Alma Rose loved her spankings more than any normal child should. The tingling she got in her teenaged bottom led her to experience the delights of the sado-masochistic world that opened to her as a young woman.
Alma entered the bizarre world of sado-masochism with a near-eagerness, with a passion, perhaps, that most persons would never experience. It is strange to experience the unfolding of this exotic world, for it is a world of pain and brutality, of. degradation and humiliation, both physical and emotional.
One might often wonder how a person discovers this path of life for herself or himself, and the reasons remain obscured under a cloud of eroticism and terrifying romanticism concerning the cult itself. Why do things such as this occur? How do they happen? Why do men and women find it necessary to indulge in sometimes rampant violence and human degradation in order to enjoy the passion of the sex act?
The questions themselves are frightening. The answers, most certainly, are unclear. The only real certainty is that the exotic world does, indeed, exist, and that persons who participate in it obviously need the sort of bizarre and horrifying stimulation that world provides.
Alma Rose was part of that world, was a member of the cult of the sado-masochists. It began when she was very young and unaware, but it continued on into her womanhood. Her husband became her master, and so did her father-in-law.
Alma loved every moment, every slash on her fleshy bottom. The world of pain and degradation opened to her and she welcomed it with glee.
CHAPTER ONE
Alma Rose is my name, though of course it isn't my real last name. You see, I really wouldn't want my folks to find out about this book which Mr. Harding is writing for me from the notes he takes while we have our talks about how I found out I was slave material and spent the last two years looking for the one and only Prince Charming who would be my true slave master. They've moved out to California, and though I write to them every so often, they think I'm working on a job and being a career girl. In a way I am because what I'm really working at is finding the man who can give me what I most need and what I can't live without: plenty of sex but always preceded by a good sound spanking that makes me cry and feel ashamed and want to grovel in front of him and do just everything he tells me to.
Of course, when I get married, and it might not be too much longer before that happy event takes place, I'll have to tell Dad and Mom about my new hubby and how wonderful he is. By then, of course, it really won't matter, and it'll be just a secret between the two of us how I met him and how I fell so madly in love with him that even now when I think about it, I start getting that squirmy feeling in my bummy and in the little hairy spot between my legs. And I suppose that using a pen name like this, I can talk more freely about my experiences which give me my kicks in a way, too. Because when a girl like myself gets excited about being turned over a man's lap and spanked until her bottom hurts, burns, and throbs so awfully that it seems as if a single extra spank will make me faint, usually just thinking about what has happened and what is going to happen gets me terribly randy and makes me want to feel naughty so that I earn a good sound spanking on my bare behind.
But there's one more reason why I don't want my folks ever to see this book, and that's because if Dad and Mom found out that it was they who had started me on this plan of mine, they would be dreadfully hurt and shocked. They're in their middle fifties now, and sort of square, you know. They couldn't ever understand why a nice, well-brought-up girl like me could start to quiver and get red in the face and tremble and feel that sticky, warm sensation between her legs just thinking about a man's hand or a hairbrush or a strap coming down hard on her naked seat.
They'd feel guilty if they knew they were responsible, but the truth is that it was the spankings that I got from Dad and Mom that made me the way I am now.
Maybe I better start at the beginning, which is usually the best way, so you'll really understand what makes me tick.
I guess it all began when I was about thirteen. Even then-and that was nine years ago-I was pretty well built for my age. I've got wavy blonde hair and I usually wear it in a pageboy with the ends turned under. I'm about five feet six now, and I've got a sort of creamy white skin that men say is awfully sexy, especially when they lay it on my hind end and watch the red splotches of their hands come up on my squirming tail. My titties, if I do say so myself, are awfully nice and perky. They're sort of like pears, spaced widely apart, and they stick out enough to make a man's eyes pay attention to them when I'm wearing a tight pullover sweater. I've got a nice slim waist, and a sort of high-set butt, with cheeks that are nice and tight. Don't get the idea that I'm skinny, because my butt is nice and round, but it's a sort of upstanding roundness. I've got long legs, to go with the rest of me, so I actually look a little taller than I am.
My face is a kind of oval with a high forehead, grey-green eyes, a turned-up nose with very thin wings, and a rather big mouth. I don't mean I talk a lot, although of course I'm doing just that so that Mr. Harding can get it all down right, but I mean my lips are full and nice to kiss. They're also good for something else, which I'll tell you about later on. I've got a tiny beauty spot on my left cheekbone, and I've got a little brown birthmark on the small of my back just above my ass.
Anyhow, it was the last week of school that summer when I got my first spanking, and it all happened because I had a sort of sassy tongue. Around about that age, I was just beginning to find out that boys could be interesting, and Mom had told me that I ought to come home right away from school and not make a fool of myself standing around talking with fellows. But I guess I was a little too smart for my britches, and so when Danny Morland, who had curly brown hair and was fourteen and looked a lot older because he was really built, asked if he could carry my books home that afternoon, I went ahead and let him.
Well, he started telling me about the trips his folks had taken him on for summer vacation, and I got so interested, I forgot I was almost home until we were right about there. I saw the living room curtain pulled aside, and there was Mom, looking out and getting an eyeful.
I got flustered and told Danny that I had to go right in, and I grabbed my books and hurried into the house. We lived on Morse Avenue on the far north side of town, Chicago, and it was a residential neighborhood with a lot of snoopy people who were always finding out what I was doing and telling my folks about it. Matter of fact, that's how Mom found out I was starting to talk to boys and had already warned me not to try it again.
As soon as I came in the house, she was standing there waiting for me with her arms folded. "What did I tell you about not talking to boys, Alma?" she started right off on me.
"I-I'm sorry, Mom, but he took my books when I got out of school and we started talking and I forgot all about it. It really wasn't my fault," I defended myself.
"You could have told him to give your books back, Alma, and you know it. You just went against my wishes, that's all."
"Oh Mom, I did not!" I flashed out.
When I was that age, I admit I was sort of uppity and sassy. Maybe I was, because deep down inside, without my ever knowing it, I wanted somebody to pull me up short and give me what I needed. Maybe the headshrinkers would tell you that's how I got started. But I'm getting ahead of myself again.
She glared at me. "Don't you talk back to me like that, young lady!" she snapped. "You're itching for a good sound spanking, that's what you're doing!"
"I don't deserve to be spanked for that. I don't, Mom!" I said, and then I stamped my foot.
That was a real mistake. She gave me a cold, long look, and then said, "All right, Alma. Just for that, I'm going to tell your father and we'll see whether you're too big to be spanked or not."
She walked out of the room then, so I went upstairs to my room and sulked around a little. Dad was a sales supervisor in a heavy machinery company on the northwest side, and he usually got home about five-thirty. I remember that evening he was about an hour late because they had a sales conference. So that meant I had to wait a lot longer for my very first spanking.
Dad came home while I was still up in my room starting to worry and figuring that maybe I had gone too far in being impertinent to Mom. But the harm was done, and I just had to take my medicine. I started thinking about what a spanking would be like. Oh sure, lots of the girls at school still got spanked, even older ones than me, and some of them in class had told me what it was like. But you just can't imagine it for yourself until it happens to you.
Mom knocked on my door and told me to come down to supper, and I did, though not with any real energy, I can tell you. Dad was tall and already getting grey hair and he looked very severe. The minute I came to my chair and started to sit down, he looked at me and spoke.
"Your mother tells me you disobeyed her and were impertinent, Alma. Now sit down and eat your supper and before you go to bed, I'm going to come in and see you. Do you understand, young lady?"
"Y-yes sir," I said. My voice was awfully faint.
I also started to blush and to look down at my plate. It was my favorite supper, too, pot roast. But I can tell you I didn't eat too much of it. All I had on my mind was that at bedtime Dad was going to come to my room and spank me for the first time in my life.
It was then that I first started playing the game. I would pretend that I was the slave of Mr. X., who I dreamt to be tall and blond with a black patch over one eye.
It was a fantasy that I had created to relieve some of the boredom of my teenage life.
Well, after I finished supper, I had to ask to be excused from the table and Dad looked at me very sternly and said, "All right. I'll be up about nine-thirty, Alma. You might as well get into your pajamas and be ready then. It'll save time."
"Yes, sir. I understand," I stammered.
There was a big lump in my throat and I felt awfully nervous, which was certainly understandable.
I gave Mom an appealing look, but she just looked just as cross as before. I didn't guess that she was going to beg me off my spanking. And the worst of it was that Dad was going to give it to me himself. I think I would have felt less ashamed if it had been Mom who was to do it. At least, that's what I thought then.
They went on in to watch TV after they did the dishes, but I went on up to my room. I wasn't in the mood for soap operas or anything else, even a good detective story. All I could think about was that by nine-thirty I was going to get the very first spanking of my life. I didn't know what it would be like. I didn't know how it would feel, except that I was beginning to get awfully scared. Also, even though I was only thirteen at the time, I still felt sort of grown up, and yet the idea of being spanked was enough to make me feel like a little kid all over again.
I guess maybe I spent the time doing some of my homework and writing a theme for English class, but I know that I didn't get very far with it and I tore it up half a dozen times before I even had a decent page. When I looked at the alarm clock on my dresser, it said nine-fifteen and then I really did get scared.
I had just time enough to take off my clothes and put on my jammies and my slippers, and put my clothes away neatly. Just as I got back over to the bed and sat down on the edge, I started getting that fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach and there was a knock at the door. I knew who it was. It was Dad.
"C-come in," I gasped out, and the butterflies in my tummy were flying around more than ever.
The door opened and in came not only Dad but Mom right behind him. They both looked very stern and severe, and my hopes fell. If I had expected a last minute reprieve, I guess I was just like the condemned man in a death cell on the morning set for execution where the warden comes in and tells him that he is sorry but the governor just turned down the appeal.
Wondering what a spanking was going to be like had made it such a big issue that I was really scared now. In fact, before I knew it I was stammering out, "Gee, Mom, honest, I didn't mean to be sassy with you."
"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that, Alma," she told me. "Your father is going to give you your spanking. I advise you to do just what he tells you to."
I stood up and waited. Dad sat down on the edge of the bed and then said to me, "All right, Alma, just lie down over my lap and stretch yourself out on the bed. Your mother will hold your hands so you can't use them to cover up."
She sat down beyond him and at his left, and everything was ready. I started to sniffle just a little, and then finally I awkwardly got over his lap and wriggled forward. Mom got hold of my wrists right away and held them very tightly, and then I could feel Dad put his left arm around my waist. I wore two-piece pajamas, naturally, and I'd buttoned the jammy bottoms and made a knot in the drawstring. Just the same, when I found myself lying flat over his lap, I also felt that my jammies were skin-tight, and naturally the biggest part of me was upturned there and I certainly wasn't going to be able to cover up, seeing that Mom had really taken a grip on my wrists tightly.
"You're going to have to learn, Alma," Dad started out, clearing his throat, "that you're much too old to be impertinent and rude to either your mother or to me. I know we've never punished you until now, but lately your mother tells me you've been getting somewhat out of hand. If you are left to continue this irresponsible attitude of yours, it will lead you into a great deal of trouble, not only here at home, but also at school. So in a way, this spanking I'm going to give you will have corrective effect for the future. At least I hope it will. Because the next time, Alma, I can assure you it's going to be much worse. Now then, are you ready?"
As he said that, he put his other hand on my bottom, and I suppose that was to tell me where I was going to get it. I gave a little squirm and a gasp and I closed my eyes real tight and then I gasped out.
"Y-yes, sir. I'm sorry. Honest I am, Dad."
"So am I, Alma," was all he said.
Then I felt his hand leave my butt and all of a sudden it came down real hard on the right cheek with a loud smack! I really didn't expect it to be like that, and it took me by surprise. I let out a loud yell and I kicked up my legs. I turned my face around to look at him. His left arm tightened even more around my waist and he seemed to sort of pull me closer to him. I could feel my mother's fingers digging into my wrists and there wasn't any chance of pulling away and covering up. No sir, no way.
I closed my eyes and pretended that the mysterious man with the black patch had taken me prisoner. He was going to do terrible things to me. Mr. X pushed me into a secret chamber and then he opened the door and I saw the faces of other people. They were all waiting to be tortured by Mr. X. I was dressed in a cute little suit and he was pulling on my hair. He threw me into the room and then he started to spank me.
I was stripped and beaten. His hand came down hard on my ass, and it made me scream out.
I opened my eyes and saw that my mother and father were looking at me. I knew that I was in for it. Dad was going to spank me some more.
Dad wasn't in any hurry, even if I was, to get it over with. The third spank came down after what seemed like a whole minute, on the lower right cheek of my butt, and it almost took my breath away. Once again I kicked up both legs and wriggled a little because I had the feeling I was slipping off his lap and the bed, too. The feel of his left arm around my waist sort of reassured me, because he pulled me right straight back and at the same time gave me the fourth spank on the left cheek, almost where my bottom joins my leg. It really hurt, and I let out a squeal.
I looked up and my eyes were sort of misty by then, and I could see Mom's face staring at me very intently, but she was frowning. I heaved aside and closed my eyes and got myself ready just about the time Dad landed two in a row on the right cheek of my butt.
I squealed again and I kicked up one leg, then the other. Then I crossed my ankles and squirmed a little because I was feeling a little uncomfortable by now. There was a dull, burning, throbbing ache in my ass, and if this was what a spanking was like, I wasn't so sure I wanted it.
I will admit, looking back now, Mr. Harding, that I'd sort of been curious about what it would be like and maybe that was one of the reasons I'd been a little sassy to Mom. But if I'd been asked just about then, I think I'd have decided that once was more than plenty. Except that nobody was asking me.
Now Dad stopped a little, tucked me in some more, and then went on with the spanking. Only this time, he started smacking my ass very fast, not with such hard stingers he had started with, but all over both the cheeks, as if he wanted to cover every inch of skin I had with hot red color.
Once again, I couldn't keep my legs still. I kicked up first one, then the other, then I crossed and uncrossed them and I finally looked back over my shoulder and squealed.
"Oh please, Dad, I'll be good. I'm sorry. Ow, that hurts! Please don't spank me anymore, Dad. I'll be a good girl, I mean it."
At about this point, he stopped, and he was sort of breathing hard and his face was flushed and he still had that severe look on his face which scared me so.
His left arm pulled me back to him again, and then he said in a cross voice, "I told you it's too late to beg off, Alma. I only hope that you are really sorry and that you are making resolutions never to talk that way to your mother again. I haven't finished with you by any means, young lady."
"Oh gosh!" I groaned.
I bent my head down to the sheets, gritted my teeth, tried to stiffen myself and tighten up all my muscles so I could be ready for the next installment of the spanking. My ass was really stinging me now and I guess again, looking back to those years of my childhood, Dad was pretty good for an amateur. He had already warmed up my seat so that anymore spanks would really make themselves felt.
My pajama trousers weren't any help at all. First of all, they were so tight that they seemed to make the smacking sting even more, if you know what I mean.
Then all of a sudden, his hands started coming down again on my smarting ass, and this time it seemed a little harder and not quite so fast. I could feel everyone distinctly and I let out a squeal just about each time. My bottom started to bounce and jiggle around, and I twisted my hips this way and that, just as if I was trying to escape from being a constant target of Dad's hard hand.
"Ow, please! I'll be good, I'll be good. Ouch! Not anymore!"
I couldn't keep my legs or my hips still. I kept squirming from side to side, kicking up first one leg and then the other, sometimes both at the same time and once one of my heels got in the way of Dad's spanks and I heard him mutter something under his breath. Then suddenly he was shifting me and I thought I was going to fall off the bed and I called out, "Oh please, don't! What are you going to do now? Let me up, it hurts!"
What he had done was to shift me so that my feet were flatly down on the floor while Mom was still holding onto my wrists. Then, pinning my waist down between his left knee and right, he had his right ankle trapped over my calves so that I couldn't struggle away or get loose. It was an awful, awkward position, and he was muttering under his breath all the time he shifted me. But my bottom was burning so I couldn't have cared less, except to hope that this wouldn't go on much longer.
Now his hand seemed to hurt harder than ever. Maybe it was because it was at a more glancing angle and, in order to get more force behind his spanks, he had to land his hand harder on my poor bummy.
Whatever it was, I started to yell for dear life and I twisted my face back and begged him to stop, promising him all sorts of things, apologizing for being sassy to Mom and everything else I could think of.
My whole body seemed to jerk every time his big hand fell on my ass. Then all of a sudden, he stopped, and took hold of my elbows as Mom let go of my wrists, and stood me up so that he was staring right at me.
My legs were giving way beneath me, and my bottom felt like a red-hot furnace. Tears were running down, my cheek and my lips were quivering and I could hardly see him through my tears.
"I hope the next time, young lady, you'll think twice before you open your mouth to your mother," he let me have it. "And if there happens to be a next time, and there better not be as far as you're concerned, Alma, it's going to be on the bare, do you understand that?"
"Why yes, sir, oh, I won't ever, not ever," I blubbered.
"All right then. You go right to sleep and don't let me hear another peep out of you, Alma," he said.
He let go of me then, got up and beckoned to Mom. This time she gave me a sort of apologetic glance, as if to say she was sorry she had to hold me down to it.
Then the door closed and I was left alone to my blazing bottom and my tears.
I very gingerly got onto the bed on my tummy, and I lay there face down for a long time. I just cried. My hands started rubbing my flaming seat, trying to soothe it, to drive away the hot pain that was going all through me. I didn't think I was going to be able to sit down comfortably for at least a week.
Then something happened. Something that neither Dad or Mom or I had encountered.
I started to squirm a little, back and forth while my hands kept rubbing my ass. All of a sudden I began to feel the most delicious feeling between my legs. It was right in my spot, and of course up until then I hadn't even thought possibly of playing with myself or anything like that. But this time, the heat of the spanking had made me hot in front, and that was why I was rubbing myself to sort of ease it off just as my hands were trying to drive away the fire in my hind end.
I was still sniffing and the tears were still running down my cheeks, but then I stopped. It was such a curious, funny feeling and it tickled and made me warm and glowing inside. The more I rubbed, the more excited I got, of course. I was just discovering what frigging was, naturally, only at that age I didn't know about it.
My fingers patted and squeezed and parted my bottom all the time, and I kept wiggling myself against the bed and then pretty soon I let out a gasp and I felt as if I was going to faint. I shivered and shook as if I had a fever, and I felt so good and there was such a nice, moist, glowing feeling inside of me.
So that's how I discovered for the first time in my young life that a good spanking could warm up not only my ass but my pussy, Mr. Harding. I bet if Dad and Mom had known what was going to happen after they left the room, they might have changed their minds about the kind of punishment they used for my being sassy. Because, as I'm soon going to tell you, that wasn't the only spanking I ever got, although it was the first spanking of my life. And, as you'll see, true to his word, Dad gave it to me on the bare the very next time.
CHAPTER TWO
That first spanking had come in June, and the second one came the middle of August that same year. We didn't go anywhere that particular summer, not on vacation or a trip like that, because Dad wanted to stay home in case he was needed by the company. They were starting production on a new tractor, and he was a whiz bang on machinery like that, and they asked him if he would mind just being around home for his two weeks, and maybe they would make it up to him and give him an extra week in fall or winter.
So just about all I could do was go out and play, and mostly it was with a couple of my grilfriends. There was Sally Brandish, and she was fourteen, and had yellow hair and a big blue ribbon bow and she was sort of sticky-sweet, but nice to play with. And there was Madge Dennis, and she was my age except maybe a month older, and she had auburn hair in pigtails and she was sort of lean and bony, but she had a lot of energy and was a lot of fun.
Sally and Madge were already starting to smooch with boys. Oh, I don't mean going the limit or anything like that. I mean going to movies or maybe holding hands and maybe puppy love kisses, that sort of thing. So naturally, being girls, they bragged a lot about their fellows and the fun they had with them. Me, knowing what it had cost my poor bottom just to talk to Danny Morland, I had to stand there and take it all in and look as if it didn't matter at all. As for Danny, he never did find out what I suffered on his behalf, but I guess he couldn't have cared less. I saw him in July with a tall slinky brown-haired girl who had a sneer on her face as if she didn't think anybody was anything except herself. I found out later her name was Cissie MacDonald, she was sixteen and happened to be Danny's cousin. I wasn't quite so jealous when I found that out, but then just before school started, Madge had to go and tell me that Cissie lived back east and had been staying with Danny and his parents during the summer and had actually made out, gone the limit, with him, so maybe if I had sneaked around with Danny Morland that summer, I might actually have learned what fucking was all about long before I actually did. And maybe, considering the way things have turned out, it's just as well that I waited as long as I did to find my real master and lover. But I'm getting ahead of myself, Mr. Harding.
Naturally, in some of our gabfest sessions, I brought up the subject of spanking. Madge had gotten a couple from her mother, with the hand over her panties. Sally had got the strap and the hairbrush from her dad, and she boasted proudly that that was because she had got the reputation of being a flirt with the boys and her parents were mad at her. Just the same, she said defiantly, she was going to go on seeing her boyfriends as much as she wanted, even if it did cost her behind a spanking every so often.
Anyway, what caused me to get my second spanking wasn't my fault at all. It was a Friday afternoon and I was out playing with Sally and Madge, and Sally's parents were out of town for the weekend. They had left her in charge of an old aunt who was sort of deaf and almost blind, so naturally, Sally was having a high old time and trying not to get into too much trouble so that the aunt wouldn't have anything to report to her folks when they got back home Sunday night. Anyway, she was full of mischief this particular Friday. She said she wanted me to meet somebody, and when I asked who it was, she just giggled and said that I would see. Then she invited Madge and me to go back to her house and into the summer house in the yard. And there was a fellow waiting, a real good-looking fellow too, handsomer than Danny Morland. She introduced him as Tommy Evans, and he had slicked-down black hair, was sort of tall, with a nice grin and big blue eyes and freckles. He was fifteen and a half, and he was Sally's new boyfriend.
She said to him, "Tommy, this is my best girl friend, Alma Rose. She hasn't got a boyfriend, so she's jealous. Why don't you make the poor girl happy and give her a great big kiss?"
"Now wait a minute!" I said peevishly, "I don't think that's very nice, and you're insulting Madge when you say I'm your best friend because she's just as good as I am to you, and you know it."
"Oh, that was only talk," Sally giggled. She put her hands on Madge's shoulders and pinched her on the cheek. "Madgie knows I love her a lot too. Go ahead, Tommy! Isn't Alma sexy for only thirteen?"
"Practically fourteen," I said as icily as I could.
"You sure are, Alma baby." Tommy seemed to be a real swinger, from the way he talked. And then all of a sudden he pulled me to him and put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a good hard hot kiss right on the mouth in front of everybody.
I pulled away and then I slapped him. My face was flaming red. "You didn't have any right to go and do that, Tommy Evans," I told him and I was really mad. "You save that for Sally. I think I'm going back home now."
"Oh gosh, who's that old bag?" Tommy wanted to know, pointing out towards the sidewalk.
Wouldn't you know it! There was Mrs. Casperson, our across-the-street neighbor. She was another terrible old gossip if ever there was one, and she was standing there gawking at us all. I knew she must have seen Tommy kiss me. And if she ever told Mom, I would be in for it but good.
