The home of a timid professor and his two orphaned nieces seems an ideal realm for a domineering bitch. The dominatress subjects the trio, as well as her frightened daughter, to all manner of mental and physical cruelty - forcing the nieces to lie beneath her whips, forcing them to perform cunnilingus between her sprawled thighs, and forcing a massive dildo into their virgin bodies.
But this unrelenting force drives full circle.
CHAPTER ONE
Abner Jacobson had never expected to have children, and during his late twenties and early thirties had given silent thanks to a merciful Providence for not having saddled him with a noisy, frantic brood who would have ruthlessly consumed his free time and deterred him from pursuing not only his profession but also his avocation.
For Abner Jacobson was a professor of advanced psychology at the privately endowed Moresby College, having been promoted from the post of assistant professor only three years previously. This promotion had come about as a result, not only of the illness of his superior, Dr. Hugo Benedik, but also because Abner himself had published an extraordinarily brilliant thesis on the co-relationship between undisciplined student violence and sexual repressions. It had been his theory that much of the chaotic rebellion of modern youth, chronic on virtually every large college and university campus across the nation, was not so much the result of political agitation - as many learned critics charged - but of the discovery by the younger generation that they had become unleashed in a world gone mad with materialism, the greedy struggle for geopolitical power, and a completely amoral philosophy of life that was at total variance with the smug conventional puritanism which their parents had upheld and tried to inculcate in their offspring. This rebellion, Abner Jacobson had written, was long overdue and perhaps more violent because it represented an almost national protest against thwarted impulses and rigidly channeled mores. He pointed out the wide dissemination of erotic literature, films, and even plays upon the "live" stage as having had the cantharidic effect of inciting adolescents to a dynamic awareness of their physical senses, with emphasis upon the carnal and upon gratification pure and simple (and sometimes rather more complex than simple, to be sure). This, after virtual centuries of sober and bluenosed doctrines that sex was intended by the Creator for procreation only.
So learned, so witty, and so well documented had his thesis become that it had been published as a leading article in the Modern Psychology Journal, together with a brief biography of its author. Dr. Zelomir Buloff, the bearded and portly president of Morseby College, had had a tea in his honor, at which the president's buxom thirty-year-old flaxen-haired wife had admiringly presided, and a week later Abner Jacobson had had his full professorship at a stipend of some twelve thousand dollars a year.
But if Vera Buloff had regarded Abner Jacob-son in a new and exciting fight as the result of this daring excursion into the titillating realm of sexual commentary on human behaviorism, the thesis itself had done little to change Abner Jacobson's quite ascetic life.
At forty-two, he was still to all intents and purposes a virginal male, something which the late Dr. Kinsey would have found incredible. For Abner Jacobson's life demonstrated the vast difference between the pelvic and the cranial regions of the human body. And though the bachelor and virginal professor's brain ran riot with lascivious compulsions, he had nonetheless been as cautious and apprehensive about inserting his quite adequately virile penis into the warm pink vaginal cavern of a willing female as a scientist would be when setting out on a safari through a primitive jungle where all manner of unknown and hideous diseases abound.
In a word, Professor Jacobson lusted hotly for the joys which the Goddess Venus could procure, and yet at the same time feared them. Perhaps it was because he feared himself, and dreaded the unleashing of his own long-pent-up desires.
The thesis had been excerpted by a national monthly with an enormous circulation, and as a consequence many of Professor Jacobson's students had read his utterances with great surprise. Invariably his students characterized him as "a terrif prof, if only he'd be human and not such an old maid." However, with the publication of the excerpted thesis in Commentary, a number of the more attractive coeds in his class began to primp themselves and cross their legs and hang on his every word, which they had definitely not done before the publication of this remarkable dissertation.
Abner Jacobson's younger brother Horace had lived a life which was quite the opposite of the professor's. He had married when he was twenty-two, stayed on as a teacher in a Cleveland high-school and ultimately had become principal. The young woman he had married had been one of his own pupils, a delectable blonde senior of seventeen. Horace Jacobson had waited until she had become eighteen and then taken her on a month-long honeymoon to Europe. Nine months later, their first child, Eloise, had been born. Two years later another daughter, Madge, was born to the happy couple. Horace had always been gregarious and fun-loving, despite his academic status, whereas Abner had been a "loner," given to long periods of morose moodiness because he had been angular and gawky and afflicted with an adolescent case of acne. When Horace was out dating during his high school days, Abner had stayed locked in his room with a novel by Dickens or one of Everett Dean Martin's popular books on psychology, the subject he was ultimately to teach.
And thus it was that the last week of the spring semester dawned at Morseby College, located some ninety miles to the south of Chicago, on the campus which quartered nearly a thousand students of both sexes. Abner Jacobson was enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon in his library-den, in his bathrobe and shorts and slippers, treating himself to the sensual pleasure of a good cigar while he studied a newly published text dealing with anthropology and the sexual behavior of the aborigines. His life was placidly predictable, and if it had not been for his own secret fantasies, of which he was genuinely afraid, and also for an act of fate which was about to occur, we should not at this moment be looking in on him.
He was six feet tall, with rather curly black hair streaked here and there with patches of gray. He wore spectacles, his face was earnest and grave, with a rather prominent Roman nose, a concise and ascetic mouth, a determined chin and rather angular cheekbones, and high-arching, intellectual forehead. He was slightly myopic, and he needed strong reading glasses for print, though his normal spectacles served quite well to let him observe the dimpled knees of the pretty coeds in the front row seats of his class in advanced psychology.
Beside him on the desk was a pile of student essays, garnered up at the conclusion of yesterday afternoon's class, which he would eventually grade, comment upon, and return on Monday afternoon. There were a number of these papers he was quite eager to read, two of them by the most attractive coeds in the entire class, Dorothy Savage and Mary Phipps. Dorothy was nineteen and a brunette, while Mary was twenty and golden-haired and endowed with a temptingly ripe pair of breasts and hips. She also wore extremely short skirts and, he suspected, pantyhose. Only yesterday afternoon, while he was having one of his monitors collect papers from the students, he had happened to glance in her direction and his eyes had widened at the sudden vision of ripe, curvaceous thighs sheathed in charcoal brown which seemed to go on upward interminably to her crotch.
She had shifted her legs so that the short miniskirt rucked up, providing him with a highly entertaining view. And to his consternation, he had felt his prick ache and throb and harden in tribute to Mary Phipps's alluring physique.
He took another puff at his cigar and squinted to make sure that he had caught the gist of the paragraph before him. Suddenly the door bell rang. Frowning, he laid down the cigar in the ashtray, glanced down to make certain that the belt of his bathrobe was quite firmly secured, and then made his way to the front door of the little house which had been given to him as part of the professorial stipend. That house had come along with the raise in salary and the full professorship. Prior to that, he had been a boarder at Mrs. Retelllaff's modest two-story frame house and had had to put up with heavy, indigestion-producing meals and a far too motherly solicitude on the part of his fat, widowed, gray-haired landlady who was evidently looking to him as the late Armen Retzlaff's replacement.
He opened the front door and a Western Union messenger stood before him. "Sign here, Doc," the youth said, tendering him a pad and pencil and handing him the yellow glassine envelope with the message. He scribbled his name, nodded a curt thanks to the messenger and closed the door. He hadn't thought of giving the boy a tip, and it was just as well that he hadn't seen the grimace on the messenger's face after the door closed. He was opening the telegram meticulously, and then he gasped aloud. Horace and Jeanine Jacobson had just been killed in a plane crash. They had set out from Cleveland to Saskatchewan for a vacation in a privately chartered plane, which had lost altitude and crashed into a cornfield in South Dakota. The telegram was signed by Horace's attorney, Maxwell Stephenson. And as if there weren't shock enough for Abner Jacobson in that tragic news, the last line of the telegram put him practically into a dither: "Strongly urge you arrange to become legal guardian of your brother's daughters Madge and Eloise."
In the name of all that was holy, how the devil could he manage that? Taking care of two teen-aged girls when he'd never so much as got himself engaged all these years?
What Abner Jacobson didn't know was that he was going to become their guardian and that this drastic change in his carefully planned regimen was going to change him almost overnight into a lecherous and domineering guardian of two very tempting and delicious young females!
CHAPTER TWO
It had been a pleasant and not too warm late June day, and now its serenity was in peril.
Abner Jacobson stared again at the yellow telegram in his hand as if by reading it for the twentieth time he could somehow change the words. No, there was no mistake about it.
His brother and sister-in-law were dead, and their two young daughters were faced with becoming public charges or going into foster homes unless he did something about it. He had always secretly envied his brother Horace, because Horace had always had the courage of his convictions, and he had done many things which Abner himself had secretly longed to do and yet didn't dare. Somehow, Horace had got away with it. But here at Moresby College, with a man like pompous and pedantic Dr. Zelomir Buloff as his presidential superior, it was just unthinkable that he, Abner Jacobson, a full professor, could even make eyes at one of his own coed students, much less fall in love with and marry her the way Horace had done with Joella Davis. Yet because of his attachment to Horace, even though their lives had run so divergently, he couldn't bring himself to abandon their daughters. Then another thought assailed him.
Certainly Horace must have saved some money. What did this attorney, Maxwell Stephenson mean, by making such an ultimatum about the girls? Wasn't there any money to take care of their having a guardian and proper schooling until they were old enough to marry or else earn a living for themselves?
Grumbling to himself, he went to the phone and put in a long-distance call to Cleveland, asking for the residence of the attorney who had wired him. Maxwell Stephenson was out to dinner and the theater, some babysitter informed him, and was expected back about midnight Cleveland time, which would be about eleven at Moresby. The town of Moresby, around which the hundred-and-two-year-old college had been built, numbered a population of about twenty-three hundred at last official census, and it was a hundred and twenty-five miles south of Chicago. Abner Jacobson had ignored its proximity to the Windy City, because he was afraid that if he ever went to that blustering, noisy, overpopulated place, he might forget his ascetic habits and fall victim to the fleshpots. Not that it wouldn't have him a world of good, but he had never yet been convinced of that.
He finally took a shower, dressed and went for walk, winding up at Ted's Eatery, which wasn't much more than a little hamburger joint on the edge of the campus, but whose proprietor bought first grade meat and had strip steaks with crisp French fries, coleslaw and macaroni salad and a hard roll for the budget-pleasing price of a dollar and a quarter.
Abner Jacobson regarded himself as a fair to middling cook, but on this particular evening he didn't feel he had the strength. The news in that telegram had just about floored him.
As he walked over to the little restaurant, he began to ask himself how he could possibly adopt Eloise and Madge, even if he was their uncle. He taught class Mondays through Fridays, two in the morning and two in the afternoon, and then he had papers to grade and an occasional contributory essay to write for one of the journals in order to keep up his academic standing and make Dr. Buloff happy with him. That didn't leave much time for taking care of two teenaged girls, whose habits in the first place he knew nothing about and in the second didn't really want to. It might be an idea to try to get a housekeeper who was familiar with girls so that she could look after them and keep them on the straight and narrow while he was minding his own business in the classroom.
But where could he get a housekeeper? There certainly weren't any here at Moresby College, nothing in the way of females except coeds who were already beginning to stir his senses more than he cared to admit. No, what he needed was a mature woman, one who could be an efficient housekeeper and maybe even a cook and look after him a little bit too. It was time he enjoyed more creature comforts, at his age. The routine of teaching five days a week, of locking himself up in his study and thinking out a scientific paper that would bring credit to him and to good old Moresby College, with nothing in the way of a vacation except staying around the campus or, two years ago, just by accident, going out to San Francisco because he had had a distant cousin there who had phoned him and asked him to come out for a visit - no, it was a question of all work and no play.
There was a brooding restlessness in Abner Jacobson right now which he couldn't quite explain, but which any good psychiatrist could have told him was the sign of a metabolistic change of life. Now it's a well known fact that women go through the menopause, but there's also a point in the life of a male when he pauses, too, to reflect on the nearness of the grave and the wasted opportunities and the lost pussy all along the road behind him.
Then he figures he'd better start doing something before it's too late, and that's why so many prominent bankers and industrial executives in their late forties and early fifties start playing around with chorus girls, pert young secretaries and teenaged Lolitas.
What Professor Abner Jacobson needed most of all in the world was a good, exhausting fuck, between the thighs of a capable and enthusiastic female who would know exactly what to do with his inhibitions and his fears and phobias. Perhaps if some of the delectably sophisticated coeds in his classed had been a little more forward, this story might never have been written. As it was, their presence had begun to titillate him to the point of experiencing several difficult hours in trying to fall asleep at night, and he had been guiltily horrified to find himself masturbating for the first time in longer than he cared to remember.
He ate his steak without any particular relish on this warm pleasant evening. But in another week or two, the campus would be deserted, except for those students who came from out of state or even out of town and decided to live on campus and keep out of their parents' hair. Dorothy Savage and Mary Phipps would be leaving for the summer, he reflected. Then he scowled at himself for thinking about those two particular coeds. Well, it was of course because he had their papers on his desk waiting for a reading, maybe he should go back right now and do just that. Because exactly one week from now, the two girls would be wishing him a happy summer and then racing out of class to join some lucky, broad shouldered idiotic young men who wanted to paw them and get inside their sweaters and probably under their skirts.
At this new thought, Abner Jacobson squirmed uneasily in his chair, glanced nervously around to see if Ted, the burly, genial, Czechoslovakian owner of the restaurant, was noticing his embarrassment. But Ted wasn't. Ted had his broad back to him now, and was standing talking to a pretty, petite, brown-haired waitress whom he hadn't noticed before.
He was apparently bawling her out,, because she looked very pale and frightened, and her eyes were big and there was just a hint of tears in them, and her hands were clasped in front of her very nervously and they were twisting uncontrollably. Professor Abner Jacobson instinctively felt sorry for her. But he hadn't thought that business was so good that Ted had to hire a girl to wait on tables. Still, he was hardly a judge of people's goings and comings.
The waitress was deucedly attractive. She wore a black dress with a white cloth belt, and she had on gunmetal-gray nylons, and there was a little waitress' lace cap on her head, and her light brown curls fell to her shoulders and were quite thick. She looked just a little peaked, with a very pale complexion and she apparently didn't use much makeup, only on her lips. As she turned slightly, Professor Abner Jacobson saw the deliciously mouthwatering thrust of round, gourd-like titties straining against the bodice of the dress.
Once again he experienced the agonizingly embarrassing ache between his thighs which signified that he was again being visited by evil thoughts. He finished his iced tea, leaned back and decided to have a cigar. If only he could think of something. If only he could find a housekeeper, then he could adopt Madge and Eloise and so pay his debt to his brother Horace. But where in the world was he going to get such a woman?
Ted had apparently finished bawling out the new waitress, for she nodded quickly, gave the restaurant owner a scared look, and then scurried over to where the professor was sitting.
"Can I get you something else, some dessert, maybe?" she eagerly offered.
She was on tenterhooks, her whole body quivering, Professor Abner Jacobson could see.
He felt sorry for her. And she was certainly extremely pretty. He would judge her to be about twenty-two or twenty-three at most. She had very delightfully rounded hips, rather too wide if anything, but nice firm calves and solid thighs and they weren't too short. What the devil was he thinking about anyway, to be aware of things like this in an ordinary waitress? Decidedly, he needed a vacation. But how could he take one, with the prospect of adopting his brother's daughters looming before him?
"What have you got, Miss?" he asked.
"Apple pie, blueberry pie, chocolate cream pie, and Jello, sir," the young girl said.
He scowled, trying to make a decision. Somehow it seemed important, though he didn't quite know why. He looked up at the girl, and she smiled at him. There was a wistfulness to her which he found extremely appealing. "Chocolate cream pie will be fine, and some more iced tea, please, Miss."
"Right away, sir."
He watched her turn and go back to the counter, disappear behind it and then from view entirely as she squatted down to the little refrigerator where Ted kept his pies from the bakery. But he hadn't missed glancing at her calves and thighs, nor the way her bottom had undulated back and forth as she walked. He thought to himself that she must be new in town, because he'd been eating at Ted's for a long time now and he'd never seen her before until tonight.
When she came back with the pie and a fresh glass of iced tea into which she had thoughtfully put two large slices of lemon, he looked up at her and smiled. "What's your name, Miss?"
"Debbie Ashton, sir."
"You're extremely polite and very efficient, Miss Ashton. I guess you're new to Moresby."
"Oh yes, sir. My mother just moved here about three weeks ago. I'm going to work full-time here for Ted starting Monday, but I just came in last night and tonight to get myself familiar with the work."
"Oh?"
She nodded, once again glanced back at Ted, who was busy wiping glasses with his back to her, and then confided, with an almost scared and pathetic eagerness, "Yes, sir. My mother's a widow, and she thought there might be work for both of us here in a college town. We came from Springfield originally. Daddy died three years ago - it was a heart attack. He used to be an assistant librarian there."
A vague thought began to stir in Professor Abner Jacobson's mind as he toyed with his fork and finally picked up a piece of the meringue and conveyed it to his mouth. The girl hadn't made any attempt to leave, but stood watching him intently. "You know, Miss Ashton," he said with deliberate slowness, "I might just have a job for your mother. You see, I know it sounds foolish, but my brother and my sister-in-law just died, and their lawyer sent me a wire asking me to adopt my nieces. They don't have any other living relatives, you see."
"Oh, that's terrible. I mean, about their parents, of course. But I'm sure you'd be a wonderful guardian to them, sir."
Professor Abner Jacobson blushed. Debbie Ashton was blushing a little too, and on her it looked extremely delightful. His resolve grew. Maybe this was heaven-sent, this meeting with the young waitress. "I'm serious, though, but what I am thinking about is hiring a housekeeper. You see, I teach at the college and I have my own little house. But I'm away all during the week in class, and I really wouldn't have much time to look after two growing girls. Maybe your mother would be interested in a job doing that."
"I can ask her, sir."
