was hoping that tonight would furnish her with still another such delicious thrill.
"Well, girls, here we are again," she said with grim humor, slowly scanning the nervous, paling faces of her crew. "This week hasn't been too bad, I'm happy to report. Except for one of you, and it's going to be her first time. I mean you, Rose Mallows."
"Oh gosh!" Rose involuntarily ejaculated, turning red as a beet as she found all eyes fixed on her.
"I think you know why, Rose. You gave Mrs. Courtley a very bad manicure-I don't like to hear my customers yell like stuck pigs when they're getting a manicure. And then of course, Mrs. Tennyson was the last straw. You've been on the borderline in the past, but you've also been here long enough to understand that I keep a tight ship and I don't want mistakes that can cost us good, regular customers. And finally there's the matter of that phone call. I think I've tried to discourage all of you from getting them, unless it's an absolute emergency. Now who was that you were talking to a little while ago, Rose"
"I-my boyfriend, Mrs. Burroughs," Rose said in a faint voice.
"Exactly! I suppose you've got a date with him tonight?"
"Y-yes, m-m'am."
"Well, you can just figure you're going to be a little late. Now then, young lady, prepare yourself." With this, the blonde dominatress seated herself on the straightbacked chair, the hairbrush already in her right hand. Rose's legs had turned to jelly, and she could hardly stand up. The silence was deafening, and all the other operators were staring fixedly at her. She bit her lips, and tears began to well into her lovely big blue eyes, her lashes fluttering. Slowly she stooped and drew up the white uniform, and stood in her pink nylon slip, matching bra and panties, a white satin elastic garterbelt hemming her supple waist and sending its tabs snugly along her lovely thighs to clamp against the tops of her beige nylons. The slip followed next, and she laid both uniform and slip down on the wide leather-padded couch-another object of furniture which had often been the site of punishment but which had been neglected of late. As she did so, she gasped because she had just seen the brown leather strap lying at one end. The hairbrush looked terrible enough without having to see this other implement of chastisement.
Now that she was in her bra and panties, she hesitated, her face crimson and her eyes downcast. "Have you ever been spanked before, young lady?" Mae Burroughs wanted to know.
Rose shook her head, and now the tears were really stinging her eyes as she blinked them frantically to clear.
"So much the better then. You'll remember this a long time, and the next time you have someone like Mrs. Courtley or Mrs. Tennyson to deal with, you'll handle them a bit more diplomatically. Now take your panties completely off and leave them there on the couch, and get right over my lap."
Rose Mallows' mouth opened, and for a moment she considered the possibility of begging the stern dominatress to allow her to keep her panties. But she recalled that others who had tried that had never succeeded, and it only prolonged the agonizing and humiliating. With a soft groan, she inserted her trembling fingers under the waistband, snugged them down and let them drop to her ankles, stepped out of them, stooped and tossed them over onto her uniform and slip, and then hastily made her way over to the straightbacked chair. As she did so, her right hand was clamped tightly over the extremely thick dark-brown curls which framed and almost concealed the soft pink lips of her cunt. Mae Burrough's eyes glittered with anticipation. Rose certainly had one of the most delicious figures in the entire shop, and what made it more exciting was that here was a virgin bottom, not only so far as her own shop discipline was concerned, but also so far as Rose was personally concerned herself. It was always delicious to give a pretty, sensitive girl like this one a good sound and prolonged thrashing, and she could feel her own pussy twitching and moistening with the onrush of desire.
Rose quickly took her pose, reaching down to grip the chair rung just as she had seen other penitents do in the past, closed her eyes tightly and uttered a long anguished sigh.
Mae Burroughs was in no hurry to begin.
First, her eyes devoured the enchantingly soft, smooth pink-and-white-sheened skin of the lovely dark-brunette, and the contrast of the white garterbelt with its snug tabs pressing tightly over Rose's beautifully rounded thighs was another nuance of visual pleasure for her. Pretending that the garterbelt would get in the way of the hairbrush, she briskly proceeded to unhook the tabs of the beige nylons, to roll them up and force them under the garterbelt itself. Rose uttered a soft gasp and bowed her head still farther down while this was going on, a maneuver which arched up the delightfully plump round hemispheres of her virgin ass in the most mouthwatering way imaginable. Instinctively, as everyone did, she had already tightened the muscles of her bottom to prepare herself for this her first experience of corporal punishment. The shadowy groove between the cheeks of her bottom was deeply defined but narrow; in this muscular contraction, it became still more dissembled, while at the same time the muscles rippled and flexed in the ripe, lush summits, the ideal place for the hairbrush's kisses.
Just to make certain that her victim would not escape her, Mae Burroughs now slid her right leg out from under the culprit, clamping it over the girl's stockinged calves. Her left arm then tightened round the bare warm quivering waist, and the hairbrush rose very slowly and very high over the condemned posterior.
As she tightened her left arm around Rose's satiny waist, Mae Burroughs almost lovingly and very lingeringly ran the back of the smooth black wooden hairbrush over the girl's naked asscheeks, from the tops of her hips down to the base of the plump, quivering and tightening cheeks. Rose squirmed uneasily, crossed her stockinged ankles and took a firmer hold of the chair rung.
Just then the hairbrush rose and fell with a loud Thwack. It decorated Rose's upper right bottom summit with a flaming pink outline, and the almost naked young beauty uttered a startled squeal, "Ohoww, that hurts!"
The second spank came down on the other cheek, and she quivered to see how the tightly resilient plump naked globe flattened under the impact and then seemed to spring up exuberantly. So, too, did the flaming splotch which matched the one on the other cheek, and once again Rose squealed her dismay and ruefully glanced behind her, with very widened humid eyes.
Her right leg bore down a little harder against Rose's stockingtabs, because Mae sensed that her victim would soon begin to struggle as the spanking got harder and faster as she intended it to be. She was absolutely entranced at the wonderful smoothness and satiny pink sheen of Rose's lovely virgin ass, and she made a mental note to be extremely vigilant from now on so that she would have occasion to sentence Rose to Friday afternoon retribution quite soon again. Having decided this, she lifted the brush and applied a third smack, bridging the crease between the quaking globes. It stung perniciously, and poor Rose, unused to such drastic treatment, tried vainly to kick and uttered with a sobbing "Ouch! Oh please, not so hard, it hurts a lot!"
"You can tell yourself, young lady, that this is for making Mrs. Courtley yell when you were manicuring her," Mae Burroughs sternly retorted. She tightened her grip around the girl's waist, pulled the culprit closer to her, saw the flaming bottomcheeks quiver and contract as Rose visibly steeled herself for the resumption of the ordeal, and then roamed the back of the hairbrush all over the huddling bare posterior. Rose moaned and squirmed uneasily, wanting to cross her legs but unable to, furtively glanced back at her executioner. As the hairbrush rose, the beauty shop owner saw Genevieve Borseley look at her with wide-eyed fascination, and grinned to herself. Then her eyes fell on Sylvia Fane, and the olive-skinned, black-haired young beauty quickly averted her face but not without a violent blush, for she remembered her own tried her valiant best to wriggle off her tormentress' lap. The hairbrush seemed relentless, falling at about five or six seconds between spanks, landing mainly from the summits down to the base and "touching up" all the area from the inner crease to the outer edge of each globe. Hot scalding pain seared her bare seat, and she was soon crying and sobbing plaintively: "Ohww--please-ahrrr-I'll be good-I didn't mean to hurt Mrs. Courtley-oh please, Mrs. Burroughs, please stop, oh let up, I can't stand it!" Aiiii! I won't ever do it again, oh I beg of you-oh it hurts me so, you're killing me!"
Even though these plaints were stereotyped and uninspired, so far as comparison with what many other victims over the past had emitted under the duress of the black wooden hairbrush, Mae Burroughs found them especially exciting. For this was Rose Mallows' very first thrashing, the very first time she had had to show her beautiful big naked bottom to everyone and upturn it for the hairbrush. Moreover, even only to a spanking but eventually, as she hoped with all her tingling ardor now, into going to bed with her.
Rose Mallows had never dreamed that a spanking could be so painful, even though she had watched quite a few over the previous Fridays since the beginning of her tenure in the shop. She quite forgot her pride and shame and penance over Mae's lap only last week.
Now the hairbrush fell again, twice in a row with brisk, quick strokes, marring the untouched satin of the inner right buttock near the crease. Here the flesh was the tenderest of all, Mae knew from long experience. Many girls would rather take a spanking on the top of their bottom, even a double quota, than a good hard dose from the summits down to the base and especially on the upper thighs. Rose's reaction confirmed her opinion: a shrill "Owwouuu!" was torn from the sufferer, and her naked hips suddenly lunged from side to side before coming to rest. The flesh quivered and tremored constantly.
Having this established the pattern, Mae Burroughs now began to spank in earnest. She wanted at the very outset to conquer this beautiful young virgin bottom, and to make its owner psychologically kowtow to her in every possible way. It was a method which would, she was certain, influence Rose in submitting not though her clamping leg and pinioning arm contained the sobbing young girl, she could feel Rose's belly and loins frantically squirm and jerk back and forth over her lap. And it was a friction that stirred her to her very core.
Her nostrils pinching shut and dilating, her eyes glittering, her big bosom heaving with the excitement of it all, Mae Burroughs continued to spank, watching greedily to see the crimson flame all over the huddling, yawning, jerking and squirming asscheeks of her lovely young victim, rose's cries rose shrilly, and suddenly she darted her hands back to her blazing seat and woefully implored, "Oh don't, not any more, I'll never do it again, oh please let me off now, please, Mrs. Burroughs!"
"Very well," the bloflde dominatress panted. "It's time for the second dose, anyway. You Ardith, and you, Genevieve, get this girl's arms and take her over to the couch and stretch her out on it. She's just had her share for what she did to Mrs. Courtley, now she's going to pay for Mrs. Tennyson!"
Ardith was about to refuse, but the glare in Mae Burrough's eyes warned her not to dare attempt such rebellion. Almost paralyzed, she rose from her chair, while Genevieve Borseley, her cheeks scarlet with her blushes, was already there and seizing one of poor sobbing Rose's wrists.
Mae tossed the hairbrush over to the couch, then with both hands gripped the girl's sides above (he hips and lifted her. At her nod, Ardith and Genevieve dragged the weeping and pleading almost naked captive over to the couch and made her stretch out on it.
"Now then, both of you, hold her tight and don't let her go. All right. Rose, I'm going to warm you up just a little with this strap." Mae Burroughs warned As she seized it, watching Rose turn back her tearstained face and try to twist herself so that her bottom would press against the back of the couch and thus spare it from the merciless-looking glossy leather band.