"That," I said to him in a low voice, "happens to be the worst gossip in the whole neighborhood. So now I have to get back home fast before she gets in her dirty work. Thanks for nothing!"
I didn't even say goodbye to Sally and Madge, I was so scared. I walked out to the sidewalk and just kept walking real fast. I went the other way, turned down to the next block and then began to run till I got home.
Mom was in the kitchen, getting ready for Dad's supper. It was going to be a lamb stew, with lots of carrots, potatoes and onions, just the way Dad liked it. It smelled awful good, but I lost all my appetite when Mom lit into me the minute I came into the kitchen: "That lesson that you got, Alma, didn't seem to work. I just heard from Mrs. Casperson. Now you're kissing boys, are you, young lady? This time your father is really going to be put out!"
"But Mom," I wailed, "I got home fast just so I could tell you. It wasn't my fault at all. Sally invited me over to her place, and there was this boy, and Sally told him to go ahead and kiss me, and I couldn't stop him and there was snoopy old Mrs. Casperson taking it all in."
"It's a very quick and convenient explanation, but I'm afraid I can't take your word for it, Alma," my mother said to me. My heart sank to my boots. I knew what was going to happen. Yours truly was going to get her heinie really smacked, and this time without any panties to protect it.
"But it's the truth, I swear it is, Mom!" I wailed. I was really getting scared now. I remembered that Dad had told me it would be on the bar the next time, and I thought that I would just die of shame if that would happen to me. I was getting to be a big girl, and the idea of having my panties pulled down and have my own father look at my bare tail didn't set well with me at all.
"Well just let your father decide when he comes home, Alma," was all she said. "You can be sure he won't like it very much. He had to go back to the plant today, on his vacation too. And to come back home and find that a girl who isn't fourteen yet is actually kissing and necking with boys-"
"That's a lie, Mom!" I blazed out, and I stamped my foot. "That nasty old Mrs. C as person always sees the worst in people. All she saw was when Tommy Evans kissed me, but she didn't see that I pushed him away and she didn't hear when I told him off. And I'm mad at Sally for getting him to do a stunt like that. I sure didn't think you'd take her word against mine, your own daughter, Mom!"
For that little wisecrack, I got myself a stinging slap across the face, and I started to blubber. That was the first time Mom had ever hit me. I stood there nursing my cheek and I stared at her through my tear-filled eyes, and I just couldn't believe that she had treated me that way.
"Now I've got something else to tell your father, young lady," she flashed. "You just go to your room. I'll bring you your supper tonight, and then you can just get yourself ready for a good sound spanking from your father. And don't say another word, because you're only going to make things worse. The very idea, talking to me like that, when you're hardly even a teenager!"
It didn't do any good to argue, I could see. All I could hope that Dad would be in a reasonable frame of mind and listen to my sad story when he got home tonight. Otherwise, I was in for a bare-bottom spanking, and just the thought of it made me turn red with shame and wish I could vanish right into thin air.
I thought about my handsome Mr. X while I waited for my father. I pretended that I was in a castle and that he was going to have me beaten. I was taken into a room and undressed, so that I only had a bra, panties, and stockings on.
Mr. X had a slave he called Tiger. Tiger liked to beat and be beaten. X gave him the duty of whipping me. Tiger was a short black-haired burly man who knew how to use the whip. He lashed me with it, cutting into my body. I was enjoying the sting of the whip.
I thought about this adventure for several minutes and then gradually I started thinking about other things.
I stayed in my room as I was told, and I felt worse by the minute. Nor did it help much when Mom knocked on the door and then walked right in with a tray of supper for me. It was lamb stew, all right, and there was a big glass of milk and some rice pudding. If I hadn't felt so miserable, I might have wisecracked something to the effect that the condemned prisoner ate a hearty last meal. But judging from the look on Mom's face, that would have only got me into worse trouble than I already was in, so I kept my flytrap wisely shut.
I have to say that the food was so good that I ate it all, and while I was eating it, I tried hard to think what was going to happen to me. It had been bad enough getting the first spanking, and I felt like a child. Then all of a sudden I turned red as I remembered what had happened after that. How I had rubbed myself back and forth until my pussy got so hot it made me get wet there between the legs and practically black out.
I guessed it would be about the same time as the other time, around nine-thirty, so about eight, I went into the bathroom and took a shower, and then I got into my jammies. I tied them real tight, at the bottoms too, and then I gulped as I remembered that Dad had promised me one on the bare heinie, the next time, which was right now.
All I could hope was that when he saw how tight I had put my jammy pants on, he might figure they weren't any protection the way they were before, and let it go at that. But I was to find out that he didn't think that way at all.
I sat down at the edge of the bed, because I couldn't read or do anything. I couldn't even listen to my little radio. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was him marching in with that stern look of his and then sitting down at the edge of the bed and my going over his lap. I started to squirm a little, and my bottom felt especially tender. Of course that was all in the mind, naturally, but at that young state of my life I didn't know all that I know now, naturally.
In a way, it was an awful lot like waiting for the warden to come to your cell and tell you that it was time, just sitting there on the edge of the bed in my jammies and waiting for Dad to come in and spank me. I was shivering a little bit, and it wasn't because I was cold, either. I was wondering what it was going to be like this time in case he did pull my jammy pants down and give it to me on the bare. All of a sudden I was wishing he could come right in and get it over with so I wouldn't have to think about it any more.
And then all of a sudden, there was a knock on the door, and then it opened and both he and Mom came in, just like the other time. Once again he looked awfully stern, and so did Mom.
"Are you ready, Alma?" he asked me in a low voice.
"Y-yes, s-sir," I could hardly hear my own voice, it was trembling and scared. "I-I didn't really mean to be naughty, Dad, honest I didn't. Please-please won't you let me off just this one time?"
"You talked back to your mother, Alma, and I simply won't tolerate that," Dad said.
"But honest, Dad, I didn't kiss any boys, it was Sally who made her friend Tommy do it to me on a dare, and that's the truth. I don't think I deserve a spanking for that, I don't!"
"Now if you had tcld your mother and me what had happened exactly this way and without flaring up at her, young lady," he said to me, "maybe I would have seen your side of it and let you off, maybe with just a scolding not to get yourself involved with boys. But I'm afraid I can't give you any consideration on that account now, not after what you did say to your mother. I'm going to have to spank you, and I always keep my promise, Alma."
I sniffled, bent my head and stood up, sort of squeezing my hands into fists. All of a sudden I felt that my throat was awfully dry, and I started to feel a little trembling along my legs. Because I remembered that he had promised it to me this next time on the bare bummy and this was the next time.
I was hoping he would forget it, because it was bad enough to have to take a spanking for something I really hadn't done, without being so ashamed and letting him see my bare seat. But any hope I had that he had forgotten was wiped out when I heard him say, "Louise, you'd better do it. You know what I mean. It's a little embarrassing, but you know that's what I told her she'd get."
"Of course, Mark," my mother said to him. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and Mom said to me, "Now you go lie down over his lap and stretch out and hold onto the bedrail, Alma, and I'll get you ready for your spanking."
My eyes clouded up with tears, I felt so ashamed and also scared. But there wasn't any way out of it. I slowly crawled onto the bed and stretched myself out over his lap and reached out with both hands to grab onto the wooden bedrail. And then Mom bent over me and I felt her fingers slip round me in front and untie the knot I had made in the drawstring of my jammy pants. I looked back and I called out, "Oh please don't take them off, Mom, please don't. I-I'll be brave, but only don't let him do it on the bare!"
"I'm sorry, Alma, that was what your father said you were going to get the next time he had to spank you. Now raise yourself just a little so I can pull them down," she ordered.
I was starting to cry already, but I knew I couldn't disobey now. So I lifted myself up, and she untied the knot and tugged my pants down to about my knees, and then rolled and twisted them so that they would stay down and leave my bottom bare for Dad to spank. Then she sat down and I felt her grab hold of my ankles so that I couldn't kick. Then I felt Dad's arm go around my bare waist, and I felt nervous and ashamed. My own father was looking at my bare heinie. With all my might, I kept my legs closed so he couldn't see anything, and I tightened all of my muscles and I gritted my teeth and pressed my face down against the covers.
He didn't lecture me or any this time. He started right in. His big hard hand came down on the very center of my right cheek and it stung like everything. I jerked a little and then his hand was coming down on the other cheek, and I squealed then I took a tighter hold of the bedrail because otherwise I knew I was going to run my hands back and try to cover up my poor sore seat and that would only mean more spanks.
He was spanking slowly this time, and lots harder than he had the first time. I knew, I could feel it. And I was crying, too, after about the sixth or seventh swat. Mother's fingers were digging into my ankles, that I tried to swerve my hips a little so he wouldn't land so hard on my poor stinging backside. It didn't do any good, any more than it had done the time before. He pounded harder every time,' and pretty soon I was crying and asking him to stop and promising I wouldn't even be disrespectful to Mom again.
I tried to count this time, and I think there were about thirty or thirty-five spanks. But they sure felt worse than my first spanking ever had. And once I did dash one of my hands back to cover up my bottom, and he just grabbed and bent it back and went on spanking, giving me an extra-hard swat for trying it.
But the funny thing was that when he finally stopped, with his hand pressing against my stinging, hot bare seat, I felt the same funny, sexy tickling in my spot between my legs that I had after my first spanking. Only this time, it was lots more intense, because I was naked, and my spot was pressing right over his leg. It was the first time any man had ever seen my bummy naked, or felt my spot like that, even if he was my own father. I think that's what really got me sexed up the most.
When it was all over, Mom told me to lift up a little and this time she pulled my pants back on and tied them for me. Then she said I could get off, and then he said to me that he was sorry he had had to spank so hard and he hoped he would never have to do it again. His face was a little red, and he looked uneasy. He took Mom's hand and the two of them walked out of my bedroom, and then she looked back over her shoulder and called, "Good night, dear, sleep well."
I heard them go downstairs, and then the bedroom door closed and I knew that they had gone to bed in Dad's room. Of course, I knew a little something about what men and women did, I wasn't exactly a baby. I knew that a man had to do something to a woman to get her belly all big with a kid, but somehow I just didn't think of Dad and Mom that way. Of course I didn't know the naughty words then, because when Sally just hinted at what she would love to do with her boyfriend Tommy, she said something like "playing house." But of course she meant "fucking."
Anyway, I turned the lights off and went to bed and lay on my tummy because my bottom hurt so much I didn't dare to lie on my back. And once; again, sure enough, that tickling feeling was starting up again between my legs. This time I took hold of the head rail of my bed, and I pressed my face down against the covers, and then I started rubbing myself very slowly back and forth. Sure enough, in no time at all I felt waves of hot tingling squirminess grow more and more intense between my legs, and I could actually feel that my spot was getting just a little wet. Of course I know now that was what they call the prelubrication. And it meant that I was sexy even at that young age.
Then suddenly I tilted back my head and closed my eyes real hard, and pressed myself down with all my might. Something seemed to go off inside of me, and a warm sweet happy feeling came all over. I had had a come, I know now. And the pain in my bottom, which was a lot more than the first time, had a lot to do with my getting so sexy and worked up.
Just the same, I couldn't sleep right away. I got up and put on my slippers, and then I thought maybe I would tiptoe downstairs and get a glass of milk or something. I didn't think that they'd mind. So I went down the stairs holding my breath and being as quiet as I could, and just as I was going down the hall to the kitchen, I heard something awfully funny.
It was coming from Dad's bedroom. There was the sound of slaps, and as I got closer and put my ear to the door, I could hear Mom gasping and maybe crying just a little: "Ooooh, oh, Mark, lover, that hurts-oohhaahh, love me now, oh my poor bottom, you've just about killed me, love me good sweetheart!"
"All right, Louise, you hot sweet little piece," I heard Dad say in a sick voice I could hardly make out. And then there was some sort of scuffling, and I heard Mom let out a little squeal and then she gasped out loud, "Aahhh, ohh, it's so big, it's so good inside of me, oh Mark, give it to me good now, I need it so!"
I went on to the kitchen and got my glass of milk. When I walked back on tiptoe to the stairs and on up to my room, and I heard more noises. Once again I couldn't help putting my ear to the door. Both of them seemed to be moaning and groaning and gasping now, and I could hear the bed creaking. I waited a minute, and then I suddenly heard Mom call out, "Aahhh, oh my darling I'm going to come, oh harder, put it into me as fast as you can, oh my sweet lover, give it to me, aahhh, oh now, now, yes, yes, now!!"
And then Dad gave a loud groan and I heard the bed creak real loud, and then they both seemed to sigh a little, and I heard the sound of soft kisses, and murmuring words I couldn't make out at all. So I hurried on up to my bedroom and closed the door and went to sleep.
I had a dream that night. I dreamed that Dad had Mom over his lap and I was holding her hands, and she was in her nightie and it was pulled up above her hips, and he was spanking her hard and she was asking me to please have Dad stop and that she would do just anything if he only would.
Dad's prick had touched my brains.
It tickled me between the legs, that dream, because when I woke up the next morning, my spot was wet and so were the sheets. And it was a very good thing that Mom didn't notice it at all, or maybe I would have really got a tanning.
So that's how I got on the track that led me to what I am now, Mr. Harding. But there were a lot more experiences I was to have before I finally found out that I couldn't be happy till I found a master, a real man who would turn me over his lap and pull my panties down and spank my big bare bottom until I begged him to stop and promised that I would do just anything he ordered to, no matter what.
I managed to keep out of mischief pretty much all the next year, and then when I was fifteen, I got into high school. Sally Brandish and Madge Dennis went on with me, and we were still pretty good friends. Sally, of course, was already one year ahead of us, because she was sixteen, but Madge was just about my age. She had filled out a little since the past year, and she wasn't so lean any more. The boys were starting to notice her a lot too. And she didn't wear pigtails, but fluffed up her auburn hair and made it look real grownup. She started to get titties too, filling out until they were almost as big as mine though not quite. And she had long slinky legs, and she was starting to wear short skirts that showed them off pretty well. Of course, Dad and Mom put their foot down and wouldn't let me wear skirts very much above the knee. And of course, I couldn't use makeup, either.
Dad was doing fine on his job with the machinery company. Only he was starting to travel quite a lot, and there was some talk that he might get to be made a vice-president or something. Mom was awfully proud of him, and he was working so hard that he didn't come home all the time. Of course, all she had to do was warn me that if I misbehaved, he'd attend to me when I got home, and that was quite enough.
Now even though I hadn't got spanked for almost two years, I hadn't forgotten about the nice hot feeling I got when I rubbed myself after a spanking. I had begun to put my finger between my legs sometimes when I went to bed at night, and I would close my eyes, and sometimes I would pretend I was out with a nice boy who was hugging and kissing me, and once in a while I would even pretend I was being spanked again. Somehow, that dream always made me get sexier than anything else. Maybe already, although I didn't know it, what I was going to turn out to be was already being decided inside of me, Mr. Harding.
Sally's parents had gotten divorced, and he had gone West and married another girl, and Sally's mom was sort of sweet on another fellow. Sally told me she didn't like him one little bit. He was just a little younger than her mother, and whenever he came to visit, he would always pat her on the bottom or put his hand on her arm and make some silly wisecrack about what a big beautiful girl she was growing up to be, just like her mother. She thought he was awfully fresh.
The old aunt had died, so Sally just had her mom to look after her. And I guess maybe, seeing that her mom was sweet on this fellow and was going to marry him, she didn't quite look after Sally as closely as she should have. Because that's how Sally started getting into trouble.
Her boyfriend Tommy Evans was almost eighteen now, and he was seeing Sally a lot. I hadn't forgotten how his kissing me on Sally's dare had cost me my first and only bare spanking. I had to admit that he was awfully good-looking. Danny Morland and his folks had moved to the West Side, near Oak Park, so I didn't ever see him again. But I couldn't help seeing Tommy Evans, because he would wait for Sally after school and walk her home hand in hand. Sometimes he would carry her books, and he was always whispering to her and she was giggling and blushing.
And as it turned out, the two of them got me my third spanking, a real awful one, and with the hairbrush after Dad's hand. Here's how it all happened. It was in April, and Sally's mother was going out of town for the weekend to visit her dead sister's folks. It was Thursday, and she was going to leave on Friday and get back home Sunday. So in last class, Sally made a sign to me that she wanted to talk to me after school. When we got out in the yard, she whispered, "Mom's going out of town, and I'm going to go over to Tommy's house Friday night. His folks are going to be out of town too. Now just in case anything happens, like if maybe Mom changes her mind or anything and comes home early, and doesn't find me home, I want you to say that you and I went to a show together and then we had a soda at Kranz's. Will you do that for me?"
"Sure," I said. "But that sounds awfully risky, Sally. What do you mean you're going to his house?"
And then she whispered, "Silly, he and I are going to make out. My gosh, are you dumb for your age, Alma! He knows what it's all about, don't you worry, he'll use a safe. I'm just dying to find out what it's like. When he French kisses me, I just about faint, I get goosepimply all over. So please be a darling and cover up for me, huh?"
"Well, all right, but I sure hope you know what you're doing," .I told her.
And wouldn't you know it, with my usual luck, who should call our house about ten o'clock Saturday night but Sally's mother. Mom answered the phone and talked for a little while, and then she got up and called me and said, "Sally's mother wants to talk to you, Alma." And she gave me the funniest look.
I waited until she had gone back to the living room, and then I snuck out to the phone in the hallway and I picked it up and I talked real low so Mom wouldn't hear me. I told Sally's mother that the two of us had gone to a show, and then Sally had wanted to go to Kranz's for a soda and maybe she met some of the gang there and that's why she wasn't back yet. She sounded worried, and she sounded as if she didn't quite swallow my yarn. Anyway, she thanked me and said goodnight.
"What did she want, dear?" Mom called to me as I marched into the living room to ask if it was all right if I went to bed.
"Oh, nothing really, she just wanted to know if I'd seen Sally, that's all."
"I see. Well, goodnight dear. It might be a good idea to go to bed early at that, because your father's coming home tomorrow noon, and we will want to have a nice big dinner for him early in the evening and you'll be a good girl and help me in the kitchen, won't you?" Mom said.
So I went upstairs to bed, and then the next morning while I was still sleeping, I guess Sally's mother must have called Mom. Anyway, when I finally got downstairs at nine o'clock, Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen, and I didn't like the look on her face at all. She had her hands on her hips and her eyes were full of fire and her lips were tight. "Young lady, I want the truth from you right now," she snapped. "What did you tell Sally's mother last night?"
"Why," I tried to rack my brains and think up a quick story, "I just told her that I figured Sally must have gone to a show or something, or out with some of the gang, you know, like Madge Dennis and Ruth Parsons."
"You are a little liar, young lady!" Mom said in a very angry voice. "You told her that you and Sally had gone to a show and then Sally had wanted to go to the soda shop. Well I'll tell you what's happened, and I hope you're proud of your lie. Sally and her boyfriend were over at his house, and they did things they shouldn't have done. And then this boy, this Tommy Evans was trying to drive Sally home, and I guess he had something to drink that he shouldn't have, and he banged into a car. Sally is in the hospital with a broken leg, and he has a concussion. Fortunately, they'll both be all right. But Sally's mother was almost sick with worry, and then to find out that my own daughter told her a terrible lie like that. And I want to know why you did it!"
"Oh gosh," I groaned. "It's a secret, it's sort of like scout's honor, and I can't."
"I think I know why you did it. Sally asked you to cover up for her, because she didn't think her mother was coming back home so soon. And it's just the grace of God that her mother did come home and knew what to do about the poor girl and was able to send her to a hospital and pay for it and look after her. But because of your lie, that boy and that girl disgraced themselves and they made a scandal.
And just for that, when your father gets home, I'm going to ask him to give you a really good spanking. Now come and eat your breakfast and then clean up after yourself, and then go back to your room and I don't want to talk to you all day until Dad comes home."
So there I was, grown up and in high school and I was facing what I miserably knew in my heart was going to be a perfectly awful spanking. I didn't even have to ask Mom if it was going to be on the bare. It would be, and it would be awfully hard. But even I couldn't guess how hard it was going to be, or what it was going to do to me.
CHAPTER THREE
I felt just awful to know that Sally was hurt and that she'd got into trouble. I knew I'd told a terrible fib, but I'd done it for her sake, even though I'd warned her that she oughtn't to take such chances. I was in my room and I was fidgeting around, listening to my little radio, and wishing things were different, and it got to be five o'clock. From my window, I could see the street and Daddy hadn't come home yet. Just then there was a knock on the door and Mom marched in and she looked madder than ever.
"I've just had a long-distance call from your father, Alma," she said. "He's been delayed and he won't be back until tomorrow night. So, rather than wait for him and bother him because he's got lots on his mind with his new responsibilities, I'm going to give you your spanking right now, young lady."
I gulped and looked up, from where I sat in my chair by the desk where I had my typewriter to do my school themes, and I say she was holding that awful hairbrush Dad had used on my bare heinie that last time. "Oh please, Mom, not the hairbrush," I begged. "Please don't, I didn't mean to do wrong!"
"That's a very convenient answer, Alma, and it's not going to get you out of trouble, either with me or the rest of your life" she told me. "Now I want you to get your dress and slip off, and then I'm going to spank you first with my hand and then give you the hairbrush. That was a dreadful thing you did, and suppose Sally and that awful boy had got themselves into even worse trouble, or maybe got killed. How would you feel then?"
"I-I wouldn't ever want a thing like that to happen," I groaned miserably. I knew there wasn't any way I was going to get out of this at all. And I figured that the best thing to do was obey her because otherwise when Dad did come home, I might get an extra ration.
So I took off my dress and slip and hung them over the foot of the bed. I was wearing a pink cotton bra and matching panties, but I didn't wear long stockings, I still wore bobby socks, yellow ones just around my ankles. And I had on my loafers. I shivered a little because I was down to such a skimpy outfit and she was holding that awful hairbrush and I started to think what it was going to be like on my bare butt.
She pulled out the chair that I had at my desk towards the center of the room. It was a straight-backed chair and she sat down in it. "Get over my lap this minute, young lady!" she ordered. I did so and then she reached down and handed me the hairbrush. "Now you just hold on to that and don't drop it. And don't try to put your hands back and cover up, or I'll give you an extra dose, do you understand?"
"Yes, Mom," I groaned. I bowed my head down and I waited. The flesh on my bare legs started to twitch as I got ready to have my panties pulled down, but strangely enough, she didn't do it. Instead, she took hold of the waistband and tugged them up til they were skin tight and until they pressed uncomfortably into my front and the place between the cheeks of my heinie. I gasped a little, squirmed nervously, and got myself ready. I dug the toes of my loafers down against the rug and balanced myself, and all my muscles were tight and waiting.
Then her left arm fitted around my waist and she pulled me over a little closer to her, and then all of a sudden she raised her right hand and brought it down real hard on the center of my right butt cheek. It stung just about as bad as Dad's hand, so I knew I was in for a painful session. I wanted to be brave, I knew I had it coming, but all the time I was holding onto the handle of that awful hairbrush and that was telling me that no matter how much handspanking I got, I was going to get a dose from the brush on top of it and probably on the bare.