"I'm Professor Abner Jacobson, Miss Ashton. Let me write down my phone number and maybe your mother would be good enough to call me." Oh, that's very thoughtful of you, Professor Jacobson!" Debbie Ashton exclaimed. "She already registered at the college, you know, but they said they didn't have anything right away. I was just lucky because Mr. Ted here had a sign out last night that he was looking for a girl. And I told him that I wanted to work full-time, and I wouldn't charge him very much, either. Mother wants me to keep useful, and we do need the money. Daddy didn't leave too much, and he had put some savings in stocks and bonds that didn't turn out too well."
"That's a shame, Miss Ashton. Here." He had taken a card from his lapel pocket, scribbled down his address and phone number on it, and handed it to the pretty brown-haired waitress. She put it into the pocket of her dress, flushed prettily, and then asked him if there was anything else he needed. Professor Abner Jacobson shook his head. She was really charming, and so well-bred and well-mannered. You didn't see that too often these days. Even the girls and fellows from decent homes seemed to be the worst offenders in being, hooligans and noisy and callous and thoughtless. Maybe that was why he had never married, because he was sure that the world was in a sorry state and that more helpless children would only make it flounder deeper and deeper into the morass of materialistic greed.
He smoked his cigar, finished the last of his iced tea, and the got up and went over to the counter to pay his check. The young girl had vanished in the back, and Ted grinned at him: "Everything all right, Prof?"
"Just fine, Ted. Oh, er, that new girl of yours - Miss Ashton? She's very good, really. She adds a good deal to your place. I'd like to leave this for her." He put down two quarters, and the burly Czechoslovakian chuckled and nodded: "Yeah, Debbie's a nice girl. A little shy, though, but I figger by fall we'll have lots of work for her. I sort of felt sorry for the kid.
She's never had a job before, and she needs the dough. Told me a hard-luck story about her father's kicking the bucket a couple of years back and not leaving too much cash. I know how that is. My youngest sister married a guy and went to L.A., and he just croaked and there she is with two little kids and not too much dough and she's gotta go out and get herself a secretarial job. Tough."
"Well, I do hope she makes good at this job, Ted. She's got my vote, anyway."
"Thanks, Prof. Seems sorta slow tonight. I guess maybe I'll close up in about an hour.
Debbie's gotta sort of strict mother, and she likes to have her home before it gets too late, even in a small burg like this, Prof. I sort of think that's nice. These modern kids, gosh, they're all so wild, with no respect for their folks or anything else. That's why I sort of cotton to this girl. Well, good night, Prof."
CHAPTER THREE
When the lights went out in the little restaurant on Campus Avenue, Debbie Ashton bade her new employer a hurried good night, and then walked quickly down the street to the north. At the intersection, she turned west, quickening her step, her face more peaked than ever. There was a good reason for that. Debbie Ashton was going home for a sound spanking. Her mother had ordained that this very morning.
Dorla Ashton, Debbie's attractive and domineering mother, was forty-two, svelte and about five feet seven and a half inches in height. Her glossy black hair was formed in a thick oval bun at the back of her head, with her nape and ears bare. Her face was a classical oval arrogant and stern. Her eyes were dark blue, set closely together, with short lashes and thin brows to accentuate their glacial and intent gaze. Her mouth was thin and small, her nose straight but with very thin wings.
Dorla Ashton had been born in a farm town a few miles away from Springfield, and she had got married at the early age of seventeen to Jackson Ashton, then twenty-two and a graduate student from the University of Illinois. He was an unworldly sort of young man, with aspirations to be nothing more than a librarian, where he could have the intellectual security and the withdrawal from the violently turbulent world by immersing himself with books rather than with people. Dorla hadn't wanted to marry him, but her parents had been ailing and their farm was just about to go over to the sheriff for back taxes, and all of a sudden this idealistic and rather handsome and bespectacled young man had proposed to her out of the clear sky, so she had quickly accepted him. Debbie had been born about eighteen months later, and was now almost twenty-three. Dorla hadn't wanted her, hadn't wanted any baby at all, for that matter. Her parents had died soon after her marriage to Jackson Ashton, left her practically nothing except some debts which she wasn't honor-bound or legally made to pay, and she had simply married him to escape the drudgery and poverty which had been constant companions ever since her childhood.
Most important of all, she didn't particularly care for men. She hadn't exactly been a virgin when she had married him, either. That had been another reason for her quick acceptance of his suit. About three months before he had proposed, Dorla Trotter had been seduced by her gym teacher, a buxom, overbearing woman in her late thirties, who had taught her all the sweet delights of Lesbian fulfillment. June Turner had been excited by Dorla's long legs, black hair, sensual and sullenly pouting face, and had hungered for her body. Then, just about the time Jackson Ashton had proposed, the gym teacher had been expelled from the high school where she taught because the assistant principal had found her and a fifteen-year-old girl in the shower together fondling each other and kissing in a way that was unmistakably reprehensible.
Dorla Trotter had felt a great sense of loss when June Turner had picked up and left high school without a word or a note of explanation to her. She had also felt somewhat guilty over having given her young virginal body so wantonly to this perverse love affair. And so when Jackson Ashton had proposed, she had hoped that sleeping with a man instead of a woman would appease some of the raging desires burning in her loins.
But they hadn't. He was a diffident, rather self-effacing young man who found it difficult to make a decision even about buying a pack of cigarettes. Dorla had begun to detest him even before their only child was born. And her initial interest in her own sex returned with greater sensual desire than ever, exactly because she found the act of fucking with her husband odious to her. She hadn't come to the wisdom of differentiating between him and other men; he had been her first male, she hated him, and thus whatever he did was dross in her view. Thus she became channeled into Lesbian practices, and by the end of the first year of her marriage, she had a secret lover on the other side of town.
Also, she discovered that she experienced the most carnal pleasure from being the aggressor, and as she became more sophisticated in the ways of Lesbos, experimented with bondage, domination and corporal punishment to spice the love games between herself and her partners. And when her own daughter Debbie reached the age of twelve, Dorla Ashton's perverse sensuality sought her out as sacrificial victim to her inordinate lusts.
Jackson Ashton tried to interfere with his wife's disciplinary methods, but she contemptuously told him to mind his own business and, if he was so concerned about the future of their child, to see to it they were economically more solvent. His job was a disgrace, she told him, for a man with supposedly high intelligence, and it earned them barely enough to eke out a meager existence. Dorla wanted fine clothes, jewels, the pleasure of dining in costly restaurants and of being fawned upon by maitres d'hotels, recognized by the great dress salons and gift shops of a major city. All these things she was denied because she had sacrificed herself in bondage to this inept gentleman who, dominated by her incisive personality, ad begun to stammer and to flush as soon as he spoke to him.
Without being told, Jackson Ashton had had the shameful ignominy of seeing her brazenly take her female lovers to bed, sauntering off arm in arm into the bedroom while she cast a scornful, taunting glance over her shoulder, telling him leeringly not to stay up too late, but to go to bed get a good night's sleep so he could be fresh for his miserable job in the morning.
More and more, therefore, he buried himself in his world of books and sought them out as refuges and as friends. He was even shy and withdrawn in the presence of his own pretty daughter, because her mother, too, had taught Debbie that all of the girl's devotion, attention and respect belonged to her and not to Jackson Ashton.
And so Debbie Ashton had grown up a virgin, yet with her mother's sensuality at the same time protecting her chastity with an almost insane jealousy, had channeled her into a regimen of fear and shame.
For the slightest fault, from the age of twelve, Debbie Ashton would find herself summoned to her mother's bedroom, made to kneel down and clasp her hands and bow her head and listen to a scolding which summarized and detailed her faults, and then to rise, lift her skirts and lower her little panties, then lie across her mother's lap and humbly ask for a good sound spanking.
As the young girl grew into adolescence and grew more and more beautiful, Dorla Ashton increased and prolonged the ritualistic ceremonials of corporal punishment. And even now, when Debbie was only a few months away from the age of twenty-three, a ripe and beautiful virgin ready for love and affection, she was on her way home, trembling, pale, her palms moist and her fingers quivering as each step took her closer to the dreaded and mortifying moment when she would have to prepare herself for a humiliating spanking on her naked bottom.
Perhaps the psychiatrist would have said that Dorla Ashton took pleasure in mortifying and chastening her own daughter because the latter had been engendered from the loins of Dorla's despised husband. Dorla did not, however, make the slightest attempt to initiate Debbie into the devious and secretive practices of Lesbianism. Nor did she allow her lovers to consider for a moment the possibility of a liaison with Debbie. One of her most passionate devotees, a handsome sandy-haired divorcee in her mid-thirties named Leslie Nordstrom, who had been Dorla's lover following the death of Jackson Ashton, had one night as the two women lay naked in each other's arms after a fierce orgasmic bout, slyly ventured the hint that she would give anything to have lovely Debbie there in bed with them.
Dorla Ashton, for all that she had fiercely lusted for Leslie's buxom body, turned on her like a lioness defending her cubs, and had slapped and clawed the frantic woman till she had driven her out and forbidden her ever to return. The next day, still brooding over the loss of a passionate bed partner, Dorla Ashton had invented some imaginary pretext whereby she could further humiliate the lovely young daughter who had unwittingly caused this rift in the lascivious paradise which the two women had enjoyed until the serpent of incestuous carnal temptation had made its appearance.
And that was why Debbie Ashton was walking home now after her stint at the little restaurant and her meeting with Professor Abner Jacobson, little dreaming that this meeting was to effect a dramatic and almost incredible change in her rigidly controlled young life, gloomily pondering upon the imminent and highly disconcerting reception she would receive when she entered the little house which her mother had rented.
As the young woman had told the professor, Jackson Ashton had left almost no money, only a small insurance policy and a few hundred dollars in savings, and so Dorla Ashton had decided to try her luck in a new community and make a fresh start. She had informed Debbie that the latter was to find work as soon as possible while she herself surveyed the new community, seeking to find a position of some importance and decent wages.
With some of her husband's meager savings, Dorla Ashton had paid two months' rent in advance on the little house, and then she had made in her business to find out about the town of Morse-by - who kept servants, who had money, and the like.
It had been she who had compelled poor Debbie to try to find a job as waitress in the few little restaurants with which this small town was provided. Debbie looked upon it as demeaning and useless work which would never lead to anything, and she had timidly suggested yesterday that perhaps, since she was rather good at studies and fluent in reading, she might act as a companion to some children or even a tutress. Dorla had sharply rebuked her, "Are you daring to override my better judgment, young lady? Now, you've talked to that foreign fellow who runs that little restaurant near the campus, haven't you? And he's going to give you a trial, isn't he? Well, Miss, you get yourself over there as fast as your heels can carry you and go to work, and tonight when you come home from work, you may prepare for punishment for your audacity in talking back to me. I know what's best for you, Debbie, don't forget all the sacrifices I've made all these years, married to that incompetent idiot of a father of yours."
This, then, was the setting of a drama which was to engulf the lives of some most unusual people. It was also to turn Professor Abner Jacobson from a man whom Dorla Ashton might well have characterized as contemptuously as she had her late husband, into a connoisseur of cunt, a stern guardian of two lovely young wards, and in all things else a complete man of the world!
CHAPTER FOUR
Dorla Ashton looked up and frowned as she saw Debbie standing on the threshold of the kitchen door, her hands behind her back, her head bowed and her face downcast, in exactly the attitude of a little girl reporting in for a spanking... which was exactly what this beautiful and nearly twenty-three-year-old young woman was about to receive.
"Oh, it's you, and about time. Well, how was the job?"
"All - all right, M-Mother. Ted says I can start Monday full-time. He can't pay me any more than fifty cents an hour, but he says if I work hard I should do pretty well in tips."
"I told you. But no, you had to go and argue with me because you thought it was too good for your ladyship," her mother frowned. "It seems to me I promised you something this morning, didn't I, Debbie?"
This remark was made casually, but Debbie blushed violently and bit her lips as she faintly stammered, "Why, yes, M-Mother."
"What was it?" Dorla Ashton pursued as she calmly crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her and turned to stare compellingly at the pretty, light-brown-haired young woman.
"A - a sp-spanking, M-Mother," Debbie unhappily quavered.
"That's true. And are you ready for it now, young lady?"
"Yes, M-Mother. But, Mother, I-I have to tell you something first."
"Then be quick about it, because you know very well that all the things you might think of saying to me aren't going to change my mind once I've decided you need a good sound spanking on your big bare bottom, Debbie. Go ahead."
Her mother rose from the chair with arms folded across her magnificent bosom, contemplating the shivering and blushing young woman with an autocratic air which only made poor Debbie feel the more disconsolate.
"I - I worked at the restaurant this evening - "
"I know that, Debbie," her mother cut in impatiently. "What are you trying to say? It seems that even though you're old enough to be married and have children of your own, you behave like a baby. It seems to take a spanking before you can make up your mind to say something understandable these days. I've been too easy with you, so we shall have to think of somewhat more stringent discipline from now on, shan't we?"
"Oh, please, Mother, let me say it. This man-he - he's a professor at the college - he asked if I knew somebody who could work for him as a housekeeper."
Debbie Ashton put her hand into the pocket of her dress and drew out a card which Professor Abner Jacobson had given to her at the little restaurant and handed it to her mother. Dorla Ashton took it, scrutinized it closely and put it on the kitchen table.
"That's very interesting. Did he give you any other facts?"
"He - he said that his brother and sister-in-law had just died and their lawyer had sent him a wore asking if he could adopt their children. And he said he has his own little house and teaches all week in class, and doesn't have any time to look after the girls. He thought you might be interested, Mother."
"I am indeed. It would be a very elegant job, I'm sure, and the prestige of working for a full professor, together with the pay I'm certain I would get, would do us no harm at all in this town. I shall call him later - after you have had your good spanking. Now you know what I expect of you, young lady. Go up to your bedroom and prepare."
"Please, Mother - just this once - " Debbie plaintively began. But when her mother's eyes fixed on her, she quailed, bent her head still lower, while her blushes deepened violently.
Dorla Ashton smiled grimly. Debbie had learned at the cost of many prolonged spankings that delay, arguments, even pleas did no good and only irritated her into applying more chastisement that she had originally proposed to mete out to her daughter's luscious, ripe bottomglobes.
So with a little sign of anguish, the young woman left the kitchen and went to her bedroom, her heart beating quickly with the anguishing thought that despite her mature age, she was going to have to prepare herself for the chastisement a child would receive, one that would be exasperatingly prolonged and as humiliating as it would be painful.
First she carefully took off her dress and hung it in the closet on a hanger. Then she removed her chastely cut slip. This, too, was neatly disposed of, and now the delicious brownette stood revealed in her gunmetal hose which were held up by the tabs of a white satin pantie girdle, with a matching bra which had shoulder straps as well as bandeau, and her low-heeled pumps. Debbie Ashton was on the petite side, being only about five feet four inches in height, but her body was magnificently contoured and the dishabille in which she now appeared enhanced all the maturing charms of her ripely maturing figure.
Needless to say, she was a virgin. Her mother had seen to that, and had sternly forbade her dates with most of the boys who had beleaguered her in high school. It was true that Dorla Ashton might have eased her financial situation by allowing Debbie to marry a "good catch", but the imperious personality of this black-haired and extremely handsome widow impelled her to turn all her vindictive spleen over the unfortunate situation of having been married to an ineffectual and unworldly man on her own daughter whom she considered little more than a slave girl.
Debbie Ashton had mouthwateringly white skin, and her thighs were charmingly rounded and rather full. Her calves were saucily curved and rather highset, and when she walked, they shifted and flexed in the most tantalizingly provocative way. Her breasts were high perched on her milky chest, widely spaced, firm and round and erect, with a wide pale-pink aureole and dainty, pouting little nipples, whose sweet pink hue made them look like dainty orchid blossoms amid the dazzling white of plumeria.
But for her mother, it was Debbie's bottom which most demanded visual as well as tactual attention, for Debbie's hips were perhaps a trifle too wide for the perfection of her figure, but her buttocks were sumptuously plump and spaciously rounded, with a gradually broadening crease to separate them and to suggest the enticing vistas of those two clefts with which nature had endowed her for the purpose of providing pleasure for the male phallus.
Dorla Ashton never tired of seeing her daughter's bottom unveiled for chastisement.
Perhaps subconsciously there was a kind of Lesbian and incestuous pleasure in this compelled nudity of flesh that was, after all, of her own flesh and of her own blood; whatever the reason the brunette dominatress savored most of all the girl's unhappy and shamefaced reactions when the dire moment for the spanking came due. And thus Debbie Ashton knew, as she stood beside her bed, head bowed, hands clasped behind her back, that the nudity of her bottom and of her loins would not take place until her mother entered her room and commenced the series of commands, spoken and unspoken, which would precede the chastisement.
But she had not yet completed her preparations for the dolorous business to take place.
Again biting her lips with uncontrollable nervousness, Debbie Ashton moved over to her bed, which was a double one and rather low, took the two pillows from the top and put them one over the other in the middle of the bed. Over this she would lie and the two pillows would project her bottom up at a shockingly obscene angle but one intensely vulnerable for the stinging cracks of the hairbrush which her mother would apply, after the preface of a sound and very mortifying hand spanking.
Next, she went to her dresser and picked up the black, oval shaped wooden hairbrush, her fingers trembling as she grasped the handle. That brush had been purchased when she was seventeen, and it had been used sparingly on her naked posterior ever since that time, never less frequently than two or three times a month. When she had reached her eighteenth birthday, she had humbly and tearfully begged her mother to spare her the agony of exposing her bare flesh, arguing that the hairbrush hurt so much that even panties or a pantie girdle were scant protection. But that argument had cost her fifteen extra spanks with that same brush, and her bottom had been fearfully discolored and inflamed by her mother's stinging palm and by thirty deliberately spaced blows of that hairbrush. From that day forth, she had steeled herself to avoid such useless and dangerous debates.
She now moved towards the bed and laid the hairbrush down at the right and near the pillow-less head of the bed, where it would be convenient to the hand of Dorla Ashton.