"Winifred!" she hissed, "come over here at once and hold her by the waist so she can't roll over like that!"
Winifred Korman hastened to obey, her eyes blinking behind her spectacles, her face also scarlet and her bosom swelling nervously.
"Oh please don't, oh not any more spanking, oh I'm burning up already, please have mercy, Mrs. Burroughs!" Rose sobbed.
But in spite of her pleas, she soon found herself pinned down as Winifred Korman knelt and, palming the small of the victim's back, forced Rose to accept the rest of her punishment while Genevieve and Ardith took firm grips on her wrists and watched, both hypnotized.
The strap rose and fell, sweeping diagonally over both scarlet asscheeks, the tip of the strap biting against the edge of the girl's left hip while the band continued to press tightly in its burning kiss over the huddling and discolored bottomcheeks. And even a more poignant scream of anguish tore from Rose: "Ouuuoawwrrr!! Oh don't, it's killing me, I'll be so good, do please let me off!"
But not until eleven more stinging swats had danced the strap over Rose's jerking and twisting and weaving inflamed virgin ass did Mae Burroughs finally drop the strap to the floor, sweat beading her armpits and her magnificent bosom heaving wildly, her face flushed, in the access of her sadistic glory. "Very well, I trust that will teach you to be more careful with good customers. You can dress and go, the rest of you girls may leave by the back door as usual."
Slowly she let herself down from the couch, groaning and sobbing, and then fumbled for her panties and put them back on, uttering another sobbing cry as even their light pressure reminded her of the furious conflagration raging in her virgin behind, then she dragged on her slip, and took her dress out of the locker and hastily put it back on, together with her dainty little blue felt turban.
Mae Burroughs locked the back door and glanced around to make sure that no one was around. Then she flung herself down on the couch, hoisting up her white operator's smock, her slip, and then put her forefinger against the crotch of her pantygirdle and began to rub. Tilting back her head and closing her eyes, she pretended it was Rose who was lying atop her and pussy-rubbing under the duress of spanking if she did not please her. And it wasn't long before her sobbing groans filled the room, but these were groans of appeasement and not of suffering....
"Rose baby, what the hell happened to you," Frank Busby gasped as the pretty darkbrownh aired young woman entered the lobby of the fashionable restaurant. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she seemed to be walking with something of a limp.
"Frank-do you really love me?" was her amazing first question.
"Baby, you know I do! Haven't I been telling you that all along? But what's wrong-you've been crying-"
"I-I know. Frank, do we have to have dinner here?"
"Of course we don't. Where would you like to go?"
"If-if you've got any food in your place, couldn't we go there right now?"
"Of course. What's it all about, honey?"
"I-I'll tell you later. Just take me to your place, hurry, darling!" Rose quavered. He could see tears glistening on her long thick lashes, and he suddenly felt a furious throbbing in his prick. She had never looked so defenseless, so exquisitely desirable and lovely. "Come along, my car's parked at the lot next door. We'll be home in a jiffy." Masterfully, he took her arm, and noticed that she was still limping a little. "Did you have an accident, honey?"
"Sort-sort of. Please, I-I don't want to talk about it yet. Just get me home."
"Whatever you say, darling. Here we are." He opened the righthand front door for her, and watched, his eyes widening with wonder, as she eased herself in, seeming to hold her breath and to try to make as little as possible contact between her flesh and the seat as possible. She grimaced as she finally let herself down, and then her red moist lips formed a tremulous "Oh!"
More and more curious, he got in on the other side behind the wheel, started up the car, and backed it out carefully, then headed it in the direction of his apartment....
"Now what's this all about, honey? Did you have a fight with one of the girls?" he anxiously asked as he took her turban and put it on the top shelf of his closet, then, an arm around her shoulders, walked her back out to the living room and urged her to sit down on the couch. Rose squirmed and warily seated herself on the very edge, drawing a deep breath and then exhaling it.
"Do you still want to marry me?" she suddenly blurted.
"You know I do! What's got into you, honey? You didn't say a word in the car, and you've been crying and it's hard for you to move-now you better tell me what's what, or I might just turn you over and spank you, that's what!" he said with bluff heartiness.
"Don't you dare! Oh my goodness, just thinking about a spanking is too much right now. I-I got an awful one back in the shop."
"You didn't!"
"I certainly did. It's still killing me. that's why I-I can hardly sit down-It was Mrs. Burroughs. I got into trouble with two customers, they were just awful, and I guess she has it in for me. She does that every Friday to the girls who make mistakes and things like that. And it was my turn."
"You poor darling!" In spite of his compassion, he couldn't help feeling a tremendous aching desire in his balls and cock. Protectively he put his arm around her waist, cupped her chin with his right hand and kissed her on the mouth. To his delight, Rose's arms flung round his neck and she strained herself to him. Her mouth had never been so ardent, the lips parted, trembling, and he could feel and taste the sweetness of her breath.
"I know that Grandma Davis isn't well, and she's talking about going to a home, but we could always live with her, Frank. There's room enough for all of us, and she wouldn't be in the way. Please say you will," she was begging him now.
"Why, honey, I guess when it comes to that, I'd take you on just about any terms you offer," he said hoarsely, his hands caressing her shoulders.
"Oh you darling! I love you so!" Rose groaned. Her mouth crushed against his, and her arms tightened round him. Emboldened, he slipped his hands down to her tits, which sometimes she had let him do on rare occasions. This time, she didn't seem to mind at all. With a soft little sobbing sigh, she seemed to arch herself against his hands, and soon his palms were pressing against the firm-nippled globes of her panting breasts.
"Love me, oh Frank, love me-I want you I want you to do everything-I mean it-oh sweetheart, I hurt so, make me well again!" Rose was panting.
He drew her to her feet, and then began to remove her dress and slip with trembling fingers. His prick was bulging, and he was red in the face, but Rose didn't seem to mind at all. She even helped him as he snugged down her panties, and then her bra, till all she had on was the garterbelt and hose. She had very hastily refastened the tabs of the belt before leaving the shop, even though their tautness seemed to make the throbbing hurt of the spanking linger.
When he saw the thick cluster of dark-brown pussycurls, the soft pinksheened inner thighs, the lovely swelling tits with their dark-coral circle and the firming buds in the centers, Frank Busby groaned with adoration. Suddenly he sank down on his knees, galvanized by an irresistible impulse, gently his palms stroked the feverishly inflamed cheeks of Rose Mallows' voluptuous ass, and suddenly he buried his mouth against the cluster of her cuntcurls.
"Oooohhh-ouuuu! Oh darling-ooh, what are you doing to me, oh that's so good, oh Frank, oh honey, I'm just crazy for you, oh Frank, do it to me, give me everything!" Rose sobbed. Her head tilted back, her fingers twisted in his hair, as she felt his lips and tongue begin their salutation to her virgin quim.
He could feel the nodule of her clitoris hardening and throbbing under his persistant tonguing, and he could feel the cheeks of her warm bottom jerk and spasm against his hands. Then he rose, frantic and at the point of bursting. He yanked down the zipper, fumbled in his shorts and bared his prong. Rose's tearblurred eyes fixed on it, and her lips parted and she emitted a gasp of sensual fear and wonder mixed: "Ohhhh, oh F-Frank-ohh, it's so big!"
These naive words and the tremulous tone in which they were framed completed his furious arousal. He lifted her up in his arms and carried her back to the couch, and then knelt down over her.
"Aren't-aren't you going to use something?" she anxiously stammered, her face scarlet now with the blushes of maidenhood which was entering its very last moments.
"No, baby, I'm goint to take my chances. We're going to get married, and if you want a kid, so much the better. Then I'll be sure of you. And you're not going back to work at that shop anymore, either. I'll cook you a little dinner after this, and then we'll make love again, and then we'll go see your Grandma Davis. You really want me to move in with you, honey?"
"Oh yes. Frank-the house is awfully big, and Grandma's no trouble at all. Oh she'll love you, the way I do."
"That I doubt. Now you shut up and love me, baby." he radiantly beamed.
"Oh yes, oh Frank-oh darling!" Her ecstatic cry rose as he mounted over her, his prick pressing against the tangled thick curls of her cunt, finding the entryway and parting the soft pink twitching lips until he was housed inside the lobby of her virgin sheath.
Intuitively, virgin though she was, her arms and legs took sweet yoke of him, pinioning him to her. His hands nuzzled the panting turrets of her naked tits, and his mouth came down hard on hers. His tongue emerged, exploring the roof of her mouth, and Rose moaned in happy delirium.
Then with a thrust, he pierced her virgin barrier, and there was very little pain. Moreover, the burning of her bottom would have quite distracted her had there been even more than there was. The feeling of his hard thick prong distending the walls of her tight sheath was exquisite bliss for Rose Mallows. She began to sob with the intensity of her rising tides as he worked her. With slow and deliberate strokes in and out, now his right forefinger coming to the aid of attunement, finding her clit and delicately touching it, Frank Busby drew his bride-to-be to the brink of paradise, they soared into the empyrean, and their cries and groans and sobs of delight resounded in the living room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mae Burroughs was greatly annoyed when, Sunday night at her bungalow, she received a call from Rose Mallows. At first, hearing Rose's sweet, husky voice, she had thought that perhaps the girl wanted to see her and talk over the spanking. She had had a premonition that perhaps Rose was just about ready foi girlfucking. But to her annoyance, the little bitch was actually thanking her for the spanking, "because, you see, Mrs. Burroughs, it just about pushed me over the edge and made me decide to marry my guy. I won't be coming back to work anymore, so I thought I'd better tell you before tomorrow so you can get somebody else if you need them. I'm grateful to you, and I'll let you know how we're coming along. Goodbye now."
Mae Burroughs slammed down the phone angrily, and then dialed Genevieve Borseley's number. The lovely honey-haired matron had actually been ready for bed, because she wanted to rest up for what was going to be a simply wonderful reunion. She had had a cable from Saigon, delivered just this Sunday afternoon, and it told her that her husband would be back in about ten days on an extended furlough. He had been slightly wounded, but nothing serious, and the Army was giving him a three-month leave. He had also been decorated for valor.
Genevieve was so ecstatic that she could hardly make out what Mae Burroughs was telling her. Finally it dawned on her: "Oh no, it's much too late tonight, Mrs. Burroughs'!"
"What do you mean, Genevieve? It's only about nine-thirty. Now I want you over here, and that's an order. You still want your job, don't you?"
Genevieve thought frantically to herself, and tried to hold off the irritated beauty salon owner at the other end of the line, there was every chance that if her darling got back home, he might even wangle a discharge, and then they could go back to living like normal people again. Oh God, how her cunt wanted him! Oh sure, it was fine, playing around with that old harridan, and she had to do it to keep her job, because Mae knew the secret about her being married and had promised her that if it didn't interfere, there wasn't any reason why she couldn't work.