I was right She really spanked hard, Mom did. She made me cry after about twenty, and I was crossing my legs and twisting and shifting myself all the time, because the heat in my behind was really getting uncomfortable. She stopped about midway through, gave me a scolding about how I shouldn't tell lies, even to protect friends, and then she went on. I tried to count, to take my mind off the pain, and I got to about forty-two. By then I was crying so hard and begging her please to stop and to wait a minute that I sort of lost count. It was all I could do to keep holding that hairbrush, because I remembered that she had warned me that I would get extras if I let go of it.
She let me cry for a few minutes, and then she said to me, "Now then, young lady, hand me up the hairbrush."
"Oh please, Mom, please wait a little, please, I'm burning up!" I groaned.
"You heard me! Hand it up!" she snapped, and she gave me a good hard crack with her hand right down both cheeks, pinching them together, and it hurt, and I squealed and I handed up the hairbrush in a hurry, I can tell you.
I felt her lay it down on the middle of my back, and then suddenly her fingers thrust under the waistband of my little panties and started rolling them down slow and easy. At her order, I had to raise myself up a little, and then slowly slip my pink panties down then she slipped them down to my knees. Then she picked up the hairbrush, tucked me in again with her left arm, and patted my stinging bare bottom with the back of the brush very lightly and said, "Get ready, Alma!"
The funny thing about this spanking was that so far I hadn't had a single funny feeling, not like I had had those two times when Dad had done it to me. All I could feel was the heat and throbbing pain, and a lot more to come. I clasped my hands together, and I bowed my head down as far as I could and closed my eyes and got ready. I felt my right leg kick up from the floor and my loafer flew off and thudded against the wall and I had to yell out it hurt so: "Oww, oh please, not so hard, I'm so sore already, Mom, I'm sorry I did it, I won't ever lie again!"
"You had better not, young lady"-Smack!-"or you will get a good deal more than this"Crackkkk!-and don't think that this is all the punishment you're going to get for lying, young lady"-Thwack!-"because when your father does come home, I intend to tell him what you did"-Smackk!
I couldn't answer her. Those four hard stingers had been given on the lower part of my poor butt, and my hips were jerking up and from side to side and she had to pull me back closer to her again as I lay there sobbing and with my legs crossing and uncrossing. Now I grabbed hold of the bottom rung of the chair to steady myself and to try to distract myself from the burning heat in my poor heinie. It was just awful! I think it was even worse than when Dad had done it.
She kept the back of the hairbrush pressed against my bottom, and she scolded me a little more. Then she lifted it up and started spanking again. This time she was alternating the spanks first on the right cheek and then on the left, and starting at the top of my thighs and working up my squirming bottom to the tops of my hips and then back again. I was hoarse from yelling and crying and begging her to stop or at least to rest and wait a minute because I couldn't stand it any more.
At the end, I threw myself around so much that she slid her right leg out from under me and clamped it over my bare calves. She tightened her grip around my waist till I could feel my ribs squeezed, and then she finished my spanking with a quick hail of stinging loud whacks all over my jumping, bounding, swollen and burning heinie.
When she finished, she put the hairbrush on the small of my back and just held me and waited, while I cried it all out.
And again the funny thing was, though right then I wasn't thinking of it, of course, was that I didn't have that funny feeling between my legs, not any sign of that tickling, hot glow which I had with my first two spankings and which had made me play with myself and have pleasure.
Looking back now, I know that was because I had to be punished by a man to make it sexy. And it was probably just as well I didn't have that feeling with Mom, because she was really mad at me for the lie I had told about Sally and Tommy. She lectured me for a long time while I cried and twisted and wriggled over her lap, and then finally she let me get up. I started rubbing my butt as hard as I could with the tears running down my cheeks. She told me to get dressed, and then in about ten minutes to come down to supper.
When I did come, I hobbled a little, and I asked her if I could put a pillow on my chair. She said "Of course you may not, Alma! That's part of your punishment too! Now sit down and eat your supper and then get back up to your room. I don't want to look at you for the rest of the night."
When Dad came home the next day, he said at supper, "I'm going to see you in your room tonight, Alma. Your mother told me what happened, and in my opinion, she didn't punish you half enough."
My poor heinie still hurt from the spanking with the hairbrush so I started to cry right at the table and I begged him to let me off and that I wouldn't ever do anything like again. But it was funny, Mr. Harding, even when I was really crying and scared of getting another spanking on top of the one I'd just got, I could suddenly feel that funny tickling feeling between my legs, and I squirmed back and forth on my chair and it seemed to get hotter and more exciting.
"I don't want to hear another word about it, Alma. Now eat your supper and then get upstairs to your room," he told me.
So once again I had that awful feeling, in the pit of my tummy, sitting there and waiting for the time to pass and knowing that about nine or nine-thirty, Dad would come in and give me another spanking. I put on my jammies and got all ready, and I looked at my heinie in the mirror as I was putting them on. It was still very pink, and it felt awfully tender. Just the thought of getting another spanking made me cry all over again.
He came in at nine, and I was listening to the radio, and my heart just about sank down to my boots. I turned off the radio, then I stood up, and my legs were trembling like anything. He was all by himself this time. He walked over to the chair, pulled it out, and sat down, and then he grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me down over his lap. Next thing I knew, he was loosening my jammy pants and pulling them down to my calves.
"Oh please, Daddy, please not hard, it still hurts, it still hurts!" I pleaded. I was squirming and twisting about, and he growled, "You stay still, or I'll have your mother come in and hold you down, Alma! It's supposed to hurt, because maybe you'll remember. Telling a lie like that and letting those two stupid kids get into mischief like that. It's time your mother had a long talk with you about sex and things like that, I can see. I'm going to be traveling a lot from now on, and you're going to have to make up your mind to be a very good girl and mind your mother, even more than you have been. Now then, get ready!"
This time he did it just with his hand. And I counted, to keep my mind off the awful pain. He took my hands and told me to hold onto the bottom of the chair, and I would do it for a while until the spanking got so terrible I couldn't stand it anymore. I would beg him please to wait a little minute, just to hold up a little if he had to go on spanking so I could get ready for it, but he didn't listen. My bottom felt twice its size, and my voice was hoarse from crying.
But as I lay there panting and sobbing over his lap when he finally finished with me, that hot tickling started, as never before. I rubbed myself a little almost slyly so he wouldn't know what I was doing. I pressed my spot over his knee, and I sobbed and groaned, and the feeling started to get bigger and bigger, and I was scared that I might actually have a come right there and then he would guess what I was really feeling. Thank goodness I didn't.
Well, I did manage to behave myself the rest of that year, and when the next year rolled around when I was sixteen, Dad was home only about every third or fourth week and even Mom was getting a little peeved at all the traveling he had to do.
By then, she'd had her talk with me about the birds and the bees and the flowers, and she told it straight, and then she asked me if I'd ever done things, like you know, playing with myself. I fibbed and said no I hadn't, and she told me that a girl shouldn't cheapen herself but hold herself ready for marriage and that the right boy would come along when it was time.
I asked her if I could date, and she thought it over and then said that if I brought the boy home and she approved of him, she might let me go out to a movie or something like that. But if I did, I would have a curfew and I would have to abide by it, or I would get spanked and hard. I told her that was all right, and so we seemed to get along on that issue.
Only something else happened in high school, and once again it was Sally Brandish's doing. She'd got over the accident, and she told me later that after she was well, her parents gave her an awful spanking with the strap and the hairbrush too for going out with Tommy Evans. But she said she didn't mind, because she and Tommy had made out, which meant they had gone all the way, they had fucked. I know I was so curious I wanted to know all about it, and I asked her lots of questions. So she told me. And that's how I learned what fucking was like.
Tommy and his folks had moved out of town by now, and Sally had a new boyfriend by the name of Doug Coolidge. He was a real cool cat, almost eighteen, just about ready for college with very light, almost yellow hair in a crewcut and husky, and he was on the football team. There were a couple of boys in my homeroom class I was sort of interested in, and a couple of them had asked me for dates, but I wasn't so sure that it was a good idea to start trying out Mom's theory. What Sally had told me about making out had got me all interested, even though I knew it would be awfully dangerous to try anything like that. And then Sally came to me one day and said that she and some of the other girls were starting a secret sorority and would I like to join. I said sure I would, and she giggled and said, "Of course, you'd have to have guts enough to be 'nishiated, you know."
"What would they do?" I wanted to know.
"Lots of paddling, I can tell you that. And you'd have to go over your big sister's knees for a bare-bottomed spanking whenever she wanted you to. And there are other stunts we make the pledges do."
I wasn't so sure I wanted a spanking. I mean, the feeling I had got whenever Dad had spanked me was one thing, but going through the mill with a lot of silly girls and getting my butt swatted with a paddle and having to go over some girl's knee like a baby and be spanked didn't exactly appeal to me.
And she whispered, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but we would like you to join, see? What would you think if maybe after you got through with your 'nishiation, there was a nice sexy boy to cuddle with you and make you foBget how your heinie hurt?"
"You mean that?" I gasped out. "But we could all get expelled for a thing like that!"
"Oh no, we couldn't. It's going to be held in one of the girl's houses, when her folks are out, and nobody at school is going to know. You have to keep your mouth shut, because it's a secret sorority. It's called the Tech Sexwitches."
That was sort of cute. We were going to Davidson Tech so that's how they got the name Tech. And girls were called witches, and they're sexy, so that's how they made up the name. The idea of being cuddled by a nice boy after my bottom had been spanked sort of made me feel that tickling again, even I knew that it was awfully wrong and that I would likely get into trouble. But I guess that maybe because Dad was gone so much of the time and even Mom was trying to relax and not be so strict with me, and also maybe because at the age of sixteen I was really getting very interested in sex, I decided to go ahead and join up.
Well, the first meeting of the Tech Sex witches was held over at Junie Adam's house. She was seventeen and a senior, sort of a snob, tall and with a snooty face, and she lived at home with an uncle. Her parents were divorced, and her uncle traveled a lot as a sales manager for a brewery firm with headquarters in North Chicago. He had a housekeeper to look after Junie, an old German woman, but Junie said that she was easygoing and never bothered. Besides, she had sweet talked the housekeeper into being away this Friday night and. so we could have the house to ourselves.
Now the next problem was how to get out for Friday night without Mom's saying no. I decided to level with her. I told her that the girls had a special club in school and that they had asked me to join and come to a party tonight at Junie's house and she thought about it for a minute and said it would be all right. I told her there wouldn't be any boys there at all.
"All right, Alma," she finally decided. "You can go, but I want you back at ten-thirty."
"But Mom," I protested, "there's going to be a party and special stunts and things like that, why, it'll just be starting then!"
"All right, you may make it till eleven, but not a minute later, do you understand? I'm warning you, Alma, if you disobey me this time, I'll give you a spanking myself with the hairbrush and on the bare."
"I'll try awful hard not to be late," I promised her and I gave her a hug and a kiss.
She was always a good-looking woman, sort of blonde, with big firm breasts and bottom and legs, and she was about thirty-eight or thirty-nine, I guess. Dad was forty-four by now and looking thinner and grayer than ever. He was also wearing glasses, Which he had never done before. He had a lot on his mind, but he was going places with his company and making lots of money and that was good.
Sally had told me to put on just a tight sweater and short skirt and to wear the tightest panties I had and bobbysocks and my loafers, it would be quite all right because the party was going to be informal.
I got to the house, which was over on West Oliver Street, way on the Far North Side. It was an old house and very comfy, with an attic and everything. Junie and some of the other girls had cleaned out the basement and got it re? ' for the initiation.
There M ire two other girls besides me to be initiated, Peggy Bordon, a cute, freckle-faced, dark brown-haired girl of sixteen, and Lucy Young, who was just fifteen and very tall and with a gorgeous figure for her age, with long black hair and a dreamy face and awfully pale white skin.
All three of us, Lucy and Peggy and me, were put into a back room in the basement with our wrists tied behind our back and blindfolds over our eyes.
They called for Lucy first, and we both wished her good luck, and then two girls came and took her out. The ceremonies were taking place just beyond in the biggest space of the basement, and they had a big table there where the officers sat, and some chairs and other things, including a couple of wide metal tubs. I sort of guessed that maybe they were going to put spaghetti in one of them and it would be "worms", into which a girl would have to step. I'd heard about things like that, and I wasn't scared, only of the paddling. But the idea of a nice boy would be there to make it up to me for my stinging butt was really what had brought me.
Peggy and I could hear almost everything that was going on. Junie, prexy of the club, was asking who was going to sponsor Lucy as a pledge, and Cora Ellingham spoke up and said she was. So Junie said to get the pledge ready, and all of a sudden I heard Lucy squeal and call out, "No, don't pull down my panties, please don't!" and then everybody started giggling.
They put her through the mill. I mean, she had to crawl on all fours with her skirt up and her panties down and I could hear the smack-smack-smack of the paddles as they landed against her bare tail. Lucy broke down and begged for mercy, and at one point she stopped completely and the girls started paddling her good and hard until she yelled that she would go on through if they would only let up on her.
Then she had to walk into the tub of worms, and then they said that they were going to brand her. Two of the girls held her, because I could hear Junie tell them to do it, and another girl took something and put it up Lucy's flesh and said she was going to cut her and mark the initials of the sorority. Lucy broke down and started begging for mercy. Then they all laughed and told her it was ice.
Then it was Peggy's turn, and they put her through the mill too, and poor Peggy really broke down. She had a big plump heinie, and I guess they really landed the paddles on it, from the way she yelled and begged off.
And finally it was my turn. Two girls came to pick me up, and then they made me get down on all fours after they untied my wrists, pinned up my skirt and slip, and pulled my panties down. Then I had to crawl forward. Oh, did those paddles ever hurt! I yelled and groaned and wiggled my heinie as I crawled on through as fast as I could, but I didn't beg for mercy. It really hurt, though. Then I had to go through the worms business and the branding, which I could feel was ice the minute they pressed it against my bare thigh.
We were all called good sports and made sisters of the sorority. And then Sally had the blindfold put back on me and my wrists tied and took me upstairs to her room. She shoved me down on a bed, and I felt somebody lying there and he was naked. All of a sudden I was scared stiff. I mean, thinking about it was one thing, and actually being there and maybe because I was tied up getting fucked, wasn't exactly what I had counted on.
"Now, you two lovebirds, go to it," Sally giggled. "We're all going to watch!"
I felt the boy's hands on my titties, and on my bare butt and the insides of my legs, too. They felt gentle. I didn't want him to fuck me, though, but where he rubbed me and squeezed my butt, it made me feel that tickling feeling again.
I could feel his hard thing jab against my bare leg and my butt, and I squealed and then I yelled out, "Oh no, please don't let him f-fuck me, I'm not ready, I don't want to do it yet, oh please don't!"
And then everybody broke out laughing, and then they took my blindfold off, and my mouth dropped open and I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
It was Junie, and she had something strapped around her tummy, with web straps, and it looked like a boy's thing, all hard and it was made of rubber. They said it was a dildo, or an old-maid's delight. They said they really had the laugh on me the way I had carried on, thinking it was actually a boy in bed with me.
But you know, Mr. Harding, the funny thing is that when "he" was feeling my bubbies and sliding against my pussy, that tickling feeling between my legs was so strong that I nearly fainted.
Well, I just did make it on time home, just eleven o'clock on the head. And was I ever glad! I don't think after the awful paddling I got, I could have stood one from Mom. In fact, I walked a little stiffly, and when she asked why, I had to break down and tell her.
She smiled, and then she said, "Well, I guess that relieves me of the need to give you one. But I'm not so sure that I like the idea of a secret girl's club in school, Alma, so from now on if ever you want to go over there, you have to tell me what they're going to do and who the members are."
So that's the way it stood, and when I got into my own bed and closed the door and turned out the light, I played with myself and I really came. I was pretending that I really had been in bed with an actual boy and that he had been going to fuck me.
I was on my way to being what you call a real masochist. The secret club inspired me to think some more about my made-up fantasy. I thought that was down in a dungeon. I could smell the dank air. I was being led into a special room.
Tiger showed me a crypt that had thousands of spikes on the inside. I was afraid of what would happen to me. I started to run, but a short blonde-haired woman caught me and led me back to the crypt. Tiger was furious and he kicked me in the stomach.
I felt the dream fading away again.
Strangely enough, I didn't get into any more real trouble, at least not bad enough to get myself spanked by either Dad or Mom, till I was three months away from my eighteenth birthday. After my graduation from high school, Mom thought it would be a good idea for me to go to a private girl's college, mainly because she was thinking about how a girl could get into trouble with boys just the way Sally had done with Tommy Evans. Dad was working harder than ever, and he looked a lot older, and he didn't laugh nearly so much and Mom used to keep after him to take naps so he would have his full strength. She was looking a little peaked herself, and we still hadn't gone on any vacation in summer, not to Hawaii or Mexico or anyplace. Mainly, we just stayed home and relaxed, I went over to the YMCA and learned how to swim, which was about all that happened to me in summer.
Just the same, now that I was developing into a young lady, I couldn't help feeling a growing curiosity about the opposite sex. That secret high-school initiation where I had actually thought a boy was in bed with me and about to fuck me, when all the time it had been a dildo, had sort of turned me on, you might say.
So, Dad and Mom sent my high-school credits to a couple of schools, and I found out that I qualified for Northbrooke Girls' College without any trouble. The only hitch was that it was quite a haul from where we lived out there, and then Dad came up with the idea that maybe I could live in a dormitory. He and Mom took me along to visit the Dean of Women, a plump gray-haired woman by the name of Mrs. Darlow. She was a nice motherly soul, and my folks seemed satisfied when she said that she would keep a personal eye out for me and that there was a kind of honor system where they had a couple of monitors for every floor of the dormitory and they hadn't had any trouble in a long time.
I think the main reason Dad went along with the idea of my living away from home was that he was doing so much traveling and taking on more and more responsibility, and he didn't want me to be a burden to my mother because he was worried about her health. So was I, for that matter, and it was just as well. About a week after I started at the college, Mom came down with a virus and it was a close call. She got out of the hospital about two weeks later, and was awfully weak, so Dad hired a housekeeper to look after her. I went to see her at the hospital, and told her not to give me a scare like that. She just gave me a weak grin and told me to be a good girl because maybe she was weak but she could still use a hairbrush. I had to blush at that one, because the nurse was taking it all in with a big grin and here I was just about eighteen and practically of age, you might say.
But I don't think that Dad and Mom would have enrolled me there if they had known about the Delphites. Oh sure, Mom did ask whether there was any sorority or anything like that at the college, remembering what I had got into in high school, and she was told that no there wasn't, the authorities wouldn't allow it for a minute. Only I guess the Dean of Women didn't know anything about the Delphites either.
It wasn't really a Greek-letter sorority, not like the big national chapters of Delta Gamma and Kappa Gamma Rho. It was, as I was to find out, a very secret clique which was organized by a couple of way out swinging girls who thought it was a darn shame that there weren't any boys on campus and tried to see what they could do about such an inconvenient situation.
Of course I didn't know that there would be any boys in that group, and so when Kathy Miller, who was a tall, auburn-haired, sort of lanky junior, came up to me after my last class one Friday afternoon after I had been there about two months and said she wanted to talk to me about the Delphites, I was sort of flattered. You know, a freshman starting in a new school figures she doesn't have any friends at all, and here I was being picked. I'd already heard about the Delphites, you see. Lots of the girls in my counsel period, which is a fancy college name for homeroom, used to talk about the Delphites and say they wished they could get an invitation. When I asked a couple of them what it was all about, they just giggled and said, "It won't matter unless they ask you to join, greenie, but if they do. you'd better grab it. It's lots of fun and you can sex around a little without getting into trouble."
Now probably if I'd been going to school and coming home at the end of every day the way I used to in high school, I wouldn't have thought twice about joining something that could only get me into trouble. But the way I was situated, I was sort of lonesome and besides being my grownup age and getting those tickling feelings between my legs which I head eased off with my finger-yes, I guess I'd better admit that I got awfully hot at times and had to do something about it and the only way I knew was by frigging myself-why, it wasn't any wonder that I jumped at the chance.
I was told that I'd be called in in about a week and that I'd be screened at a dinner which some of the Delphite girls would give at the house of one of the officers. And that's how it all started.
The founders of this sex-minded little group happened to come from homes not far away from the college, or they might not have been able to get a place to hold their shindigs. Also, they had folks that were doing a lot of traveling or socializing and weren't home too often, which is how they could manage to take over a house and have what you might call an orgy. Now don't get me wrong, Mr. Harding, it wasn't boy-girl stuff and fucking in every room, nothing like that at all. It was mostly a dyke group, but a lot of them were switch-hitters who wanted to sneak in a boyfriend every so often and have them as a kind of stud who would take care of all the other girls who were just itching for a good hot poke.
Anyway, not all the girls lived at the college, but there were dormitories for those who wanted to or had to, like me. The thing was run on the honor system, so a girl could take off on a Friday after last class and go where she wanted to so long as she was back assembly meeting at eight-thirty on Monday morning. After that, they started asking questions. So on last class this particular Friday, May Latimer came up to me and whispered, "You're coming to my house tonight, so be there around eight-thirty and don't be late, freshie." She shoved something in my hand, and later I saw it was a slip of paper with her address written on it. She lived about four miles from the college. May was about twenty, with sort of straw-colored hair, a real snooty face which was always wearing a look on it that made you think it annoyed her to have to mix with plebians like me, and a sort of boyish figure. She had small titties and a sort of tight ass and long slim legs. And she also had an English accent which she overdid. But it turned out that she was the vice-president of the Delphites.
So after dinner in the refectory-and they served pretty good meals, I'll have to admit-I went back up to my room which I shared with Sophie Sills, who was nineteen, on the petite side, with curly dark-brown hair and big eyes to match, which looked twice as big behind her horn-rimmed glasses. She was a sort of little pocket-Venus, and she had a bottom and titties on her that I couldn't help noticing when she got ready for bed. But she was sort of a square because she always wore a long thick nightie, even when, the weather was warm. It went all the way down to her ankles and she was awfully shy about peeling down to the buff whenever I was around. She would always go into the bathroom and take off her clothes and get her nightie on and then come back out.
But it just goes to show you how wrong you can be about a person. Because When I mentioned that I was going out that night, Sophie giggled and said, "I know, Alma. I'll be there too."
"Where?"
"Why, over at May's house, natch," she airily told me.
"You?" I couldn't believe it.
She nodded. "Sure. I've been a Delphite for nearly a year now. It's terrific!"
"Hey, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we're not supposed to, stupid. Think we want to have the whole school know about it and all of us get kicked out? My folks live in Milwaukee, and the're too busy chasing around, and I think they're going to get divorced, so they don't even give a damn what I do. And I just hate being cooped up in a place where there aren't any boys."
"Sophie, you've just got to tell me what goes on there, what I'm getting into!" I demanded.
"Oh no I won't! You have to be taken on as a member first, and tonight is just a sort of get-acquainted get together. But I'll tell you this much, if you pass the test, you have lots of chances to swing. Just like I do." She rolled her big brown eyes expressively and then giggled.