She took off her pumps and put them neatly side by side under the bed, then stood at the foot of the bed, facing the door where her mother would soon enter, standing this time with hands clasped before her and with head deferentially bowed. Her cheeks were scarlet with her shame, and her eyes were misty already in anticipation of the tears they would soon shed. No matter how frequently her luscious bottom received attention from her mother's hand or the hairbrush, it was impossible for Debbie Ashton to remain entirely stoic despite the maturity of her years beyond the midway point in her punishment. It was not that she was a coward; indeed, the frequent applications of corporal punishment since her young girlhood had inured her to pain, and she had come to understand that spankings were not too agonizing to endure and their effect would eventually disappear.
But now that she was a grown woman, the distressing shame she experienced each time she was condemned to this kind of chastisement seemed to enervate her to heighten the punitive effect of the spanks, and to bring tears and groans and sobs and humble though futile pleas for pardon after about half of her punishment had been inflicted on her naked seat.
Now the door opened, and her heart sank. Her mother had changed into a green satin housecoat with a long zipper, and her sandals.
"Are you ready Debbie?" she asked.
"Y-yes, M-Mother," the young woman quavered.
Dorla Ashton moved slowly and deliberately towards the straight-backed chair which Debbie herself had placed in the center of the room near the bed as soon as she had entered her own room. This, too, was one of the little nuances to "preparation" to which the domineering widow had referred in the kitchen, and it was a code which needed no further reiteration. The slightest deviation from any of these implicit rules of preparing herself for the painful and distressingly demeaning correction to which she was sentenced invariably cost Debbie additional spanks and sometimes, as a further sadistic display of her mother's authority over her, some extra penance after the physical chastisement had been administered.
Dorla Ashton seated herself in the straight-backed chair now and calmly commanded: "Very well, Debbie, you may prepare your bottom and come over my lap for your hand spanking."
"Yes, M-Mother," the girl's lips trembled fitfully as she stooped, unfastened the tabs of the pantie-girdle and began to tug it down from the plump, prominent pale white cheeks of her quivering and almost instantly quivering buttocks. The sensation of the air in the room on her naked white flesh acted like a kind of psychological torture on the lovely light-brown-haired young woman; it made her aware of what was about to take place and her helplessness to avert it. When she had pulled the pantie girdle down to about mid-thigh, she straightened and hobbled over to her mother's right, then laid herself very carefully down across Dorla Ashton's lap. Familiar enough after all these years with the procedure expected of her, the young woman submissively and quickly put her palms on the floor to balance herself, at the same time pressing as close to her mother's body as she could, and pressing downward with the soles of her stockinged feet. This instantly tautened the agile muscles of her behind, and it also upreared the spacious pale white skinned globes of her behind as provocatively and defenselessly as her mother wished.
Dorla Ashton was in no hurry. She proceeded to ruck down the white satin elastic pantie girdle to the hollows of Debbie's stockinged knees, a subtle method of impinging on the lovely culprit her absolutely autocratic powers. This done, the brunette dominatress circled Debbie's naked waist with her left arm, her slim, long and very strong fingers pressing firmly against the quivering bare skin. She flexed the fingers of her right hand before passing them lightly over the naked upturned bottom at his disposal, starting at the base of the left cheek and ascending to the chinkbone, then moving over to the right globe and descending her hand to the stocking top. By this she not only appraised the sensitivity and the temperament of the moment, but she also imparted psychologically to the unfortunate young woman the inexorable knowledge that the dreaded moment was about to begin and that henceforth she would expect the most servile and humble submission.
Experienced though she was in this merciless series of preparatory maneuvers before her naked bottom was considered absolutely ready for punishment, Debbie Ashton could not control the sporadic tensionings of her gluteal and thigh muscles. They rippled and flexed and shuddered and the fine, pale-white skin was prickled as with goose-flesh.
Instinctively, out of her virginal shame, Debbie contracted her buttocks in an attempt to diminish the widening amber-shadowy cleft which separated the naked globes and thus shamefully displayed the most intimate secrets of her delicious person.
A mocking little smile of cruel pleasure curved the lips of the brunette dominatress. Then crisply she said, "Get ready, young lady!" and with a last glance at the downrucked pantie girdle, Dorla Ashton lifted her right hand in the air, poised it motionless for a moment to prolong the unfortunate young woman's suspense, then brought it down with a swift and merciless vehemence.
Smack! The outline of her palm and fingers instantly registered over the plump right summit of Debbie's sumptuous, lewdly upreared, naked behind. A faint sound was heard, attesting to Debbie's having sharply sucked in her breath at the surprising shock of that first stinging spank. Her fingers tightened, the knuckles whitened and her toes flexed as she sought better leverage on the floor. Otherwise she did not move or cry out.
Dorla Ashton waited a moment, her eyes fixed on the first tell-tale mark of that first blow of the punishment. Slowly her right hand rose again, waited a moment, flashed down on the left summit. The resilience and elasticity of Debbie's young flesh was an exciting facet to the sadistic dominatress in these moments of embrace of the young woman. The tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth, and her eyes began to glisten with a lewd light.
A third spank followed, returning to the right buttock this time, on the lower summit. Then after another pause, the fourth attacked the left lower summit. What pleased Dorla Ashton was the exquisite sensitivity of her daughter's skin, for she could always tell from moment to moment the effect of the chastisement. Now a fifth, then more quickly a sixth slap made each buttock quake and contract in turn, the spanks falling a little lower and towards the base of that quaking posterior. Long shivers rippled along Debbie's tightening thighs, and the only betraying signs of her discomfort and shame were in the uncontrollable flexions of her muscles and in the tremulous movement of her soft red lips, as well as in the spasmodic flaring and shrinking of her delicate muscles... Professor Abner Jacobson was ready for bed and in his pajamas. He had decided to treat himself to a cigar and he was lounging in bed, mulling over the day's unforeseen and troublesome events. Though he felt deep sorrow at his brother's death, he could not help feeling dismayed at breaking up his staid bachelor's life and becoming what amounted to the father of two teenaged girls. With a boy, you could be more forth-right and talk man to man and establish a kind of respectful discipline. But what was he to do with girls? Would they be nice little ladies or tomboys? Of that he had no knowledge whatsoever. He frowned as he drew on his cigar, and he could not know that just a few miles from him, in a bedroom of which the shades were drawn, a domineering brunette sat in a straight-backed chair, her right arm tucked around the waist of the charming little waitress who had served him in the little restaurant near the campus, commencing the first part of a shameful and very painful correction.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time Abner Jacobson had put out his cigar and wearily crawled into his bed, his mind still agitated by the dramatic suddenness of the telegram which had only changed his staid conventional life, Dorla Ashton had finished the first part of her daughter's chastisement.
In all, some thirty stinging hand slaps had been visited over the plump, pale while globes of Debbie's voluptuous, ample naked bottom. They were no longer pale white, however.
They were bright crimson, especially at the lower summits at the base where Dorla had concentrated the last half of this preliminary portion of her daughter's correction.
Debbie Ashton had managed to keep in position, her left side pressed tightly up against her mother's belly, so that her body lay at a slight angle over the maternal lap and with her hind quarters vulnerably and insidiously upreared. Her palms remained balancing her on the floor beyond the chair, while her stockinged feet pressed down on the other side.
These, however, had shifted constantly during the progression of the spanking.
Sometimes Debbie had even crossed one slim ankle over the other, wriggling her lifted foot as a particularly sharp slap made her catch her breath and gasp with the unpleasant discomfort generated by the impact of her mother's hand on her bare behind. Painful to her, quite apart from the physical impact of those blows, was the lascivious sound of her mother's hand ringing out against her naked flesh, incessantly making her aware that she was undergoing a punishment which a six-year-old child would be experiencing, for all the fact that she was a mature young woman at an age when many are already married and have borne their husbands' offspring.
She was crying a little, too. Not loudly, for she also knew better than to displease her mother's long-established code of behavior during punishment. Dorla Ashton did not object to tears; in fact, she avidly desired them, for this was a mark that the correction was already beginning to be effective. Over these years of domination of lovely brown-haired Debbie, she had constantly increased the duration and the number of spanks doled out to the culprit's bottom and at the same time, she had exacted increasingly Spartan courage from the unfortunate girl. If Debbie had been unfortunate enough to twist about too actively and to cry out or even to ask for mercy during the hand spanking, Dorla would have promptly sentenced her to additional cracks with the wooden hairbrush which waited there on the bed for the resumption of this chastisement. And so Debbie Ashton, shamed indescribably at being so demeaned and treated in such juvenile fashion, had restrained her cries to soft sobbing to little "Ooohhs" and "Ooohhhs" and to movements only of her feet and lower legs rather than of her shapely and rather opulent young hips.
Nevertheless, her bottom smarted painfully when at last Dorla Ashton stopped, passed her right hand lingeringly over the brightly colored hindquarters, and at last decreed, "Very well, Debbie. Now you shall have the hairbrush. Get yourself ready for it."
Slowly Debbie lifted herself off her mother's lap, and this too was a painfully embarrassing moment. As she straightened, her eyes brimming with tears, her lips trembling and her nostrils quivering, she knew quite well that she exposed to Dorla Ashton's eye the rather thickly haired and dark brown triangle of pussyhair over the plump mount of her virgin Venus. First, however, she had to pull up the pantie girdle, then undo the stocking tabs, and then finally stoop and drag the garment down her legs till it slithered to her ankles and she could step out of it. Now again she had to stoop, wincing with discomfort at the burning anguish which the spanking had inflicted, retrieve the discarded sheath and place it at the foot of the bed, neatly and carefully under her mother's unwavering gaze.
Now she was naked except for brassiere and the already sagging gunmetal-gray nylons.
The pale white smoothness of her back, her belly with its wide shallow navel-niche, the lovely shoulders and rounded arms, stood out in almost obscene contrast with the vivid tint which her mother's hand had painted on the canvas that was living flesh, on those two succulently ripe but marvelously resilient globes which were her bottom-cheeks.
Now she walked to the bed, clambered upon it, and crawled over the two pillows till her tummy rested exactly over them, and bowed down her face to the covers, stretched out her arms and clasped her hands together as far beyond her head as she could manage, though she kept her legs tightly clenched. Dorla Ashton's eyes glittered to see that flaming bare bottom so shamelessly up-tilted, and she smiled with anticipation as she slowly rose from the straight-backed chair and moved towards the bed to take up the hairbrush with which this second portion of Debbie's spanking would be energetically concluded.
At times, when she was in a genial mood, she would announce to the unhappy young woman the quota of spanks which she had set as Debbie's sentence and this though terrifying in itself, would have at least the compensatory relief for the unfortunate girl of knowing precisely to what degree of endurance she would be called upon. Now, as Debbie lay over those two pillows with her flaming bottom spectacularly upreared, Dorla Ashton remarked as she took up the brush and moved back around the bed to the foot and to the left side of the almost naked brownette, "You are going to get thirty, young lady.
And I sincerely hope that this will teach you a lesson not to try to argue with your mother over a decision for your own good. You see that I was right already, don't you, about there being a job over at that restaurant?"
"Y-yes, M-Mother... I-I'm sorry," Debbie plaintively replied. And then she added, dutifully trained daughter that she had become under the influence of this vigilant dominatress, "Th-thank you, Mother, for telling me how many spanks I'm to get. I'll - I'll try to be brave and accept my punishment gr-gratefully."
Dorla Ashton had been propitiated by the unexpected news and prospect of a job with Professor Abner Jacobson, which had motivated her into announcing to Debbie the duration of the latter's hairbrush spanking. The handsome brunette widow even smiled as she contemplated the shivering crimsoned hindquarters of the submissive young woman, for there had just occurred to her a most intriguing fantasy: if this professor were unmarried and was suddenly saddled with the responsibility of two nieces, he would ultimately need not only a housekeeper but also a wife. And to be the wife of a professor would not only mean economic security for her but extraordinary prestige, especially in a small town such as Moresby. It would more than make up to her for the irksome and useless years she had sacrificed to that nincompoop of a husband of hers.
Standing against the edge of the bed, she reached over and put her left palm upon the small of Debbie's pale milky skinned back to announce to her daughter that the hairbrush was about to begin its heinous work. Debbie stiffened and sucked in her breath nervously, pressing down hard with her palms against the sheets, and turning her face to the right, applying her cheek to the surface to the bed as a kind of support and also that she would not see the sinister black wooden implement rising over her smarting hindquarters. The two pillows had lofted her naked bottom in such a way that the flesh was tightened and thus even the slightest stinging blow of the hairbrush would engender greater and more distressing heat to her already exacerbated flesh.
Slowly Dorla Ashton lifted the hairbrush, while at the same time increasing the pressure of her left palm, which was a signal to Debbie that the spanking was about to begin. The young woman's muscles contracted in defense, the cheeks of her bottom seemed to tighten and diminish - and indeed, made the shadowy groove between the globes still more narrow and almost imperceptible. At the same time her stockinged toes bore down with nervous tension against the sheets, and she had her arms stretched out to maximum, her hands clasped beyond her head as she offered herself up indocile sacrifice to the hairbrush.
Smack! Dorla Ashton's right hand descended crisply. The intonation of the flat backed surface of the wooden hairbrush was noisy as it made impact with the outer curve of the lower right summit of Debbie's bare behind. The almost naked young woman started convulsively, one stockinged foot lifted from the sheets, then pressed back down hard, and a stifled "Aahhh!" emerged from her trembling lips. Her eyes were now glistening with new tears of woe, and her beautiful breasts swelled violently as she drew in great breaths of air in the forlorn hope of intensifying her stoicism under the biting kisses of black wooden hairbrush.
There was a slight pause, then again her mother's right arm rose, halted in the air a second, then swept down. Thwack! The surface of the brush flattened the lower summit of the left buttock in an alternate pattern which was invariably Dorla Ashton's custom when chastising Debbie. She saw to it that each buttock received its full share of the spanks and over the entire area so that the castigatory heat would be distributed throughout and thus give the culprit the complete sensation of punishment. Once again Debbie's lovely body stiffened over the pillows, and the muscles of her behind seemed to flex spasmodically. A sobbing little gasp was heard, and her fingers twisted convulsively beyond her.
"That's two," her mother casually informed her. Then she halted, her eyes considering the flaming posterior offered up so immodestly and at so vulnerable an angle of display before her. Where the two spanks of the hairbrush had landed, the hue of pain was visibly brighter and stood out over the uniform flush which the hand spanking had already achieved. Then suddenly the hairbrush fell in a short arc, with an angry Smack! over the top of the girl's right hip and at the outer edge; almost without pause it descended again against the other hip at exactly the same place. Debbie's bottom squirmed convulsively, and she lifted her head and pressed her chin down against the sheets, staring straight ahead, her body shivering voluptuously as if under a lover's caress. Now tears could be seen running slowly down her cheeks, and her eyes were very wide and her forehead furrowed as the full pain of this chastisement began to take dominance over her tender flesh. The hand spanking had smarted almost intolerably; but over the terrain so ably prepared, the black wooden surface of the hairbrush seemed to cause an atrocious augmentation of the heat and, what was worse, to spread it beyond the area immediately attacked.
"Four," her mother told her. Debbie Ashton uttered a long tremulous sigh, again turned her face so as to rest her left cheek on the sheet, readjusted the tight clasp of her slim fingers, and tightened the lovely, somewhat plump contours of her thighs. Her gunmetal-gray nylons had begun to slip down and were now rumpled about an inch above her knee hollows.
Dorla Ashton now resumed the spanking; her left palm bore down suddenly on the pale milky-sheened back of the mature culprit, her right hand rose and descended in a quick series of spanks, six in all, regularly alternated from right buttock to left and starting at the outer edge of each upper bottomglobe, then descending there-from. Under this quick flurry of stinging blows, which made crisp impact on the young woman's bare flesh, Debbie groaned, uttered several soft little sobs, and involuntarily wriggled her hips from side to side, but without attempting to evade the maternal discipline. This too she had learned at a very painful cost over the years. But the two thick pillows over which her belly rested arched up her bottom so high that it seemed to her that the bite of the black wooden hairbrush was furiously intensified. Naturally, having been so tenderized by her mother's right palm, the flesh of her naked seat, tightened by the posture, more acutely felt the impact of the smooth glossy wooden-back of the punishment instrument than if it had been administered at the very outset of her correction.
"Ten," Dorla Ashton announced. There was a brief pause, during which the perverse brunette widow studied her daughter's submissive pose, noticed that the slim fingers were still tightly clasped and the arms stretched well beyond Debbie's bowed head, but the stockinged toes thrust down with all their might against the sheets, and that her thighs were still very tightly clenched in an access of understandable modesty to shield her most intimate parts from even her mother's gaze.
Now again the chastisement was resumed, but this time the next series of ten spanks was applied with thirty-second pauses between each blow. Also Dorla Ashton applied the back of the hairbrush right down the middle of each globe, alternating as usual between right and then left cheek, from the top of the summit to the very tops of those pale round milky thighs. The wait between spanks further attenuated the young woman's nerves, and from time to time during this series of spanks she twisted her face round, her eyes very wide and filled with tears, her lips trembling and her nostrils shrinking and flaring almost uncontrollably, while her magnificent titties swelled with an erratic rhythm to attest the lessening of her resistance to punishment.
Also, her cries now became intensely audible and tearful, but they were gentle plaints - again part of her long-continued training. She did not plead for mercy, but instead she contented herself with such interjections as "Ahh, Mother, it hurts!" and "Ouch, Ohhh, please, Mother, I'll be good!" and "Owwooohhh, I'm sorry, Mother, Oouuuuu!!"