Now she understood in a flash why Mae hadn't blackmailed her. There was always the threat of firing her and maybe if her husband did come home and didn't find a job right away, then she would be on her uppers for fair. But after this cable, after her dreams of being alone in bed with him and getting herself fucked the way only he could do it, the idea of girl-fucking with Mae Burroughs was entirely distasteful at least tonight.
"I-I've got something of a headache. I was going to bed early, Mrs. Burroughs, so I could be bright and fresh tomorrow. There'll probably be a lot of customers, and I've got Mrs. Lasswell, you know what a difficult customer she always is."
"Never mind that, Genevieve. I told you I want you over here. Now you know, I'm the only one in the shop who knows that you're married. Up until now I haven't hired married women, because they always change their minds and quit and make a general nuisance of themselves. But I took pity on you because I knew you really needed the money. And now when I want you, when I've got to talk over something with you, you pretend to have a headache. Either you get over here, or you won't be working tomorrow morning, and that's an order!" With this, Mae Burroughs hung up. Then, grinding her teeth, she went to her closet and studied its contents. Only Genevieve among her operators knew a secret in return, and that was that Mae Burroughs was an avid dominatress and a devotee of leather and kid and rubber.
The buxom blonde dominatress had kept the secret hidden even from her husband, but along the way in her switchhitting career she had discovered the pleasure to be derived from embellishing herself in gleaming leather or kid, of holding the whip, of spurning a groveling female slave with a high-heeled pump or boot. She could not very well don this kind of apparel at the shop, for most of the girls were far too ingenuous to understand her craving need for the ego-exciting accoutrements of domination. But once she had involved Genevieve Borseley in her toils, Mae Burroughs had often satisfied her inordinate sadistic sensuality by forcing the beautiful honey-haired matron to serve as a loveslave under the tyranny of the lash and leather, of bondage and despotic fluttering and demeaning poses to which the aura of kid and leather and rubber lent their own special, arousing magic for Mae's perverse psyche.
And there was something else which only Mae Burroughs knew, although of course Genevieve Borseley unhappily shared the knowledge. When her husband had left for Viet Nam, Genevieve had made the mistake of very nearly yielding to a former high-school sweetheart who had come back to the Midwest and looked her up. Mae had already met Genevieve and her husband long before offering the former a job in her shop. And when she had seen Genevieve in the latter's parked car on a side street near Genevieve's house, necking with the handsome brown-haired young man, she had bided her time and then telephoned the honey-haired matron a few hours later to insist that she come over to her house.
There she had confronted Genevieve with the knowledge of what she had seen, and Genevieve had begged her not to tell. Mae Burroughs had smiled greedily, and murmured, "I won't on two conditions, dear. You know I've always had a yen for you, and even though you are married, there's no reason why you and I can't be dear close friends. I know that you know something about beauty shop work, too, so I'm going to offer you a job. It'll keep you out of mischief while your husband is away serving his country, you see. And I'll be able to keep a close watch on you and make certain that you don't betray his trust, my dear."
Since Mae Burroughs had gone so far as to threaten to write a letter to her husband, Genevieve had been scared enough to kowtow to the domineering blonde divorcee. But that wasn't all. That very first night, Genevieve had learned for the first time what Mae Burroughs' real penchant and passion was. "You see, dear, you very nearly committed a terrible blunder and ruined your marriage. Just think of what it would have meant to your husband if he'd found out, far away in Viet Nam, that you'd been unfaithful to him. Why, he might have got himself killed out of sheer unhappiness. Or done something foolish. And so since he isn't here to give you what you deserve, I'm going to spank you, dear. Now pull your dress and slip off and get over my lap," Mae Burroughs had hypocritically insisted.
And when Genevieve had turned scarlet and gasped that she wouldn't dream of doing such an awful thing, Mae Burroughs had risen, seized her by the elbows, flung her down over her lap on the couch, then rolled up skirt and slip and finally worked the pantygirdle down from Genevieve's plump hips, and mastered the sobbing matron. She had spanked Genevieve Borseley as she might a child, using the flat of her hand until the beautiful honey-haired matron's bottom was flaming and Genevieve was crying in earnest. And then of course she had consoled her. That was how it had all started.
Remembering all this, and certain of her hold on the woman, she chose a scarlet leather corselet which took her from the middle of her breasts to the tops of her hips, with a narrow strap made of thin soft webbing which could be pulled up between her legs and hooked at the back. Then she drew on a pair of thigh-long matching leather boots with sharp stiletto heels, and a pair of shoulder-length gloves. Studying herself in the mirror, and adding a few touches of lipstick and eye shadow, she beamed at her own reflection. Then she went back to the closet and took out a short braided leather dogwhip.
This done, she went into the living room and smoked a cigarette while she waited for her prey. Sure enough, she could hear the familiar sound of Genevieve's old Ford pulling into her driveway, and she grinned to herself.
A moment later, there was a hesitant knock on the front door, and she opened it. Genevieve Borseley gasped when she saw the dominatress clad in that provocative costume, but she had hardly time for that; Mae Burroughs seized her by the wrists and pulled her inside, then closed and locked the door.
"It's a good thing you came, young lady, because I was just about ready to go over there and get you," she warned. "Now sit down there on the couch and listen to me."
Genevieve Borseley had put on a light cape over a blue cotton dress under which she had worn only her slip, garterbelt and a pair of flesh-colored nylons and summer sandals. She had just finished taking her shower when Mae had called, and she really did have a slight headache. But it was a headache out of happiness, because of all the emotional stress which she felt would now at last be resolved, leaving her free of Mae's clutches. And yet right now, she felt herself helpless, like a puppet pulled on a string by a master puppeteer.
"You see," Mae concluded, "that I'm losing one of my best prospects. Rose Mallows, the dirty ungrateful little slut, had to go and get herself married. Well, maybe it's just as well because we probably will have a slack summer. But I was counting on her. You see, "this with a wheedling smile, "I'd like to have a dear little friend. Maybe she could even move in with me and I could teach her how to be a really fine beauty operator. And then of course, Genevieve, I wouldn't have to depend on you so much."
"I-I wanted to tell you something anyhow, now that I'm here, Mae."
"Oh, so you can talk after all, can you? Well, what is it?"
"He-he's coming back. He ought to be here in about two weeks. He might even get out of the Army."
"And soo"
"Well, I'm going back to being a wife. That's what I want most of all. I-I don't care for this sort of thing anymore, honestly I don't, Mae. I know what you're going to say, you're going to say that I didn't really make too much of a fuss about it before-"
"I'll say you didn't, you itchy-pussied little tramp," Mae Burroughs sneered. "You know perfectly well that you get your kicks just from letting that pussy of yours get into action, and it wouldn't matter whether it was your husband or anybody. Like that Harry Pelton I rescued you from, remember? Oh sure, you could go catting around with anybody. But I happen to know that when you're in bed with me, you really give all of yourself. You're a born slave, darling, whether you like it or not or even know it or not. I don't think your hubby does, or he'd thrash you within an inch of your life for messing around with me, even. But of course you're not going to tell him. No, darling, you're going to go on working for me. Until I want you to leave me, and that's an ultimatum."
"But suppose he won't let me-"
"Then you've got to use all your sexy charms, and you've got plenty, take it from me," Mae Burroughs sniggered, "to twist him around your little finger and let him say it's all right for you to go on working. After all, you'll need the money. And if he does get out of the Army, who's to say that he could find a job in these times?" No, dear, you've got a nice spot with me and as long as you behave yourself and do what I tell you to, you'll do just .fine. Now take off everything. I'm going to give you a good sound spanking."
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes!" Mae corrected, then she raised the dogwhip. "It'll be a whipping instead of a spanking if you don't hurry, darling."
With a groan, her face crimson with shame, the honey-haired matron took off her cape and then her dress. She hesitated at her slip, and Mae could guess, seeing how it clung to her lush body, that she didn't have anything on under it. "That also, and be quick. I'm just itching to snap this whip over your big ass, honey," she jeered.
Tears ran down Genevieve Borseley's cheeks as she slowly and reluctantly obeyed. She stood there in her garterbelt, sandals and hose, and she put a hand ingenuously over the thick darkgolden fleece of her cunt.
"Oh my, you're a very modest little darling tonight. Now get down on your knees and kiss my boots. Use your tongue, too, until you can see your own tearful face in them. Be quick about it, don't give me an excuse to use this dogwhip, or you'll be sorry, baby?" Mae Burroughs hissed.
Sobbing like a child, Genevieve Borseley, crushed and defeated by the dominatress' stronger will and exotic sensual aura which had secretly enslaved her, bowed her head and began to obey.
And when she had finished, she had to kiss the whip and then beg for a spanking instead to prove that she was humble and ready to obey once more.
Then on the living-room couch, she stretched out naked as she was, burying her face in her hands, while Mae Burroughs gave her what she called a "love spanking." It was with the gloved hand, while her left gloved fingers twisted Genevieve's hair and forced the sobbing matron to endure this degrading and juvenile chastisement to the bitter end ... an end which terminated in Mae's bed with Genevieve lying atop the dominatress and pussyrubbing and Frenchkissing till Mae Burroughs found the appeasement she so passionately sought.
And tragedy also, since poor Genevieve Borseley was induced by her own masochistic ardors to find appeasement even though she fought to hold herself back from that emprise which her blackmailing employer held over her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The dogdays of August were here, and business was off everywhere, and not only in Northridge. Major Bill Borseley had returned from Viet Nam, and his lovely honey-haired wife Genevieve was off now on a second honeymoon with him, staying in the bridal suite of the Drake Hotel and living it up. He'd come back last Saturday night, and of course Genevieve had managed on Sunday afternoon (while he was taking a much-needed nap after all the fucking he had given her the night before) to call Mae and intimate that she didn't think she could work all of the following week. Even though business was slack, she had still called Wilma Foster at the beauty school and asked for a replacement, and she had given Wilma some specific instructions-on the type of operator she was looking for. Someone who might be just a little offbase, maybe even a trifle kinky, and who wasn't attached or emotionally involved at the moment. And Wilma had come up with a perfectly wonderful candidate in the person of Barbara Gentry.
Barbara Gentry was thirty-three, had been divorced four years, and the marriage had lasted only about eighteen months at that. She had a kind of pixie quality to her, and part of it was furnished by her boyishly cropped light-brown hair, her piquantly saucy face which made her look like a gamine, with dainty little snub nose, a small yet impudently ripe-lipped mouth, a deeply dimpled chin, and slantingly set cheekbone and high forehead. She was about five feet four inches in height, slim and delicious, with a soft pink complexion that stirred Mae's sadistic passions to the utmost.