I tried my best, but she wouldn't give me any clues. Finally we started out together, and when we got out past the school grounds, Sophie went to a pay phone and called a cab, because it was a long hike to May's place. We got there a couple of minutes before eight-thirty, and it was quite a house. A great big iron thick fence all around it, with a huge garden in the back and even a summer house. It was a two-story house with a big attic, and it sort of looked like the kind of houses they show on the cover of a Gothic mystery book, with shuttered windows and alcoves and all that, even a weathervane on top of the attic.
Sophie rang the bell, and May herself came to the door. She was wearing the sexiest outfit I have ever seen, and it changed her all around.
At school she wore a long-skirted dress and no makeup. But tonight she had on a Mandarin coat and flouncy Oriental pajamas and red leather high-heeled pumps. Her prissy thin mouth was painted a thick Cupid's bow in scarlet, and she had on lots of mascara and rouge on her cheeks and blue eye-shadow on her lids and just under her eyes. Her hair was cut short like a boy's and she almost looked like one except for all the makeup. She greeted Sophie, but not me: "Sweetie! I'm so glad you came. Let's take this pledge and start her off right away with the interrogation."
Sophie had brought along a big alligator-skin purse, and she opened it now took out a blank bandanna "I'll have to blindfold you, Alma," she told me. And she went ahead and did it. Next I heard her say, "Put your hands behind your back and fold them together real tight." So I did, and what did she do but tie a cord or something around my wrists and pull it up so tight that I gasped out that it was cutting my skin. She just giggled and said, "You can be thankful if that's all that cuts your skin, pledge, now get moving," and somebody took me by the elbow, maybe it was May, and I walked straight ahead for quite a ways, and then I heard someone opening a door and then May said, "Now go down very slowly, it's a stairway."
I sort of held my breath and I was a little scared, but now May held both of my elbows and told me when to step down, and I got down safely.
I could hear the murmur of voices ahead of me, and then everybody got quiet and I could hear my own footsteps on a stone floor. I guessed, rightly enough, that we were in the basement of May's house.
"Fellow Delphites, this is pledge Alma, who has been invited here to determine her worthiness of becoming one of us," May said.
"Prepare her," some girl called. Then I felt both May and Sophie start to pull up my skirt and my slip and I sort of struggled a little and called out, "Hey, why don't you tell me what you're going to do?"
"Silence, pledge, or be expelled forever from our illustrious ranks!" came the voice of the same girl who had said to prepare me. It turned out to be Arlette Sands, who was the prexy of this shindig, a big-tittied, light-brownhaired senior of twenty-one.
I guess they pinned my skirt and slip up above my waist, and then both Sophie and May took me by the elbows and led me forward. "Kneel down, pledge," Sophie whispered. So I did. And suddenly I felt something clamped around my neck, and I got a little scared again but they held me down tightly and there was a click. I felt that my butt was sticking out, and since I was wearing only white nylon panties and a garterbelt, you can imagine I didn't feel too happy about that. I had a sneaking hunch I was going to get my kinetta paddled.
"Pledge Alma!" Arlette was talking to me. "We, sisters of the Delphites, are gathered here tonight to determine your worthiness to join our illustrious ranks. This is the moment of truth for you, pledge, and you must answer without evasion or hesitation all questions that we put to you. Do you swear you will not try to deceive us?"
"Yes," I called out.
"We have ways of knowing when a pledge is lying to us, and you will be sorry if you do. Now, the first question-are you a virgin?"
"Of course I am!" I called out, and I heard a lot of giggles, then a "sshhhhh!" and then Arlette said, "We shall verify that, so will you, Sophie, let us know whether this humble pledge has told her first lie to the Delphites."
All of a sudden I felt fingers inserting inside the waistband of my panties and snugging them down to my knees. There was a sort of murmur as if they were commenting on what they saw, and I squnched my thighs together to hide my pussy. With my hands bound behind my back and my neck clamped with something I couldn't identify, I was sticking out my bare butt now and it was an awfully helpless and frightening feeling. I was just thinking to myself that I hadn't had a bare-butt spanking for longer than I wanted to remember, but it certainly looked as if I was about to get one now.
And then all of a sudden I guess it was both Sophie and May who each grabbed one of my ankles and started spreading my legs for me, and then they tied cords around my ankles and fixed them with something I couldn't see, of course, and I was spread open with everything I had showing. There were more giggles and murmurs and gasps, and I started to blush and squirm a little. I tried to close my legs, but of course I couldn't, they were spread at least a yard wide. Then I felt a soft little hand stroking my bare leg above the stockings, and making its way on up to my pussy. "Ohh! What are you doing to me?" I squealed.
"Silence, pledge! You must submit to interrogation, or we shall blackball you and punish you severely as an example for others," Arlette called out.
Then I felt a finger poke into my pussy, and I squealed out again, and everybody was laughing and giggling, but the finger kept pushing until it got up against my cherry. And then I heard Sophie call out, "Madam President, the pledge has told the truth. She is very definitely cherry!"
"Very good. Now ..then, pledge Alma, the next question. Have you ever necked or petted with a fellow?" Arlette wanted to know.
I said I had not, and then she asked me if I'd ever been kissed by a boy. Well, I remembered how Tommy Evans had kissed me and old Mrs. Casperson had seen it and how it had cost me a real good spanking. So of course I said I had been kissed. "How many times?" Arlette asked.
When I said "Just once," there were more giggles, and then all of a sudden I yelled and lunged forward, only I couldn't get very far because of what was around my neck. It felt like a paddle landing on my bare heinie, and it really hurt.
"That was your first lie, pledge Alma! Try not to tell any more, or you will be here a very uncomfortable and long time," Arlette said snootily.
"But it's the truth!" I protested. "My girlfriend's boyfriend did it to me on a dare, and I got a licking for it because somebody saw. And I haven't kissed anybody since, because I've never had a boyfriend, and that's the truth, and you can paddle me all you like, but it's still the truth!"
"I'm inclined to believe this pledge," May Latimer spoke up now in that snooty voice of hers. "And from what our dear sister Sophie has told us, Alma has never talked about a boyfriend."
"Very well," Arlette went on, "now tell me, pledge Alma, do you play with yourself at night when you get itchy between your bare legs?"
Everybody started giggling, and I got real mad because I didn't think they had any right to ask personal questions like that. "I don't have to answer you," I said huffily. Then I wish I hadn't. I got five terrific swats, without any pause between them at all, right over the plumpest parts of my bare bottom, and I yelled.
"Would you like another persuasive reminder, pledge Alma?" Arlette sweetly asked.
"All right, sure I do. Doesn't every girl?" I groaned out.
"Five more for being impertinent," Arlette called out. And before I could even get ready, that awful paddle landed across my bare butt right in the same place the other five had been, and added four more before I could even get my breath to yell that it was killing me. It was the hardest I'd ever been spanked, believe me!
I wiggled around frantically and squirmed on my knees which were getting sore on that hard floor, and my butt was burning awfully, then Arlette said, "I hope that will teach you we mean business, pledge Alma. Now, have you ever done it with another girl?"
I figured that they would find out anyway and I'd only get some more swats, so I'd admit it, "Yes, I have. I hope you're satisfied."
And for being impertinent again, just for adding those last words, didn't I go and get myself five more until I was really crying, because it was burning up like blazes, and all the girls were giggling at me.
But the funny thing was, even though it hurt like the dickens, I started to get that squirmy feeling right between my legs which were spread open. And I started squirming my burning butt around because even that seemed to make me even itchier.
I closed my eyes and thought about Mr. X. I saw a picture in my mind, while I was writhing about. I was in a torture chamber with Tiger and X. X was looking at me and holding a long rod. Tiger was watching us. I was tied to a contraption on the wall.
I was nude save for my panties, bra, and stockings. X held the rod near my cunt, and started to prod. I felt my cunt creaming. Mr. X was going to fuck me with the rod!
I jerked my eyes opened as another smack met my ass.
CHAPTER FOUR
After the Delphite girls had given me those last five spanks for what they called being impertinent, Arlette said to me, "Maybe by now, pledge Alma, you have learned to tell the truth and to hold back nothing when you answer questions by your betters. Are you ready now to answer humbly and truthfully?"
Before I could answer, I felt a hard wooden object press against my bare, burning bottom, and I called out, "Yes, I'll tell the truth, don't spank me any more, please don't!"
All around me there were giggles and they were really enjoying my initiation. My hands were still tied behind my back, and suddenly I felt a jerk at my neck. Then I knew what it had been when I had felt something around it: it must be an old-fashioned dog collar, and there was a leash attached to it. I could feel hands pressing down my shoulders, forcing me to keep kneeling the way I was, and it was certainly embarrassing to be like this, with my skirt and slip pinned above my waist and my panties tugged down so that everything I had was showing to all those girls while I was tied and held and blindfolded.
"Very well, pledge," I heard Arlette say to me, "now suppose we go back to that last question. Have you ever had sex with another girl? Remember now, the paddle is right behind you, and I have the authority to have it used on your bare tail till I am satisfied with your responses!"
"Yes, I-I have," I said, and I was careful not to sound saucy this time. The spanks they had already given me had left my bare seat smarting and burning. And yet, even as I shifted on my knees and tried to stop their aching, that familiar feeling in my pussy was starting up all over again. It was as if I was getting excited just thinking about how helpless I was and how they could spank me all they wanted to without my being able to do a single thing about it.
"Next, pledge Alma," Arlette asked, "are you ready to tell us all about your sex experiences with another girl? When was it, with whom, and how long ago? Think carefully over your answers, and remember that you are kneeling now and under oath to the sacred laws of the Delphites!"
"Do I have to?" I called out.
Smack-crack! This time it felt as if two paddles had landed on my poor bare butt at the same time, one against each trembling cheek. I let out a wild squeal, and tried to jerk forward, but I felt that my ankles were tied to something hard that wouldn't let me move. Also, whoever was holding me kept holding my shoulders tight, so all I could do was wriggle a little.
"That is your answer, pledge Alma!" said Arlette. "Yes, you have to. And be quick about it, before I order your sisters to punish you good for trying to evade our interrogations!"
So I told them all about high school, and the Tech Sexwitches. Arlette asked lots of questions, and she made me explain the initiation which I had got and how at the very end of it I had been put to bed with Junie and then the thing she had worn tied in front of her so she looked like a' fellow. I wanted to sink right through the floor, because everybody started giggling and laughing, and even Arlette couldn't stop when she asked me the next question. "But after that, did you ever do it with another girl, pledge Alma?"
"No, and that's the honest truth!" I called out, because I had to talk loud over all that giggling and whispering I was hearing.
"Well now, it seems to us that you are a very sexy girl and a very naughty one, too, pledge Alma," she finally told me. "But we have to find out just how sexy you are. So we are going to test you to determine your threshold of sensitivity. Are you ready for the test, lowly pledge?"
I felt that awful paddle tap my bare butt, right across both cheeks and over the crease, so I called, "Yes I'm ready. Please don't paddle me any more!"
"She's chicken!" I heard one girl laugh. "She's not worthy of being one of us."
"That is not for you to say, Maria," the president of the Delphites rebuked the girl. I knew who she was, about nineteen, a tall sort of lanky, sandy-haired blonde who came from an awfully wealthy family and wanted everybody to know it. "The officers will vote on this pledge's fitness as a member after we are satisfied with her reactions to all our tests and questions. Very well now, let the test of this lowly pledge begin!"
I heard whispering all around me, and I squirmed uneasily. My butt was burning, but then, so was my pussy. Then, all of a sudden, I felt soft fingers begin to stroke the insides of my upper naked thighs, and then touch the lips of my spot itself.
"Ooooh!" I squealed, trying to close my legs. But I couldn't. They had tied my ankles so they were dragged well out, and I had to spread my legs while I kept o my knees, which were getting sore by now from kneeling on the hard floor, and those two girls were still holding on to my shoulders, and that thing around my neck, the dog collar, was being pulled up, so I guess one of the girls must have been holding the leash.
Then I felt something cold press against my bare bottom, and I sucked in my breath and tightened all my muscles. Then somebody began to pat me all over, all over the places I had already had the paddle, while those fingers kept tickling the lips of my pussy.
"Oh don't, it tickles-oh please don't!" I called out.
For that, I got a whack right over the crease 'of my butt, and it stung like the dickens, and I squealed. The next thing I knew, something like sharp bristles were rubbing all over my bare behind, and it was just terrible. It scratched and it pricked and it pricked, and the places where the paddle had hit me, where the flesh was awfully tender anyway, it seemed to send a thousand little fires searing through my flesh. And all the time, those needles were going on tickling me and pricking me. Now suddenly a finger poked inside my pussy and started feeling for my little button, and I yelled.
"Ooooh, don't do that, take your finger away!" I cried. Everybody was giggling and whispering, and I got another good hard smack on my bottom for making so much noise. This time, it wasn't the cold surface of whatever it was, but the bristles. Then I guessed: it was a hairbrush!
Oh, but it stung! But the crazy thing about it was that, although I was getting sorer and sorer by the minute, my pussy was getting hotter and hotter.
But as if this weren't enough, I suddenly felt hands fondling my titties and rubbing them through my dress and bra. I squirmed around, but I couldn't get free of them. They followed me, and now they were tweaking my nipples and pulling them out through the material, and then rubbing their palms over them, until I felt them get stiff and hard and tingly.
All the time that other finger kept poking inside my pussy, rubbing my tickler until I thought I would faint, and the cold back of that hairbrush was patting me all over my bottom, making me turn and twist and squirm like a bellydancer. But my legs were spread hugely apart, everything snowing, and I was really helpless. I felt like a slave being exhibited to a critical audience of buyers and, you know, the thought of that alone made me get itchier and squirmier.
I heard my breathing come quick and loud, and I was whimpering a little. I was sobbing, too, I guess. By this time the finger was rubbing my button faster, and I was jerking and squirming all over the place, and now the bristles were just patting my bare bottom, first one side and then the other, and then against the crease, and then against my inner thighs, until I was all afire.
Tears were running down my cheeks and I tried to jerk my wrists free, but I couldn't. I tried to lower my bottom to my heels, but now the girls who were holding me dug their fingers into my armpits and kept me up, so I had to keep on kneeling with my butt spread out there and my legs stretched apart for all that frigging they were doing.
"O-h hhh-ah hhhhh-oh p-lease don't-ahhhhhhh-ohhhhhh myyyyyyyyy Star! OhhhWOhhhhhhh-ahhhhhhhhhhh," I could hear myself groaning.
And then I heard Arlette say, "This pledge is very passionate, we can all see that. All right, girls, give her what she needs. Alma, do you want to come?"
"Oh yes, pl-please! Oooohhh, oh I'm going to faint, I can't t stand it any more. O O O-O-Oo o ooooh-hhhh-mmmmmmmmmmmmh-aaaaahhhhh-Oh goodness of the EARTH!!!-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh please HURRY!" I wailed.
By now my hips were jerking from side to side as if I were a hula dancer following the steel drums of the Tahitians. And my pussy was jerking now, too, trying to encourage that finger which was digging in my pussy. I mean, it was pulling back and it didn't tickle all I wanted it to, because now I was so awfully close, I just had to go over the edge.
Now the bristles started patting my fanny quick and lightly, all over the cheeks, and I couldn't predict which cheek they were going to hit next. Thousands of little stinging waves of discomfort started burning all over in my naked bottom, and tears were running down my cheeks harder than ever now.
Then I heard footsteps coming towards me, and then I heard Arlette's voice real close up. "If we make you come, pledge, will you do the same for your president?"
"Oh yes, anything! Please, I'm dying!" I sobbed.
I heard the rustling of clothes, and the next thing I knew I could feel hair tickling my mouth and nose and chin.
"Then gam me, you cute little bitch," I heard Arlette hiss, and I knew what was happening. She was pushing her pussy right in my face, and she wanted to be gamahuched.
I did it. I sucked her cunt and I licked it, and then the finger started tickling my button and then the outside of my pussy lips, and all the time that hairbrush was patting my bare bottom with the bristle side until I felt myself gathering up like a bomb ready to burst. And then I did. I almost fainted. Then I sagged forward, just about the time Arlette let out a wild scream and rubbed her pussy furiously against my mouth, her fingers clutching at my hair and yanking at it, as she came, too.
Of course the real thing was far better than my little fantasy. But as the pleasure ebbed from my body I saw another picture forming in my mind.
X was slapping a girl, while Tiger held a man. Then I saw X strip the girl of her clothes and slam his huge cock into her cunt.
The fantasy by this time had a very important place in my mind and I was constantly thinking about it.
Well, after that tickling and fingering had made me come, they made me stand up after they untied my ankles, and then they took the blindfold off. My skirt and slip were still pinned up above my waist, and before they had let me get up, they had pulled my panties completely off, so I knew I was showing everything I had except of course my boobies. Just my garterbelt and stockings, and they'd taken my shoes off too. I saw about sixteen girls there, including May Latimer, and my own roommate Sophie Sills, and of course there was Arlette Sands. I was blushing and there were tears on my face from all the paddling I had had, but they were all grinning at me. Then I had to gasp at the way they were dressed. Most of them had on their pajamas and high-helled pumps, and of course May had on that mandarin pajama set. There were two tall girls who looked like twins, and they were the ones who had been tickling and fingering my pussy, because Arlette said so. Their names were Georgette and Ernestine Vandon, and they were twenty and they were both sandy-haired. One of them had her hair cut very short like a man's, and that was Ernestine, and the other wore her hair in a sort of medium ponytail just so you could tell the two apart.
"Well, Alma," Arlette drawled, "now you are a genuine Delphite. You didn't do too badly, but my, your skin sure marks up when you get paddled. Turn around and let the girls see!"
I noticed that Georgette and Ernestine both held paddles, and they were coming closer to me, so I quickly turned around and showed them my sore tail. There was more giggling, and both the girls patted my poor hind end with the paddles just to warn me not to move out of position until I was told to do so. Then Arlette said, "You're quite a sexy dish, Alma, and we have a very important rule when a new pledge is initiated. She has to be auctioned off to any one of the members who wants her. But we're going to do it tonight with a roulette wheel."
She pointed to a little table, and I saw that I was in the basement recreation room and that there were a couple of couches, loveseats, a pingpong table and even a miniature bar. And on this little table was a genuine roulette wheel. Each of the" girls now held up a round chip like a poker chip, and on it was a number. Whoever held the number which the spin of the wheel would bring up, Arlette told me, would win me for the night. And then, just as if it were to look like a slave auction, they made me stand up on a footstool and tied my hands behind my back again, so that everybody could look at my pussy and legs. I closed my eyes, but I was scared to do that too long, because I was afraid of falling. The dog collar and leash were still around my neck, the leash was trailing down. Arlette said that was because I would be led off by the winner.
She as president delegated it to May Latimer to spin the wheel, and May did it, looking rather greedily at me and making me blush awfully hard again. My bottom was tingling from the awful paddling I had had, but I had started to get that itchy feeling between my legs. I held my thighs as tightly together as I could to cover my pussy, but of course I couldn't. I felt so silly standing there tied up and with a dogcollar around my neck and my skirt and slip pinned up. Some of the members walked around behind me to look at my bottom, and I heard some snide remarks about what a big tail I had and how nice and red it was and it was a shame that they had stopped when they had. But I didn't dare say anything, of course.
The wheel was spinning, and I could hear the ball clatter as it raced around. And then all of a sudden it stopped and May Latimer called out, "Number sixteen, on the red!"
"Ohh, goodie, that's my number!" Sophie Stills squealed and waved her poker chip in the air. May and Arlette came over and looked at it, and then they turned to me and said, "Pledge Alma, you are the slave for the night to Sophie. You are required by our secret rites to do everything she commands, on pain of punishment if you refuse. Is that understood?"
"Yes, I guess so," I mumbled. Georgette reached up and gave me a light spank with the paddle, and I squealed. "Yes, Madam President, I'll do it!"
"That's a lot better," Arlette said. "All right, help her down, girls, and blindfold her and give her to her new mistress."
I could hardly believe my ears. I stood there on the floor, trembling a little, wondering what in the world Sophie was going to do to me. Here I had been rooming for over two months with Sophie, and I had thought her to be an utter square, and now I was going to be her slave.
She came forward now, and I had to gasp. She certainly didn't look like a square now. She still had on her horn-rimmed glasses, all right, but she had combed out her curly dark-brown hair and woven it into a kind of coronet braid all around the top. She had on a black nylon bra and black matching panties, and her arms were sheathed in red leather gloves and her legs in matching boots. She looked awfully cute and sexy, and she really had a terrific figure now that I could see it. I told you she was a pocket-Venus, but in those sheer panties and bra, she was really something. For the first time I could really see her bare skin, and it was tawny, and her boobies were like canteloupes set closely together, while her bottom was high-perched and jutting and firm and round with a tight crease between the cheeks. She was about two inches shorter than I am, but in those high-heeled boots she towered over me, and then there was something else. In her right hand she held an oval-shaped wooden paddle with a short handle taped to give her a better grip, and in her left hand she held a funny kind of whip. I mean, it had a short thick handle and then a lash that was about sixteen inches long, but sort of stiff and flexible, more like a riding crop, except that the tip was pointed and looked as if it would sting terribly.
Then they blindfolded me again, and they kept my wrists still tied, and Sophie said, "I'll take charge of this slave, fellow Delphites . Go on and have your fun. Alma and I are going to get acquainted real good now." Then I suddenly felt a stinging and burning pain across the small of my back, and I knew it was that awful whip she had. "Start moving, slave," she ordered, and she had a saucy, insolent kind of voice which I'd never heard before.
I guess the girls who came along with her helped me climb back up the stairs, but as soon as we got onto level ground, I heard her say, "That's fine. I can manage from now on." Then, to me, "Come along, slave!" Then she gave a yank on the leash which pulled on my old-fashioned dog collar, and I stumbled forward, only to hear her giggle, "If you don't look cute in that get-up, Alma! You don't know how long I've been waiting for tonight! Come along, you naughty slave girl you!"
We went down a hallway, I guess, and then I heard her open a door, and there was another yank on the leash, and I went inside with her. I heard her close and then lock the door. Then she said, "You get right down on your knees there, because you're going to pay tribute to your new mistress. Be quick about it, because I've got a paddle and a cravache all ready for your big bottom."
So that's what that whippy thing was, a cravache. I didn't care to feel it any more than I already had, I can tell you that, so I knelt right down and waited for my next order from her. And it wasn't long in coming, either. "Do you promise to do everything I tell you to, without any arguments or anything like that, Alma?" she wanted to know.
"Yes," I said.
Then I yelled. She must have reached out around me and sent that awful cravache over my poor sore heinie, and it cut like a hot knife. I was twisting my bottom back and forth and wriggling on my knees and I started to cry some more.
"Yes mistress," she corrected. "Say it now, loud and clear, or I'll give you a couple of more cuts and you can guess right where!"
"Y-y-yes m-mistress," I stammered. I really wasn't expecting Sophie Sills to treat me this way, it was a kind of round about face from her usual character. But I was in for a great big surprise that night.
"How do you like the way I'm training her, Charlie honey?" I now heard her ask. And then my heart almost stopped beating, because a fellow's voice, deep and sort of husky, called back, "You're doing just great, Sophie baby. But don't keep me waiting too long, hear?"