Now there was a pause of about a minute, with ten spanks left to be administered over a bottom that was now furiously scarlet from top to base with not a single patch of pale white. But by contrast the lovely sheen of the back and the thighs made Debbie's near-nakedness even more salaciously stimulating to the perverse dominatress, for Dorla Ashton herself was flushed, her eyes glittering, her lips moist and her nostrils twitching as she prepared for the finale of her daughter's punishment. Under the pretext that the pillows were rumpled and shifting, she ordered Debbie to arch her hips up, and then herself with both hands formed the pillows. The hairbrush had been placed just beside Debbie's thigh for easy access to that tireless maternal hand. Also, out of some perhaps esthetic sentiment, Dorla Ashton proceeded to roll down the gunmetal gray nylons to Debbie's ankles, thus exposing the lovely pale white legs in their entirety. Then, resuming her left palm on the small of the girl's back and picking up the hairbrush, she ordered, "Get ready now for the last ten, young lady!" and without further delay brought the hairbrush down solidly and for the first time in the spanking across both cheeks at the base, pinching together the inner curves of those lovely and now flamingly swollen bottom-globes. The spank was rendered in a kind of vertical way, the hairbrush held stiffly and descended rather than with its full breadth in horizontal sweep as had hitherto been the case. The new method drew a really plaintive and anguished appeal for the first time during this cruelly prolonged chastisement: "Ohh, Arrhhh! Ohh, Mother, Mother, please don't, I'll be so good!"
as again poor Debbie turned her tear-stained and contorted face back to her mother, and her fingers this time released their entwinement to clutch the rumpled sheets already moistened with her tears.
Dorla Ashton looked sternly at the sobbing girl, and uttered only one word: "Position!"
As if by magic, Debbie seemed to control her sobbing, and shifted her body slightly over the pillows, resumed the clasp of her trembling fingers, extended her arms as far as they could go beyond her head and thrust her stockinged toes down firmly onto the sheets. It was an expressive and eloquent display of complete subjugation achieved by the stern and inflexible will of the black-haired imperatrix. It might well have been a proof that Dorla Ashton, had she been born some centuries before, could well have been some baroness or marchioness competent to train fearful slaves within her household and to rule them by the lash and by the torture chamber!
Now that her daughter was back in position again, Dorla Ashton lowered her palm just over the chinkbone of the quivering victim, raised the hairbrush and dealt Debbie another spank, vertically administered, as the hairbrush described a shirt arc and made contact with the pouting inner edges of those two now seriously inflamed nether globes, pinching the sensitive crease between them. Again Debbie could not suppress a plaintive cry of "Arrhhh, oh please Mother, it hurts so, oh please, I'll be so good!" and her stockinged feet, kicked up and down before returning to thrust frantically back against the sheets to support herself. Her hips also jerked at the very instant of the impact of the hairbrush, and a long shudder ran through her beautiful and almost naked body. Eight spanks remained, and now Dorla Ashton paused and out of her own sadistic nature forced the unfortunate young woman to answer a question which had nothing to do with this humiliating chastisement: "How old would you say this Professor is, Debbie?"
"Ohh - Ahh - ooohh - I-I think - he - he's in his late forties, M - Mother - ooohh - oh please let me rest a little - just a little, Mother - it burns frightfully this time," Debbie sobbed.
"Good. And you say you gave him my telephone number and you told him about me?" the brunette widow pursued, ignoring her daughter's anguish.
"Oh yes, M - Mother! He-he - seemed to be very interested - I'm sure he will call." Now Debbie turned her tear-ravaged face towards her mother, hoping desperately for a reprieve. After thirty hand spanks and twenty-two stinging smacks from the hairbrush, it seemed to her that her bottom was so furiously sensitized that another spank would be unbearable.
But she was not to be pardoned, even though Dorla Ashton secretly delighted in the news which Debbie had brought her when reporting for her spanking. For if this Professor had two nieces, teenaged nieces particularly, they very likely would be undisciplined little hussies, just as all these modern youngsters were. And of course a mere man, especially a bachelor and a professor who probably locked himself in his den and studied dry-as-dust books until the wee hours, would certainly know nothing about controlling unruly girls.
She, Dorla Ashton, would know how to manage them, never fear! And she would have to offer this professor the example of her own daughter, Debbie, a model in submissive and docile obedience, who never once questioned her judgment on anything, not even the insignificant matter of what color of panties or bra to put on. And if she took the upper hand from the outset, once she got the position, she could dominate this professor too, and make him her husband, and thus for all time avert the danger of another financial catastrophe such as the death of her weakling husband had imposed upon her.
Her smile was sensual and triumphant as she now authoritatively ordered, "Get ready, Debbie, now you have eight spanks left. And try to stay over the pillows, you know, or it will cost you extra. Are you ready now?"
She hardly heard her daughter's faintly sobbed-out, "Y-yes, M-Mother." Already her left palm was pressing down hard on the girl's chinkbone, and already the black wooden hairbrush was rushing in the air.
Debbie received the full remainder of the sentence, eight harsh stinging spanks, three more of which bit home right over the crease of her swollen buttocks, the other five distributed with the first two on each plump summit, the next two across the base of each buttock, and the thirtieth and final spank in a violent horizontal sweep of Dorla Ashton's arm from right to left which bridged both bottom globes at their plumpest spot. Debbie's cries and tears and sobs announced each impact of the wooden hairbrush against her angrily inflamed naked behind, and her hips jerked and lunged and twisted frantically, while her stockinged feet drummed the sheets and flailed the air. Also in her torment, her lovely slim fingers pitifully tore away and clawed the sheets, as she looked back imploringly to supplicate mercy.
But, as had already been remarked, Dorla Ashton was in a genial mood, thanks to the news which Debbie had brought her. And so she only reprimanded the weeping and almost naked young woman for this deplorable conduct during punishment, and contented herself with a reminder to the sobbing Debbie that she sincerely hoped she would hear no bad reports from her daughter's employer once the full-time job was begun next month.
And then came the ritualistic conclusion of the punishment, which never varied over the years since Dorla Ashton had first begun to initiate her own flesh and blood as she would have done a slave had she lived in the age when slavery was legal. She presented the hairbrush to Debbie's trembling tear-wet mouth, for the kiss of docility and gratitude, and she waited while the trembling lips formed the demeaning and humble formula of thanks: "Th-thank you, M-Mother, for spanking me when I deserved it, and I will try to profit from the lesson, I promise sincerely."
This done, Dorla Ashton nodded, and the weeping girl slowly clambered from the bed, not yet daring to rub her swollen hindquarters, as she knelt down at her mother's feet and while Dorla Ashton transferred the hairbrush to her left hand and extended her right, beautiful almost naked Debbie Ashton clutched the hand that had whipped her in both of hers and bore it to her lips to offer the kiss of peace.
CHAPTER SIX
Professor Abner Jacobson had forgotten all about his call to Maxwell Stephenson, and had gone to bed, just about the time poor Debbie Ashton was undergoing her prolonged and two-part spanking from her domineering mother. He was wakened a little after midnight by the insistent ringing of the telephone and since he had masturbated before going to sleep after being lustfully inspired by Debbie's voluptuous virginal beauty at the restaurant and then by the impudent and show-offish Mary Phipps and Dorothy Savage, he had closed his eyes and sought the relief of an erotic fantasy which had been steadily growing more and more demanding of late. This relief had plunged him into deep slumber, so that the ringing of the phone had taken some little time for him to come to his senses and grope his way down the dark hallway to the phone.
The long-distance operator had been trying to reach him, because Maxwell Stephenson was on the other end of the line, having come in late from his dinner and theater date, "Professor Jacobson, you were trying to reach me?"
"Er - yes - yes - you will forgive me because I was asleep - but that's not important. I got your telegram, Mr. Stevenson, and I want to ask your advice."
"Well, Professor, it's quite a problem, you see," the Cleveland attorney told him. "Your brother Horace was quite well to do, but he made the mistake of transferring a great position of his savings into the stock market. His broker evidently misguided him and was quite optimistic about what was happening in Wall Street. The fact is, I've just gone over the estate, and the two daughters have very little to look forward to, I'm afraid. That's why it is all the more urgent that they have someone to look after them. And you being Horace's brother, my natural assumption was that you would want to take them yourself."
"But I'm not married," Abner Jacobson protested.
"I think that can be waived. You have a good income, a steady job, an honorable profession, and certainly under your care poor Madge and Eloise would have a far better life than if they were to be declared wards of the court and confined to some juvenile home. I myself find it impossible to assume their guardianship, or I should have volunteered it, Professor."
"I see," Professor Abner Jacobson murmured uneasily. He scratched his head, cleared his throat, and then managed: "Well, fortunately the school semester will be out next week, and I have no particular plans this summer, and I do have a house on campus here. I suppose I could board them here, and perhaps find a housekeeper who could help with the meals. I'm a fair sort of cook, but I've never really prepared anything except for myself, you understand."
"That would be an excellent solution, Professor," the attorney's voice boomed from the other end of the line. "A mature housekeeper would be an added advantage, and the court would look with favor on an arrangement like this. I have all the papers necessary to arrange for this adoption, but it might be necessary for you to fly down to Cleveland some day next week. Do you think you could arrange that?"
"That's rather doubtful, Mr. Stevenson. There are final exams practically every day next week, and there are the grades and all that, you know."
"I'll tell you what. I'll set the hearing for a week from Monday. School should be over by then, and perhaps you'll find it convenient."
"Yes, I can manage a week from Monday without any trouble."
"Excellent! Meanwhile, if I were you, Professor, I'd arrange to hire that housekeeper as soon as possible. The money your brother did leave, something like seven thousand dollars - a mere pittance, I'm afraid, over what he did have a year ago - will be turned over to you by the court to be kept in trust. You'll be the administrator and you can expend that money on the upbringing of your nieces. Good to talk to you. My address is in that telegram, so you just get in to my office as early as you can on Monday, and we'll get over to Family Court. Have a pleasant weekend, Professor."
The other end of the line went dead, and Professor Abner Jacobson hung up with a sigh.
The attorney had sounded quite happy at having solved his problem so easily with just one phone call, but it wasn't going to be so easy for him. It would change his whole way of life. There would be two young girls around the house all the time, teenaged girls, who were probably skittish and used to having their own way. He knew that Horace always tended to spoil the girls, whom he hadn't seen since they were eight and ten respectively.
Well, it couldn't be helped. And he did owe his brother that much, anyhow. He'd have to hire that housekeeper. And that reminded him. That pretty waitress at Ted's, she'd mentioned about her mother looking for a job like that. The dickens, he ought to have taken down her name and address so he could call her mother right now. No, it was too late. Tomorrow he'd call Ted if this Debbie's mother hadn't called him by then, and then maybe he'd walk over and interview the woman. Yes, that would be the best way...
Professor Abner Jacobson did not have to wait to learn from the Czechoslovakian restaurant owner where his new young waitress lived, for Dorla Ashton telephoned him the very next morning about ten o'clock, introduced herself, and asked for the privilege of an interview.
He accorded her this after lunch,, and when he answered the doorbell, was startled to see this handsome brunette dressed sedately in a black silk dress which fell nearly to her ankles and molded out her magnificently voluptuous body and a large felt hat with a wide brim which gave her the air of mystery and exoticism.
Recognizing at once that he was a man of intellectual probity, Dorla Ashton was on her very best behavior. Ingratiatingly, she complimented him on the neatness and attractiveness of the house, sympathized with him on his bereavement, and indicated that since she had had a daughter of her own for some twenty-three years, she was quite experienced in the ways of bringing up a young girl in the straight and narrow path.
"Debbie, who tells me that she met you last night, is not allowed to go out with boys, even today, until I've properly screened them, Professor," she announced with pride. "She's a very beautiful and obedient girl, and I daresay I can train your nieces to be the same. I'd very much like the opportunity to be of service. You see, Professor, when my husband died, Springfield seemed such a desolate place to me that I determined to come to this charming little town where the atmosphere would be congenial for both my daughter and myself."
Unworldly as he was, Professor Jacobson was completely charmed by the magnetism of Dorla Ashton, and then and there he completed the arrangement that would bring her to his house as housekeeper, in full charge of his nieces. The stipend agreed upon was fifty dollars a week, and of-course room and board, which he personally considered quite low.
But Dorla Ashton herself had asked for no more, and for an excellent reason, the money would be adequate for her needs, since Debbie was earning fair wages at the restaurant, and she was playing for far greater stakes than a salary as the housekeeper of a professor. What she wanted was the professor himself, and once she had talked with him, she was more than ever convinced of it. To her he was as effete as her husband whom she had dominated so thoroughly. It would be easy to ingratiate him. He was a retiring sort of fellow, very much the gentleman. He had shown her every courtesy, and he had probably never had a woman in his life, she concluded. Yes, it would be very easy.
Eventually she would make him marry her, dole out her sexual favors when it pleased her, but best of all would be that she would have under her hairbrush and her chastening hand the bottoms of not only her own daughter, but also those of Professor Abner Jacobson's two nieces!
CHAPTER SEVEN
On the following Monday, the last week of classes at Moresby College, Dorla Ashton moved her few belongings in a truck owned by Wally Simms, the handyman-of-all-work in the little town of Moresby, over to Professor Jacobson's house. Debbie would live there also. The house was spacious enough to accommodate these newcomers, for it had originally been built, like all other houses for the faculty, on the theory that all of them would be married and have families. It had two stories, four rooms on each level, and a bath on each floor, plus another small bathroom at the second floor rear. Dorla Ashton proposed that she and her daughter occupy two of the rooms on the second floor, while his nieces occupy the other two, so they would have a bathroom to themselves and she and Debbie would equally have one. In this way, she glibly pointed out, "We won't be in the way and you'll hardly know there's anybody in the house, Professor. You'll have the entire first floor to yourself, and I'll see to it that neither your nieces nor my daughter and I intrude upon your privacy."
Under such circumstances, it can hardly be wondered that Professor Abner Jacobson congratulated himself upon arranging things so neatly in so short a time after receiving the staggering news that late in his life he had become what amounted to a parent. Besides, he was much too involved in the final exams and the grading of papers and the winding up of the school term to give more than distracted attention to Dorla Ashton's purposeful and efficient maneuvering. Nor was he able to notice that not only was Debbie Ashton demure and dutiful, as indeed her mother had pointed out, but also meek and soft spoken, as if she were a slave, in this house and not the daughter of the housekeeper.
By the end of the week he could relax a little, now that school was finished and those two temptresses, Mary Phipps and Dorothy Savage, had gone back to Chicago for their summer vacation with their parents. It was extremely distracting to have two such girls sitting in the front row, crossing their knees and exposing the gauzy stockings which hinted at so much tempting bare flesh, to notice their brazen smiles and to listen to their always inappropriate questions, devised solely to attract attention to themselves and gain favor in his eyes. Their papers had received the grade of "B", and at the final Friday class both girls had come up to his desk to thank him effusively for the good grades and to wish him a happy summer, assuring him they would be back in the fall and would look forward to his next class which they had enrolled for.
But that weekend he ate better than he had ever eaten before in his life, because Dorla Ashton saw to it that he was treated like a rich Sybarite. She even went so far as to spend some of her own wages in delicacies for the table such as pate de fois gras huge strawberries which she served with ice cream and Grand Marnier, and rich puddings which she made herself. When he complimented her rather shyly on this excellent fare, Dorla Ashton smiled engagingly at him and murmured, "I love to cook for a man who appreciates it, Professor Jacobson, and I've a feeling that you've waited far too long to enjoy comforts that are your proper due. I'm going to try to make it up to you because you've given Debbie and me a nice home and a very enviable position in the community.
It's I ho am grateful to you, Professor." He could not but be conscious of the brunette's sensuous magnetism, and it was in such contrast to the mature and deliciously demure, yet almost ingenuous Debbie that he felt a sudden recrudescence of his physical senses.
This was only natural, seeing how long he had waited in life to indulge his erotic and sensuous yearnings. And the first step had been through gourmet food and good wine.
Dorla Ashton knew this, and she smiled to herself that night in her room as she promised to provide her employer with increasingly more tempting provender which would not entirely be aimed at pleasing the stomach but rather the viscera and the sacral regions.
She was erudite, too, and she had amended the old saw that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach into her own pet phrase, "The way to a man's heart is through his penis. Ensnare that, and you've got the man himself and he can be your slave and dependent on you."
Among the carnal delights which she proposed to give Professor Abner Jacobson, Dorla Ashton intended that at a not too distant date he be present to observe her chastisement of delectable Debbie. For the sensual brunette dominatress understood the nature of the male far better than her employer dreamed she could, and she was convinced that if he should come upon her in the midst of punishing her beautiful, mature, white-skinned daughter, should see Debbie lying across her lap with her skirts up and her panties down her naked behind reddening under the methodical and noisily crisp blows of a hairbrush, he would be roused to lustful desire for the woman who could successfully manage such a subjugation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On the following Monday, Professor Abner Jacobson, who had taken the train to Chicago on Sunday night, and thence a jet to Cleveland from O'Hare International Airport, walked into the offices of Maxwell Stephenson, a portly, affable man in his late fifties, and accompanied the attorney to Family Court. Eloise and Madge Jacobson were waiting in the attorney's office wearing black armbands on the sleeves of their pretty rayon dresses, their eyes red and swollen from weeping over their parents' untimely death. Professor Abner Jacobson was astonished at how much they had grown since he had last seen them. Madge was fifteen, about five feet five inches in height, with curly black hair, the face of a young hoyden, with long, thick, curly lashes, impertinent, wide hazel eyes, a dainty snub nose and a saucy mouth, while her seventeen-year-old sister Eloise was an inch taller, with coppery-red hair in a thick pageboy, a rounded, heart shaped face, a dainty Grecian nose, small but somewhat supercilious mouth with a pronouncedly riper upper hp, highset cheekbones, and a pale, milky skin sprinkled with exquisite freckles and tiny rosy flecks. Both girls kissed him, and Madge began to sob as he awkwardly patted her shoulder and told her he would try to do his best to give her and Eloise a good home and help prepare them for the continuation of their high-school and then on to college.
A new awareness had come upon Professor Abner Jacobson, unbeknownst to himself.