Her interview with the divorcee was even more satisfactory than she had hoped, and she made a mental note to send Wilma a specially nice present for having picked this delectable and very mixed-up operator. Barbara Gentry had been an only child, sent off to private schools in the East while her parents were making a lot of money in the women's dress business, establishing chain stores as far West as Omaha. Then the bubble had burst when she was about nineteen, her father had got so heavily into debt that he had put a bullet through his brain and her mother had run off with the chauffeur. There hadn't been much inheritance for Barbara, she'd had to give up college and go to work. For a time, she had slung hash and hated every moment of it, thinking herself born to the purple and being demeaned by such a menial job as a waitress. She'd been there two years, because she just hadn't had a chance to find anything better and the money wasn't too bad. And then the hairy fat owner of the restaurant had asked her to work overtime one night for a special catering party he was throwing, and by two in the morning, when Barbara was groggy and her legs were aching from all the running back and forth she had done to serve some thirty people (she'd been the only waitress he'd had stay over), he had called her into his office to pay her off and to give her a nice bonus for her cooperation.
He'd given her a glass of sherry, and she'd drunk it gratefully, because she was just about honked out. There'd been something in the sherry, and the next thing she knew, she was woosy. And her boss was leading her over to the couch and she just couldn't do anything about it. In a few minutes, he had worked up her waitress skirt and her petticoat, was yanking down her panties, and getting on top of her. As the first pain of defloration twinged through her, partly restoring her to full consciousness, she had tried to claw at him and wriggle away.
But he'd been much too strong and much too much in rut for her to escape. He'd been planning it anyway. And when she'd started to cry and beg off, he'd got off her,' pulled her over his lap and spanked her naked bottom with a wooden spatula left over from the party, till her bottom had been raw and till her shrieks were deafening. Sobbingly she'd agreed to do just about anything, and he'd made her prove it. She'd had to kneel down then and French him and take his spunk in her mouth. And then she'd had to strip naked in front of him, while he held the spatula and grinned at her, lighting a cigar and watching her shame and anguish with greedy, glittering eyes.
And after that, it had been a nightmare of unnatural and cruel sex for Barbara Gentry. In order to arouse him again, she had been obliged to kneel down once more and cuddle his cock and balls in her hands and run her tongue all over them until he was adequate enough to finish the fuck he had started.
But that hadn't been enough. He was like an insatiable satyr, and when he had finished with her and she had been praying that perhaps he would let her go, he'd told her in a hoarse trembling voice that she was the best fuck he'd ever had and that he was going to give her an extra bonus for doing something especially nice for him. Her entreaties and hysterical supplications had only inflamed his lust. And Barbara Gentry had wound up with her hands fettered behind her back, blindfolded, bent over his office desk with her legs straddled a full yard apart with cords he had tied to her ankles running to the heavy legs of the desk. Then he'd taken his belt and spanked her on the thighs and her flaming bottom, while he kept asking whether she was ready to be especially nice to him. She shrieked out that seh'd do just anything if he'd only stop spanking her. And then she found out what he had meant by being "especially nice."
He had gripped the cheeks of her throbbing, livid bottom, wrenched them pitiably apart, and dug his once again stiff ramrod against the dainty little puckering inlet of her asshole. Horrified and almost sick with abhorrence, Barbara Gentry had pleaded with him, telling him she would let him fuck her and even suck him again if only he wouldn't do that to her. He had just laughed at her and gone on with his heinous plan. He had buggered her dry, and she had almost fainted. And finally he had let her go, but only after taking some Polaroid pictures of her, forcing her to pose in the most salacious attitudes imaginable, and then telling her that if she dared to blab to the police or anyone, all he would have to do was show these pictures and say that she'd posed for them of her own free will, and her name would really be mud.
When she finally got home, hysterical and shaken, she'd taken a sleeping pill. And the next morning, she'd packed her belongings and left town. That had been in Detroit. In Chicago, she found a job as a receptionist in an advertising agency, and worked there for four years. During that time, she had been introduced to the shadow-world of Sappho by a sophisticated thirty-two-year-old assistant media directress. Their liaison had lasted about eighteen months, until suddenly her lover had grown tired of her, found a much younger girl and arranged to have Barbara Gentry fired for inefficiency.
Shaken and uncertain of herself, Barbara had become prey for a man this next time. He had been Hugo Gentry, a smooth-talking, sleek black-haired policy racketeer on Chicago's West Side. She had gone into a bar one afternoon, a few days after her unjustice charge from the agency, and he'd been standing there. He'd bought her a drink, chatted with her, asked her if he might call her and have a date sometime, and his manner had been so suave and considerate that in her emotional uncertainty she had accepted.
Six months later, while she was working as a telephone operator for an engraving company at the other end of the Loop, Hugo Gentry had proposed and she had accepted. By that time, he had already roused her sensuality with his expert lovemaking, but he had very cleverly refrained from fucking her. She mistook her passion for the need of a man, when it was only about three months after the marriage that she discovered her blunder. For Hugo Gentry enjoyed bondage and flagellation as a preface to fucking; but even more than fucking, he liked being Frenched. And although Barbara's earlier sexual experiences had sown a masochistic seed in her psyche so that she found herself rather excited by being tied and blindfolded and then caressed with lips and tongue and fingers, and could even bring herself to arousal when Hugo was spanking her with a slipper sole, she absolutely drew the line at sucking a man's prick after what the restaurant owner had done to her.
At first, he hadn't pursued the issue, telling her that in time she would come around to it. Meanwhile he lavished furs and jewelry on her, because his racket was thriving. But about a year later when the police caught up with him, Barbara discovered that all she could count on was the clothes she had on her back and that she would have to pawn her jewelry if she didn't find a job.
Not only was Hugo Gentry taken off to jail, but it appeared that he owed creditors, so all the furniture in the elegant house he had rented on the far North Side was impounded.
She'd got a small cash settlement from him and had agreed not to contest the divorce action so there wouldn't be any scandal, because he knew perfectly well that if she got into the judge's chambers and told what he had done to her, he might get a few extra years in prison besides what was already coming to him.
With that money, Barbara had found herself another job and then at night had taken a few beautician courses. And thus it was that Barbara Gentry replaced Rose Mallows and made the dominatress temporarily forget her loss of that delicious, much younger victim....
But Mae Burroughs was due for another quite unpleasant surprise. Genevieve Borseley had been starry-eyed when her handsome major came back home. Indeed, she had taken a cab out to the airport to meet him, and they had come back cuddling in the back seat like honeymooners. And when he'd carried her across the threshold, kicked the door shut and then taken her right into the bedroom, she'd gasped, "Oh, my goodness, Bill, aren't you even going to take time to eat something to wash up or something?"
"Baby, I've been out there in that lousy jungle with the Viet Cong, and the only broads you see in Saigon are gooks and half of them have got VD. I've been using my hand, and it's damn sure I'm not going to pass up this chance to make sure I'm really at home," he had grimly told her as he laid her down on the bed. Then he was whisking off his uniform,-while she blushingly hurried to take off her blue cotton dress and light slip under it, shivering there on the bed in just her white bra and pantygirdle, flesh-colored nylons and pumps. He was sinewy, his black hair was receding, and he had lost a lot of weight, but when she saw his big stiff prick stick through the open buttons of his shorts as he peeled down to those and socks, she uttered a little moaning sob and held her arms out to him.
"Oh darling, I've missed you so! You don't know how much. Oh Bill, I-I've got something to tell you-but please-"
"It can wait until after, baby," he had panted. And then he was kneeling up in bed pulling off her bra and almost breaking the fasteners in his haste to see those big juicy boobs of hers, and then his mouth was coming down hard" on the nipples, and she tilted back her head and closed her eyes and clawed at the sheets and dug her pumpheels into the bed because she was molten lava now. She even wondered how she could think of girlfucking with Mae Burrows when she had a man like this. Oh Lord, was he ever big and huge, and she didn't even know if she could take it!
Then he was working down the pantygirdle, and she had had to giggle and hold him back and undo the tabs hooking to her hose, stammering, "My goodness, Bill, you'll tear my stockings. I can see you haven't had much practice over there underessing other women."
"You're damned right I haven't, you sweet bitch! I told you, I don't want a dose of clap and I don't want to pay for it, and there isn't another broad in all Viet Nam with that nice soft pink skin of yours and those sweet tits and that gorgeous big ass."
"Bill Borseley-what a way to talk to your own wife!" she had gasped and blushed adorably.
But now his hands were gripping her hips, and suddenly he plunged his face down and Genevieve Borseley felt herself being gamahuched. He had rarely done that to her, and she didn't know what had prompted him to do it right at this particular moment, but it certainly made her forget all about Mae Burroughs. Mae had been handing her a line that men were brutal and inconsiderate, but there was certainly nothing thoughtless about the way his lips and now his tongue were starting to work her to a very lather of desire. "Ahhhhh-oh darling, that's wonderful-oh my God, you're going to kill me-but go ahead and do it, I just love it!" she pantingly confided.
Now her loins began to buck and arch and weave as she felt herself tingling and melting, felt the sweet secret juices of her cunt coming forward in all their ardent distillation to his Oral wooing. She had never been so aroused. And then suddenly he raised his head, and his face was dark with passion, and his eyes were burning and his mouth was thin and cruel. She uttered a little gasp, half of fear and half of ecstasy, and then he loomed over her and she felt his big hard prick drive between the soft pink twitching lips of her cunt and bury itself as if it had never been away.
Instantly her stockinged legs clamped over his ass, and she flung her arms around his shoulders and began to return his kisses with furious interest. Her tits were heaving wildly, and she could feel her nipples harden as he began to plow her. And now he had his left hand under her ass, and his right forefinger was prying between them, and all of a sudden she felt it brush her clit.
"Ahhhhh, oh my God, darling, you've never been so wonderful before-oh Bill, where-ever did you learn all that-oh my God, it's just heaven!" she sobbed hysterically.
Her stockinged legs shifted over his bottom, as she arched and twisted and squirmed herself, wanting to gobble up every inch of his hard driving ramrod into her quaking sheath. He drew it back slowly to the very brink, and she sobbed aloud, clutching at him, tearing at him with her fingernails, wanting him to come back. He held off, gritting his teeth, then thrust to the balls. Genevieve Borseley flung her legs in the air and clamped them over the small of his back as her head flung to one side, her eyes wild with ecstasy.
Now he began to accelerate his lunges, and suddenly she felt herself burst and soar into a brilliantly starry astral plane. But even as she did so, she could feel him still stroking within her, and once again she felt herself being drawn towards rapture and untold delight.