"Ohh my goodness!" I yelled out, clamping my thighs together all I could. "That's a man! And I'm naked!"
"Silence, pledge," Sophie told me, not without a stifled giggle. "You are here to be a slave, and we don't need your Birchian opinions at all. Don't worry though, your cherry is going to be safe unless you want to lose it. And I'll have something to say about that, because Charlie is my guy, not yours."
With this, she took off the blindfold, and I turned a flaming red on my upper cheeks; the lower ones already had enough color, as you can guess. It was a bedroom, and there was a big boudoir mirror at the back of the dressing table on the chair to my right, and ahead of me was a big double bed, nice and low and comfy. Lying on it, or rather, sitting up with his arms crossed behind his head which he used as pillows, was a lanky blond fellow around twenty-one or twenty-two, I guess. All he had on was a pair of shorts, and his thing was bulging out against the fly of it ready to tear through it, it was that big. I couldn't help glancing at it and then blushing, and I hastily looked down at the floor.
Sophie moved over to the bed and sat down on the edge, keeping hold of the grip of the leash, so I had to follow her over there. "Stand at attention, slave!" she ordered me. She reached out and flicked that awful cravache across the top of my right thigh, and it stung, and I yelled, "Oww, please don't!" and the fellow beside her laughed real loud and said, "She's a squirmy little bitch, isn't she, Sophie honey?"
"She's a swinger, believe you me, Charlie honey," was Sophie's answer. "I'll bet this is a surprise for her. I know she thinks I'm a square, the way I go around in the room with a long thick nightie on and all that, but that's just a coverup."
"I'm here to tell you it is, Sophie! You really are a swinging chick," her boyfriend laughed. But I noticed that he was studying me all over, and looking most of all at my pussy, which I couldn't hide even when I clamped my legs shut with all my might. I felt so silly with my clothes pinned up and the rest of me bare from my tummy down to my stocking tops and my hands tied behind me and a dog collar round my neck and the leash dangling from it which was being held by Sophie there on the bed. She gave it a little yank to bring me over closer. "You're going to serve us both, Alma," she told me. "You're a Delphite now, and you have to do everything we girls who are already members tell you to do. If you don't do it, I'll spank you good and hard, or better yet, I'll let Charlie do it!"
The minute she said that, I got that crazy, tickling feeling in my spot, even though I was awfully ashamed to be like this in front of a boy. He was looking at me with a grin, and I could see that he liked what he saw. It made me all the more self-conscious, and I lowered my eyes to the floor again and shivered. My bottom still throbbed painfully, but now that my pussy was tickling and itching so, the pain seemed to begin to be almost pleasant. Of course now when I look back, I know that I was proving what a masochist I was, but it could only happen when there was a fellow involved. If Sophie had disciplined me herself and with nobody else to watch, I might have got a little charge out of it, but it was like nothing as compared with what I was feeling now just to see that fellow sitting up against the headboard wearing only his shorts and staring at my pussy.
"If I untie your wrists, will you be a good girl, Alma?" Sophie wanted to know.
Since she had both the whip and the paddle there on the edge of the bed to use on me, I knew better than to forget what I was supposed to call her. "Y-Yes, M-Mistress," I said in a low, shaky voice.
"We'll see about that. All right, I'm going to cut your wrists loose. Then I'm going to tell you what to do, and you better just do it, Alma," she warned. She reached over to the night table beside the bed, picked up a pocketknife and opened it. Then she came over to me and cut the cords that were binding my wrists so tightly. I gasped with relief. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed and jerked on the leash so that I had to come up in front of her. "Take off my bra now and be careful about it, 'cause it's expensive and it tears easy, see?" she told me.
I reached out behind her, and I found the hooks and eyes and very carefully took it off. She really had big titties for a girl that small and young, and they had wide dark-coral circles and big full nipples. She grinned at me: "All right, Alma, now cup one of my boobies and lick and suck the nipple good. .I want to get all sexed up for my boyfriend Charlie."
I blushed like anything, because he was watching me and his eyes were glittering, and he had a smile on his face that sort of made me itchier than ever. But I did what she told me to. I reached out and cupped one of her titties with my two hands, bent my head down and took her nipple in my mouth and then rolled my tongue over it. She moaned and squealed, and then she grabbed hold of my earlobes and yanked at them and told me to keep it up and do it faster. I did what she told me to, because even though my hands were untied now, she still had the whip and the paddle ready, and she had a big strong boyfriend there to help her in case I got unruly.
"Now the other one," she ordered. So I had to do that one too. She was really getting excited now, squirming around, looking over at her boyfriend, and then she reached out one hand to him and he took it and started rubbing his fingertip into her palm, which I knew was a sign that he wanted to fuck her.
"Now you can take my panties down and gam me, Alma," she ordered.
"Oh no! Not in front of him, please, Sophie!" I pleaded, and I felt my face getting awfully red.
"What's this? A slave says no? Charlie, don't you think a naughty slave girl like Alma ought to get a spanking?"
"I certainly do," he said and his voice was husky now. "I'd like to give her part of it, if you don't mind, baby."
"I'd like to watch you," she giggled. "All right, Alma, you naughty girl, you get on the bed and lie right over Charlie's lap. I'll hold your hands so he can spank you good and hard until you're ready to gam me!"
"Oh please don't! Oh I don't want him to!" I gasped, because I was sort of scared. His big thing was almost tearing through his shorts now, and I had never seen a fellow like that before. It made me all hot and itchy inside, and my bottom was already hot and red from the paddling I had had from the girls during the initiation.
"Better tie her up again, honey," he suggested.
"Good idea!" she said. She picked up the cord she had cut, ordering me to put my wrists in front of me, but I balked. What did he do but get off the bed and come help her. In a few seconds, my wrists were tied in front of me and real tight, and then he had his hand rubbing over my bare butt and I squirmed and twisted and I gasped, "Plllleeeeeeeaaaassseee, don't. Please don't, C-Charlie, I'm so ashamed, please, Sophie, let me have my panties back, please!"
"A naughty slavegirl who's going to get spanked doesn't need her panties at all, isn't that right, Charlie?" Sophie turned to him and there was mischief in her eyes.
"Absolutely not," he agreed. Then both of them lifted me onto the bed, and then he got on there and sat up again with his head against the headboard. I was pushed across his lap, and my tummy bore right down over his prick. It gave me the funniest feeling. I tightened my legs and my butt cheeks all I could, and I held my breath because I was really afraid to get spanked any more.
"Want the paddle or the whip, lover?" Sophie asked.
"I think I can fantail her cute red ass pretty good with just my hand, baby," he said to her. Then I felt his left hand clamp against my bare side, and then he passed his other palm over my cringing bottom cheeks. I closed my eyes and held myself as tightly as I could. Then down came his hand with a noisy smack, and I almost jumped. My bottom twisted and jerked a little, because it really stung, on top of all that paddling. And I called out, "Oww, please, not so hard, it hurts already!"
Sophie had come over to the other side of the bed, and got on her knees on the edge, and then grabbed the dogleash which was still dangling from the collar around my neck and pulled it up tight. She held it in one hand and with the other she grasped my hair and yanked at it a little. She was giggling and smiling down at me and her eyes were humid and dilated. She was really all sexed up, and her nipples were still wet and glistening with my having sucked and licked them. They seemed to be bigger and darker than ever.
His hand came down on the other cheek of my bottom, and I yelled again, and again my hips jumped and twisted in the air. "She's sure a squirmy piece,-Alma is," he told Sophie. "And you say she's cherry?"
"Yes, she sure is, but I'll bet she'd give just anything to lose it, wouldn't you, Alma?" Sophie teased me.
Before I could answer, his hard hand came down on my sore tail three or four times, and I started crying. I also started rubbing myself a little, because it burned my heinie something terrible. And as I was rubbing, I felt my little hairy slit rub against the stiff thing that he had bulging out in his shorts. And that tickling feeling came back stronger than it ever did before m all my life!
"When you're ready to obey your mistress, Charlie will stop," Sophie told me. She gave my hair another yank and pulled on the leash. Then his hand started coming down again, smacking and flattening my poor bottom all over, without any particular pattern. I mean, he just let me have it, about a dozen hard stinging slaps all over my poor red seat. I was really crying then, and twisting and kicking my feet a little. Then he gave me a real hard smack over the inner edge of the cheeks, right over the crease, and it burned like anything, and I yelled, "I'll do it, only please don't spank me any more, I'll do whatever she wants!"
"Let her up now, Charlie, and see if she does," Sophie called.
I was sobbing as if my heart would break, and I jerked at my bound wrists, and I knelt up facing him, tears running down my cheeks, but I couldn't help staring at that huge protuberance which was very nearly bursting out of his shorts.
So once more Sophie cut the cords tying my wrists, and made me take down her panties. And she lay down on her back, at the foot of the bed, so that he could see what was going on. And I had to kneel between her wide-open legs and put my face down against her furry cunt and kiss and lap and suck until she almost had her come.
But by then Charlie was getting wildly excited, and he called a halt to it. She pushed me away, crawled on her knees over to him, and he slid down on his back on the bed and held out his arms for her. Sophie got over him, took one hand and opened up the lips of her pussy, took the other hand and steered his prick right into that soft pink slit. And then she slid down his pole till it was hilted inside of her cunt, and reached under him and grabbed his bottom and began to ride him, as if she were the man and he were the girl.
"Now then, Alma, put your hands on my bottom, open the cheeks up and use your tongue on you know what," Sophie gasped.
"Oh please-" I was shocked at this.
"You better do it, Alma, or this time I'll have Charlie take the paddle to you and I'll use the whip. Well tie you up and we'll give you fifty swats apiece," Sophie panted, glancing back at me with glittering narrowed eyes.
So I had to do that, and Sophie just about went crazy. She was wriggling and twisting, arching up and down, and soon she let out a yell and jerked and twisted and then sank over him, panting. She had come.
I watched it all, and I was getting excited myself. My pussy was tickling and it was moist. The spanking they had given me, and then watching the two of them fuck, had just about driven me wild. I'll admit, Mr. Harding, I would have given anything right then and there if she had ordered me to fuck him! But, darn it, she didn't.
They played around for another hour, but they left my clothes pinned up as they had been when I was being paddled. I had to kneel down and kiss and lick her boots, and then her gloved hands, and thank her humbly for training me so well.
Then she let me dress and leave; and the last I saw, she was sinking down over Charlie again, getting ready for another fuck.
And that's how I became a Delphite.
CHAPTER FIVE
I stayed at Northebrooke Girls College about six months after my nineteenth birthday. In the meantime, Mom had a spell in the hospital because the doctor was worried about her getting a little anemic and also didn't like her low blood pressure and her heart action. Dad decided he would cut down on his travelling so he could be closer to Mom and look after her, and after that everything seemed to be all right.
I came back home for the holidays, of course, and for a month or two in summer. I was careful not to tire Mom because old Doctor Lang, who had been our family physician even long before I was born, had told me that it was a good thing to help out in the kitchen and relieve Mom as much as I could from the heavy chores.
Dad looked older, and thinner, too. He saw my grades and said he was pleased with them. Naturally I didn't tell him a word about the Delphites. He did ask me with a kind of grin whether I had got myself interested in any fellow yet and I told him of course I hadn't because there weren't any around. Well, that wasn't exactly true. There was a military academy about a mile away, and some of the oldest fellows, about my age, would scrounged around our campus and once in a while there would be dates between our girls and them. Of course our dean of women, Mrs. Darlow, frowned on this sort of thing, and sometimes would give us lectures in the assembly hall that it wasn't lady-like to associate with boys outside the school and that's after all why we were here.
Nobody still had found out about the Delphites, though.
I'D have to admit, Mr. Harding, that I wouldn't have minded going out with one of those older fellows. My initiation in the Delphites and having watched Sophie, my cute "square" roommate who was really a swinger in disguise, make it with her boyfriend Charlie, had made me very conscious of my sex needs. But I guess maybe, since I'd been brought up to be a decent girl, and since my parents had been extra strict when it came to boys during high school, I was a little scared of trying anything on my own. I guess too, it was loyalty for my parents, particularly Mom. Because I didn't want to disgrace her in any way.
Of course I knew that the Delphites were getting away with murder. About two months after my initiation, we were called to Kathy Miller's house, about five miles off campus. Two girls were going to be initiated, and of course now I could look forward to dishing it out instead of taking it.
One of the girls was seventeen, a cute little trick very much like Sophie. Except that she didn't wear glasses and she had much bigger titties but, by contrast, a sort of small boyish bottom. She had short bobbed black curls, a pale white skin, and she also had a thick Southern accent which you could cut with a knife. Her name was Beverly Bruce, and she thought she was the cat's meow. The other girl was eighteen, as tall as Kathy, who was about five feet eight, and her name was Pat Brennan. Her hair was styled like a helmet around her face in a fringe over the top of her forehead. It was wheat-colored, and she had cat-green eyes and a big sexy mouth, and big pear-shaped titties. Her bottom was pretty ample too, and she certainly wore snazzy clothes. Her folks were very rich, and they came from Little Rock, and it seems that her mother's sister had once gone to Northbrooke, so that's why Pat was there.
Arlette Sands, our prexy, had already given us an advance pep talk about the two new pledges. Everybody agreed that little Beverly needed taking down, a couple of pegs. Pat seemed to be a nice easygoing girl with no affectations. The only thing she showed off being rich was her clothes, and you couldn't blame a girl for that, we all decided.
But what got us really down, was how Beverly would try to dominate every conversation she was in by telling us what a siren she was back in Atlanta. Her mother's cousin lived up near Chicago, and her parents were divorced, so that's why she was sent up here, which was our loss in some ways.
Strangely enough, they made me Pat's "Big Sister," which meant I had to sponsor her, see her through the initiation and then, if I wanted to, sex her up in one of the rooms in Kathy's house. Kathy was going to be Beverly's "Big Sister," and I had seen Kathy lay on the paddle on quite a few pledges including poor little me, so I knew that our Southern belle was in for a very hot time in the old town tonight.
They brought Pat out first, or rather I did. We put the dogcollar round her neck with the leash attached to it, which I held, and I went into the closet where we had locked her up separately from Beverly, who was in another closet, and I explained to her that she had to cooperate, and she laughed and said that she would be a good sport providing we didn't mark her up too much because she had a boyfriend who was going to visit her every so often in town. I remembered that because she had to be questioned about her sex or lack of it during the initiation.
Anyway, I made her take off her dress, and then her petticoat, and she was down to bra and panties, garterbelt, stockings and shoes. I knew that Kathy was sort of proud of her tall figure, so I tactfully suggested that Pat remove her shoes. She'd only trip in them, because they were high-heeled anyway.
She took my advice like a good sport, I tied her wrists behind her back and then I led her out into the rec room downstairs in Kathy's house which was the place used for our initiation that particular night.
I made Pat kneel down in front of Arlette and May and Kathy, who were sitting in three chairs at the back of the room and acting as the officers in charge, which of course they were. Then at Arlette's signal, I pulled Pat's panties down and Arlette started asking her nasty sex questions, such as, "When did you first start playing with your pussy, pledge?" and "Have you ever been fucked?"
To our surprise to that last question, Pat called out, "I sure have, and I love it."
That brought down the house and we all laughed and so we didn't have the heart to spank Pat too hard when she had to get down on all fours and get paddled. Besides, I pulled her sort of fast with the dogleash, and she managed to get through the mill with a minimum of swats. We all voted that she had been a good sport and didn't have to go through again, and so she was accepted right away.
Then they brought out Beverly. Kathy Miller went in and got her, and Beverly was already starting to get scared after her dress had been taken off and her lace-trimmed petticoat removed. She wore a pantygirdle and a bra with shoulderstraps and bandeau, smoke-colored nylons and open-toe strap-on pumps.
She wanted to know what they were going to do and her Southern accent made us giggle. They shoved her down on her knees, and then Kathy jerked down her panties and did Beverly ever begin to protest and yell that she didn't want to belong to a nasty group like this. That didn't set her in very well with the Delphites, I can tell you that, Mr. Harding!
Arlette asked her questions, and Beverly said it was none of her damned business. Kathy picked up a paddle and let her have about a dozen over that tight, round bottom of hers, and she wailed and screamed and shouted holy murder, and said she was going to tell the dean of women.
For that she had to go through the mill twice, and after the second time when she was just about lying flat on her stomach and rubbing her bottom with both hands-for they had untied her wrists just to see what she would do-Arlette asked her if she still felt the same way. This time Beverly had more sense and said she wouldn't tell anybody but she didn't want to join and she wanted to get out right away.
But they wouldn't let her. They tied her up by the thumbs, running a rope connecting her thumbs to a pipe in the basement ceiling. She stood on tiptoe, and then they all came up and started tickling her with a feather and pinching her. Finally she came, and then we found out that she had had girl-sex with her own cousin down in Atlanta and that she didn't like boys at all. So Kathy took her up to a bedroom and I suppose they sexed up together.
I cuddled a little with Pat, but I really didn't feel like going all the way. It was funny, but right now I was thinking about fellows. I was wondering how Sophie's Charlie was getting along. And after the initiation was all over, she told me her secret: they were going to get married as soon as she graduated. And they were fucking regularly, at least twice a month. Did I ever feel envious!
Envy led me to my thoughts and from there I journeyed to Mr. X's castle. There were three of us chained to the wall now. There was me, a man, and another woman.
In this reverie, I pretended that I had just been fucked by X and also the other man. Now X was going to torture his three victims, and he was going to do that by branding us.
But finally old Mrs. Darlow caught up with the Delphites, just a week after my nineteenth birthday, and boy, was I ever glad I'd come down with a cold that particular week and hadn't been able to attend the secret meeting, which was held at Arlette Sands' house. About a dozen girls were expelled in disgrace, and one of them was my roommate Sophie Sills. But she had a happy ending anyway, because the very next week she went ahead and married her guy Charlie.
A few months later, I left the school myself because Dad and Mom had sort of come to a decision. Mom's health wasn't getting any better, and old Dr. Lang had told Dad that what she really needed was to move to a nice dry place in Southern California, maybe near Anaheim or even a place like Fresno or Bakersfield. Chicago's cold winters weren't any good for her at all, especially her lungs. And Dad had been talking to the big boss at his plant, and as luck would have it they were opening a new branch out in Los Angeles, so they decided to sell the house and move.
Naturally, they both wanted me to come with them. But I didn't think it was a good idea. After all, I was almost twenty, I was of legal age, and I was certainly old enough to earn my own living-or at least to try. So I asked them if they would really miss me a lot if I were to stay in Chicago and try to find a good job and make something of myself. Maybe after six months or so, if it didn't work, I could always go out there and join them. There were of course jobs in L.A., but I still thought it was a good idea for them to have their declining years all to themselves without me tagging along.
So after a lot of discussion, Dad finally took my side for a change. Not only that, he told me that he had a couple of business friends in the Loop and he would try to get me a job. At Northbrooke, I had taken a couple of typing and shorthand courses, and now they were going to come in awfully handy. Of course I couldn't expect very much to start being just out of school, but Dad did finally send me down to see a Mr. Bardon, in an insurance company on South Michigan Avenue. They were looking for girls to do filing and typing, and they paid about $85 a week to start, with regular raises, group insurance, a nice cafeteria with good food and reasonable prices, and other benefits. Now the next step was to find myself a place to live.
Dad and Mom were pretty spiffy about that. Mom showed me a flash of her old dry humor when she said to me, "Alma, don't think that just because you're going to be here and we're going to be out on the West Coast that you can go hog-wild about boys. Your father has a good friend over in the Michigan Central Savings & Loan Company on Adams Street, and he's going to have him sort of check up on you and then let us know if you're behaving yourself. And if you don't, young lady," she shook a warning forefinger at me, "I'll fly all the way back from Los Angeles and paddle your bottom good with a hairbrush I still have, and don't you ever forget it!"
I promised her that I would be a good girl and I also told her that I really wouldn't have any time for boys when I was starting to learn a new job and fit into an office when up to now I had never been in one. Dad said he allowed that maybe I was finally getting some good sense rather late in life, which was his way of making a dry joke, and then we all sort of broke down a little and cried and kissed each other, and we felt a lot better about it.
Dad helped me find a nice little one-room unfurnished apartment, I guess you would call it an efficiency, on Surf Street on the North Side. There was awfully good bus service and also the elevated which would get me right down to the Loop in no time at all. Since he was selling the house, he planned to take an apartment and maybe in a furnished apartment hotel in Los Angeles where he and Mom could have their mail and the switchboard and maid service so that Mom wouldn't have to work at chores. So he told me he would give me some of the furniture and I could have my choice. It was really wonderful of him.
And so about two months later they were out in Los Angeles and I was in my little apartment and I'd been about six weeks in my new job. I was on the seventh floor of a nice modern building and I could look out onto Michigan Avenue and see all the wonderful shops and the traffic and even the lake when the sun was shining and there wasn't any smog. About the third week on the job, I got a phone call about eight o'clock that Thursday evening, and it turned out to be from a Mr. Kenworthy. He said he was Dad's friend and that if I had a few minutes, he would like to come up and talk to me and just make sure everything was getting along fine.
I sort of mentally groaned, if you know what I mean, because I thought I was a pretty big girl now and didn't have to have somebody look after me as if I were a little baby. But I knew that Dad and Mom wouldn't like it at all if I were rude to this Mr. Kenworthy, so I told him to come on ahead. It turned out that he lived only about a mile away in a big new high-rise. He rang the bell and I let him in, and when I opened the door I was sort of surprised. I thought maybe he would be a cranky old man, because his voice sounded sort of, well, very decisive and self-assured but not young. But he was six feet tall, a nice athletic, lean figure, and his black hair was mostly gray. I figured him to be about forty-five or so-and it turned out that was just what he was.
His name was Lawrence Kenworthy. He lived west on Wellington Street, and he was an assistant sales supervisor for a big tool and die firm with branches all over the country. It turned out that he and Dad had been sort of drinking buddies, and that since they were both in the same line of business, they had met at a convention of heavy equipment and patterns and designs and got to be real good friends.
I had just been making a fresh pot of coffee, so I offered him some, and he said thanks, he would like a cup very much. I had some store cookies, so I served them up to him, and I sat down on the couch and he sat down on the nice big old armchair which I had always liked and sort of wanted to swipe from Dad anyway, and we got acquainted.
He was a widower, as it turned out. His wife had died about eight years ago from an epidemic of influenza. He had a twenty-three-year-old son, which means he must have gotten married when he was a year younger than his son was now. His son, Martin, had finished college and was working as a kind of apprentice in the same business, going out on sales calls with trained salesmen and learning the ropes.
Well, we chatted for about half an hour, and then Lawrence Kenworthy got up to go. "It's been very pleasant, Alma," he said. "I'd like the privilege of calling on you every now and then, unless of course you resent it." And then he gave me a very charming smile and added, "It wouldn't offend me if you said you didn't want to see me, because I realize that your father had the notion I ought to keep an eye on you. But you seem like a very lovely, sensible young woman, and I'm sure I don't have to supervise you or give you any disciplinary treatment."