This had been the work not only of Dorla Ashton, to be sure, but the sudden awakening from the long, dreary years of frugal and ascetic academic toil. As with every normal male who reaches the forties or fifties, he was simply undergoing a kind of spiritual as well as physical change, at a period when a mature male begins to think seriously of the inevitable end of his career and ephemeral enjoyments, and seeks perhaps, out of that fear, a last fling which is purely hedonistic and selfish. Mary Phipps and Dorothy Savage had also done better than they dreamed of in stirring Professor Abner Jacobson to a cunt-consciousness greater than he had ever dreamed of, but the vision of his two young nieces, so temptingly developed as they now were in their teens, completed this alteration of his outlook.
Although Madge was only fifteen, her figure was delectably rounded. Her young titties were curved and round and firm, rather widely spaced apart, and her buttocks were upstandingly rounded, tightly compact but eminently spankable; Dorla Ashton would have gloated over such a lovely young posterior could she have but seen it under her hairbrush.
Madge's skin was creamy and satiny-soft, and her voice was just undergoing that change from puberty which often makes a girl sound like a sexpot: husky and rich in contralto tone. Eloise, on the other hand, had a sweet, clear soprano and a rather affectatious manner, because she prided herself on her high grades, having just been graduated this final and fatal week which was to mark her departure from Cleveland to take up her abode as the ward of her uncle.
The Family Court hearing did not last long. The elderly judge conferred with Maxwell Stephenson, looked over the documents which the attorney had provided, briefly interrogated Professor Abner Jacobson, and then decided that it would be a good thing for the welfare of both Eloise and Madge that they be declared legally the wards of the professor.
By way of celebration, though of course both girls were still in mourning and quite subdued over their normal personalities, Professor Abner Jacobson and his newly acquired friend Maxwell Stephenson took the girls out to dinner at one of Cleveland's finest restaurants. The latter loquaciously declaimed about his own happy family ties. He had been married thirty years, he had two grownup daughters now happily married, and was actually a grandfather by one of them only last week. At the same time, he was quick to observe that he would have been the first to offer to stand as the guardian of Professor Jacobson's nieces if it had not been for the fact that his wife had been ailing of late and he did not think he could take time away from his legal practice to give Madge and Eloise the attentive care they required at this important and impressionable point in their young lives.
Professor Abner Jacobson had the feeling that Maxwell Stephenson was greatly relieved that he and not the attorney was named guardian. The judge had also approved that the small inheritance left by Horace Jacobson should be set up as a trust fund, with Professor Abner Jacobson having legal power to draw upon this for the care of the girls.
And so on Tuesday morning at the Cleveland airport, Professor Abner Jacobson boarded the jet back to Chicago, no longer a bachelor whose life would be carefree, but charged with the responsibility for the character and moral rectitude of two delectable and desirable young virgins who were the progeny of his own brother and therefore flesh of his own flesh and blood of his own blood... a fact which, as we shall see, was not to deter him from fucking them both!
CHAPTER NINE
Dorla Ashton had never read the book, "The Servant," by Robin Maugham, a classic story of how an unscrupulous manservant preyed on the physical passions of his young employer and gradually and artfully led him down the path to slothfulness, physical lust, and complete amorality which ended in his destruction. But she herself might well have been a female prototype for that Machiavellian character.
For about ten days, she saw to it that the fifteen-year-old brunette Madge and the seventeen-year-old coppery haired Eloise were treated as if they were royalty themselves, while at the same time she fluttered about Professor Abner Jacobson with a solicitude and efficiency which made him wonder why he had not previously had the happy notion of engaging such a treasure long before.
Meanwhile, the lovely light-brown-haired Debbie Ashton went to her job at Ted's Eatery, though actually in view of her mother's excellent position in the Professor's household, there was really no need for her working. Nonetheless, it suited the svelte brunette dominatress to have Debbie out of the way most of the evenings of the week, so that she could be alone with her employer and his two nieces and take opportunistic advantage of this closely knit menage when it best suited her purposes to do so.
What she intended to do was to let him see her actually punishing her daughter, but only after he had himself become irritated by the undisciplined conduct of his two young lovely nieces. Better still, she finally reasoned, would be to have him told of her intentions towards Debbie, so that his imaginative mind could furnish all the salacious images of the punishment. Decidedly, this was the better method of the two, and so she planned accordingly.
On a Wednesday evening of the second week after the young girls had entered Professor Abner Jacobson's household, Debbie came home about half an hour later than was her wont. The attractive young woman had her own key and could let herself in and go promptly upstairs to her room without disturbing her mother's employer. The two young girls had already gone to their rooms down the hall on the same floor, leaving the bespectacled bachelor academician in his study room, pouring over the latest best seller in the field of amateur psychiatry. He had long felt that he could write a book which would strip the veil from all these quack soul shrinkers, but because of his stultified life, the only thing he had really ever done was that treatise which had brought him so much fame at the college. In many ways, indeed, Dorla Ashton had observed that he reminded her of Jackson Ashton, who could not decide what to order on the menu of a restaurant.
Debbie's mother was in her own room in a stunning new red satin housecoat with deep zipper, which she had just purchased at the only fashion shop in town, and which she intended to wear for the benefit of her employer on a particularly propitious occasion. She heard Debbie's door open and close, glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. Then she rose from the chair, laid down the novel she had been reading - a book, ironically, which told of the ill-fated love between two women actresses whose physical passion destroyed their careers - and knocked softly at her daughter's door.
Nervously Debbie let her in, and her eyes went very wide as she saw her mother close and then lock her door and confront her with a stern visage which from experience Debbie knew was the harbinger of distressing tidings... usually concluding in the most humiliating and painful experience of all which this mature young beauty could imagine: a spanking.
"Why were you so late this evening, Debbie?" her mother calmly demanded.
Unfortunately, Debbie had never learned to lie, and even if she had, she would by now have been acutely aware that her mother would have taken steps to find her out, at a cost which could only be indescribably painful and shameful as well. Therefore her face colored as she hung her head and stammered faintly, "I-I was washing dishes just before we closed, and I dropped some cups and saucers and I had to clean up the mess. The water was so awfully hot, I - "
"That's quite enough, young lady," her mother sneeringly broke in. "Before you know it, you'll be discharged from that job, and you can imagine what your punishment will be if such a thing as that happens to you! The very idea, here you are nearly twenty-three years old, not even married, and you behave like a clumsy child in your place of employment. I am going to give you a spanking, Debbie!"
"Oh, Mother, oh good heavens, they-they'll hear - the girls down the hall - oh Mother!"
Debbie groaned, wringing her hands in despair.
"They won't hear if you don't cry out, Miss," was the inflexible reply. "You'll put a handkerchief in your mouth as a gag, and besides, the walls and the doors of this house are quite solid. If anyone remarks tomorrow about hearing the slapping sound which the hairbrush makes on your naked bottom, Debbie, I'll simply say that you were doing your exercises on a special machine." A grim little smile curved her thin lips at this, and she added softly and maliciously, "And that won't exactly be a he, will it? All right, you've heard what I've decided. Prepare yourself. Exactly as you did that other time when I punished you for arguing with me. The pillows in the middle of the bed, and this time completely naked. We shall dispense with the usual hand spanking because of the lateness of the hour. But I promise you that you shall have spanks enough from the hairbrush to make up for it so that you won't complain to me of not having had a sufficient share!"
One can imagine into what state of anxiety and feverish humiliation such a pronouncement sent the lovely light-brown-haired young woman, who kept twisting her fingers in front of her, shifting on her feet, biting her lips, not daring to plead for mercy against this heartless edict, but dying a thousand deaths inwardly of despairing mortification. After a day's work at the restaurant, earning her own livelihood, being praised by the genial restaurant owner who was a kindly man at heart, to return to this strange house where her mother was an employee and then to be told that she was to be spanked naked - it seemed to Debbie Ashton that she had reached the very nadir of despondency and disgrace.
Her eyes already began to sting with tears as she slowly undressed. Her mother meanwhile had gone back to her own room next door to fetch the black wooden hairbrush, and the click of the door at her return made Debbie gasp in anguish as she realized that the sentence was to be carried out at once. Her mother stood there just in front of the door, the wicked squat oval-shaped instrument in her right hand, her thin lips compressed in a stern line, her eyes narrowed and merciless. Debbie sat on the edge of the bed after having scuffed off her pumps and then drew off her stockings, neatly folding them and placing them on the back of the chair near her bed. And now she was naked, divinely and mouthwateringly naked, the thick dark brown muff of pussyfur at the apex of her somewhat short but deliciously rounded and satiny thighs. Her beautiful round titties were rising and falling with a sporadic rhythm, and her eyelids fluttered incessantly as she blinked away at tears which rose to her dilated eyes. Now she turned to the bed, took the two pillows and put one upon the other and placed them in the middle of the bed. Then with the utmost reluctance, she clambered onto the bed and laid her belly exactly over the pillows, clasped her hands together and extended out her arms, and dug her bare toes into the sheets, readying herself.
"No wonder you're so thoughtless that you break dishware at the restaurant, Miss," her mother rebuked her. "Didn't I tell you that you were to use a handkerchief as gag so that you won't wake up the Professor's nieces? Go get it at once! That is going to cost you ten extras, my girl!"
It was an intolerable nightmare of shame and degradation for the unhappy brownette as she had to clamber off the bed, stark naked and blushing to be thus even under the eyes of her own mother, to have to walk to the dresser and to open it and to take out a handkerchief and then return to the bed, face her mother while she docilely opened her mouth and then stuffed in the handkerchief, and finally, at her mother's nod, to resume that ignominious and almost obscene posture over the pillows with her arms outstretched, her fingers tightly clasped together as in prayer, and her bare little toes thrusting feverishly into the sheets as she tensed herself for the biting kisses of the hairbrush...
Eloise and Madge had gone to sleep already, for the events of their parents' funeral, their appearance in court to find themselves the legal wards of their uncle, their adjustment to this new life in this campus house in the small town after their having grown up and had friends in the metropolitan and far more interesting area of Cleveland, had exhausted them. Thus far, to be sure, they were appreciative of the kindness which their uncle had shown them and they had both privately agreed to each other that Dorla Ashton's cooking was really marvelous. But at the same time Madge and Eloise had admitted to each other a certain suspicious fear of this tall, imperious and beautiful matron, for perhaps intuitively they sensed a kind of arrogance and innate cruelty in her psyche. They were, to be sure, unerringly correct in this girlish intuition of theirs - but it would hardly do them any good when the moment came to realize how right they had been!
But Professor Abner Jacobson was not asleep.
He was smoking a cigar and pondering, after his having read the best seller and contemptuously discarded it as a piece of undocumented trash written for sheer sensationalism and to make money, over the abrupt change which had taken place in his life within the short span of scarcely two weeks. He was certainly better fed and better looked after than he had ever been before, it was true. And Madge and Eloise were certainly sweet and charming and quite intelligent. They had had one or two short discussions about the girls' schooling, and it was his opinion that when the fall term opened in September, Eloise might well be entered as a freshman here at Moresby College while Madge might even be advanced into the first senior term at Moresby High. There was a kind of air flue just to one side of his cherrywood secretary, running from about a foot below the ceiling on up through it and up the corner of the wall in Debbie's room. As he puffed at his cigar and frowned and meditated on what the future might hold, he was suddenly aware of a strange noise. He could not define it. It was faint, but audible nonetheless. It sounded crisp and brief, and then, a moment later, he heard it again. The sounds were coming through the air flue.
He had just heard the first two spanks of the hairbrush being inflicted on Debbie Ashton's upreared naked milky bottom. Her mother had placed the first two blows of the hairbrush on the same place, the upper summit of the young woman's right bottomglobe. Without the preface of the hand spanking, the satiny skin, already tightened and thereby the more sensitized in view of her position over the pillows, flamed instantly. Nonetheless, the culprit was able to withstand the urge to cry out; moreover, the improvised gag in her mouth was a kind of solace to her, albeit a morbid one. For it can only mean that her mother intended to give her a long spanking, and this she knew in advance; the fact that there would be no hand spanking and yet at the same time her mother's promise that she would have no reason to complain of what she did get, necessarily implied a much severer punishment than was customary.
The third, the fourth, and the fifth spanks were given after a short pause, and all one right after the other without any space between them. All three applied on the other summit, leaving a much brighter and broader patch of angry red on the pale white skin of Debbie's naked bottom. Involuntarily, the young woman's hips jerked to one side, and Dorla Ashton hissed, "Be careful not to leave position, young lady, or you know what it will cost your bottom! I've only just started. You may prepare yourself for a good sound thrashing, for you surely have it coming to you. And if Mr. Ted docks your pay for smashing his dishware, you needn't come complaining to me that you're short of your allowance." For Dorla Ashton, in her ingenious program of dominating her lovely mature daughter, continued to give her a weekly allowance just as if Debbie were a child.
The brunette dominatress had seated herself on the edge of the bed now, half-turned towards the left where the naked victim lay arched over the two pillows. Her left hand bearing down on the small of Debbie's back, the hairbrush in her right hand, Dorla Ashton now resumed with five more quick spanks, these given at random all over the plumpest curves of both naked bottom cheeks. Debbie's muffled gasps and sobs were faintly heard through the improvised gag, and she glanced quickly back over her left shoulder at the stern face of her dominating mother. Her hips squirmed uncontrollably, for it seemed to her that each time she was subjected to this juvenile chastisement, it was as if for the first time so that all the smarting and burning sensation was new and humiliating and, as the punishment went on, increasingly distressing to both nerves and flesh and psyche.
Once again her mother paused, and then scolded her again, which often occurred during these correctional seances. Not only did she refer to the breakage of the chinaware which her daughter had confessed upon her return tonight, but she pointed out that Debbie might be even more deferential to Professor Abner Jacobson, for after all the good man had been kind enough to take them both into his house. "Looking at your room now, young lady," she concluded, "I can see that you are forgetting the good principles of housekeeping which I tried to teach you back in Springfield. Your closet door is open, and I can see from here that some of the dresses aren't neatly arranged on the hangers. This is a warning, Debbie, and if tomorrow night I find that you haven't taken pains to improve the looks of this room, you may expect to find yourself over the pillows again, do you understand me?"
Unable to speak because of the gag, Debbie nevertheless had to nod humbly, while her body winced as she saw the hairbrush slowly rise over her vividly splotched bare hindquarters.
Shifting her left palm slightly down till it pressed just over and below the chinkbone, Dorla Ashton resumed the spanking. Holding the brush horizontally and to the right in her right hand, grasped firmly at the handle by a thumb and medium and forefingers, she applied a quick stinging smack over the lower right summit towards the outer edge of the buttock, and then without a moment's hesitation backhanded the other buttock at the same place.
The crisp intonation of wood on naked flesh was again faintly borne to the curious ears of Professor Jacobson downstairs, for he looked up, put his cigar down in the ashtray, and frowned, unable yet to distinguish the meaning of those curious and reiterated sounds.
But those two stinging slaps from the unyieldingly hard surface of the black wooden hairbrush hurt poor Debbie, and she uttered a sobbing "Owwww! Oooooh!" which even the gag did not entirely stifle. Her eyes swimming with tears, her face again turned back to the left and towards her mother, she had kicked up one bare foot, the toes wriggling frantically. There was a more vivid color to her seat than if the chastisement had begun with the manual spanking as was customary on most occasions over the past few years.
That was understandable because the fustigatory instrument was far harsher than even Dorla Ashton's capable and expertly practiced right palm.
"Careful, young lady," her mother cautioned as the girl frantically readjusted her belly over the pillows, for she had slipped somewhat towards the right of them, and at this angle her left hip was slightly higher than her right. Dorla Ashton wished a prominent uniformity to the position of those naked, succulent, inviting hillocks whose every cranny and curve she knew from long experience, yet whose intense discoloration and twitching and squirming and contractions never failed to thrill her sensual and sadistic nature as if it were the very first time she was taking emprise over the lovely light-brown-haired culprit.
Half-turned as she was toward the young woman's naked body, Dorla Ashton found that Debbie's left buttock was closer to her than the right, and that to achieve an equitable force in application of the hairbrush over both naked bottom-globes, it was more practical to deal them out backhanded when attacking the left buttock.
Consequently, she resumed the spanking after a slight pause with three backhanded spanks all over the left bottomcheek, starting at the top, then attacking the plumpest curve at the summit, and finally imparting a noisy Whack! to the base of those satiny hemispheres.
This improvised alteration of the usual pattern of spanking (for Debbie nominally expected that first one cheek would feel the stinging bite of the hairbrush and then the other in regular progression) occasioned considerably greater discomfort, and it was announced by the young woman's convulsive twistings over the pillows, the flattening of her naked hips and the convulsive shudder which ran through them, while at the same time both feet kicked up in the air, the toes in play and twisting pitiably. Also, her sobbing moans exuded through the gag, and she unclasped her hands and pressed them palm downwards against the sheets in her distress.
Dorla Ashton stopped at once, staring at the accusing hands: "Really, Debbie, you're beginning to behave like a big baby! That will be five extra. Now clasp your hands together again, and don't let me see you do that again or I shall be very vexed with you, you understand me?"
No sooner had the weeping young woman nodded and entwined her fingers as tightly as she could and stretched out her beautiful arms far beyond her head, than the hairbrush resumed its staccato beat over the furiously inflamed and squirming naked hindquarters.
Now three spanks covered the right buttock from upper summit to center to base, then a backhanded blow flattened the lower curve of the left buttock very near the shadowy crease between those luscious nether hemispheres. Another blow, hardly without any pause between this entire series, landed the brush horizontally across both cheeks and over the tensing and diminishing furrow which separated the luscious nether rotundities of Debbie Ashton.
The fiery pain began to become unbearable. Wails and sobs and tears were choked by the gag, yet audible and more and more plainly to the stupefied professor who had relit his cigar and was staring at the flue through which these singular noises were conveyed.
Realizing that she had been somewhat severe with the lovely naked young woman on the bed before her, Dorla Ashton paused and lingeringly ran her left palm over the flushed, quivering and contracting buttocks of the softly sobbing brownette. "You know, my dear," she said in a caressing voice, and her eyes were humid and her lips were moist with the sensuality that rose within her being, "that I punish you only for your own good. Because you were deprived of your father, and because even when he was alive he himself was undisciplined, I couldn't let you grow up without order and the knowledge of what is right and what is wrong. That's why it seems harsh sometimes that I must spank you as if you were a naughty child, Debbie, but until you marry and have your own life to lead, you are under my care and supervision, and I must accept my responsibility gravely. Now be brave, because I'm going to give you fifteen more spanks, the extras you deserved. And I trust that by tomorrow night, when you come home from work, I'll see this room in better condition. Shall I?"