When he finally flooded her, she had had three furious orgasms before joining him in that last triumphant and shattering fulfillment, and she lay sprawled and moaning softly, her face wreathed in an ecstatic smile.
"Oh baby, was that worth coming home to!" he muttered as he rolled off her, reached for a crumpled pack of cigarettes, lit one for each of them, then handed hers to her, his other hand fondling her quivering belly.
"Oh Bill!" was all she could say for the moment. She exhaled the smoke, sighed luxuriously, and then her starry eyes fixed on him and then she blushed violently. "I-I have to tell you something. I've been awfully bad."
"With another man, you sexy bitch?" he growled.
"Oh no! I swear I haven't, not that. But it's it's that job of mine."
"Oh yes, that beauty shop deal you wrote about. Well, what about it?"
"Bill, a girl gets so lonely-and I wanted you so and I missed you. I almost-well, I almost cheated on you once. Maybe I wouldn't really have, only I felt so lonely and so sexy-you know."
"I had that feeling lots of times over there, baby, but I used my hand. All right, get down with it." He sat up, staring angrily at her, taking short quick puffs at his cigarette.
"But I didn't. Anyhow, Mae Burroughs-she runs the shop, you know-she saw me with this fellow. I used to go with him in high school before I ever knew you. And he's awfully successful and everything, and he's had lots of girls, and I guess I was just dazzled and lonesome, like I said."
"Get to the point, Genevieve!"
"I am. Well, anyhow, she called me up and she read me the riot act. She said she was going to tell you, she was going to write you that I'd been with another man if I didn't come to work for her and then do what she wanted."
"And so?"
"It-it's awfully hard for me to tell you when you look at me like that, honey."
"All right, I won't look. But go on with it anyway."
"Yes-I-I want to-I have to. You see, she-she's divorced, she hasn't had a man for a long time, and she sort of goes for girls."
"Are you trying to tell me that you and that bitch have had an affair in bed, like a couple of dykes?" Genevieve nodded, then burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.
"I see. You mean, she blackmailed you into it?"
"Yes. Not only that, Bill, every Friday, when the shop closes, she spanks the operators who've had trouble with customers. I got spanked only about a week or so ago. And hard, too. And then-and then-she made me come to her house and-and love her. And she said that even when you came back, she'd expect me to go on doing that or else."
"A very cunning bitch, I'd say. All right, first things first. You're not going back to work. I've got good news, baby. I had a bad touch of malaria, and they're going to give me my discharge probably in Fort Sill. I'll have to go back there in two weeks to get my clearance papers. And I've had some letters from a buddy of mine who's starting a big public relations agency in Chicago. I'm not a bad writer, and I can make contacts. I did enough liaison work in the Army, so I guess I can hit it off there. He's offering me a good starting salary, and a chance at a partnership. Do you like this little suburb?"
"Yes-but-I-I'll go anywhere you want Bill. Honest I would."
"That's the way I like to hear my wife talk. Well, you've been honest with me, Jenny baby. So I tell you what. When I get my discharge and I start that job, you and I are going to find a nice little house maybe on the lake in Chicago, and even if you are thirty-four, it's not too late for you to have a kid, is it?"
"Oh no-but I never thought you'd wanted any-"
"I do now. And I'll tell you one thing, baby, even if you don't get any, I'm sure as hell going to keep you busy trying. Which means you won't have much more time for dyking around, is that understood?"
"Ummhmmm-oh you lover, you darling!"
"There's one last thing I want to know, honey. So she spanked you. and I suppose on the bare in front of all the girls?"
"Yes. She-she gets her kicks that way. And she wears-well, certain kinds of outfits in her house, like leather and whips and things-"
"I get the picture. And I suppose it sends you, didn't it? I want the truth now, Jenny!"
"Y-yes, Bill honey," Genevieve said in a very small apologetic voice, cringing back on the bed.
"If that's all it takes to send you, I think I can make a fair substitute. Let's just try it and see. Put out that cigarette, young lady!"
Genevieve hastened to obey, and then her eyes widened with fear as her husband pulled her across his lap. He let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed, clamped his right leg over them, and then, pinioning her wrists behind her back with his left hand, began to apply his hand vigorously to her upturned ripe bare ass.
Soon she was squealing and crying to kick and wriggle, and looking back at him with real tears in her eyes: "Oww-ouch, oh Bill, please, you're hurting-oohhh, oh it's awful-oh please, you're a brute-oh Bill, stop, stop, I'll be good, I won't ever go back there, I promise, I won't ever go to bed with her again-only with you, lover, oh please, let me off and let me go to bed with you again!"
By the time he had stopped, Genevieve Borseley's voluptuous ass was a flaming red, and tears were running down her cheeks. But when he set her on her feet and gripped her by the tits, she flung her arms around him and kissed him wildly on the mouth, digging her tongue inside his lips.
He fell backwards, she atop him, and she wriggled herself over his rejuvenated prick. With one soft hand she stuffed it into her moist, quaking lovecanal, and then, her generously big firm tits mashing against his heaving chest, her lips glued to his, her arms wound under his shoulders, she began to take the initiative and impale herself up and down on his welcoming manhood.
It was a second honeymoon the like of which even Genevieve Borseley hadn't thought was possible. And now that Bill had guessed her masochistic secret, and judging from the way he had adapted himself that very first return-home spanking, she was never, never going to need anyone like Mae Burroughs again!
CHAPTER NINE
Mae Burroughs had been in a vile mood most of the next week, after she had learned that not only Rose Mallows but also Genevieve Borseley had escaped her domineering clutches and her ritualistic spankings. Nor did she make any attempt to replace Genevieve, because summer vacation time and resultant slackening of work had cut business down very drastically at the Stylist Shoppe. Moreover, what she was particularly concerned with was inducing Barbara Gentry to take the place of Genevieve not only over her lap but in her bed.
She found the boyishly-bobbed divorcee especially seductive. Barbara had a soft, husky voice with a habit of quick speech that slurred and sounded very bedroomish, a trait which made the buxom blonde dominatress twitch with anticipation to be able to condemn Barbara to her first bare-bottom paddling in front of all the other operators and then, by way of consolation, to invite her over to her house and kiss away Barbara's tears. It was Friday again, and only yesterday, just before going to lunch, she and Barbara had had a nice little chat. The new operator was doing quite well, better than expected, actually. The customers seemed to like her, and she had already won one itinerant housewife over to the Stylist Shoppe.
Thus far, she really didn't have too many victims on the black list for this late-afternoon correctional session. Ardith Willaman had behaved herself and seemed to be pleasing most of her trade. On the other hand, Winifred Korman had argued with her about the problem of using supplies wisely, because she thought that Winifred was using too much of an expensive Breck shampoo compound on an ordinary wash and set job. And Monday, she recalled, Winifred had been just a little snippy when she had wanted to know if she could take her vacation the end of September rather than over the Labor Day weekend.
And so when the last customer had left the shop this evening, Mae Burroughs beckoned for them all to follow her into the back room, and then seated herself on the leather couch, hairbrush already in her right hand waiting. She smiled savoringly at the frightened faces around her.
"Well, girls," Mae at last began, wanting to prolong the suspense as much as she could. "This is our slow time, you might even call it the dogdays. But I'm still going to keep after all of you so we run a tight shop, because after Labor Day when our regular customers come back from vacation, we're all going to be busier than ever. And if we get lax and slipshod now, we'll get into some bad habits that are going to hurt our business in the fall and winter. Well, there's only one girl who has got herself in my black books this week. Winifred, get ready!"
"Oh no, please, Mrs. Burroughs!" Winifred Korman gasped, her cheeks flaming and her gray-green eyes very wide behind her glasses as all the others turned to stare at her.
"Oh yes, Winifred!" Mae sternly corrected. "As long as I own this shop, I'm going to tell all of you when you're overdoing it on supplies. And you remember what you and I went around the ring on that shampoo compound, don't you, Winifred? Besides, you've been late a few times to work, and a couple of weeks ago you kept Mrs. Denstrand waiting all of five minutes. I didn't say anything then, but this little argument of ours just about popped it off. So get yourself ready, and then we can all get out of here."
Winifred Korman had very adamantly refused any dates with many eligible young and mature men after she had broken up with her husband Larry. Thinking about him had caused her many a sleepless night, even though it was three years after the divorce.
She had been a virgin until her marriage at twenty-five, a little fearful of male aggressiveness and selfishness, though she had very nearly gone the route with a handsome college senior when she had been-nineteen.
She had worked in a small beauty shop on Chicago's Northwest Side about six months before her marriage, and one night when she had been driving her little Rambler and had discovered that there was something wrong with the transmission, Larry Korman had driven up in a big Buick and stopped and got out and asked if he could help.
He was a salesman, and an excellent one. He worked for a national firm with branch headquarters in Chicago, and his line was agricultural implements, like International Harvester. He had realized that she was shy about men, and so he hadn't rushed her. They'd gone out on comfortable dates, movies, plays, dinners, and when after six months he had asked her she had said yes.
After six months of their marriage, she believed that she was in heaven. She looked forward to his coming home and even more to their going to bed together. He had taken her maidenhead with a minimum of pain and a great deal of gentle cajoling until her own passions had been roused. Thereafter, it had been very good for them. And then the trouble started. Because of Larry's capabilities in getting along with people and being an extrovert-one of the reasons he was a star salesman-, the company had decided to move him up through a process of traveling to various other branches and solving sales problems there, with an ultimate view towards a managerial career. And so the next six months had found three separate moving changes, and Winifred had begun to protest because what she really wanted was to settle down and have a flock of kids and love Larry and cook for him and do everything else a girl should to make a man happy.
But underneath Larry's goodnatured and eventempered personality, there was a hard streak of ambition. He had flatly told Winifred that this was a lifetime opportunity and that she would just have to bear with it until they finally got settled. And so she had started nagging at him, bed had fallen off, and finally they had just split up entirely.
She'd polished up on her beauty college studies, and come to work for Mae Burroughs a few months after the divorce. She knew all about Mae's foibles, because one fatal night the buxom blonde dominatress had lured her over to the bungalow on Courtelyou Road, given her a little too much wjne, and then taken her to bed. After that, Winifred knew that Mae had a kind of blackmailing hold on her, and she had felt terribly ashamed.
All these thoughts swiftly ran through her mind the way a lifetime can go through the mind of a drowning man before he goes down for the third time as she stood, her hands clasped together, trembling fitfully before Mae's stern glance.
"Come on, Winifred, don't play innocent, you know exactly what happens next!" the shop owner snapped. "Tet those panties off and get yourself over my lap fast. We'd all like to go home, you know."