The last phrase he used, "disciplinary treatment," sort of made me blush and look down at the floor. The reason was, it reminded me of the spankings Dad and Mom had given me. And the strangest thing happened to me right then and there. All of a sudden in my mind's eye, I was seeing myself bent over Lawrence Kenworthy's lap, and his face was very stern, and his left arm was pinning me down and his right hand was coming down hard on my bare bottom. At the same time, my pussy began to twitch and to tickle, a sure sign that I was thinking about sex ... the kind of sex I wished I had had after I had been paddled by the Delphites and had to go up with Sophie and watch her fuck with her boyfriend and now her husband Charlie!
I guess that's what made me really say the first thing that popped into my head, and something that I am now awfully glad I did say. If I hadn't said it at all, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be in the happy situation I'm in right now, Mr. Harding. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself again. Anyway, what I did say was, "Well, I have been a good girl, you can tell Dad and Mom that if you write them, Mr. Kenworthy. But I don't think I would mind so much, that is, if I had to be spanked, if someone like you were to do it. You're awfully nice."
And then I really did blush and look down at the floor and wonder what in the world had made me say a thing like that to a perfect stranger. When I looked up again, he had an odd little smile on his lips, and he seemed to be looking at me for the first time. Then he said slowly, "That's quite a compliment, Alma. I'll remember that, if I may. It's been a pleasure, and if you ever want to talk to me about any problems, here's my card."
And that night, Mr. Harding, as I lay in bed-and it was a nice big double bed that Dad and Mom had had-I felt my finger creeping down my tummy to my pussy and starting to tickle the soft lips and then push in to find the little button of my clit. And as I closed my eyes and spread my legs, I was pretending that Lawrence Kenworthy had just given me a good hard spanking on the bare bottom and then told me to get to bed and be ready to fuck with him, or he would take a strap to me and teach me how to be a good obedient girl!
CHAPTER SIX
About ten days later, I had another phone call from Lawrence Kenworthy. Dad had talked to him the night before on the long-distance phone to ask him a couple of questions about business, and had mentioned that if Mr. Kenworthy would give me a ring and let me know that everything was fine out there, that Mom was thriving and putting on weight and just basking in the life of being a retired housewife with maid service and everything. I had been writing rather faithfully about twice a week, and Dad had sent me a check for my twentieth birthday, and one for Christmas too.
I told Mr. Kenworthy that I would be very happy to see him so he came over on a Thursday night. I was feeling pretty happy because the supervisor in my department had told me that I was in line for a small raise and that I could consider myself off probation and sort of like a permanent employee. So it was worth celebrating, and I had planned to take in a movie Friday night after a good dinner in the Loop.
Mr. Kenworthy looked handsomer than ever. It's funny, and now that I look back I guess maybe it was a father image I had. Dad was always such an awe-inspiring figure; and of course the fact that he had spanked me pretty regularly had got me to considering that image with not only respect but a certain amount of mild scariness. But that's the very same feeling I had when Mr. Kenworthy walked in, in a neat gray overcoat and Borsolino hat.. I took his hat and coat and hung them up, and then I offered him some coffee and a chocolate cake I had just finished baking. I was pretty proud of it, and I had learned a lot in the kitchen from Mom. He thought it was awfully good, and we sat chatting there for about half an hour. Then all of a sudden out of a clear sky he looked at me with a sort of twinkle in his eye and said, "Well, you've made good on your job, Alma, and I'm certainly going to report that to your father. I've got to get a letter off to him with some price lists of tool and die assemblies, and I'll just mention this, if you don't mind."
"That's very nice of you, Mr. Kenworthy."
"Glad to do it, Alma. And I guess since you've been such a good girl, as this promotion seems to show, you still aren't thinking that you need someone to discipline you, are you?"
My hand started to shake, and the coffee cup clattered on the saucer. I looked straight at him, and I could feel my cheeks getting warm and red. Just the way I wanted my other set of cheeks to be, Mr. Harding! And then I said, and again I don't know what devil prompted me, "A girl who lives by herself and doesn't have anybody to lean on is always in need of discipline, Mr. Kenworthy."
"I see." He took a sip of his coffee, set the cup and saucer down on the little table beside the armchair, and seemed to be studying me with that faint little smile around his lips. "Have you done something lately that you think required discipline, Alma?"
Once again I don't know what made me be flippant and keep up that line of conversation with him, because of course I had been a good girl. But instead, I said, "Isn't there something in the Bible, Mr. Kenworthy, that if you think something in your heart, you're just as naughty as if you went ahead and did it? Well, I guess I have, then."
"Well now, that sounds like very heavy philosophising for such a charming young woman," he chuckled. "And so you think that you ought to be punished, just the way you were when you were a little girl, is that it?"
I kept looking at him, and I knew that I was blushing more and more, and couldn't speak just then, so I just nodded.
"And it would make you feel better if you had your punishment for your naughtiness, Alma?"
And once again I nodded. I had started to twist my fingers in my lap, and I could feel a little perspiration breaking out on my forehead. But most of all, that funny tickling feeling was starting along the insides of my legs and in my pussy. And once again I had in front of me in my mind the picture that I'd dreamed of that time, or rather, forced myself to summon up while I was playing with my pussy, that I was over his lap with my panties down and he was spanking me good and hard on my bare seat.
"You know," he said after about a minute's pause, "the last time I was over her, you paid me a rather interesting and curious compliment. If I remember it, it went something to the effect that if anybody had to discipline you, you wouldn't mind at all if it was I. Am I correct?"
"Yes, s-sir," I stammered.
"In that case, suppose I was to offer my services here and now, Alma, as a sort of father confessor?"
My heart starting beating so fast I thought I was going to faint. I was tingling all over. I could hardly hear my voice, it sounded as if it were far away and it wasn't my voice at all, when I said, "I think-I think I would like that very much, Mr. Kenworthy."
He got up from his chair and came slowly towards me. His lips were still smiling, but there was a stern light in his eyes. I began to shiver. "Very well, Alma. I'm going to give you a spanking, then. Do you think it's something I should write your father about?"
"Oh no!" I breathed, scandalized at the idea. It would sound too kooky, and besides, Dad and Mom might read between the lines and really think that I had done something to be punished for, which of course I hadn't.
"All right, then, it will be our secret. Stand up now!" His voice had suddenly become very stern and authoritative.
My legs were turning to jelly as I got up from the couch, and I saw him sit down to my left. Then he looked up at me and said just as sternly, "Now then, Alma, get yourself over my lap and stretch out along the couch. I'm going to give you the spanking you seem to want so much. I hope it will do you some good."
I could feel my pulses throbbing hard in my temples and all over my body. My blood was warm, and my legs were shaking as I slowly leaned over his lap and then stretched my legs out along the couch. I hid my face in my hands, and I was quivering all over. I'd almost forgotten what a spanking was like, because it hadn't been since the Delphites. And then, it hadn't been the same, because girls were paddling my bottom and not a man.
It was like a kind of dream. It seemed to me I had had this dream when I was a little girl, when I was sleeping or even when I was awake playing with myself. And it was always someone like Dad who was spanking me. But I never did get to the actual end of the dream, because by then my ringer was so busy in my pussy that I was falling into space and souring up to the clouds. Now maybe, I told myself, I would find out what the dream really was and how it was going to end!
Just then I felt him pull back my skirt, and he said to me, "Lift yourself up a little, Alma." I did it at once, and he tugged up my slip, too, well above my waist.
I had on just beige-colored panties and a thin little white garterbelt under the waistband, and I had on my flesh-colored nylons. I felt his fingers touch the waistband of my panties and I gasped out, "Ohh, Mr. Kenworthy!"
I thought he was going to pull them down, and I was almost dying of shame. And at the same time, the tickling in my pussy got stronger than it had ever been before, I mean it, Mr. Harding!
He seemed to hesitate a moment, and then all of a sudden he tugged my panties up so that they were snug and tight like a second skin. The material even pressed tightly into the crease between my bottom cheeks, and then I knew that he was going to spank me over them and make them as tight as they could be so that they wouldn't protect my flesh.
Next his left arm curved around my waist, and it held me very tight. It was like Dad, just like that, only now there was a difference. A big difference. My pussy was telling me that all the time. I was shivering, as if I had a fever.
I felt his other hand coming down on my bottom, but not the spank. It lay on my right cheek for a minute, and then seemed to move over to the other cheek. I knew what he was doing. He was feeling up my bottom to make sure how much I could take and to see where I was sensitive, sometimes just the way Dad had done.
I squirmed a little, and I put my legs tightly together. I lay waiting there, and I was sending thought waves-to him to go ahead and do it as fast as he could before I made a fool of myself begging him. Yes, I was excited.
And then his hand did come down, and it hurt. It flattened the right lower cheek of my bottom, and my hips seemed to swerve a little, and I let out a gasp and glanced back at him. His face was very stern now, and his eyes were staring right at my bottom. He didn't even look at me. I could see him raise his hand again, and I quickly turned my face away and closed my eyes as tightly as I could.
Smack! This time it was the other bottom cheek which got it, towards the base. It really stung, too. My hips again did a little sort of squirming in the air, before they went on down and flattened. I crossed my ankles, and I twisted my pumptoes to get a better balance so I could prepare myself. And now the tickling in my pussy was just about driving me crazy!
I was feeling pain, and I couldn't help but to try and take my mind off of what was happening. I returned my thoughts to X and the torture chamber. I saw myself lying on a cot. I was bound so that I could not move. In my mouth was a funnel and X was pouring wine into my mouth. I was choking and coughing and the burning sensation was spreading throughout my body.
I wondered why I had created Mr. X in the first place and then I realized that Mr. X was the fantasy counterpart of my father. I focused my eyes and realized that Kenworthy looked a little like my image of X.
He waited a minute then, and I felt him tighten his left arm around my waist and pull me a little closer to him. I guess in my squirming, I had got over a little more towards the edge of his lap. Now I felt really helpless, just as I had when I was a little girl and Dad was spanking me. Now once again his hand came down on my seat, but not the spank. It pressed a little, and it moved over to the other cheek, and back to the right cheek again. My flesh was quivering and trembling so hard that I was sure he must be aware of what I was feeling. And I wasn't being scared of being spanked, it was sex. It was if he were making love to me, Mr. Harding. There was a nice tingling warmth to the cheeks that he had already spanked, and all of a sudden his hand came down twice, once to each cheek, at the top of each buttock. I kicked up both legs and then I pressed them down again, and I let out a little gasp of "Ooooh!"
In a way I was glad he wasn't talking to me. It left me free to concentrate on what was happening to me. It was also sort of unreal and yet of course it was real, my bottom could tell me that! But what I'm getting at is that I could close my eyes and pretend I was off in my world of fantasy and that my Prince Charming, my master and lord and lover, was giving me my correction. Of course at the back of my mind, there was the naughty feeling that maybe, after preparing me and purging me of all my naughtiness, he would make love to me. And I was almost shocked to find out that that was what I was really thinking all along when I had said that I wouldn't mind if he were the one to discipline me!
I began to ask myself if he was thinking that, just as I was now. But then another hard spank came down and I had to think of what I was feeling then and there. It stung, it bridged both cheeks and sort of pinched them together. My tight panties seemed to make the sting even harder.
I crossed my ankles the other way now, and I rubbed them together a little, and the muscles in my legs flexed as I got myself ready. I had a feeling it was going to be a good hard long spanking, too.
But now all of a sudden he began to spank me very quickly. I didn't even have a chance to count. First right cheek and then left, up and down, starting at the top of my hips and working to the base, and then back up again. And before I knew it, I was gasping out, "Ohh, Mr. Kenworthy!" and "Ahhhh, oh my, it hurts-I'll be a good girl, Mr. Kenworthy!"
Then he stopped. My bottom was really hot now, and I could feel the cheeks sort of open and then close, and I didn't have any control over them. My thighs were squirming a little too, and my fingernails were digging into the couch. I turned my face back to look at him. He was still staring at my hind end, and his eyes were narrowed and there wasn't a twinkle in them now. His mouth was thin and set, and he looked awfully stern. I began to shiver, and I could feel my nipples getting hard. Yes, if he had made love to me right then and there, I think I would have just about exploded. I had never been so passionate, and yet so submissive, so that I felt like a real slave. I would have done anything he would have told me then, I know I would, Mr. Harding!
He seemed to let loose of his grip on my waist, and then he used both hands to pull my panties up even tighter. It sort of cut me along the crease between the cheeks, and I squirmed a little and gasped out, "Ouch!"
No, he hadn't finished. And I was secretely glad he hadn't. It was beginning to hurt a little, especially over the ripest curves of both my bottom cheeks. It was awfully hot and it seemed to be throbbing, and yet through it there came the feeling of that wonderful hot, itchy tickling in my pussy which always drove me crazy. I was a big girl now, I was twenty, and I certainly didn't dare to rub myself back and forth over his lap the way I would in my own bed when I was alone at night so that I could come. I didn't dare do that, because I didn't know what he would say. Suppose he were to write to Dad that I was just a little hot-sexed girl who ought to be kept away from boys before she went off the deep end? I think I would have just died.
And now he made me wait an awfully long time. The suspense was almost driving me crazy. I looked back at him several times, and I sighed aloud, and then I folded my arms again very tightly and pressed my face down against them. I stiffened myself all over, and I waited. Tightening my muscles the way I was doing was making the heat in my bottom grow greater and greater. And then the spanking started all over again.
This time, though, the spanks were much slower. I guess may be about twenty seconds apart or something like that. He gave me time enough to feel the sting of the one he had just given me and to lie there wondering and waiting when the next spank would fall and it would be hard. He did it the same way, though, first the right cheek and then the left. This way I could of sort of anticipate what it was going to be like. I bit my lips, I sighed, and I felt the tears coming into my eyes by now. I crossed and recrossed my ankles a dozen times since the spanking had started. Now once again he stopped to pull me closer to him and to tighten the grip of his left arm around me. I was his prisoner, his slave, his captive. He was punishing a naughty girl-slave, and thinking about it like that made me feel almost moist between my legs.
And you know what the worst thing of all was, Mr. Harding? Right then, while he was shifting me and getting me ready for more spanks, I almost blurted out, "Please take my panties down and give it to me on my bare seat, Mr. Kenworthy, I've been awfully naughty, I deserve it!"
Of course, I didn't do that. I just ground my teeth together and closed my eyes real tight. And by that time the spanking was starting again. Now I was very close to him, his left hand seemed to have moved to the edge of my hips. He had me at closer range, and he was giving me quick brisk smacks, almost using his fingers like the thongs of a whip. He was aiming at the plumpest parts of my heinie, and always in the same right-left pattern. But these stung more than anything at all, because of course they were being given on flesh that was already burning and throbbing from the good smacks he had started me off with.
And then he stopped again. Once more he pulled up the waistband of my panties, till it nearly cut into my bunhole. I gasped out, "Ouch, oh dear-ohh, Mr. Kenworthy, I'll be good!" I mean, I really did. Just as if I were a naughty little girl who was finding that she couldn't take very much more and was trying to beg off without being too much of a baby about it.
Now his hand fell with all his strength. I could feel my bottom bounce as the right summit flattened to his palm. I lifted up my head and I yelled out, "Ouch, ohh, that hurts!"
The other cheek got it just as hard. "Ahhrrr, oh please, please, I'll be good, I will be, I promise I will be, I won't ever do it again, Mr. Kenworthy!" I hollered out and my feet kicked up and down till I could feel one of my pumps fly off and hit the floor.
"Are you sure, Alma?" His voice seemed to be very hoarse and thick, almost unrecognizable. He kept his right palm pressed right against the last cheek he had smacked, as if he were waiting for my answer before deciding whether he was going to give it to me again.
"Oh yes, yes I'll be awfully good, I'm sorry I was so naughty, oh please no more, Mr.
Kenworthy!" I sobbed.
Tears were really running down my cheeks then, and my bottom felt like a blast furnace. It was so hot and stinging all over that I didn't think I could stand it any longer. It almost drove out the tickling feeling in my legs, and on into my spine. And yet as I lay there while he waited, the two pains, the one delicious and the other really uncomfortable, began to blend together until I almost fainted. Yes, I knew now what I wanted and needed. I wanted a man to discipline me, to teach me how to behave, and to make me into his girlslave. I wanted to have my sex and spanking too, and the one wasn't possible without the other. Because I was twenty, and my blood was warm and eager, and I knew I had a nice body to attract men, and I remembered how Sophie Sills had fucked Charlie right there in front of my eyes after I had been paddled and I was stinging in my bottom and tickling in my pussy and yet I couldn't share the pleasures she was having.
"All right, Alma, you can get off my lap now," he said. I sort of eased my feet down to the floor and I stood up, and I was shaking. I guess my face was red as a sunset and there were tears running down it. I pulled down my skirt and slip and smoothed them out, and then my hands went behind me and I started to rub my behind. I was just about shameless then.
"Sometimes something like that is very salutary for a young woman, Alma," he said. He was trying to sound like a professor and to save my feelings. He was very impersonal now, and he got up. But I noticed that when he did, he sort of turned a little away from me. But not in time for me to have just a glimpse of his fly. It was bulging! Spanking me had given him a hard-on!
"I-I feel so ashamed-what must you think of me-oh Mr. Kenworthy!" I gasped, and then I hid my face in my hands.
He put his arm around my shoulders, tilted up my chin with his other hand and looked into my eyes. He was smiling a little now, and he didn't have that stern look. "I think you're an exceptional young woman. I understand you perhaps better than you understand yourself. But this sort of thing can be dangerous, my dear. And I mean for both of us-do you understand me?"
I nodded through my tears. I didn't trust myself to speak.
"It's true I'm not married, but I'm certainly old enough to be your father. What you need is a younger man. And as it happens, my son shares some of my views on things like this. It might be a good idea if I introduced you to him, Alma. First of all, I think it would be more fitting, and secondly, your father would probably feel better about it. He's known Martin for quite sometime."
"I-I'd like to meet him, Mr. Kenworthy."
He kept holding my chin and smiling at me.
And then very suddenly he leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. Then I almost did faint for sure! All sorts of tingling waves ran through my body, from my nipples on down to my tummy and down into my pussy. My legs were so weak I could hardly stand, and I felt his left arm lower to close around my waist and to hold me up. Then there wasn't any doubt how he was feeling. Because I sort of stumbled against him, and I pressed right into his cock and it was hard and sticking right into me. Oh you don't know what went through my mind right then, Mr. Harding! It was all I could do to keep from begging him to finish me off, to give me sex now that I was so wild for it, because after all he had done this to me, he and his spanking and his stern way reminded me of my Dad.
"I hope I didn't hurt you too much, Alma dear," he then said.
"Oh no! I mean-it-was wonderful-it was what-it was what I needed," my voice was choking and very faint.
"You mustn't push this too far. It's a quality that can be very risky if you don't have control of it, my dear. I should know. Later, when I know you better, I'll let you in on a little secret."
And then the devil that had prompted me to ask him for a spanking prodded me into saying something else that was terribly bold and which, if Dad and Mom had been around to hear me, would certainly earned me a good long session with the hairbrush and on the bare, too! I said, "It-it was fun for you sp-spanking me, wasn't it, Mr. Kenworthy? I mean-you-you liked it, liked doing it and holding me on your lap and-and-feeling my bottom, didn't you?"
"Alma! Why, you little dickens!" Then he broke out laughing, but there wasn't much humor in it, I could tell. His face grew sober then, and then he said to me, "Now I think I really will leave before I forget myself. But I'll have Martin get in touch with you one of these days. Don't force anything, Alma. Just let things take their own course. You'll make somebody very happy, and maybe it'll be Martin."
"And what about you, Mr. Kenworthy?" I boldly asked.
"Be careful now, or I might just give you another spanking," he warned, wagging his forefinger at me playfully. Then he put on his hat and coat and without another word went out. I stood there, still rubbing my bottom, and my legs were trembling, and I knew what I was going to do. I went right to bed, and as soon as I was all naked-because this time I didn't sleep in any pajamas or nightie even-I started playing with my pussy. It didn't take very long. I almost exploded all over, and I sobbed and groaned and then everything was peaceful and sweet and I fell sound asleep.
It was there in my sleep the terrible Mr. X and his castle returned. I was in the torture chamber again, and this time I was hanging by my feet. A black-hooded man was beating me with a paddle and the pain was ripping through my body.
Oh shit, it was terrible! The blows covered my thighs, and my breasts. I screamed in terror, and then awoke from the dream.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I went back to work almost daydreaming of Lawrence Kenworthy and of his handsome young son Martin. Now I knew what I really wanted for the first time. Well, that's a play on words, in a way, because the first time should be a good spanking before a fucking; but I probably should phrase it, that I knew for the first time what I really wanted, which makes more sense. At any rate, Lawrence Kenworthy's spanking left happy and burning memories well into two days after he had administered my "purging" and by then I realized how lonely life was without someone who really cared for me enough to take me in hand-and use that hadn effectively where it would do the most good.
I have been told by my lord and master-and I'm not going to reveal his name yet-that my sense of humor is sometimes little-girlish, but that is one of the things he likes best about me, because it gives him extra pretext to pull my panties down and make me kneel down and ask for a good sound spanking. I guess what I just said a few minutes ago is proof of that mischievousness I sometimes get into. Maybe it's because I'm on my own now, away from Dad and Mom, and feeling that I'm a woman already and it's about time I should have a really close and meaningful relationship.
But anyway, to get back to the chronology, Martin Kenworthy didn't call me for about two weeks. When he did, I was dressing to go out with two of the girls from the office where I worked, because we wanted to go to dinner and then to see a very good Second City comedy show down in Old Town. So I sort of had to brush him off and ask for a raincheck. He said he was going out of town for another couple of weeks, but he would call me when he got back. So all in all, it took about seven weeks before we really agreed to see each other.
He asked if he could take me out to dinner, and I said that would be very nice. He called for me, and he had a nice new Thunderbird. But I was more impressed by his lean good looks, because he took after his father to an amazing degree. The same stern face and uncompromising jaws, the firm mouth, a straight nose, and very bright eyes which could narrow and get cold in a hurry, just as they could burn right through you. He was six feet tall, too, which I liked, just as I had with his father. The way he talked, he certainly seemed older than twenty-three.
We went to dinner at the Blackhawk, for a wonderful roast beef and salad and strawberry shortcake. Then he asked if I'd like to see a movie. I said I'd much rather spend the time getting acquainted with him, which was sort of bold on my part. He chuckled, then he said, "Dad told me about you, Alma. He said you were fresh as a daisy and very saucy. He's quite a judge of women, Dad is, and I respect it. All right, what do you say we go back to my apartment? I'm a big boy now and I live alone, but I drop in at Dad's every so often to have dinner with him and listen to some records or maybe just talk."
That was fine with me. He drove me down to about Ardmore near Sheridan Road, in a very swanky new building, and we took the elevator to the fifth floor. His apartment was way at the back, but it was nice and quiet. It was beautifully furnished, and the living room had a huge low couch with lots of pillows on it. It looked as if two persons could stretch out there comfortably and take a good long nap without even touching each other, or maybe do something else that would be more exciting. He had a lot of lithographs on the walls, and I took a second look at them, and then I blushed. All of them were erotic scenes. Mostly they were line drawings, but some were beautifully colored and tinted. Some were Russian, some were French, and every one of them, Mr. Harding, showed a girl being spanked or whipped or about to get one or the other, sometimes by a cruel-looking but very beautiful dominant woman, sometimes by an almost naked man, sometimes by a hooded executioner in a torture chamber where there were torches blazing on the wall and even rats running around on the floor.