Through her tears and sobs, Debbie Ashton managed to nod, to look back at her mother with almost grateful anguish, for at least she knew now when the termination of her punishment would be. Stiffening herself, tensing her fingers until the knuckles whitened, she tried to bear with resolute courage those fifteen spanks.
But in return, and precisely because she was sadistically inclined, her brunette mother inflicted them more slowly now than ever, at about thirty seconds apart, and now the alternation from right to left resumed, until the fifteenth and last spank bridged both naked bottomglobes over the inner curves just below the ripest part of Debbie Ashton's by now furiously swollen posterior.
She had tried desperately to show her gratitude by stoicism, but the sterner and more stinging cracks of that wicked wooden hairbrush defeated her purpose. Almost at each blow now, her feet kicked up, her moans and sobs rose anew, and her hips twisted and squirmed, But singularly, Dorla Ashton did not admonish her daughter for these flaws in the ritualistic acceptance of punishment. Instead, she seemed to smile with a singular triumph... and indeed it was a triumph for her. For it was by this means, this sacrificial offer of her daughter up to the sullying fires of the hair-brush, that she intended to win Professor Abner Jacobson for herself and thus make certain her independence for life!
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning, Professor Abner Jacobson went out to the kitchen in his pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, his spectacles not yet cleaned and his hair somewhat tousled, seeking the first morning cup of coffee which always seemed to clarify his still dazed senses. After hearing all those strange noises last night, he had finally fallen asleep, but it hadn't been a sound sleep. There had been intermittent dreams, involving erotic scenes which hitherto had never visited his subconscious mind before. He had seen himself in a windowless room, the walls covered with somber black velvet, and the floor so thickly carpeted that he could hardly feel his feet sink into it, much less hear the sound. He had entered this room, why he didn't know; in the middle of it had been a huge, round stake with iron rings fixed all around at the top, and standing there on tiptoe, both naked, had been two young girls, blindfolded, their wrists bound high above their heads and locked into the iron rings of the torture post. They had been sobbing softly, and suddenly they had seemed to sense his presence, and one of them had whimpered, "Oh, I'm afraid.
Someone's here. What are they going to do to us?"
In his dream, Professor Abner Jacobson had seen himself approach the stake, and then without knowing it, he was naked, his penis in full erection, his balls aching with their overladen contents of passion-seed. With each hand he had stroked the bottom of one of the naked girls, and he had seen them writhe and twist and heard them supplicate this unknown torturer for mercy, and he had found his eyes moving to the wall on which hung in grim panoply a display of whips of all kinds, leather paddles, martinets, even cats-of-nine-tails. And he had taken up one of the whips at random and amused himself by circling the stake and applying a lash here to this girl, there to that, and watching their white flesh redden and streak under the kisses of the thongs. And then at last one of the girls, the older one, no doubt, had called out in a choking voice, "In the name of mercy, only stop and I'll do anything you want, I swear I will!"
And then tremblingly he had approached and freed her of her shackles and she had knelt down at his feet and put her arms around his waist, and then her mouth had tremblingly approached his swollen prick. But the moment those soft red lips touched his meatus, Professor Abner Jacobson had wakened with a convulsive groan and he had felt himself spattered by his own hot viscous potency.
To his surprise, Dorla Ashton was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast. His handsome, mature housekeeper wore a brown silk dress whose hems descended to midcalf, black nylons, and high heeled pumps, which made her tower authoritatively. She smiled ingratiatingly at him.
"Good morning, Professor. I was just preparing your breakfast and I was going to bring it to you."
"That - that's very land of you, Mrs. Ashton."
"Please, why don't you call me Dorla? You see, my husband and I didn't get along very well and I stayed with him only for the sake of poor little Debbie," the guileful widow explained. "There, sit right down at the table, and here's a cup of coffee to start with. Now perhaps a piece of melon, and then some crisp bacon and some scrambled eggs and whole-wheat toast, very dark?"
He found himself nodding and smiling. Dorla Ashton had certainly catered to his appetite for food, because he had never really found time or the inclination to prepare so elaborate a breakfast for himself. He sat back in his chair, sipping his cup of coffee, quite content with life and forgetting for the nonce the problem of Eloise and Madge.
In about ten minutes his breakfast was put before him, and he ate eagerly. Dorla Ashton contemplated him with a knowing smile as she heated herself a cup of coffee and, apologizing for the liberty she took, sat down opposite him at the little table.
"I hope, Professor," she began, "that my daughter didn't disturb you last night."
"Why, no, I'm sure she didn't, Mrs. - I mean, Dorla," he stammered, his eyes widening in surprise. "What makes you think she did?"
Dorla Ashton looked at him calmly, took a sip of coffee and put down the cup. "It was only that I thought you might have heard her crying out when I spanked her, Professor Jacobson," she remarked out of a clear sky.
If a thunderbolt had suddenly pierced the ceiling and shattered the table at which he sat, the erudite academician could not have been more surprised and consternated.
"I - I don't understand, Mrs. Ashton," he stammered, blinking his eyes behind the spectacles, not certain that he was fully awake. "You mean to say that you - but that's not possible!"
"But why not, Professor?" Dorla Ashton continued to smile at him calmly, her face impassive.
"But, good heavens, she - I mean to say, she's a fully mature young woman - "
"Yes, she is almost twenty-three, Professor Jacobson. But since she is still single and my responsibility, I have seen fit to discipline her whenever she requires it, as she did last night. And that was the noise you heard, I think."
"You - but it's hard for me to believe this."
"Why? I admit it may seem old-fashioned in view of the unbridled delinquency which teenagers are allowed by their doting and lax parents to pursue," Dorla Ashton insisted, "but that does not condone impertinence, laziness, disobedience and utter disrespect for higher authority. It has been my particular creed in life - my obligation, you might say, professor - to be sure that my daughter understands the theory of crime and punishment, cause and effect, so she will be a dutiful and obedient wife when the time comes for her to marry, just as she will be a respectful and loving daughter to me and well behaved while she enjoys the privileges of your home, which you are kind enough to grant her now."
Professor Abner Jacobson's face was flushed now, and his lips were quivering. Dorla Ashton, sensualist that she was, keenly observed these phenomena and inwardly gloated on the triumphant progress she had made in so short a time. His reactions did not indicate that he was horrified: on the contrary, unless she was very much mistaken, he was inwardly dying to hear the details of Debbie's chastisement. And she knew from this how best to whet this repressed, mature male's erotic fantasies, out of the intuition which a dominatress of her sort necessarily possesses. And so she calmly added, after another sip of coffee, "If you don't believe me, Professor, you can ask Debbie herself. She ought to be down presently."
"Oh my gracious, I - I wouldn't dare embarrass - I mean, it is strictly a private family matter and I shouldn't dream of interfering," he hastily amended.
"I respect your tact and your kind consideration or my daughter and myself, Professor Jacobson," Dorla Ashton glibly replied with an encouraging smile to show him she did not find his hesitant interest in the least disconcerting. "But I can assure you that if you were to ask Debbie, she would truthfully tell you everything that happened to her last night up in her room, which is directly over your study, as I believe."
He stared at her, then took off his spectacles, fumbled for a handkerchief in the pocket of his bathrobe and fumblingly cleaned them, then put them on again. "Then you aren't joking, Mrs. Ashton?"
"Dorla," she corrected with an engaging smile, as she shook her head. "No, it's gospel truth, I assure you, Professor. Debbie had a very careless accident over at the little restaurant where she works evenings. I believe that's where you met her."
"Y-yes.
"She stayed a little later to clean the dishes and she broke some in the process. I've always told her to be most careful, especially with property that isn't hers. And so, to teach her that good lesson, so she won't forget it, I told her that I was going to give her a spanking. And that is exactly what she got."
"I-I see. And you mean that even at her age, she accepts such punishment?"
"To be sure, Professor Jacobson. Long ago Debbie learned that resistance or argument or defiance served no purpose except to increase the severity of the punishment she has deserved. She is docile and submissive, for she knows this is the proper attitude of penitence and contrition for the wrong she had done which necessitated this chastisement. It is true it is embarrassing to her, perhaps more at her advanced age than it would be at, say, your nieces' ages, but I find this, to be honest with you, a valuable factor in making the discipline still more effective. For if it embarrasses-her to have to remove her panties and prepare her bottom for a sound and humiliating spanking, then perhaps she will come to the point of trying to perfect herself so such a juvenile treatment will not again be necessary, you see."
Try as he would, Professor Abner Jacobson could find no fault with Dorla Ashton's reasoning, but the dominatress, having already made up her own mind about his susceptibilities and having already discovered that he had never married and was in no immediate state of such a happy domestic arrangement, had determined to draw him down the first venturesome path of erotic titillation which would enable her to add him to the retinue of subjects, just as she had added her own daughter so many years ago.
And so, taking a last sip of her coffee, she continued: "Yes, Professor Jacobson, I spanked her. Would you care to know how? I know that you teach the young, and they are not so far removed from adolescence and childhood as to be immune to the consequences of their own follies and misdemeanors. I could heartily wish that all parents would take upon themselves the obligation and duty of teaching their offspring a proper respect for their peers and the laws of this land, for then we might not have vandalism and student riots on campus and all these other nonsensical acts of behavior which come only because there is such permissiveness in the world today."
She had unwittingly touched on a harmonious cord especially dear to her employer. Only two weeks before he had met Debbie at Ted's, Professor Jacobson had written a guest editorial in the campus daily to the effect that he deplored the rash and widespread attacks upon college and university mentors as accomplishing nothing more than to brand their perpetrators as irresponsible, thoughtless and the very antithesis of what intelligent, clear thinking students ought to be.
"I daresay there is much merit in what you propose, Mrs. Ashton," he at last vouchsafed.
"Thank you for agreeing with me, Professor. But I do wish you'd call me Dorla. There is such a sympathetic bond between us, I feel it very deeply. And of course, since you are a professor and a man for whom I have the highest respect, I will go on calling you Professor, because it is a title of respect and admiration when I utter it," Dorla Ashton proffered hypocritically.
She had the satisfaction of seeing him blush, look down at his plate and nervously shift in his chair. Decidedly, he was going to be even easier than Jackson, she concluded. "Do you find my daughter properly respectful and well behaved in the main, Professor?" she next asked.
"Oh, yes indeed. She does you great credit, Mrs. - I mean D-Dorla," he hastily blurted.
"Thank you. But she is still far from perfect. And yet this docility which you already perceive in her is proof that the course of action I have adopted with her since she was a very young girl cannot be entirely fallacious," the dominatress insinuated.
Into his mind there leaped, unbidden, the sudden image of lovely, demure and meek Debbie Ashton draped across her mother's lap, her mother's hand rising over the plump contours of her captivating bottom, for Professor Abner Jacobson had already secretly admired Debbie Ashton's voluptuous young charms, and so now this sudden knowledge of what an intimate and humiliating ordeal she must have experienced last night served to crystallize the image and to render his erotically advanced concept of her much more lasciviously graphic.
"And she submitted to this p-punishment without any argument or resistance, D-Dorla?"
he hoarsely demanded. Once more Dorla Ashton could hardly repress her smile of triumph. He had risen to the bait and he was now hooked on her line. It would not be difficult to reel him in.
"As I told you, Debbie long ago learned that I will not allow discussions or arguments once I have decided she is in need of punishment. Yes, Professor, she accepts it and herself prepares for the correction. I have taught her to do this also."
"I - I don't understand, D-Dorla," he faltered.
"Then let me tell you what happened last night, if I may, although I feel very guilty in bothering you with my personal domestic problems, Professor.
"Oh no, not in the least. I'm curious, that's all. I - well, I've never heard of a young woman's being punished that way, not at Debbie's age."
"Of course you should know how I do it so you will appreciate the advance Debbie has made, thanks to a mother who sacrifices herself so that my daughter's welfare may be assured, Professor," the smiling dominatress expatiated. "In general, when her fault is rather serious, I begin by taking her over my lap for a simple spanking with my hand, Professor. Her panties are down, naturally, because I always spank on the bare flesh. It is most effective, quite humiliating to a girl of Debbie's age, as is easily understood. Also it enables me to see just to what extent the punishment is taking effect. I am never brutal or overly severe, Professor." She stopped here to look at him, and he nodded as if hypnotized. Her smile deepened as she went on: "After the hand spanking, I give her a moment or two as a kind of intermission, as you might say, Then she must prepare herself for the hairbrush, with which I conclude every chastisement. I make her lie on the bed, Professor Jacobson, with two pillows under her stomach to elevate her bottom into the proper angle for receiving the hairbrush. In this way I am close to her, can control her movements with a minimum of effort. She has to clasp her hands behind her head, because she knows that if she were foolish enough to try to protect her bottom, it would only increase her punishment."
"Yes - I - I see," he said. His voice was husky now and he was trembling perceptibly. Dorla Ashton's eyes glowed with the feral light of the imperatrix as she resumed: "Sometimes I tell her how many spanks with the hairbrush she is to get, Professor. At other times, when she has been extremely disobedient or done something I regard as particularly grave, I keep her in suspense throughout. But she is always required to stay in position, and she knows that begging for mercy will not decrease by a single spank the total number which I have made up my mind to impose upon her for her naughtiness.
Then when I have finished, she thanks me for having spanked her for her own good, and she gives me the kiss of peace to indicate that she bears no ill will towards me. It is an infallible system, Professor, and you have already so graciously remarked upon the results. Yet Debbie is far from being as obedient and docile as I should like, so I-intend to continue this system until she is married and leaves my direct supervision."
She paused for dramatic effect, and she saw from his face that he was entranced as all the erotic visions entered his mind. She knew that he was contemplating inwardly, in his mind's eye, the succession of images her carefully chosen words had roused. Debbie lying on the two pillows under her belly, her naked bottom elevated to the attack of the hairbrush. Debbie kneeling to give the kiss of peace. Debbie squirming and wriggling, crying like a child, as she did last night, yet always submissively keeping her fingers entwined and her arms stretched well beyond her head. And she knew also with infallible certainty that when Professor Abner Jacobson should again see Debbie later today, he would regard the young woman in a new light, and he would not be able to keep from looking at that magnificent bottom of hers which had endured this most humiliating of chastisements!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The ascetic bachelor did not sleep well that night at all. He tossed and turned restlessly, pounding his pillow to reshape it continually, but sleep refused to come. When it finally did, at about three in the morning, Professor Abner Jacobson was haggard and exhausted from the lecherous images which had filtered into his mind and commanded his full attention, in such vividly graphic detail as to make him experience an aching hard-on.
Indeed, once again, with a shameful sense of guilt, he had to resort to using his hand and a wad of toilet tissue to catch the bursting gism which jetted forth from the aching lips of his cockhead as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, and on that blank canvas seeing come to life in titillating flesh and blood reality the luscious, ripe, white skinned body of Debbie Ashton.
And this time the fantasy was even more precise; once again he seemed to stand in a windowless cell whose walls were covered with black velvet. But this time there was a straight-backed chair in the center of the room, and he perceived that Dorla Ashton was regally enthroned upon it. Her black hair in its prim oval bun at the back of her head, her oval face stern and impassive, wearing a black silk dress with long sleeves and skirt which suggested the mid-Victorian era, she awaited her daughter, a black wooden hairbrush in her right hand. And he was there, at one side of this dungeon of penitence and expiation, and standing near her mother was the forlorn figure of Debbie herself, slowly stooping to pull up her own dress and slip, discarding the garments, tears running down her cheeks as she faced her mother now in white panties and bra, dark brown nylon hose held up by the tabs of a narrow garter belt which cinched in her supple waist, and in her pumps. He saw the young woman kneel down, clasp her hands and implore mercy. He saw the dominatress shake her head and point imperiously to her lap with her left hand. And then, as the vision continued, growing more and more lasciviously exciting for him, and then as his hands stole toward his aching prick, to fondle and caress it as if it were the hand of a-woman performing this intimate attouchement, he saw Debbie, still on her knees, slipping down the panties to her thighs till the thick dark bush of her cunt appeared in all its exquisitely provocative salacity. Then he saw the young woman rise and hobble over to her mother's right and drape her body submissively over that black-gowned lap, her arms dangling to the floor, her head bowed, in total submission. He saw Dorla Ashton smile cruelly in triumph as she calmly tucked her left arm around the young woman's shivering waist, drawing her closer to her body, and then lifted up the hairbrush and began to spank.
And soon, in his mind's eye, he could see those lovely legs flailing the air, while the rumpled panties festooned her legs as a kind of fetter to restrain these unladylike outbursts under threat of a spanking which had already begun to turn those pale white cheeks a fiery red. And then, as if by magic, he saw Dorla Ashton stop the spanking, order Debbie to rise and to kneel down beside the chair. And as the weeping young woman obeyed, her panties twisted about her calves now, her bottom flaming, yet her hands not yet daring to soothe the burning globes of her well thrashed seat, he saw Dorla Ashton go to the door of the cell, open it and vanish... and then he was left there alone. He saw himself take a step forward towards her, bend down and take her by the ear-lobe, and make her rise. And then he heard himself give her the command to put her arms around his neck and to kiss him and to do everything he wished unless she desired another whipping... and it was at that precise moment when his sperm burst from him in an angry flood, and he set his teeth and closed his eyes and shuddered violently at the paroxysm, for it represented the most excruciatingly ecstatic fulfillment he had ever known as a virile and yet thwarted male. Yes, Dorla Ashton had planted the seed well into his impressionable mind, and it was to grow and flourish the more swiftly because for so many years he had denied himself the pleasures of the flesh!