Winifred Korman was about five feet six and a half inches in height, on the slim side. Her red hair was styled in a ribbon-smooth coif which especially flattered her oval face. Her nose was small and dainty, her mouth perhaps a bit too ripe. She had a soft rounded chin with a delivious dimple that came and went whenever she smiled-which wasn't too often these days. Her skin complemented her hair, being extremely pale white and glossy. Mae's eyes admired it now as Winifred stood before her in a matching pink nylon bra and panty set, with a white garterbelt holding up her fleshcolored nylons. The bra emphasized the uptilting jut of Winifred's widely spaced round tits with very narrow aurolae and perky nipples, and the panties snugged over an oval-cheeked bottom set very tightly over a narrowly sinuous crease, and a soft curly dark-red muff at the apex of delightfully long and slender thighs.
Decided at last, Winifred uttered a deep sigh, hooked her fingers inside of the waistband of the panties and husked them down to her knees, then quickly moved forward to the couch and laid herself over the dominatress' lap. She buried her face in her hands, clutched her legs and bottomcheeks .together, still further dissembling the narrow shadowy groove between those firm, resilient asscheeks, and submitted herself.
Mae Burroughs as usual was in no hurry to spank. Just to show Winifred who was boss, she paused a moment to pull the panties completely off and dropped them onto the floor, where Winifred would be obliged to stoop down to retrieve them when the spanking was finished.
Tucking her left arm around Winifred's supple waist, she picked up the hairbrush and told Winifred to get ready. Then she brought it down emphatically on the top of Winifred's right hip and followed it instantly with a smack on the other side. The two parallel splotches of bright pink rose at once on the pale white skin, and she was rewarded by seeing the muscles of Winifred's thighs and calves and asscheeks tighten and ripple exquisitely.
She could just hear Winifred's slightly audible intake of breath, but she could also feel Winifred's sudden swerving from side to side over her loins. And the knowledge that Winifred's cunt was rubbing against her lap made her own pussy begin to tickle and twitch. Damn, if those bitches Genevieve and Rose hadn't up and left her, tonight she could have had her pick!
After forty spanks, Mae Burroughs paused, panting and perspiring. The twinges in her pussy were almost driving her crazy, and if the other girls hadn't been around, she would have rolled Winifred over on the couch and got over her at once. And that was something else she wanted to buy from this firm, a brand-new dildo with tiny rubber whorls and spikes along the shaft and along the tip that would really make a girl cream when it went into her.
As Winifred lay crying and squirming, she finally came to reality and in a harsh, hoarse voice, decided, "All right, that's enough, Winifred. Now you can dress and go. So can you other girls. But I hope you've learned something from what's happened tonight, because with customers shopping around and oh vacation and business falling off, we all have to be careful about costs."
Winifred Korman had got to her feet, her hands unashamedly rubbing her blazing ass, her glasses misted with her tears. She didn't seem to care that she was showing off her cunt to everybody, and Mae's eyes were devouring her as boldly as could be. It was tantamount to offering her a silent invitation to come over tonight to the bungalow, and Winifred understood that, but that was the last thing in the world she was ever going to do.
Very gingerly she stooped down and caught up her panties, then uttered a cry of pain and hastened to put them back on. A few moments later, she had left at the back of the shop, and Mae Burroughs was alone with her thoughts. She was going to have to call Wilma Foster and maybe get together. Every so often Wilma liked to play the girlie games, and maybe even bring along a third party, a younger girl. She felt in the mood for an orgy tonight. But next week, she swore to herself, she was going to get Ardith over her lap and see what that virgin bottom looked like, if it was the last thing she ever did.
CHAPTER TEN
It was about twenty minutes before Winifred Korman could bring herself to climb very carefully behind the wheel of her little Rambler and begin the trip from the parking lot behind the Stylist Shoppe to Mrs. Burman's boarding house. First she had a good cry for herself, blowing her nose and generally feeling sorry for herself. As the hot scalding pain began to recede at last, she walked a little, being relieved to find that the night air was suddenly cool after one of those infernally hot August days for which the Windy City was famous. As she got behind the wheel, easing herself very carefully and wincing and gasping as the firm seat made contact with her tender, inflamed posterior, she heard the faint rumble of thunder in the west. She didn't want to go to a restaurant tonight for supper, and Mrs. Burman served dinner at seven o'clock, because she had four other roomers who worked a nine-to-five shift and three of them were in the Loop and didn't get back home much before six-thirty anyway. She would just put up with Mrs. Burman's Friday-night fishand-chips menu, because Mrs. Burmari had once been married to an Englishman and spent three years in London and fallen madly in love with that dish and so scheduled it just about every Friday. Also, fish was cheap in comparison with the way beef was going up at the butcher shop these days.
As she parked the Rambler on the side street a block away from Mrs. Burman's house, the air had suddenly become oppressive and the rumble of thunder grew louder. It was about quarter of seven, and that would give her just time to freshen up a bit and maybe rub some cold cream on her bottom. Oh goodness, how that awful Mae Burroughs had laid on the hairbrush tonight!
She hurried up the steps to the porch, took her key out of her purse and unlocked the front door. On a stone table to the right there lay the mail for Mrs. Burman's boarders, and she only half-glanced at it. There hadn't been anything for her except a few bills and some advertising circulars for quite some months now. Tonight wasn't going to be any different.
But when she walked into the spacious living room of the old two-story house, she almost fainted. A big, smiling man in a raincoat was getting up and grinning at her. "Hi there, Winifred honey. Gosh, you look wonderful!"
"L-Larry-what-how in the world-oh my God!" Winifred Korman ejaculated. She hadn't bothered to change her last name, and the fact was she hadn't really thought about it. All of a sudden she gulped, because she had just remembered that. Not of course that it made any difference now. "But how in the world-I mean
-how did you know where I was?" she gasped. "I did some checking. I'm up in Minneapolis now, honey, as sales manager for Lentron Tractor."
"You-you changed jobs, then-"
"Yes I did." He nodded. "Can you sit down a few minutes and chat with me?"
"I ought to go to my room-I'm just a mess
-it was an awful day at the shop-" all of a sudden she found herself babbling stupidly, and she didn't know why. Except that her heart was pounding wildly and she was terribly conscious of her reddened swollen eyes and also of her very tender bottom.
"Nonsense, you look great to me, Winnie. I know that you eat dinner here, Mrs. Burman told me. She's a nice old soul. And you know what else she told me?" All of a sudden he gave her that familiar sudden grin which had always had the effect of making her pulses quicken a little.
"I can imagine," she said very primly, not wanting to commit herself. She just mustn't let him know how dreadfully she had missed him all this time. "She's a terrible gossip, you know."
"I'm glad she is." He winked as he came forward and took both her hands in his. "She said of all her tenants, you were the nicest behaved there was. She never had to worry about you bringing men home or anything like that. And you know something, Winnie? I'm glad as hell."
"I don't see what reason you have to be," she tried to pull her hands away and look very reserved and aloof, but she didn't succeed very well. Her cheeks were flaming, and her lips were trembling. "After all, it's been a good two years. And you never once wrote me or anything. I didn't even know if you were alive."
"You do now, kitten." That had been one of his pet names for her in bed, because one night, about three months after they had got married, his fingers had been playing with her curly darkred pussyhairs and how, although he detested cats and much preferred dogs (and intended that they would have one one day when they had their own home), hers was the only kitten he could really go .for.
"Yes-I-I see you're here, Larry. What was it you wanted?"
"You, kitten."
"Me? I don't understand, Larry."
"Look, Winnie, you and I said some pretty nasty things to each other, and I could have bitten my tongue off. But a man has got to go where his job is, and I was learning fast. As a matter-of-fact, if it hadn't been that I pulled out, I never would have got the break that got me this job. I'll do a little traveling, maybe three months of the year, but I'll be sales manager. It's a big new company with plenty of capital, and they knew all about me. .Actually, they wanted me before I married you, but I was just hitting my stride in commissions for Brender Equipment and I wanted to pile away a reserve for both of us, so that maybe one day we could have kids before we got too old to grow up with them and enjoy them."
"Larry-I-I don't understand-"
"I know you're a little dense, kitten. So I'll give it to you in a few words. I left Minneapolis last night after I went up there to interview on this job. I've got about two weeks coming from Brender, and I called them and gave them notice, which is the only decent thing to do. I'm going to start at Hentron two weeks from next Monday, at a salary that's twice what I've been earning and plenty of opportunity for bonuses and dividends and stock equities and all that sort of stuff. But I don't want to do it without you. I want you back, and I want us to have kids."
"Larry-you don't make sense-we're divorced-"
"I know that." He was patient and smiling as if talking to a child. He had his hands on her shoulders now. And he was staring very seriously into her tearswollen eyes. "But it doesn't take long to get remarried again, you know. Now why don't you pack your things, I've got my stationwagon parked in the driveway and we'll head back for Minneapolis tonight. We'll stop at a motel, maybe the Hyatt Regency out at the airport, have a wonderful dinner at Hugo's and then go to bed and I'll make it official, and we'll be in Minneapolis tomorrow, and on Monday we can take out the license and have the tests and everything."
"Oh my goodness! I-I just couldn't do that."
"I'd like to know why the hell not. I'm still in love with you, kitten. And from what Mrs. Burman says, there hasn't been any other guy to take my place-or has there?"
"N-no," came in a very small voice. "But a girl has her pride, and at least you could have written or phoned or done something if you knew where I was all this time. How did you know I didn't take up with some other fellow to forget you?"
"Well for one thing, you didn't change your name, that was a damn good sign, kitten. For another, right now, I can feel you shivering, the way you used to do just before we went to get into bed together."
"You hush up, Larry Korman!" she gasped, her face turning scarlet.
"Now get right Up to your room and pack. I'm starved. Both for a meal and you in that order, kitten."
"Larry Korman, I declare, you're the most exasperating man-"
"Or maybe I should persuade you a little. Maybe a good sound spanking till you say yes, hm?" He suddenly sat down on the couch and dragged her across his lap.
"Oh no! Don't you dare! Stop it, you big brute! Oh please don't, please, I've already been spanked-I mean-oh Lord!" she wailed having let the cat out of the bag for fair.
He had just hiked up her skirt and slip and he was staring at her trim ovalcheeked bottom. Even through the thin nylon panties, he could see the angry splotches of Mae Burroughs' hairbrush.
"I can see that," he said grimly. "Now who the hell did that?"
"My boss."
"I'll kill him!"
"It's a she. You know so much about me, don't you remember that I told you I'd probably earn my own living as a beautician? Well, I did. After all, I'd been doing that before I met you, you know."