In the comer of the living room opposite the big bay window, stood a tall cherrywood secretary. I could see about five shelves of books and I walked over to look at them, curious girl that I've always been. I wasn't surprised to find some titles that wouldn't be kept in the Chicago Public Library, like "Maude Cameron and Her Guardian" and "Submit I Must" and "Sentenced to Servitude." There was a book and magazine rack near the big couch, and there were a couple of magazines lying on the horizontal ledge under the table just off the floor. One was in full color and I glanced at it. Its title was "Corporal" and most of the cover was taken up with a photograph of a very pretty girl over her boyfriend's lap, he just in a dressing gown, using a hairbrush on her bottom to very good effect, judging from the way she was twisting around her lovely face, her mouth wide open, and trying to put one hand back to cover up. Then I really blushed.
He had followed the direction of my gaze, and walked over, picked up the magazine and brought it over to me. "I see you're interested in spanking, Alma," he said without even cracking a smile. 'This is the leading magazine in the field, quite masterful and imaginative. Did you know, for example, that most fathers who spank their daughters have secret incestuous longings which they have to suppress. Or, again, that many girls just provoke their parents or boyfriends or husbands into being angry with them, angry enough to apply corporal punishment, just because the young ladies in question get their kicks that way?"
I didn't answer. I mean, I was blushing so hard and trying not to give myself away by looking down at the floor or anything, that I was just petrified.
"Here, look through it, if you like. I'll go fix us a drink. Meanwhile, what kind of music do you like? Ravel? Tchaikovsky? Or perhaps just good old Bach? I happen to be a longhair in my musical interests."
"I-I like classical music too, Martin," I said in a rather tremulous voice. "Ravel would be awfully nice."
I knew that they had made a popular number out of Ravel's beautiful "Pavane," written to commemorate the funeral of a dead young princess, into "The Lights Are Low." I had heard some Ravel, and of course the "Bolero." But instead he put on the Quartet in F. After the introduction, there is a wonderfully haunting main melody that long ago used to be used as the theme music for a program of ghost stories on radio, in the days when radio was the entertainment. I sat on the couch and closed my eyes and thrilled to it. It seemed as though it were probing me, impressionistic and delicate, and it was as if all my nerves were prickling and twitching, and my skin was prickling with excitement and awareness just in the joy of being alive and being a woman and here with a handsome young man. A man who happened to be the son of the man who had given me such a thrilling spanking that I was dreaming about going to bed with him!
Then he sat down beside me. I had the magazine in my lap and I still hadn't gotten over being embarrassed over everything that had happened so far.
He reached out, opened the magazine with both hands and started showing me the stories and the pictures. I tried not to look too interested but every so often I let out a gasp, because some of the pictures of girls being spanked were sensational. I could even see myself in some of them, a kind of wish-fulfillment, you might call it, Mr. Harding.
"I don't believe in slavery exactly, and neither does Dad," he suddenly told me as he closed the magazine and put it back on the stand, then came back to sit down beside me and take up his glass of wine. "But I do think that through imagination, often a man and woman can pretend and will themselves back into fantasy, as if they were in a kind of time machine which turns them back into an ageless past era, where the woman gloried in being the slave of her lord and master. There are lots of play games like that between adults, you know, Alma."
"I-I suppose so," I mumbled. He was sitting very close to me, and I wondered if he was going to kiss me. But he didn't, much to my surprise. Then he started chatting about music and books and things like that, and for the rest of the evening we never did get back to spanking.
When he mentioned fantasy I thought about my dear Mr. X. I removed my mind into the torture chamber and there I was being tortured by a man and a woman and the terrible Mr. X. X was beating my body with a whip while a man frigged my ass with a dildo and a woman fucked my cunt with woman.
Yes, Mr. Kenworthy, fantasies are very important They can guide you and help you to be whatever you want. I knew even then that I wanted to be a slave, a submissive and the only way I could truly manifest my desire was in my fantasy with Mr. X.
Finally it was time to go, and I thanked him for a lovely evening. He drove me home in his Thunderbird. I found myself wishing he would go upstairs with me, and then I would give him a nightcap, and then I would be in his arms-but no, nothing like that happened at all. In fact, he didn't even say he was going to call me again soon or anything like that. He just smiled at me, touched his hat, thanked me, and drove back to his place.
I kept on working, and I got another raise. I was really proud of myself now. Dad and Mom were writing me pretty regularly, and apparently Mom had got her health back and Dad was happy and planning to retire when he got to be fifty-five so he and Mom could go around the world and see some of the exotic places they'd always dreamed about. He was making good money out there in California too, so he would get his dream one day.
But I hadn't even come close to my dream, and I was twenty years old. Lawrence Kenworthy, Martin's father, would call me about once a month, but I noticed that now he just limited himself to a phone call. He would be very pleasant and chat about this or that, and sometimes he would say he'd heard from Dad, but never once did he ask to see me again. Nor did he remind me that I had once had him be my "spanking father-confessor."
The day of my twenty-first birthday, delivered to my office by special messenger, I got a mysterious package. I wasn't expecting anything, except of course from Dad and Mom, and their present had arrived a few days before in the mail, including a nice check. I'd called Dad long distance to thank him for it.
This package, though, was a jewelry case. When I opened it, my eyes widened and I started to blush. It was a kind of medallion, beautifully wrought, with a silver chain and a sort of metallic golden piece at the end of the chain. But on the golden piece was an engraving showing a girl kneeling before a man standing with folded arms, and she was holding up a whip to him. There was a card, and on the card it said, "May this, your birthday of maturity, bring you closer to the fulfillment of all your desires." And it was signed, "Lawrence Kenworthy."
When I got back home that evening, the phone rang and it was Lawrence Kenworthy. I started to thank him about the present he had given me, but he seemed to be quite one-sided and wanted to know if I might come out to his house and perhaps have either a late dinner or a snack with him. He lived at West Olive Street, far on the North Side and way beyond the lake. I didn't have any plans for dinner that evening, though I had planned to treat myself to a fancy restaurant meal, so I said I'd like very much to see him. He said to me, "Bring along the present, then, and wear it, Alma."
I wanted to get out there quickly, because he sort of let me figure out that he was preparing dinner right then and there, so I took a cab. It was a big, roomy house of red brick, with a sort of Gothic attic. It was certainly big enough for him and his son, and yet his son was living by himself. When I rang the bell, Lawrence Kenworthy himself answered. He was in a dinner jacket, slacks, sandals, and he was smoking a pipe. He looked terribly masculine and distinguished. There was a thin smile on his lips, but his eyes were fixed on me intently. I had put on a pretty blue rayon dress and charcoal-brown pantyhose and my best pumps, and carried my cape. He took the cape and hung it in a closet just off the entrance to the house. Then he offered me his arm and said we would go in to dinner. He had an elderly German cook, probably in her sixties, who came out of the kitchen to greet me in broken English and to wish me a happy birthday. She said she had made some specially nice things, and I said that was very nice and I was very appreciative.
The dinner was delicious, really marvelous. There was wine, and plum cake with brandy sauce, and roast turkey with chestnut dressing. I hadn't had a home-cooked meal since Dad and Mom had gone to California, so I stuffed myself. The old woman cleared up the dishes and Lawrence Kenworthy and I went into his study at the back of the first floor. He gestured to me to sit down in a deep, heavy leather-upholstered armchair, which was wonderfully relaxing, and he seated himself in a straight-backed chair, folded his arms across his chest and looked the very model of a stern professor about to question an insecure freshman student, and he asked me, "Well, Alma, what do you think of my son Martin?"
"I-I like him very much. He-he doesn't seem to like me so much though, Mr. Kenworthy."
"He's a very busy young man and I'm grooming him for better things in the company. Right now, he's doing a lot of traveling, up to Winnipeg and Saskatchewan. He should be back in another month or two. But I didn't invite you here just for a birthday dinner or to talk about my son, Alma. I'm much more interested in you."
"That-Hhat's very flattering, sir," I said respectfully.
"I didn't mean it to be flattering. I've kept in closer touch with you than you realize, my dear young lady." He reached for a humidor, took out a cigar, took a cutter and slipped off one end and put it to his mouth. Then he lit it, drew on it critically, and finally, when it was glowing, he looked at me and said, "Today you're twenty-one. This means you are of the legal age of consent, have the power to vote, to own property, to make decisions, to marry and to lead your own life. All very valuable advantages, Alma. Very honestly, your father and mother are in hopes you'll get married one of these days."
"T-I hope I'll meet some nice fellow one of these days, Mr. Kenworthy," I faltered.
"You will. Tell me honestly, are you attracted to my son?"
I blushed and looked down at the floor. "It-it's hard for me to answer that, Mr. Kenworthy."
"Try to. You won't hurt my feelings. His mother doted on the boy, but I'm making him toe the line, and he's getting plenty of discipline. He has some admirable qualities, a vivid imagination, and already at his young age, he's a sensualist. Do you know what that is, Alma?"
"Someone who likes the pleasures of the flesh?" I hazarded.
"Good girl. Go to the head of the class," he chucklingly retorted, taking a pull at his cigar. "Seriously, I want your opinion. Can you imagine yourself married to him perhaps after a few years? What effect does a thought like that have upon you? I repeat, please be honest with me."
I thought about it. I closed my eyes and thought about it for about a whole minute. Then I looked at him and saw how handsome he was, in a way sinister, in a kind of debonair, quiet, secretive way. And once again I could almost see my father there, strictly watching me, vigilant over everything I did or thought, even before I acted, and I felt my pussy tickling again and I thought of what I had to say. I almost thought he wanted me to say it, and so I did: "I-I'd rather think of myself and you, Mr. Kenworthy. I hope you'll forgive me for being impertinent."
"We'll let that pass for the moment. You mean to say that, given the chance to marry either of us, you would pick me, young lady?" I, old enough to be your father and very set in my ways? And, I warn you also, many of my ways would be unusual and strange to you."
"I-I-I don't care! I-I think you're terribly handsome and very manly."
He smiled gently. "Well, I'll return the compliment and say that is very flattering on your part, as far as I'm concerned, Alma. Do you remember when I spanked you, after you'd reminded me that you'd like to have me discipline you?"
"Y-Yes, sir." My voice was very faint and my .cheeks were on fire.
"I've thought about you a great deal since then, Alma. Not exactly romantically, because at my age one is more cynical and sensual. I really don't believe in love, but I do believe in desire and giving pleasure as well as taking it. And as I told you before, I've been studying you for a long time. Even though you're very impertinent and aggressive and have a lot of sharp reactions, in my opinion you secretly want to find someone who can control and manage you, make the important decisions. Am I right?"
I nodded, because of course he was."
"My grandfather came from Northumberland, Alma." He leaned back and closed his eyes, as if summoning up the past. "His father before him was the squire of a very large, landed estate. He had many servants working for him, servants who were born on that land and who were handed down, family to family, as servants to the next master of the estate. My grandfather, even in the twentieth century, always believed in discipline and the show of authority. His answer to this Women's Lib would have been to demand, in a letter to the 'London Times' that the magistrates return public whipping to the statute books. At the same time, he was deeply and passionately in love with my grandmother. Believe it or not, she was a servant in that house where he grew up as a young man, and he had occasion to whip her quite severely, at his own father's order. I forget what the incident was, but my grandfather was terribly upset. You see, she hadn't disobeyed him or committed an offense within his range of knowledge. Had it been that way, he would have given her even more than he did. As it was, he made her take down her drawers, bend over with her hands on her knees, and then he took a whippy cane and used it on her naked seat until she nearly fainted. But then, eight months late they were married. My great-grandfather was scandal'zed and cut his son off without a penny. Of course the courts wouldn't allow that, and there was some question that the old gentleman may have been incompetent into the bargain. So you see, way back and yet not too far back, I come from commoner stock."
I didn't know where all this was leading, yet his impressive behavior and his carefully chosen words left me quivering with enervation. Finally, after several puffs at his cigar and a very careful examination of it, he went on, "You, Alma, are a true submissive. I knew that when I spanked you. I think I knew it even before that, on such occasions when your father used to talk to me about you, and how you were in high school and even before then. YouVe always longed to have somebody decide for you, someone you can respect and admire, even worship. Isn't that the case?"
I had to nod, even though my cheeks were on fire now. But it was very true.
"That's why you're here now. I want your permission to perform a little experiment on you. After all, at twenty-one, it would be customary for me to give you what is facetiously called your 'birthday swats.' You are twenty-one, so that means twenty-one spanks, Alma. But I want your permission to proceed with this little ceremonial."
"You mean you want permission to wh-whip me?" my voice trembled.
"That, and bind you in the pose that a slave would take. Because of your submissive nature, you've secretly wanted to be dominated, and preferably by a man. I know that you went to a girl's school during your early years, and I suspect that you may have had some liaison with one or a number of them. That's perfectly all right, because a girl who has had lesbian experience is made more sensitive and imaginative, when it comes to lovemaking with a man. You're not a lesbian, Alma, you never could and you never will be. But you do have the temperament of a potential slave. I want to know precisely what you experience, what psychological thoughts motivate you, make you embarrassed, ardent or fearful. You don't have to say yes, but if you do, you may learn more about yourself than if you had gone on without any really first-hand knowledge about yourself-it would all be conjecture."
"I'll do whatever you want me to, Mr. Kenworthy."
"Spoken like a true submissive! It's not far from that across the boundary line to slavery, Alma. Come with me."
My thoughts once more turned to Mr. X. I could feel my back being beaten. I was on top of Mr. X, whose cock was deep in my pussy-a rather dykish-looking blonde was whipping us. Ah! The delight of the whip.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He led me up the stairs to the second floor landing, but did not pause there. He went down to the end of the corridor, over a thick carpet, and opened a narrow door at the very back. I could see a narrow stairway, and he gestured to me to descend it. There were thirteen steps, because I counted them, and there was another door, which he called to me to open.
When I opened it, I found myself in a narrow attic, with a high-vaulted ceiling rising in the middle. From the ceiling, as I looked up, I could see a pulley fixed right into the top, with ropes dangling from it. There were other apparatuses here which made me squirm uneasily, apparatuses which I remembered having seen illustrated in those lithographs in Martin Kenworthy's apartment. There was a block off to one side near a window, with heavy leather cuffs at each end and a broad strap set into the middle of one side. On the other side was a hook into which a metal clasp on the end of the strap fitted. I was to learn that this was a spanking block. In another corner, I saw a pair of leg stocks, and next to them a narrower pair which I found were for the wrists. From nails hammered into the walls, I could see dangling whips of all kinds, from quite with two long tapering tips to martinets with five and even thongs and a dreaded cat-of-nine-tails whose long, sinuous black leather bands made me shiver, and the flesh of my bottom tighten with apprehension.
He closed and locked the door behind him, and looked at me for a moment. "This is a kind of temple of submission, Alma. It can be a paradise for a submissive. A purgatory and hell for an unwilling slave. But I sense in you a kind of exalted eagerness to go beyond mere convention. You were always an unconventional girl, even in grade school, from what your father tells me. Now, you are at liberty to turn your back on me and walk away from this, and you will never hear from me or my son again. As you choose. I shall force no one. You are of age, and you will be forced to nothing."
"I-I'll stay, Mr. Kenworthy," I said to him in a trembling voice.
"Good! Now, I tell you this also in advance, so you won't worry. I know you to be a decent girl, and certainly your parents brought you up that way. I am neither a rapist nor a monster, and I shall not take your virginity-I assume you still have it."
I turned really scarlet at that, Mr. Harding. I lowered my eyes and nodded.
"Then I will ask you only one more intimate question. Again, you don't have to answer it if you don't choose to. Have you had any kind of intimate relationship with your own sex, then?"
"Oh yes!" I gasped out, and then I was aghast at myself for such a bold admission.
"Where and how?" he crisply flung at me.
"In-in high school there was a secret club. You couldn't get in unless-and then in the private school, at Northbrooke, they had a sorority, kind of, Mr. Kenworthy. I-I got initiated in both places, and I had to-well, they were girls...."
"I understand. You are honest, and that's all to the good. Be equally honest with your emotions, Alma, and perhaps you may find the answer to your desires. Now, for the time being, since you have accepted of your own free will, I shall begin to prepare you as a submissive. Take off your dress!"
I obeyed him mechanically. I think I would have done anything he told me to at that moment. The tingling up and down my thighs was driving me crazy, and my pussy was starting to moisten. I wondered if he was going to whip me good and hard, as a kind of birthday spanking. I wanted to see how much I could stand tonight!
I had put on my prettiest dress, a sort of blue print with white stripes, and a white nylon bra and panty set, garterbelt and nice sheer charcoal-brown stockings. I had a half-slip on, and this he told me to take off, too. He studied me in the most objective manner, almost as if I were an artist's model. Then he asked another question: "In your initiations in these two groups, Alma, were you ever tied and made to pose in uncomfortable positions?"
"Oh yes, I surely was, Mr. Kenworthy," I said very quickly again, because I could remember how I had been tied up and blindfolded by the Delphites.
"That's good, too. Part of being a submissive and a slave is to endure uncomfortable bondage. It humiliates, it renders you helpless, it impresses you with the knowledge that you are absolutely helpless to avert whatever your master or mistress desires to inflict upon you. It has psychological value in shaping your sensual nature. I am going to teach it to you tonight."
Then he pointed to a curious little chair at the other end of the room and told me to go over there. It was low, it had four sturdy legs, two heavy arms, but the back went only about to the waist, I should judge. At the edge of the seat at each side and fixed to the inner side of the front legs, was a pair of heavy cuffs in which rings were passed. These cuffs could be opened and then buckled. He told me to sit down in the chair and raise my legs up until my ankles were on a level with those cuffs. Then he quickly strapped my ankles together and stood back to approve his handiwork.
"That's very good. Now I'm going to make you a little more uncomfortable, my dear," he chuckled softly.
Now he took another pair of cuffs, but they really weren't cuffs at all, because he called them "your prayer collar." Then he added, "I don't know whether you've read 'The Story of O'. The heroine wore one of these things, and was then chained to her bed. Cross your wrists, Alma."
I could see that it was really a double set of circles, but one fitted over the neck and very tightly buckled. Then there was a short chain fixed with its last loop in a ring and to the cuffs. The wrist cuffs fitted tightly and were strapped, once my wrists were crossed. Thus my elbows were out at right angles, and my hands touched my neck and shoulders. The collar was very tight around my neck, and my arm and shoulder muscles began to ache a little already. Also, my knees and legs began to throb with discomfort as the circulation was cut off by the unnatural position of my legs. They were straddled pretty wide, and my thin panties were stretched to extreme. Another inch or so, and they would split!
He went to a little chest behind me, opened it, and took out a ball gag. He ordered me to open my mouth, pressed the ball in and then affixed the strap, which had an elastic band that could be pulled up at the back of the neck as tightly as desired. So I was unable to speak now.
Then he slipped off my pumps and playfully tickled the soles of my feet. I wriggled and squealed, but almost no sound came out through that ball gag.
"It's your birthday, Alma, and I promised you a birthday spanking. I'm going to give you a very little one, but it will feel like a great deal more because of your posture. I shall leave no permanent marks, but I promise you it won't be like a paddling or any gauntlet spanking you had at high school or college," he averred.
Then he picked up a curious, stiff little whip which he removed from one of the nails on the wall. It had a very flexible and narrowing shaft, ending in a tiny pointed tip. He called it a cravache, and it was about eighteen inches long. He came forward now and began to flick the tip against each of my bottom cheeks in turn, counting aloud.
"One ... two ... three...." and so on. He seemed to want to hit me as close to the base of my bottom as he could get, and because of the way I was sitting with my knees drawn up to the level of my bubbies, the undercurves of my behind were projected out a little instead of seated flat on the heavy leather seat of this strange wooden punishment chair. What made me blush was that my panties were so tight that they were outlining the black muff of my pussy, and after he had counted twenty-one and tears were running down my cheeks and I was squirming uneasily, he said, "And now here is one to grow on!" And then he flicked it right into my pussy.
A thousand hot needles seemed to leap into my tender spot, and my eyes goggled and I tried to yell out, but the gag muffled me. Now tears were really running down my cheeks.
Out of the pocket of his jacket he drew a black bandanna and wound it around my eyes. Then I heard him walk to the other end of the room, open the door and close it behind him. I was alone.
Time began to drag terribly. And now the worst part of it was that drawn up as I was, all the stinging little flicks that he had given my tender bottom and that last awful cut right into my pussy were seeming to gather momentum, as you might say, so the pain got worse instead of better. I was sticking my pussy out and turning my bottom up, and all my muscles were tight and my thin panties were stretched like a second skin ready to burst, over the places he had whipped me on. I had to breathe in through my nose, and it was awfully warm in this old attic, and musty, too. Besides, I couldn't see, and I didn't know what was going to happen to me.
I swear it must have been an hour before I heard the door unlock again and I moaned, "Oh thank goodness!" because I wanted something to happen. Anything was better than this awful waiting.
I heard footsteps coming closer to me. Then they stopped, and for a long minute there wasn't anything at all. I couldn't even hear breathing. Then all of a sudden somebody ripped off my bra and began to tweak and pinch and pull at my nipples until they got hard and firm. Then a hand began to slap my hubbies, first one side and then the other, and then up and down, till it really seemed to sting. It wasn't painful, not really, and my nipples were getting awfully swollen and throbbing, and so was my pussy. It all seemed to be flowing through my nipples and my pussy, and the tingling in my poor bottom was still there.
"Are you ready to obey now, slave?" I heard Lawrence Kenworthy's hoarse voice demand. "Do you wish to be whipped, or will you beg it off with your body?" he wanted to know.
I began to tremble. What could he mean by that? Did he mean-oh no! Did he mean that instead of getting another whipping, I could be spared it if-if I would let him have me. I moaned and tried to speak, but the ball gag stopped all that, except for just a vague noise.
Then I felt him take the gag away, unstrapping the tight strap at the back of my neck and pulling the thing out of my mouth. "Answer, slave!" he commanded.
"I-I want to do anything you want of me," I stammered, and I added in a very low voice, meant for his ears alone, "master!"
He exhaled a long, almost triumphant gasp. "All right, Alma, then leave the decision to me. This is what it shall be. I am going to whip you as severely as you have never been whipped. You must try to bear it, do you understand?"
"Yes, mm-master."
"And when I have whipped you enough, until I am excited, then I am going to make love to you. Do you understand that too? You needn't fear about a child or anything like that, that's understood. There will be pleasure for you, I assure you. But mainly it is my pleasure that concerns me, not you. That is the lot of the slave. She exists only to please her master. Her pleasure is only in obeying him. If she is humble and obedient, and cooperates and is imaginative, then perhaps the master, if he is of good sensitivity, will allow her a little joy from time to time. You understand all this?"