When he went in to breakfast the morning when he had learned from his new housekeeper how she chastised her mature daughter, Debbie happened to be at the sink washing dishes for her mother. Dorla Ashton greeted him effusively, and then sharply added, "Debbie, have you forgotten your manners, young lady? Don't you say good morning to the Professor?"
Debbie Ashton whirled, her lovely eyes shadowed with distress as she perceived the threatening nuance in her mother's tone. "Oh, ex-excuse me, Professor Jacobson," she quavered. "G-good morning, sir." But in her startled fright, her slim little fingers let go of a butter dish which she had been wiping with the dishtowel, and there was a crash. She stared down at her feet as if unable to believe what had happened.
"Ohhh!" she gasped, and her lovely cheeks flamed with mortification.
"You clumsy little fool!" her mother scolded. "Pick up that mess at once and excuse yourself to the Professor!" Then, turning to the bemused academician, Dorla Ashton fawningly remarked, "You see for yourself, Professor, what I have to contend with. Here is this young woman, old enough to have a house and family of her own, breaking your best butter dish. Sheer carelessness and thoughtlessness. With your permission, sir, I think I ought to punish her and I think you should be a witness to it, so that you will understand my methods as well as furnish this naughty girl a good lesson in penance."
Debbie Ashton was absolutely paralyzed with horror at these words. She stared first at her mother, then at the Professor, while the color in her cheeks spread to her temples and her throat and even to her dainty little earlobes. Her magnificent titties heaved turbulently as she fought for breath, and she finally managed in a strangled voice, "Oh, please, Mother, surely you won't do that - not - not before him Oh, please!"
"Really, Mrs. Ashton," he interposed, his own face flushing from embarrassment at the girl's plight and her obvious distress, "it's really not too serious. I can easily replace it. Let her off this once, as a favor to me, Mrs. Ashton."
But Dorla Ashton had no intention whatsoever of showing leniency even at her employer's request. Her plans were too well laid to brook the least alteration now. And so she shook her head and replied, "With all due respect, Professor, I can't forgive Debbie just once, as you say. That would be to destroy the entire concept of disciplinary training. Just one lapse, and she would begin to thing she was immune from chastisement when she was naughty and you would destroy all the years of proper training which I have worked so hard to bring about. I must respectfully overrule your request, Professor."
Then, turning to the flabbergasted, scarlet-faced young brownette, her stern mother commanded, "Go get your hairbrush. I am going to spank you right here in the kitchen.
And be quick about it, you know!"
Debbie clenched her little fists as tears sprang to her dilated eyes. "I beg of you, Mother," she faintly articulated, "I won't resist, you know I always obey you, but I implore you, not like this, in front of him. It's too shameful... Oh, I shall die of shame. Please, M-Mother, in my room - and you can spank me harder - all you want - but not here, in front of him, I'm begging you!"
"I will say this once only, Debbie, and you had best pay attention to it. Do you think me an improper mother? You shall retain your panties for the spanking, because I don't intend to allow the Professor to see your impertinent big bottom. But you will have enough spanks to make up for that extra protection which I don't usually allow. Now get your hair brush and bring it back to me and then prepare yourself. You understand me? And not another word!"
Professor Abner Jacobson was on the verge several times of intervening on behalf of the young beauty, but a strange languor had seized him and he remained there in his chair as if hypnotized, his nostrils flickering, his mouth suddenly moist, his lips quivering. The lascivious dreams which had haunted him so much lately would now seem to be imminently realizable in Debbie's very flesh!
The unhappy young woman uttered a soft, stifled groan, turned and left the kitchen. A few moments later, she hesitantly entered, both hands clasped behind her, but Professor Jacobson observed that she had executed the distressing errand on which her mother had sent her: she grasped the handle of her brush in her right hand but understandably sought to conceal this instrument of juvenile discipline.
"With your permission, Professor," Dorla Ashton said gently with a knowing little smile at him. He remained speechless, unable to move. The fantasy had taken hold of him, but now it was real, it was three dimensional. But even against his own best moral judgment he could not suppress the sudden secret exultance which rose in his loins like a swift dagger-thrust, and he felt his prick stiffen and throb with an angry urgency which he could identify with the tantalizing and salaciously exciting imagery which he had imagined projected upon his ceiling last night.
Dorla Ashton had made ready for her daughter's punishment in the latter's momentary absence. Drawing out the short-backed kitchen chair, she had seated herself, with folded arms, waiting like a Roman matron of yore for the appearance of this humble, tearful, condemned young slave girl whom she was about to sentence to the humiliating ordeal of physical chastisement. As soon as poor Debbie appeared, her eyes downcast, her cheeks already streaked with tears, her mother commanded: "You know what to do and say, young lady. Remember, Professor Jacobson is waiting to see how obedient you are, after all I've told him about you. You'd better not disgrace me, you know, young lady."
And then before his astounded and fascinated eyes, there unrolled this provocative domestic scene by which Dorla Ashton conspiratorially intended to entrap him into the declaration of his long-suppressed desires, for her own selfish profit.
He saw Debbie Ashton advance slowly towards her mother, hesitantly bring her hands forward and hold out the brush, tendering it handle forward, and heard the young brownette faintly stammer, "Here is the hair - hair - hairbrush - to sp - sp - spank me w-with, M-Mother."
He saw Dorla Ashton take the brush in her right hand and imperceptibly nod to the scarlet-faced young woman. Then, as in a continuing dream, he watched as Debbie Ashton stooped to lift her dress and slip up to her waist and, with an almost feverish eagerness, quickly place herself over her mother's lap... for indeed, the quickness of this maneuver was motivated by the young woman's almost frantic desire to have the martyrizing and mortifying ordeal begun and finished as swiftly as possible. Even as she humbly assumed that juvenile and shameful pose over the maternal lap, Debbie Ashton turned her agonized, tear-stained face back towards her mother, and in her eyes was a supplicating message for just such swiftness in the execution of sentence passed upon her voluptuous virgin bottom.
On this occasion, Debbie was wearing charcoal brown nylon hose and a garter belt, white cotton panties and matching bra. Her mother calmly laid the hairbrush on the small of the young girl's back, and then proceeded to roll up the skirt and slip into a neat fringe at the middle of her back. This was to prevent the garments from falling back and protecting the condemned bottom. Debbie shivered as this was being done, inwardly praying that her mother would not prolong the agonizing suspense, which had never been so keen, never so annihilating as at this moment. For although this was not the first time she was to be spanked in the presence of a third party, this was very definitely the first time a man was to see her receiving a chastisement more appropriate to children than to a young woman of almost twenty-three.
Dorla Ashton, however, did not share Debbie's opinion in the matter. And for the very same reasons, though perversely adapted to suit her own cunning plans. For she reasoned that the more Professor Abner Jacobson viewed of the ceremonial preparations attendant upon her daughter's chastisement, the more he would be fascinated and influenced by what he was about to see... and in this she was unerringly right.
Accordingly, she grasped the tops of the light cotton panties and tugged them upwards until the material seemed to make a second skin and mortifyingly chafed the tender crotch as well as the cleft between her daughter's bottomglobes. If she had made this concession to Debbie's virginal modesty in permitting for the first time the protection of panties, they would at least be as snug as they could be drawn, so that the hairbrush's sting would lose not a particle of vigor in the process.
Now at last she was ready and her left arm curved protectively around her daughter's waist, while she lifted the hairbrush from the small of the girl's back and demanded, "Are you ready for your spanking, young lady?" Professor Abner Jacobson's eyes were very wide and unwavering, and his heart was pounding with an erotic rapidity which under other circumstances would have made him seek the services of a heart specialist for an immediate cardiogram. His palms were sweaty, his throat dry, and his nostrils flared and shrank; in a word, he displayed - and not without Dorla's satisfied detection - all the symptoms of a man who is being erotically aroused, captivated and entrapped by the spectacle she was about to provide for him.
"Y-yes, M-Mother," he heard Debbie faintly stammer. Her palms were on the floor, for the lowness of the chair gave her much better leverage as she thrust her pump-shod toes against the linoleum. If she had any reflections at the moment, she might doubtless have preferred to have a solid rug under her feet rather than this shiny linoleum which might make her slip and thus imperil her balance and so cause her mother to be vexed with her.
The fact was that her heart was pounding loudly, too, and she was wishing herself a thousand miles away, or at least in the privacy of her own bedroom. Even the ritual of being obliged to strip herself naked and to place herself over the pillows to receive her spanking would have been infinitely better than this agonizing ordeal which was now about to begin.
But actually it was not yet to begin, for Dorla Ashton wished to glean every possible iota of sensual subjugation out of this fortuitous event which had swiftened her own schedule of beguiling her employer into the dependency which would make her future economically untroubled for all time to come. For she now, while tightening the grip of her left hand against the girl's bare side, demanded, "Are you sorry for what you did, young lady?"
"Y-yes, M-Mother," Debbie's tear choked voice again faintly replied.
"Very well. I am going to give you twenty this time, but only because Professor Jacobson has been kind enough to intercede in your behalf. And when I have finished your chastisement, Debbie, after you have thanked me for your spanking and given me the kiss of peace, you will go over to him and thank him also for having spared your naughty bottom what I had really intended to give you - forty."
Although this remark was not spoken with the inflection of a question, Debbie Ashton understood it as such and out of long habit hastily replied, in a voice that choked and vibrated with her anguish, "Y-yes, I - I - I will, M-Mother."
"Very well, get ready then."
With these words, contrary to what a disinterested spectator might have imagined, actually conveyed to the victim a sense of relief. They meant that the waiting, the prolongation, the questions and the dreadful ceremony of "preparation" were at an end and now the issue was between the hairbrush and her tensing, pantie-sheathed bottom.
Dorla Ashton now glanced at the fascinated academician, whose eyes were glassily wide behind the spectacles he wore. Then swiftly she raised the brush and brought it down on the plumpest curve of Debbie's right buttock, following it immediately and without pause with an equally harsh Smack! on the left buttock.
Now the young woman's attention was localized, and now, almost, the mortifying knowledge that a man was watching her in this humiliating posture was thrust away into the back of the victim's mind. The smart, burning blows of the hair-brush made her start convulsively, for they had been slightly harder than was her mother's wont at the outset of a chastisement. This was because of the protection of the panties, to be sure.
Nonetheless, Debbie could not help jerking fitfully and raising her head slightly, her eyes very wide and shining with tears. Dorla Ashton surmised that it was not yet time to let her employer delectate over the exquisite erotic pleasures of a prolonged and delayed whipping. Later on, after he had shown his full excitement in such a spectacle, she would provide it for him. She was satisfied enough with the tremendous advances she had made in her position of stature in this household. So, mercifully for the unfortunate young woman across her lap, she applied the brush quite quickly, with only a few seconds between each spank, until at last the announced number of twenty had been inflicted. She spanked all over the plump, squirming bottom, and with no set pattern of alternation between the globes. But this, too, was part of her plan. And because of it, not knowing what to expect, and because the sting of the blows was stronger than if she had been without her panties, Debbie was impelled to more uncontrollable wriggling and squirmings than was her own custom. Also, her sobs and groans and gasps were louder from the very first than they had ever been before, an understandable reaction due to her enervation and shame to discover that Professor Abner Jacobson was present to see her punishment.
It was thus concluded in not more than three or four minutes, and it would ordinarily have been a very disappointing session for Dorla Ashton had she not remarked, as the final blow bridged the hindquarters at the base and drew a sobbing squeal of "Oww - Oh, Mother - I'll be careful next time - Oh please - " that her employer's face was flushed and that he had clenched his hands in his lap and was leaning forward, his body strained with the turbulent emotions seething within him.
The groundwork had been laid indeed. As Dorla Ashton now pardoned the weeping girl and allowed her to rise, to lower her clothes and then to kneel down and kiss first her right hand and then the hairbrush which that hand had so implacably wielded, and then to rise, put her arms around her mother and give her the kiss of peace, the dominatress knew that she would be indispensable to her new employer in many more ways than housekeeping.
And when finally Debbie moved slowly over to the hypnotized academician, and in a voice choking with her tears and sobs, stammered out her apologies for having bothered him and her gratitude for having lessened her sentence, only she could not realize to what lecherous excitement he had been roused by watching this beautiful young mature virgin undergo the most banal, the most juvenile and at the same time the most thrilling of corporal punishments!
CHAPTER TWELVE
The guilty secret which Professor Abner Jacobson had thus been unwittingly compelled to share with Dorla Ashton, his boldly intriguing housekeeper's mature daughter had been chastised, and ever. His young nieces discovered how the housekeeper's mature daughter had been chastised, and quite by accident.
Madge and Eloise were used to staying in their rooms until late in the morning, dawdling about mainly because they felt out of sorts and still strangers in this little town where there was not much to do except pursue an academic career or to farm, neither of which possibility held out the slightest interest to them. But on the morning when Debbie had been unfortunate enough to break the butter dish of her mother's employer, black-haired Madge had suddenly developed a ravenous hunger, so she had told her sister, and in her pajamas and slippers had tiptoed down the stairs, hoping to get to the kitchen without being discovered by her uncle or the austere housekeeper, of whom she was secretly afraid.
The kitchen door had been closed, but sounds had come to Madge's ears, sounds which were unfamiliar to her as they had been to her uncle the night before. She had been about to open the door and go in unabashedly when she had caught the word "spanking" and a seventh sense had held her rooted to the spot. She couldn't see, not without opening the door, and to push it even an inch or two ajar would have run the risk of being discovered as an eavesdropper. So she had contended herself with standing there and listening, in an attitude ready for flight should someone inadvertently open the door and find her listening there.
When she had heard the crisp intonations of Dorla Ashton's hairbrush against her daughter's pantie-clad bottom, she had turned very red in the face, her eyes had widened, and finally she had tiptoed away back up the stairs to her room, only to visit Eloise next door and in excited whispers had told the redhead what had been going on.
Professor Jacobson's brother Horace and his wife had never in their lives so much as lifted a hand to their daughters, which is not to say there had not been ample provocation for such a disciplinary act. There were times when even easygoing Horace Jacobson had boiled under his outer geniality at the studiedly affectatious insolence of his older daughter, and at the impertinence and brashness of the younger Madge. But both he and his wife had been inculcated with the principle of letting their offspring learn through experience what was right and what was not, fearing that excessive vigilance and punishments would repress them. Theirs was not an uncommon case, in an age when Dr.
Spock's permissive doctrines in book form had become the household manual for young parents to follow.
But what astounded the older Eloise the most was that this attractive young woman, so demure and soft spoken, so polite and deferential, had actually been taken across her mother's lap like a child, forced to lift her skirts and turn up her bottom to a hairbrush spanking and in front of their uncle.
"I told you I never liked that woman," Madge complained. "You watch and see if she doesn't try to make us mind too. Well, if she thinks she can treat us the way she treats that poor Debbie she's got another think coming!"
"That Debbie must really be a sheep," Eloise contemptuously sniffed. "My golly, she's practically an old maid, and yet she still gets swapped on her heinie. But Uncle Abner wouldn't let that Mrs. Ashton lay a hand on us, you know he wouldn't. I like him a lot, except he's in such a stuffy rut. I don't think he's ever gone traveling for a vacation or anything. He just locks himself up with his silly old dusty books and teaches school and that's it. Daddy used to say that Uncle Abner ought to have got himself married a long time ago so he'd snap out of it instead of being such an old square."
But later that same afternoon, just before Debbie Ashton prepared to go to her job at Ted's Eatery, she happened to come upon both Madge and Eloise on the stairs, and the curious and even speculative look which both teenaged girls gave her made her lower her eyes and turn scarlet with mortification. It was as if they knew what had happened to her this morning and were taunting her about it. At least that was her impression.
Now had both Madge and Eloise been content to let the matter rest there, it is possible that their uncle might yet have escaped the sexual pitfall which Dorla Ashton had so ingeniously dug for him. But as luck would have it, they believed they had found a mature, adult victim they could tantalize and poke fun at, an opportunity all too rare for modern teenagers. So Madge, with a giggle and a wink at her older sister, observed aloud to the latter, "Gosh, Elly, I didn't know Debbie wasn't any older than we are, did you?"
"For sure not," the coppery haired adolescent mockingly retorted, taking her cue at once from her prankish younger sister, "she looks a lot older to me, and that's a fact."
Debbie was trying to go down the stairs and pretending not to hear what was being said.
But her blushes gave her dead away, because Madge noticed them and giggling avowed to Eloise, "Hey, lookit Debbie blush! I bet her heinie blushed lots more when her mom spanked her big bottom with the hairbrush this morning in the kitchen, don't you, Elly?"
"Ohhh!" Debbie Ashton indignantly exclaimed, stopping at the foot of the stairs and turning back to confront her two malicious young tormentresses, "you haven't any right to talk about me like that! You haven't! And it's not true, anyhow!"
The gentle young woman had been so horrified by the scandalizing and unexpected revelation that the Professor's nieces had somehow managed to learn about her martyrdom in the kitchen, that for about the first time in her life she resorted to an outright lie. And again, as luck would have it, Dorla Ashton, overhearing the conversation on the landing, came out of the kitchen just in time to hear her daughter pronounce this he.
"What's going on, girls?" she demanded, with a disarming smile, not having heard any more than her daughter's frantic denial.
Once again fate furthered the dominatress's plans by inciting brash young Madge to blurt out her specially gained knowledge: "It-it's really nothing, Mrs. Ashton. Elly and I were just telling Debbie that she must have got an awful whacking this morning in the kitchen, and she said she didn't. But I heard her get it, Mrs. Ashton. Weren't you spanking her with a hairbrush?"
"Ohh, Mother, Mother," Debbie disconsolately wailed, bursting into tears and covering her face with her hands, while her shoulders shook with her sobs. "I'm so ashamed, it was bad enough when h-h-he saw, but now they know too!"
Dorla Ashton cast an exasperated glance at her sobbing daughter, and then stared coldly at the two adolescents who instinctively huddled together before her baleful gaze.