"So this boss of yours gets her kicks by fantailing your hide, does she? Then I know it's time for you to quit and come along with me, kitten. What did she use, the horsewhip?"
"Oh no, it was her hairbrush-she didn't like the way I was using supplies-oh Larry please, I'm dying of shame-if Mrs. Burman should come in, please let me get up!" she pleaded.
"Not till you say yes, kitten." His left arm tucked the more tightly around her waist, his big right hand came up and fell like a plummet on the ripest curve of her ripe asscheek.
Winifred Korman uttered a squeal of pain and kicked up both pretty feet, then plunged her hands back to cover up her burning bottom. "Oh stop it, you brute! she wailed.
"Well, maybe I won't beat up on that boss of yours after all. She's just given me a wonderful idea. I'm going to spank your pretty bottom till you pack your things and get in that car and drive along with me, you hear me, Winifred baby?" Whack! Smack! Crack! Three times his hand descended, with the full force of his strong arm, and Winifred's bottom flattened and weaved and jerked frantically while, tilting back her head, she uttered piercing cry upon cry and tried frantically to cover up again. But he gripped her wrists with his left hand and added two more hard spanks. "Are you going to do what I tell you to or do you want some more? Maybe I better take your panties down so I can see what I'm doing-"
"Oh no, don't you dare, oh you're awful, you're just terrible-but I can't stand any more, truly I can't, darling, oh please don't spank me anymore, she just about killed me with that awful hairbrush!"
"What did you just say?" he peered down to stare into her tearstained face as she turned it back over her shoulder to entreat mercy.
"I said-that she just about killed rne,"
"No, no! he said impatiently. "I mean, what you just called me. It sounded like darling Did you mean it?" Smack-Smack-Crack!
"Owww! Please! Oh darling, yes I do, I do mean it, but I can't stand it-oh darling, let up, I'll do anything you want if you'll only stop!" she wailed.
"Now that's a good deal better. Get up. And you go back upstairs and pack only the essentials. Any knicknacks and gewgaws and the like, that's fine. Don't worry too much about your clothes. I'm making enough to buy you a great new wardrobe. And there are going to be lots of slinky negligees and shortie nighties and things like that so I can really get hot about you, kitten."
He let her up, and Winifred Korman stood there rubbing her bottom with the tears streaming down her face with the most ecstatic smile on her lips. "Ohh, Larry!" she breathed. Then, pulling down skirt and slip, she hurried up the stairs.
A few minutes later, she sat beside him in the stationwagon as he headed for the airport. Half an hour after that, they were dining sumptuously at Hugo's. And by midnight, Winifred, breathless and glowing with fulfillment, lay naked facing him on her side, her hands stroking his face, while his fingers gently caressed her squirming ass. He had fucked her three glorious times, and she was almost sleepy from the climaxes he had drawn from her longneglected cunt.
"I think," he said huskily, "I've compromised you enough so you'll have to make an honest man of me Monday. If that doesn't get you pregnant, we'll try again tomorrow night and every night thereafter. I want a girl the first time, just like you. After that, we'll have a boy."
"Oh you big goof, I'm so crazy about you I can't see straight!" Winifred Korman happily breathed, her slim hand moving between their bodies to fondle his dormant cock. "Let's go to sleep and think about how many children I'm going to give you, lover. And maybe before breakfast, if you're a good boy, I'll let you try again."
There would be one less operator to report for duty Saturday morning at the Stylist Shoppe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mae Burroughs had called Winifred's boarding house at nine-thirty Saturday morning when Winifred hadn't shown up, and what she had learned from the gossipy old woman had made her almost fly into a tantrum. If this kept up she wouldn't have any reliable operators left. Now she would have to shift appointments, because Winifred had Mrs. Yerkes coming at ten. Since Barbara Gentry didn't have an appointment until eleven-thirty, she would let Barbara take Mrs. Yerkes.
Ardith Willaman was restless this Saturday morning. She'd had an awful argument with Aunt Marcy last night because she had had a date with Bill Matthews and hadn't got home until almost one in the morning. And Aunt Marcy had said very tartly that no niece of hers was going to gallwant out all night with a strange-man who probably didn't have the slightest intention of marrying her, even if it meant that she would have to give Ardith a good old-fashioned paddy whacking.
That had set Ardith off, of course, because it reminded her all too embarrassingly of what might well await her Friday afternoons at the Stylist Shoppe. And besides, she herself had laid the law down to Bill. They had gone to dinner and a movie, and then he had driven her round the forest preserves for about an hour and tried to neck. She had responded, and she was guiltily afraid that she was getting to the point where she couldn't hold out much longer against his importunities. He wanted her to slip away for a weekend with him and she just wouldn't do that. "If you love me, Bill, you'll wait till we're married."
"We're going to be," he had protested, his left arm tightening round her shoulders, his right hand edging up under her skirt and slip and touching the welt of her nylon stocking. She had slapped his hand away and wriggled away from him, her face flaming.
"Don't tell me you're a prickteaser, darling," he had grumbled.
And then she had slapped his face for daring to use such a dirty word. "I'm not that at all and you know it! It's just that-well, you're the only fellow I've ever really loved, and I just don't want to be your sometimes girl, do you understand me, Bill Matthews? I'm only human too, but I can't fool around if all you want is a back street girl. You-you can go to a prostitute if you want that. But I like you an awful lot, and I'm thinking about marriage and kids and all that, and that doesn't mean just an affair."
"You certainly know a lot for a wise virgin," he had wisecracked, looking glum and discomfitted. "Anyway, I'm the one who's going to propose, and I don't want to be rushed."
"All right! If that's the way you feel about it, then find yourself another girl who'll give you what you want and won't look for marriage, Bill Matthews," she had flared up.
However, things went smoothly this Saturday at the Stylist Shoppe, and Mae's boiling anger over the defection of some of her most likely candidates for bedtime amusement had waned by the time mid-afternoon was reached. She had had a compliment from Mrs. Yerkes on Barbara Gentry's work, and she had just had a marvelous idea. She was going to invite dear Barbara over and give her a home cooked dinner tonight and then just see how far she could go with the slim, boyish-looking divorcee.
And so when quitting time came, and as the other girls were getting ready to leave, she walked over to Barbara's table and murmured, "I'm very proud of you, dear. Mrs. Yerkes said some very nice things about you. I was wondering, Barbara, do you have anything planned for tonight?"
"Why, no, Mrs. Burroughs." The slim light brown-haired divorcee looked up at her with an engaging smile.
"How would you like to have dinner with me tonight at my bungalow, dear? I'd like to talk to you about the work here. Now that some of my girls have gone, as you know, I'm going to need more assistance and I'm going to have to rely more heavily on people that I'm fond of and can trust. And although you're very new, Barbara, I've the feeling that you're going to be one of my very best operators."
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Burroughs."
"Call me Mae, dear. Then you'll come?"
"I'd love to! And thank you so much, Mae." Barbara Gentry rose, and stood a long moment staring coyly into Mae's beaming face.
Mae Burroughs put herself out and really cooked a lavish dinner.
Now they were sitting in the living room watching TV, and Mae's eyes weren't on the screen too often. They were considering the slim light-brunette who sat beside her. Barbara was wearing a tight pullover sweater and a trim, hip-and-thigh-hugging plaid skirt, and she was also wearing calf-length white calfskin boots and charcoal-brown nylons. It was all Mae could do to keep her hands off her.
"Isn't that a sweet love story we're watching, dear?" She said huskily to her guest, as she imperceptibly moved closer to Barbara Gentry on the couch.
"Oh yes! But you know, Mae, things like that leave me cold. I've had my fill of guys, I don't know if I told you."
"You mentioned something during your interview, yes. But that's the way men are, dear. That's why I got rid of my husband. And you see the fruits of my labors. Now I own this shop, and I have a chance to work with and know wonderful people like yourself. You're really a darling, Barbara, and I think you deserve a great deal of credit for the way you've won your independence after what you've been through."
"You're awfully sweet, Mae. I-I don't know why you should take such an interest in me. I'm still a novice when it comes to beautician work."
"Oh no, you have a feeling for customers, and your hands are soft and gentle. I think you're going to be a wonderful operator for me," Mae Burroughs insisted. Now slyly her left arm slipped round Barbara's very supply waist. Barbara Gentry turned, and her pixieish face registered charming surprise, her eyes widened, her lips making a delicious red O.
Unable to bear the Tantalus any longer, Mae Burroughs suddenly kissed the divorcee full on the mouth, and her right hand crept towards the saucy small but firm orange-like tit which pressed against the tight pullover sweater.
"Oh my goodness-what's that all about, Mae?" Barbara giggled when the kiss was over. But there was a telltale flush on her lovely face, and her eyes were somewhat humid now and her tits had begun to rise and fall erratically.
"Can't you guess, dear?" Mae Burroughs murmured huskily. "I feel the same way you do about men. And I can tell you honestly, I don't act like this except when I'm with someone who's terribly sympathetic for whom I feel a great deal of rapport. I'm terribly fond of you, Barbara dear. Please-I hope I haven't offended you."
"Oh honey, let's go to bed!" Mae gasped, her body liquid fire. Her left arm around Barbara's waist, her right taking hold of Barbara's slim wrist, she led the divorcee towards her luxurious bedroom.
With her own hands, she drew off the pullover sweater, and gasped with delight to find a strapless, very gauzy white nylon bra which was almost a second skin over the soft pink-sheened round oranges of Barbara Gentry's tits, accentuating the perky pointed thrust of the soft rosy nipples. Impulsively she bent her head and kissed one of them through the bra, sucking at it, rubbing her tongue on it, while Barbara's hands rubbed at the back of Mae's neck and the divorcee groaned in her own responsive rapture.
When Barbara Gentry's slim, sleek nakedness was finally revealed as she lay on the bed clad in only her garterbelt and hose and the calfskin boots, Mae swiftly undressed. Her eyes were blazing and her bit tits rose and fell with turbulence as she clambered beside her new lover. "Oh you darling, we're going to be so happy," she crooned as she bowed her head and once more began to suck one of Barbara Gentry's stiff nipples.
"Isn't it better than being with a man?" Mae demanded anxiously, slipping one hand down to the soft brown muff of Barbara's cunt and beginning to probe for the soft pink delicate lips of that adorable cunthole.
Barbara Gentry spread her thighs to give Mae's hand more access. "Oh my goodness yes!" she huskily agreed, turning her face to be kissed.