"Oh yes, master! Oh please, do it to me, I want you to, I want you to have me and to do anything with my body you want," I heard myself saying.
He took off the cuffs and I put my legs down with a gasp of relief, for my calf muscles had knotted and there were waves of pain running through them. He let me sit there for a moment, then he gave me a glass of wine. When I had drunk it, he ordered me to stand up and then bend over and grasp my ankles. I knew what that meant, all right, a spanking. I felt his fingers insert under the waistband of my panties and yank them down to the middle of my bottom. But he stopped there, then began a very gradual descent of them, almost fractional inch by fractional inch, purposely trying to shame me and to prolong the suspense before the moment would come for my spanking.
At last my panties were twisted around my knees and my garterbelt and my stockings were all that I had on.
He put his right hand out and squeezed one of my bottom cheeks. "You have beautiful white skin and it marks very vividly; the little flicks I gave you with the cravache are still quite evident. Do they still sting?"
"Yes, m-master," I replied in a muffled tone, holding onto my ankles and looking up at him from between my legs.
"Spread your legs as widely apart as you can," was his next order.
I did it. I knew he could see my pussy now, gaping out, framed by the black curls, and he was the first man who had ever seen me like this, and the tickling there was simply awful, because I wanted to be fucked. Yes, Mr. Harding, I have never wanted anything so much in all my life, and that one terrible flick of the cravache he had given me right into my tender spot, together with all the tickling I had had there when I was bound and a prisoner on the punishment chair was just about making me ready to faint, I was so keyed up.
"You are going to count another twenty-one," he said to me, "and you are not to leave position. You will get another two strokes whenever you do. Do you understand?"
"Yes, master," I said. I could feel my nipples dangling, and they felt heavy and sore, aching from the slapping and pinching he had given them. Then suddenly a scalding swipe leaped over both cheeks of my bottom and I yelled out, "One! Oww! Oh, what is it?" and I almost straightened up.
"It's what I call my special spanker, Alma," he said. "I took a piece of leather, tanned it, cut it into the shape of a human hand with five fingers, but they're very thick and broad, and the thickness is about three-eighths of an inch. It marks your bottom beautifully. And I take it that it hurts."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Yes, yes, yes, master, it hurts awfully."
"Very good. Bend your head down further, then, and spread your legs a little more. Take a good grip on your ankles and remember, you have twenty more left."
I took a good grip on my ankles, gritted my teeth and tried to steel myself. Then with an awfully loud and almost indecently sonorous thwackkk! that awful five-fingered leather cracked over my heinie. It bridged the crease between the cheeks and made me almost plunge forward and lose my balance as I let out a yowl.
"Ohh, two! Oh, it hurts, it hurts!"
By the time I had had the tenth one, I was sobbing like a baby. I wanted desperately to put my hands back to my sore seat and rub away the burning pain. The muscles of my seat were twitching, and I knew what I was showing him all the time, but each time it hit my seat, I seemed to jerk my hips from side to side, exposing myself in the most naughty way.
He let me have a rest of a minute, counting off the seconds, and then he resumed the count. The eleventh spank hurt like blazes. It leaped upwards instead of downwards, and it smacked against the base of my right bottom cheek. I almost lost my balance again and toppled over, and I screamed, "Aiiiieee! Oh, eleven, master! Oh, it's tearing me to pieces, it's killing me!"
"Hardly. It won't break the skin. It may blister that white skin of yours, my pretty darling, but I promise you no lasting effects. It will, of course, be a little uncomfortable for you to sit down for the next two or three days, but then, this is your twenty-first birthday and something really special is in order, don't you agree?"
"Yes, master," I sobbed.
How I endured the rest of that spanking, I'll never know. But I am proud to say that even though I was squirming around on my feet and sobbing hysterically and finding it very hard to speak, I didn't once try to straighten up or put my hands to my blazing bottom-not once.
At last he spoke. "There! You took that very well. Now, Alma, the moment has come for you to make your own decision. I told you that I was not a brutal man or one who believes in forcing a girl. Turn around and look at me."
The pain of the spanking was making me withdraw into myself. I had to think about something that would take my mind off of the real pain. I was once more in the castle of Mr. X. I was being tortured with another girl.
The hideous madman had fastened vises around our nipples and slowly he tightened them. I could feel that pain, too, but there was something more pleasurable about that pain than the real pain that I was knowing. I didn't mind the imagined pain, but the real pain made me scream out.
I did. You see, he had left the bandanna in place all this time, and now he unknotted the cloth and it fluttered to the floor. I gasped. He stood there clad only in his sandals and a curious kind of leather girdle. There was a hole in it, and his prick stuck out. It was long and bony and the head was plum-shaped and it stood out from the narrow circumsional groove. The lips were puckering and tensing, and I stared at it fascinatedly.
"Do you wish to beg off further punishment with your body, slave?" he now demanded.
"Yes, master, yes, do please do it to me, please!" I groaned.
I was kneeling down, and I was shifting on my knees because my bottom was aflame with fire just like that in a hot stove, and I couldn't stay still no matter how hard I tried. The tears were still flowing down my cheeks and I couldn't stop them no matter how hard I tried. But, blurred with tears though my eyes were, I could still see that long, hard weapon of his pointed right at my face.
"You must earn your pleasure with your master," he said now in a hard voice that shook with huskiness and, I know, desire for my pussy. "Come forward, put your hands on my hips and give your master's cock-for that is what it is, Alma-a loving, humble kiss. Then you will beg your master to fuck you with his prick in your soft cunt. You will say those very words, or you will have another whipping if you don't. Obey me!"
I was blushing and crying too. I couldn't take my eyes off that thing of his. I found myself crawling forward eagerly now, and I put my hands on his hips and I put my mouth to his prick and I kissed it. And then I looked up at him through my tears and I stammered, "Please, master, I want you to put your prick in my cunt and fuck me hard and do whatever you want to me tonight, please, master!"
He smiled, and now it was a kindly smile, even though his face was red and flushed and perspiring and his chest was heaving hard. He bent down and lifted me up by the armpits and lifted me up against him. I could feel his prick pushing hard against me, and I closed my eyes. This was what I had been waiting for all these years! My bottom was burning awfully, but my pussy was tickling even worse. I thought I was going to come any minute, I honestly did.
Then he gestured over to a low leather couch near the closet, and I walked over to it and lay down on my back. I groaned when the firm cold leather pressed against my burning behind, but I forgot all else when he came to me, knelt down between my burning thighs, and began to rub the lips of my pussy to see if that cut from the cravache had made them sore or hurt them in any way. His finger was anointed with a kind of cream now, and he was prodding it just inside the lips and then all the way up to my cherry. "Yes, the first time it hurts a little, but that's because you're a slave and your master wishes to enjoy you. I shall be the first who has ever had you, Alma. Get ready now to be fucked, as you yourself begged your master to do."
Then his prick pressed into the lips of my cunt, and I threw my arms around him and kissed him hard on the mouth. I moaned, "Oh, do it, hurt me, fuck me hard, my darling master!"
Just then I felt his prick head bang up against my cherry, and he gathered himself and forced onward. I uttered a yell of pain, because it was slow in yielding, and then at last he had broken through and I felt his prick inside of me and the throbbing pulsations of pain were deep in my pussy, but overcoming those was the glorious knowledge that at last I was a woman. Now I knew what my destiny was. I wanted to be spanked and then loved, I wanted a strong, masterful man to take care of me, to give me what I needed. I couldn't be content with the Tech Sex Witches or the Delphites, because they only tantalized me into wanting sex. This was what I needed, dreamed of, longed for.
I forgot all else as I hugged him with my arms and legs, rocking under his digs, and I didn't mind the pain at all. My mouth was glued to his and my tongue was daggering inside his mouth, and when I felt his gism bubbling into me, I groaned aloud with joy.
Later he explained to me that he had had an operation so he couldn't be fertile to a girl, and thus he could have me whenever he wished, without any danger on my part. Later, when we had had several glasses of wine and lay on the couch, fondling and kissing, he said, "Now it's time for you to go home, my darling. I don't know when I shall summon you again. But now you're a woman and it's up to you to decide what you wish."
It was three months before he called me again, and again I had had a promotion on my job. I don't know what it was, Mr. Harding, whether it was becoming a woman and knowing that all my dreams could come true, whether it was that now I could indulge my longing for pain and joy at the same time. But it seemed to sharpen my mind and give me a purpose, and I was cheerful and happy. I wrote cheerful letters back to my parents in California, and they would never have guessed what Dad's best friend, Lawrence Kenworthy, had done to me on my birthday night.
He called me up one rainy evening and asked if I'd like him to come over. I said of course I would. When he did come, he said he had only an hour between planes, that he was on his way to New York. Without a word I began to undress and soon I was naked except for my garterbelt, stockings and pumps. I kicked off the pumps and knelt down and bowed my head to him.
"But this time," he told me, "I'm not going to fuck you. No, slave, you shan't have the pleasure you want. Tonight you're only for my pleasure. Now, crawl between my legs and bow your face down to the floor, and stay there on all fours, with your bottom tilted up as high as you can get it."
I obeyed him at once and he bent down and began to spank my bottom, first with one hand, then the other, then with both, sometimes crossing them over, until my seat was on fire and I was crying like a child again.
And when he'd spanked me all he wanted to, he told me to kneel up, take down the zipper of his fly, take out his prick and put it in my mouth and swallow it all off. I did so, lovingly and eagerly. No, he didn't fuck me that night. He told me as he dressed and prepared to go, that this was the test of a true slave. I hadn't sought my pleasure, only his. Yes, I was a true submissive....
And then, a few days ago, Mr. Harding, Martin called me and asked me to have dinner at his house with him. He prepared it, and he was a gourmet cook. And after dinner, when we had listened to Ravel and Debussy, he said to me, "Dad thinks you're ready now, and I am too, Alma."
"Ready, Martin?"
"Yes, ready, darling. I want you to be my wife. But first I want you to be my slave. My father thinks that you've learned how to appreciate and cater to a man. But understand this. Because he trained you, even after we're married there will be times when my father will expect you to serve him. And I, of course, will defer to him, not only because he's my father, but because he has precedence in ruling you. Is that understood?"
"Oh yes, Martin, oh yes!" I breathed ecstatically.
He took me by the hand and led me to the end of his apartment and unlocked the door of a room I hadn't seen before. It was a padded cell, like the rooms they have for mental patients. There were no windows, but there were apparatuses there. A sawhorse, a whipping post, and an antique pair of stocks for the legs and the wrists, with a low wide stool for the victim to sit on. At his order, I took off everything I had on except my garterbelt and stockings; then at his command I took out his prick and began to kiss it and stroke it.
As I kissed and fondled his prick my mind wandered and I thought about being beaten. I imagined that I was about to be beaten by a girl, but then suddenly, I turned the situation around by producing a knife. I held the girl's hair and threatened to kill her if she didn't behave.
I kicked her in the stomach and then I had her eat my pussy out. I thought about the delicious feel of her lips on mine as I worked the cock in and out of my mouth.
He led me to the stocks, and as I sat with my naked bottom on the hard wooden bench, he took a switch and began to flick the sides of my bottom and the insides of my thighs and my titties too, until I was crying like a child again. Oh, how it stung me, and how it made me want to fuck!
He stood back and considered me. Then he moved forward again and, taking me by the earlobe, proffered his prick and made me take it in my mouth and suck him dry.
I was left in the stocks until dawn when he awakened, and then he came in, gave me a good sound hand spanking, pinched my nipples a little, then let me out of the stocks. I had to kneel before him and kiss his feet. He was stark naked. Then I had to beg him to fuck me, which I did, Mr. Harding, ever so gladly.
I had to crouch before him while he gripped my titties and played with them, then he thrust his prick in and out of my cunt. Oh, how I came, until I nearly collapsed on the floor, with such rapture and joy of flesh as I had never known, not even with his father.
So now, Mr. Harding, I am going to marry Martin Kenworthy in a few months. There'll be a ring on my finger and I'll have his name and a share of his property. But when we're alone, I'll be Alma the slave, and there will be times when the phone will ring and Martin will turn to me and tell me, "Dad wants you at once. Go put your fur coat on over your nakedness," (or my panties, or my bra and stockings and garterbelt, or whatever costume I happen to have on at that moment when the summons comes) "and take a cab right over to him. You're to have two cuts in between your legs with the cravache. Hurry!"
Oh, Mr. Harding, I can't describe to you the rapture I have in being a woman now, free to enjoy my own life, to make my own decisions and to submit myself gloriously and humbly. I have but one prayer, when I go either to my father-in-law or my husband, and that is, "Master, make me your slave!"
Alma relaxed where she sat and began to dream about her experiences and desires for the future. Her daydream was an overwhelming experience and she dropped off into it with all her soul. She dreamed about the destruction of a torture factory, which she peopled with a huge cast of victims and captors. The story, which was symbolic of her own needs, went something like this:
Their laughing rang in her ears, mock echoes of the grins and the smiles she herself had shown at their discomfort when she had been the one in control. Her face was a picture of pain and terror. When she finally collapsed it was as much from shame and humiliation as from physical suffering.
They let her he where she fell until she recovered, then grabbed her and rubbed vinegar into her whip-seared flesh. Her screams filled the room again, waking up Marsha who suffered terribly on seeing her daughter so mistreated at the hands of the ones who she felt should have been doing the suffering.
Marsha screamed for them to let Theresa alone, but Beth clobbered her with a right to the jaw and a foot to the cunt, and she fell unconscious again. Beth wanted to work on only one of them at a time.
Theresa howled terribly as the vinegar soaked into her wounds, stinging her frightfully where the red lashes covered her body. Her face was unmarked, for they had carefully followed Marsha's wise reluctance to do permanent damage to her eyes. Her cunt was almost free of pain, too, for she had been able to conceal it better than the rest of her.
Sally pulled at her cunt hairs, yanking them as hard as she could. Theresa screamed in more pain. She wished she were in her old spot and could thrash this enemy of hers to the end of her life. She was humiliated that she had to take such treatment from a shit like Sally.
Fred had a special torture in mind for her. He remembered the chains that had held his thumbs and lifted him into the air. The pain still caused his fingers to ache as he rubbed the acid solution onto her beaten skin. She would know that pain worse than he ever had known it, would suffer it so deeply that her psyche would never again be the same.
He dragged her torn flesh across the room to where the two chains hung suspended from the ceiling, awaiting the next unwilling guest to suffer their torments. He inserted her toes into the rings and tightened them. She shrieked with horror as she realized what he had in store for her.
Fred pushed the button on the wall. Slowly the chains drew her into the air, lifting her until her hair hung down just above the floor. She shrieked continuously, fearful of all that might happen to her as she hung suspended and naked from the chains.
Sally thought she needed a diaper, something to give her a feeling of being humiliated completely. She took a pair of panties and made Fred take her down again while she slipped them on, all the time saying that she had to change her pants because the old ones were full of shit, talking in baby talk as if Theresa were a stupid child.
When she was back in the air Sally delivered several hard blows to Theresa's cunt with her closed fist. The sound of her skin beating on the leather thrilled her. She had to have some leather herself to give her the feeling of power that she wanted.
Going to the wardrobe she put on a pair of leather boots and a leather bra, complementing them with some long silk gloves that clung to her wonderfully and titillated her skin with their soft caresses. She purposely left her cunt bare in contrast to the panties that she had placed on her victim.
Whily Sally wais dressing the others attached electrodes to Theresa's toes and to her thumbs. They were not going to miss a thing that would cause her the same excruciating agony she had dared to give to them. Marsha woke up and had to be silenced again, this time by a series of hard blows to her cunt from the high heels of the boots Sally sported.
When she had finished with Marsha she returned to her hanging victim, whip in hand poised to strike her as cruelly as she could.
The electrodes were hard at work as Fred switched the current from one side of Theresa's body to the other, sometimes giving her shocks on both sides at the same time.
Theresa howled in deep pain, the combination of the suffering toes and the electrical shocks being far more terrible than anything she had imagined for them. Sally added to that torment with lashing strokes of her whip, pounding the snapping tip into the leather pants with such force that Theresa's cunt cringed in agony.
Her scream whistled through the still air of the room, mixed with the snapping sounds of the torturing whip that slowly wore away the leather of her panties and tormented her cunt with horrible lashes. Her roar of discomfort thrilled the leather-clad mistress who stood in front of her with whip in hand and a giant smile on her face.
Sally's jerking reactions to the pain that the whip imposed on her caused the rings to pull unmercifully at her imprisoned toes, and shoots of pain squiggled down her body. The electrical shocks never stopped. Her body muscles contracted at each jolt of current which Fred sliced into her, and her face was red with blood and sheer open terror.
Sally's whip blasted away at the protective leather of her panties until it was all gone, and she watched with glee as they slid to the floor. Now her delicate cunt was totally exposed to the snapping tip of the hot leather whip that she had in her hand. She cracked the thong hard, and listened with glee to the sound as she plastered Theresa's cunt for the first time.
Theresa howled in pain, aware of the horror that was going to come to her, for she was completely helpless, and she was going to have to suffer terribly. The electricity still flowed through her at intervals, jolting her body everywhere.
Sally cracked the whip into Theresa's hapless cunt again and again. She loved the horrible roars of pain that filled the room when she beat her adversary with all the power in her arms. She recalled the times that Theresa had beaten her cunt viciously, and the time that she had come in probably to do away with her forever. This made her rage twice what it would normally have been, so that her arms brought down the leather instrument with extra vigor.
Theresa's screams woke Marsha. She joined in the noise, protesting violently that her daughter had to suffer all that they were making her feel. She cursed them and screamed so much that Beth became annoyed and beat her cunt until she collapsed from the pain.
Meanwhile, Fred had taken the whip from Sally. He worked on Theresa's exposed cunt with all the fury in him, angrier than Sally about the tortures he had had to suffer from her. The whip crashed into her cunt, and her cunt hairs snapped off in bunches. His fury was far beyond anything Sally had been able to manage, and his lashes hurt Theresa much more, so that she screamed with uncontrollable terror at each of his blows.
Charles wanted a turn, too, but he could see that it would be some time before Fred was through. He took another whip in his hand, and while Fred worked on her cunt he began to work on her asshole, timing his lashes to come in between the ones that Fred was giving her.
Theresa shrieked in terror. Charles' blows on her asshole hurt as much as the ones that Fred was giving to her cunt, and she could still feel the electrical shocks pouring into her whenever Sam decided to turn on the current. Her face was a mask of unbroken terror as she felt the three torments joined together to give her excruciating pain.
Marsha awoke again. Beth was amazed and annoyed at her stamina. She did not like to have to bother with her all the time, and she decided to give her a beating that she would never forget as long as she lived. She took up a spare whip and began lashing Marsha with all her strength, bringing the tip into her flesh as hard as she could.
Sally joined her mother in whipping Marsha. She worked in a good rhythm with Beth, smashing her whip into Marsha's tender skin right after her mother's whip had left the surface. Marsha howled in excruciating pain. The leather burned into her skin and left her with a horribly scraped surface.
Fred and Charles continued their massacre of Theresa with great joy. Her howls surpassed those of Marsha, for she had two men beating her, and a third gave her huge jolts of electricity through her thumbs and her toes. Her cunt felt like ground meat, while her asshole was so sore she did not know how she would shit the next time she had to.
The men stroked her viciously with their whips, blasting into her cunt and her ass with all the power in their arms. Their hatred and rage against her grew by the minute as they recalled incident after incident when she had treated them cruelly.
Her toes hurt terribly. Each time she jerked she pulled them in their sockets, and she was certain they were going to fall out of her body. She jerked each time the whips hit her or the current flashed on. Her face was in such pain that Fred almost felt sorry for her, but he remembered her past, and his sorrow changed to rage.
Theresa screamed endlessly as they whipped her without a shred of mercy. Their cruel whips tore her flesh to shreds when they curled into her naked hanging body. Her lips moved in unbridled terror, her eyes looking straight ahead, unable to see for the burning of her tears.
Fred got tired beating her. Her cunt looked delicious in its beaten state, all red and soft everywhere. He stopped his whipping and he got Charles to stop his. Then he pushed the button that let her down to the floor. Theresa sighed in relief as she felt the relaxing of the pressure on her toes, but her pleasantness was short-lived.
Fred started to fuck her on the floor, ramming his huge cock into her beaten cunt as hard and as fast as he could. Her screams filled the room from end to end. He was hurting her more than she had ever been hurt before. The tender membranes of her beaten pussy felt every ounce of the agony that he meant to give to her.
Her screams mingled with those of Marsha who was still being whipped by Sally and her mother. Their arms swung forward in evil hatred of this woman who had caused them so much pain. They smiled to hear her cries and the cries of her daughter just a short distance away.
Theresa thought she was going to die from the pain that she felt in her pussy. Sam still turned on the electricity at will, though he thought this might be bothering Fred, too. It did a little, but Fred was glad that she was suffering from it, so he did not complain.
He fucked her until he came amidst her terrified screams of horror ringing in his ears. He liked the way she struggled to be free from him, how she tried to push him away when he jammed his cock deep inside her. It was fun to pull her to him as roughly and crudely as he could, at the same time giving himself the pleasure of her cunt and giving her excruciating pain.
When he had come he got off her and offered his position to Charles, who took it readily, with the exception that he chose to fuck her in the asshole instead of the cunt. "No!" she pleaded. "Please don't fuck me in the ass. Please!"
Charles laughed to hear her plead so dramatically. He shoved his cock into her asshole as hard as he could, driving it forward with the force of a pile driver. Her howls of pain filled the room once more, for he had beaten her asshole so well that it was just as sore as her cunt was.
He stroked her furiously, purposely rubbing his naked cock into her tortured membranes as cruelly and as sadistically as he could manage. Then he felt himself rising into the air. Theresa shrieked in horror as she realized that Fred had pushed the button to make the chains go up again.
Charles held on to her to avoid falling off. He had to grab her very tight and it was difficult for her to breathe. He continued to stroke he; madly as they both got lifted off the ground. His extra weight made the pressure on her toes three times as much, and the jerking motions of his fucking pulled at them constantly.
Theresa was in such pain she could not scream. When she opened her mcuth her throat constricted and she could not make a sound come out. Fred laughed at her attempts to scream at the terrible agony that she had to endure. He had another idea to torture her even more.
He raised the chains until her mouth was at the level of his cock. Charles held on for life, fucking her with rapid strokes of his giant rod, hurting her asshole as much as he could in the process. Fred walked over and shoved his cock into her open mouth.
He pressed her face into his hair, pushing his cock far into her mouth so that she gagged on it in her throat. Her attempts to cry out were no more than pitiful choking sounds, and he laughed to see her tortured body jerking in sheer agony as he rammed his cock in her mouth and Charles got her in the ass.
Sam had never let up on the electricity, and now he increased the juice. Some of the current ran through the men, but the main connections were still on Theresa, and she felt the majority of the pain.
Fred fucked her in the mouth until he came again. When he pulled out of her she gasped madly for air. She had been completely unable to breathe while he was in her, and her struggles to be free had proved completely fruitless.
However, her fantasy could not last indefinitely and soon she was awakened by the voice of her masters, calling her to a life of fulfillment of her deepest needs. Alma rose to her feet and answered their call.