"Do me, darling, get on me first," she whispered to the newest operator. And she flung herself on her back, spreading her thighs and holding out her arms to Barbara Gentry who quickly joined her. A moment later, and their unison was complete. Barbara's slim long legs flexed and squirmed as she began to grind her cunt to Mae's, while Mae Burroughs clamped her legs over Barbara's slender thighs and clutched the young woman's shoulders with a vise-like grip, returning kiss upon kiss until each of them attained the sweet nirvana of seething climax.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was the Friday after Labor Day, and it had been an exceedingly taxing day for the Stylist Shoppe. Mae Burroughs still hadn't replaced Genevieve or Rose or Winifred, and she really had no intention of doing so. Even if business did pick up, there wasn't any reason why the girls there, especially dear Barbara, couldn't handle the traffic.
This afternoon, as she worked expertly but almost impatiently over Mrs. Lincoln Tolson, a gray-haired, haughty socialite whose husband was the biggest Oldsmobile dealer in the suburbs, she was watching that electric clock. And from time to time her eyes rested on lovely Ardith Willaman, because Ardith had been just a little slipshod this week. Not "too badly, but since she was a newcomer and hadn't yet felt the weight of Mae's displeasure, this would be an ideal time to indoctrinate her into the rules.
What puzzled her was that Ardith's face was wreathed in a smile. What she had no way of knowing was that last night Bill Matthews had phoned and in a clumsy, apologetic way had asked Ardith's pardon for having blown off steam that last time and was wondering if he couldn't have a date tonight when she finished. He had something very important he wanted to tell her. In a word, he wanted to propose and he wanted to do it just right, with hearts and flowers and music.
Nothing could have made Ardith Willaman happier. She had told Aunt Marcy, and the old woman had grumbled but then had come out and said, "That's just wonderful, honey. I want to meet your young man. I just saw him once, you know, and he's handsome enough, all right but I want to know something about his background.
And that was why Ardith Willaman's face was lovelier than it had ever been before, and if Bill Matthews could have seen it now, he would have moved heaven and earth to get himself married to this gorgeous dish so that he could have a long honeymooning weekend and be the first to taste the sweetness of Ardith Willaman's naked, palpitating, virgin but oh so eager charms.
Finally the last customer had left, and once again the expectant and fearful hush fell on the operators seated at their tables as Mae Burroughs locked the front door and drew the blinds, and then slowly and majestically confronted her brood.
"It's been a good week, girls. And you won't be too late tonight. We've just one naughty girl on the black books. Ardith Willaman, stand up and get ready!"
"Oh no!" Ardith burst out, consternated. It was the last thing in the world she had expected. To be sure, on preceding weeks, she had always worried and been fretful about the possibility, novice that she was in the shop, of being summoned to this dread reckoning. But tonight of all nights, oh no, it just wasn't thinkable! Bill Matthews was going to propose and she certainly wasn't going to go to him with a burning bottom and tear-swollen eyes, just like all those other poor girls who had had to endure Mae Burroughs' tyranny.
"Oh yes, young lady," Mae Burroughs grinned sadistically. "I have been very patient with you, Ardith, and you know perfectly well that you're one of the newest here. You made quite a few mistakes, but I've glossed over them. But all this week, you just haven't had your mind on your work-now don't give me an argument. Why, even Barbara, and she's the newest of us, can testify how you forgot to put away your supplies sometimes, and how you've had to take longer on some of those permanents than you really should. When you keep a customer beyond the regular appointment time, young lady, it costs us all money because it means that we can't take another girl until you finish. No, Ardith, your time has come. Now get yourself ready. You've seen enough spanking on Fridays to know just how it's done."
"I won't, I tell you! I-I've got a date tonight, and I'm not going to go to him-I won't!" Ardith stamped her foot.
"What's fair for one is fair for all, I'm afraid. You won't get any sympathy from these other girls, because they've had to submit and take what's coming to them, and so will you," she proclaimed.
"I'm leaving. I'm not going to work for you anymore, Mrs. Burroughs. I-I don't think it right for you to do these things, because you're just cruel and heartless, that's all. Besides, it can't be legal, I know it can't even if I did sign the paper."
"You little slut, you dare to talk to me like that!" Mae Burroughs hissed, turning livid with fury. "Ethel, Barbara, grab that girl and pull her over there on the couch and start getting her big bare bottom ready for the worst thrashing she ever had!"
"No, I won't let you-stop it-help-no, let go of me ;-oh no!" Ardith cried. But Barbara and Ethel had hurried over and seized her by the wrists and were dragging her over to the big couch, and in a few moments Ardith Willaman found herself stretched out on it, her skirt and slip rolled up, with Mae standing over her gloating over the young beauty's shame and tears.
"Mavis, get over here and pull that pantygirdle down. Take it all the way off," she directed.
"Now then, you stubborn little bitch," Mae Burroughs grinned crookedly, "you're really going to get it good! I've been wanting to whip ass on you for a long time. And this little mutiny of yours is going to cost that nice big white bottom plenty of extras, you can depend on it. Hold her steady, Ethel, and you too, Barbara. Now then, how do you like the taste of my spanking strap, Ardith, dear?"
Down it came with a sinister whistling crack across the plumpest curves of the squirming naked virgin bottom and Ardith could not suppress a sobbing cry of pain. Desperately, she struggled to get free, but only her legs were loose, for the two operators had a-tight grasp on her wrists and shoulders and were squatting down to increase the pressure. The strap rose, then whistled down again with an angry Thwackk, and again Ardith emitted a tearful wail of torment, her lovely legs flailing the air. creamy, and the contrast between the smokecolored nylons and the several inches of bare thigh visible above their welt made Mae's eyes bum with sadistic lust.
Now Mae, panting and sweating, her eyes almost glassy with her inordinate lust, began to apply the stinging strap with venomous gusto to the magnificent bottomglobes. At times, as the helpless victim struggled and tried to twist from side to side, the strap bit home against the sensitive groin very near the dark muff of her virgin cunt, and these accidental lashes drew frantically shrill screams till Mae gasped, "Gag that little bitch before she has all the neighbors in to see what's going on!"
It was Mavis Purcell who responded to that order; improvising a handkerchief as gag, she squatted beside the couch and forced it into Ardith's gaping mouth, then clamped her palm over the weeping young beauty's lips to keep it in place. Mae grinned briefly, then brought the strap down mercilessly over the base of the once immaculately white nether hemispheres, and Ardith's hips weaved and jumped under the ferocious kiss of the leather.
After thirty such lashes, she flung aside the strap, then commanded, "Now you girls just pull her over my lap, I'll finish her off with the hairbrush. And keep that gag in!"
Licking her lips, the sadistic Lesbian dominatress picked up the hairbrush and gloatingly rubbed it all over the woefully striped bare bottom, then resumed the punishment. Thirty hard smacks had Ardith nearly fainting with pain, her gurgling cries incoherent, her body shuddering violently.
"There now, let her up, girls, I'll bet she's learned her lesson once and for all!" Mae Burroughs chuckled thickly.
Slowly, tottering, her face haggard and swollen with tears and suffering, Ardith stumbled to her feet. The others watched in silence as she slowly, painfully, drew on her slip, ignoring the discarded pantygirdle, then got her dress out of the locker. Mavis Purcell, murmuring something inaudible by way of compassion and apology, let her out the back door.
"All right, let's tidy up and get out of here. Barbara dear, I'd be happy if you'd stay after the others have gone. I'd like to talk to you, you know, about what we mentioned the other evening," the dishwater-blonde dominatress purred....
When the Stylist Shoppe was empty except for Mae Burroughs and Barbara Gentry, the former moved towards the dominatress and, linking her slim arms round Mae's neck, murmured evocatively, "Darling, why don't you come to my place this time? I've a lovely little surprise I've been saving for you."
"Oh you lamb! And I've got one for you, dearest Barbara darling! Effective Monday, I'm making you manager. And yes, I'd just love to go to your place."
A quarter of an hour later, Barbara Gentry's Toyota deposited both her and her employer at a little cottage on the corner of Kimbark and Fairfield. "My goodness, darling, I didn't think you had a house all to yourself," Mae gasped.
"Uh huh. I rented it just a few weeks ago, Mae. Come on in, I'll show you around."
Barbara Gentry unlocked the front door and swung it wide for her buxom guest. As Mae Burroughs stepped into the neatly furnished living room, she uttered a gasp of surprise. A tall, sternfaced, black-haired woman, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles, wearing a black leather corselet and matching thigh-length boots and shoulder-length gloves, stood with arms folded across her surprisingly large pear-shapted gosom.
"W-Wilma-my gracious, what in the world are you doing here, darling?" Mae happily cooed. "I didn't know you knew Barbara-why, I've just made her my shop manager, and I'm ever so grateful to you for sending her to me."
"That's thoughtful of you, Mae. But you see, she's already shop manager."
"I-I don't understand-"
"I'll be happy to enlighten you. Mae dear. You've let your personal, shall we say, interests carry you away against your better judgment. Such as neglecting a few overdue bills. One of them is from the tax assessor's office on the shop, the other on your bungalow. Tsk, tsk, that was very careless of you. But the worst thing is that you've alienated quite a few good customers. Now you take Ethel Chadwick and Mavis Purcell. It's got around town that you've spanked them when their work wasn't up to snuff. There's a lot of talk about revoking your license, Mae."
"Wh-what are you saying-but my God, W-Wilma, we-we've been good friends-" Mae spluttered, her jaw dropping.
"We were, yes. Till you got too greedy and forgetful. I sent Barbara to you to find out just how far you'd go with her. That was foolish, making love to a brand-new operator and then promising her the management ahead of Ethel or Mavis. Well, I've paid the taxes on your property, so I own the shop and your bungalow on Courtelyou Road. And I own you, Mae, too.
"Now start getting naked. You're going to be punished for being such a naughty, forgetful bitch, and for tying to take my sweetheart away from me.
Expertly wielding it, the beauty school head snapped it in the air, and let it coil round Mae Burrough's waist. With a shriek of pain and anguish, the buxom dishwater blonde stumbled to her knees, clasping her hands in prayerful appeal. "Oh don't do this to me, Wilma, think of the times we had-oww-ahrrr! Oh not both of you-oh, stop, stop, you'll kill me ahrr-wait-ahhrr-oh God-yes, I-I'll obey-"
For Barbara Gentry, seizing another whip, had joined the attack. And in a few moments, Mae Burroughs, naked as the day she was born, was groveling at their feet.
"Maybe, if you're a good slave-bitch, I'll give you a job as demonstrator at the school," Wilma Foster sneered. "Now crawl here and get me ready for Barbara, and you better be good, or I'll strip the skin off your fat hide!"
Despairing tears furrowed Mae's flushed cheeks as she began her martyrdom. The Spanking Salon had come to a most unexpected, horrifying end.