"It isn't very ladylike for you two girls to hurt poor Debbie's feelings by reminding her of something so unpleasant," she told Madge and Eloise, thereby at once confirming Madge's burning suspicion of what had really taken place and what her ears had told her, "Yes, it's true, I did give my daughter a spanking. And I might say at this point, young ladies, that if I were in charge of you, you would talk and act quite differently from the way I have observed ever since I have come here to work for your uncle."
Eloise Jacobson did not have coppery-red hair for nothing. At this ignominious threat, she stiffened, went red in the face and angrily retorted in her supercilious tone, "You're nothing but a servant here, Mrs. Ashton, and you just better remember that, see? You could do anything you want to that meek little goody goody of a Debbie, but we'll tell our uncle if you even touch us!"
Dorla Ashton's dark blue eyes narrowed with a furious light, and the twisting of her thin lips ought to have warned the two sisters. If looks could have been transferred into action and authorization, at that very moment Eloise and Madge would have found themselves in a room not unlike that portrayed in their uncle's fantasy, their wrists tethered high above their heads, standing on tiptoe, their panties dangling about their heels, while the stem dominatress prepared to flog them with a carriage whip which would curl around their bottoms and thighs with stinging and fiery impact.
Debbie Ashton, meanwhile, had burst into tears and run off into the kitchen to escape her young persecutresses. Professor Abner Jacobson had gone back to Moresby College to have a chat with the president of that worthy institution, since the latter had asked him to try his hand at another treatise which would be published in a leading psychology journal and bring more fame to the halls of Moresby.
For the moment, Dorla Ashton was powerless, and she knew it. But she did not intend to remain so for long, as she gravely informed the two giggling minxes on the stairway: "When your uncle comes home, young ladies, I intend to tell him just how you've behaved.
And I'm certain that he'll make you apologize to poor Debbie. You say she's a goody-goody, and I agree. And I tell you that I would far rather have her thus then the undisciplined, impertinent and disrespectful hoydens that both of your are."
"Go ahead and snitch to Uncle Abner," Madge jeered, rendered more defiant than usual by the presence of her older sister, "it won't do you any good, so there now too! We're orphans, and Uncle Abner feels awful sorry for us, so he's not going to listen to any of your fibs about us, see? You better be careful, Mrs. Ashton, or we'll snitch on you and say that you're bothering us and not doing your work."
The svelte brunette housekeeper turned pale with fury. But she quickly dominated herself and with a mocking little smile, passed off the matter with this casual remark, "I think your uncle is a perceptive enough man to know what side his bread is buttered on. If I weren't here in this house, I can assure you that he'd never have a moment's peace. You're slovenly, both of you, in taking care of your rooms, you talk back and you're insolent to your elders. Whoever your parents were, they didn't ever hear, apparently, of the old maxim of sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Yes, you may be very sure I shall tell your uncle when he returns of your deplorable conduct."
Towards four o'clock in the afternoon, Professor Abner Jacobson returned from his visit with the college president. He was greatly heartened by their interview. It was intimated to him that there would be a raise and the assignment of more classes on the curriculum, always a happy prospect for a man who has devoted his full life to academic status, as had the uncle of Madge and Eloise.
And Dorla Ashton, who had waited for this moment with glowing glee, lost no time in knocking respectfully at the door of his den-study and asking if she might have a moment with him.
After she had detailed the insolent and humiliating manner in which his two nieces had spoken to her daughter, Professor Abner Jacobson frowned with annoyance. Mrs. Ashton was right, there was no doubt of it. He himself had observed the past few days how quickly Madge and Eloise seemed to have taken this house for granted, and were acting as if they were the owners, not he. Why, they were dependent upon his charity, if the truth be known, and yet they behaved in the boldest possible manner. It wasn't to be tolerated.
"I'm sorry you've had such a difficult time with my charges, Mrs. Ashton," he apologized. "I shall certainly reprimand them at once."
"Begging your pardon, Professor, it's my opinion that they've been spoiled ever since they were born," Dorla Ashton proffered. "And I tell you very frankly that if you just talk to them, it'll be like water off a duck's back. It'll go in one ear and out the other, that's all. And they'll just laugh at you behind your back, and at me too, for being so weak and kowtowing to them. No, Professor Jacobson, in my opinion drastic action needs to be taken before it's too late."
"What are you suggesting, Mrs. Ashton?"
Wisely she didn't attempt to urge him to call her by her first name. For she could see that he was annoyed and irritated by the conduct of his nieces which she had just reported to him. "I will give each of them a sound spanking and send them right to bed, with only bread and water, Professor Jacobson," she energetically replied.
"You mean - you would actually - the way you did to Debbie this morning?" he stammered, growing very red in the face.
Her eyes met his levelly, and again the smile of triumph crept over those thin lips. "I would indeed, Professor! They're both like young puppies, trying to tease and to play and to see just how far they can go without a reprimand. A good spanking would bring each of them up short, make her realize that she isn't here as a little princess, but at your good pleasure and your charity."
"That's right, Mrs. Ashton," he said enthusiastically. But God, the luckiest day in his life had been when he had engaged this housekeeper. And he was terrified at the thought that she might leave, simply because of the slight to Debbie.
"I mean exactly that, Professor. Only, begging Your pardon, I'd give it to them on their bare bottoms, I would. That's the way I usually punish Debbie, and it's only because you were present and I didn't want to embarrass her. Your nieces are really impertinent, and they're getting worse day after day. Drastic action such as this would call a halt to such nonsense, I can assure you."
"Hmm." Her pursed his lips and plucked at his chin with nervous fingers, frowning as he stared into space. "Of course, you must realize they're high-strung and spirited girls, and they've lost their parents. A certain amount of leeway must be given them, I think you'll agree."
"No, sir," again Dorla Ashton shook her head. "You'll only go on postponing the inevitable.
And the inevitable will be that they'll laugh at us both and deny that you have any authority over them at all as a guardian. As I say, they have to be brought up short, and the best way I know is a good sound spanking with their panties down around their heels, showing them for once and for all that they aren't favored princesses who can have their own way about everything."
He felt himself faltering.
"All I would need, Professor Jacobson, would be your permission. It's not enough for them to have a man, a father who can replace the one they lost, you see, sir. They need a kind of mother's supervision, if you'll forgive my saying so, Professor. Now you see how well I've trained Debbie. I told myself from the very start that I wouldn't give in to her just because she didn't have a father. I had to be both parents for her, and perhaps I was a little severe, but she's certainly well bred and polite and sweet, isn't she?"
"Of course, no doubt about it," he enthusiastically agreed. At the same time he shivered, for into his mind's eye again had come the vision of Debbie's rounded, plump, succulent bottom-globes, tightly outlined by the snugly drawn-up panties, squirming and jerking and weaving under the implacable crack of that wooden hairbrush.
"The sooner these girls are taken in hand, Professor, the sooner they'll stop behaving as if they were adults and boors," Dorla Ashton sagely observed.
"Yes, I think you're quite right. It's only that I don't want to be too hard on them. After all, as you say, they've had a great loss, they've lost their parents," he sententiously observed.
"But don't you see, Professor," Dorla Ashton eagerly pursued, "they'll go on feeling sorry for themselves and they'll take advantage of the sympathy you've already shown them until they'll just be unmanageable. Here and now is the time to acquaint them with the knowledge that they aren't going to have their own way all their lives, and the sooner they start to realize that, the better it will be for all of us. Don't worry, after a good spanking, they won't pity themselves so much for losing their parents, but in a sense they will have gained replacements in you and me."
She had the adroitness and the glibness by which the Devil himself quotes Scripture, and it impressed the unworldly and now sensually wakening academician.
"Yes, you may be right," he mused aloud. "At least it would show them that someone cares about what happens to them, and so perhaps, just as you suggest, they may be distracted away from their great loss. But these are young girls, Mrs. Ashton."
"I began with Debbie when she was about twelve, Professor, Jacobson," Dorla Ashton promptly retorted. "If anything, I'd say that Madge and Eloise need to be brought up short before they get any older. They are fifteen and seventeen, at the very time when they are most impressionable, and already they are insolent, rude, arrogant and malicious, as you just heard. I really think you should speak to them and tell them that from now on they will no longer be immune to discipline now that they are your nieces and your wards."
During all this dialog, Eloise and Madge had stared at each other, comprehending finally that they perhaps had gone a little too far in their taunting of the housekeeper's daughter.
But out of youthful bravado, Eloise now turned to her uncle and retorted, "Mom and Dad never spanked us, and you're not going to either, Uncle Abner. Besides, who are you to act like our parents? My Dad used to say you kept your nose in books so long you didn't know which end was up."
Professor Abner Jacobson's face reddened at this Parthian shaft. Its truth was indisputable, but nevertheless it rankled. "Mind your tongue, Eloise," he snapped.
"I'll say what I like, I'm grown up enough and you know it," she saucily retorted.
"That's telling him, Elly," Madge chipped in.
Dorla Ashton flashed her employer a triumphant I-told-you-so look. "You see, Professor? If you back down now, they'll ride roughshod over you, you watch and see. What they both are itching for is a good sound spanking on their bare bottoms, and right now would be an excellent time to start!"
"I think," Professor Abner Jacobson mildly decided, "we ought to have a little confidential talk before we proceed with anything so drastic. Come along, Eloise and Madge, I want to talk to you." With this, he put his right hand on Eloise's elbow. And now fate again intervened by making the supercilious young redhead revolt like a young colt who first feels the traces. She struck his hand away and kicked at his shin, indignantly exclaiming, "I don't want any little talk! You're just an old fogey, that's all! Come on, Madge, let's go for a walk or something, this house is getting positively creepy!"
But as she pushed by her uncle on the stairs, he angrily seized her by the wrists, while Dorla Ashton, quickly noticing how the tide had turned, made Madge's wrists fast also.
"Good," the housekeeper beamed, "I'm glad that you've decided to take some positive action for a change, Professor. And since these impertinent brats are likely to squall because it would be their first time, I propose we take them down to the basement. I saw some old benches there which can be used for securing them for punishment."
She had indeed reconnoitered, and discovered several low flat wooden benches and one or two sawhorses, lumber which the previous tenant of the house, who had been a widower professor of biochemistry, had utilized for his woodworking hobby and never removed. She had also noticed several lengths of rope and a ball of very heavy twine, and she had already foreseen the usages to which all this paraphernalia might be put.
"No, you're not going to spank us, do you hear?" Eloise cried, as she furiously tried to break free of her uncle's hold. And again she tried to kick him in the shin. Madge meanwhile twisting and struggling like an eel in the housekeeper's grasp, kicked out and was more successful, and Dorla Ashton uttered an angry cry: "Why, you vicious little cat!
You're going to be sorry for that, young lady, just you wait! Come along with me!"
And thus, struggling and crying out, Eloise and Madge Jacobson found themselves being unceremoniously led down to the basement of their uncle's house, en route for the very first corporal chastisement of their hitherto pampered and sheltered young lives!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A naked electric bulb was the only light in the old basement, and the windows were heavy and had not been opened in years. For all intents and purposes, it was as ideally a soundproofed place as might be found in the entire house for the purpose now in mind.
Dorla Ashton's eyes lit up as she perceived the two wooden benches and the old sawhorse towards the left rear of the wide basement, near the boiler.
"You take care of Eloise, Professor, and I'll handle Madge here," she announced. "And when the young brunette tried again desperately to break free of her hold, Dorla Ashton moved quickly behind the fuming girl, her left hand gripping Madge's left wrist, while her right seized the scruff of Madge's neck. And, bringing up her knee in a short arc, she ignominiously jostled Madge's delectably rounded bottom and forced the young brunette to stumble forward with a cry of indignation and discomfort.
Once arrived at the low wide benches, and being wiry and strong, the brunette dominatress had no trouble in forcing the angry and now really scared teenager down on her belly along the surface of the bench. Then, to Madge's consternation, Dorla Ashton sat down on the middle of the girl's back, pinning her effectively while she stooped over to pick up one of the lengths of rope which lay on the stone floor. Hoisting up her skirts now, and revealing to Professor Abner Jacobson's dazzled eyes her fine svelte calves and thighs sheathed in dark-brown gauzy nylon hose, the sensual housekeeper shifted herself so that she sat astride the middle of Madge's back. Now adroitly she made a loop of one end of the rope around Madge's left wrist, drew a slipknot, and after that it was a simple matter indeed to capture the other wrist and to bind both tightly together under the bench.
"Ouch! You're hurting me! You stop that! Uncle Abner, don't let her hurt me like this - I don't want to live with you, I hate you, you're a nasty old mean man and Elly and I want to go back home," Madge stormed.
Dorla Ashton ignored this frantic outburst, while she procured another length of rope and, shifting her weight down over Madge's bottom, seated herself full over that delectably rounded young posterior while she made the rope fast around Madge's supple waist and tied it tightly so that the girl was pinioned to what was to be the whipping bench.
This done, she stood up and moved back to contemplate her handiwork. Madge could kick her legs all she wished, but with her wrists tied tightly together under the bench and her waist corded securely, she was powerless to avert what was in store for her.
Madge Jacobson wore a blue minidress, and the hems of the skirt left off at about midthigh. She wore charcoal-brown pantyhose and loafers, both of which had been kicked off in her frantic struggles and flailing of her lovely legs during the pinioning. Dorla Ashton wasted no time, once having rendered her victim helpless. Stooping down, she seized the hems of the minidress and rucked the garment up and rucked it under the tight rope which circled Madge's waist, exposing the luscious, upstandingly rounded bottomglobes in their gauzy nylon sheathing, which fitted like a second skin and delineated the extremely narrow fissure between the cheeks of that plump young virginal backside, which was destined to make its first acquaintance with the ignominious and painful actuality of corporal punishment.
Meanwhile Eloise Jacobson, seeing what was being done to her younger sister, redoubled her frantic efforts to break loose of her uncle's hold, and succeeded again in kicking him in the shins, making him so forget his academic standing as to swear aloud. He very nearly lost his grip of her elbows, and then she lowered her head and tried to butt him in the stomach. Dorla Ashton, swiftly realizing that, despite the best intentions in the world, her employer was hardly qualified to cope with this defiant young rebel, now come to the rescue. Her method was eminently simple: the fingers of her left hand plunged into the thick pageboy curls of the defiant redhead, twisted them until Eloise yelled in pain, and then, drawing back her right hand, she applied a violent open-palmed smack against the girl's bottom which made Eloise yell again and stumble forward. "Quick, Professor," Dorla Ashton panted, "See that ceiling beam over there? Isn't there a rope thrown over it? Yes, I believe there is. While Madge is getting her spanking, let this vicious little cat wait her turn without being able to get loose. I'll help you with her."
His shin smarting from Eloise's kick, his face flushed and his heart pounding rapidly, Professor Abner Jacobson seized his older niece by a wrist and he and the housekeeper dragged the rebel under the wooden beam. A rope had been tied rightly around it, and now dangled to about chest height. Dorla Ashton expertly grasped both of Eloise's wrists, pinning them in her hand, and lifted them up, while Professor Jacobson, comprehending at last, seized the dangling rope and swiftly tied it round and between the slim pale milky wrists and knotted it. Now Eloise was compelled to arch up on the toes of her pretty black leather pumps, and though she yanked furiously at her bonds, they refused to yield. The rope was old but not yet rotten, and the beam creaked in protest with her frenzied and energetic tuggings as she cried out, "You'll pay for this! I'm going to the police as soon as I get loose and I'm going to tell them all about how you treat Madge and me, you watch! Let me go, damn it, let me go!"
Professor Jacobson stepped back, panting from the exertion which was more exercise than he had had in years. Roused as he was to anger, which is akin to sensual lust and sadism in many ways, he now had ample time to observe the delectably svelte young body which swayed and twisted before him as Eloise uselessly tried to break free of the knotted rope which hoisted up her arms and left her vulnerable to punishment.
The thick curls of her coppery-red pageboy danced as she threw herself this way and that, shifting her pumpshod feet, wrenching at her wrists, angrily denouncing her tormentors.
"You let me go! You've got no right to tie me up like this, nor Madge either! Do you hear me? You let go of me, or I'll tell the police on you both, and then you'll see, you won't be so smart then, Uncle Abner! It's all that nasty woman's fault, you know it is! You wait till I tell on you!"
Dorla Ashton's lips tightened, and her eyes narrowed with a malevolent glare. But to her delight, she heard her employer angrily counter the rebellious redhead's tirade with his own, now furiously angry.
"That will be enough of that, Eloise! I can see now how spoiled the two of you are, and it's a shame that my poor brother couldn't take matters into his own hands a lot sooner than this. You're going to watch and see your sister get a spanking, young lady, and then you're going to get yours, and it will be a good one. Kick me in the shin, would you, and threaten to tell the police about me, when I'm going to discipline you? You just stay there and cool off until it's your turn."
"That's the way to talk to them," Dorla Ashton exalted. "Now, with your permission, Professor, I am going to give Madge her spanking. If you wish I should be happy to punish Eloise also, unless you'd rather?"
"I don't know - frankly, this is terribly upsetting," Professor Abner Jacobson gasped as he sat down on one of the unoccupied wooden benches close to Madge's. "I never dreamed these two girls could be such hellcats. But perhaps watching her sister being punished will have a salutary effect on Eloise, Mrs. Ashton."
The svelte brunette housekeeper smilingly nodded. Perceiving an old wooden footstool at the obscure back of the basement, she went towards it, retrieved it and brought it back to where Madge struggled in her bonds. Seating herself, she could now commandeer the girl's lower body, and she at once proceeded to insert her fingers under the elastic waistband of the pantie-hose.
"Ohh no! Don't you do that to me! Make her stop, Uncle Abner, oh my gosh, don't let her make me naked, please not that, Uncle Abner!" Madge wailed. Already her bluster and bravado, augmented by her sister's example and encouragement, had begun to wane when she discovered that she would be the first to feel the housekeeper's reprisal. She began to kick her lovely stockinged feet, while she meanwhile tried to jerk her wrists free from under the bench and to arch her body against the restraining waist rope, but quite in vain.
Professor Abner Jacobson stared, completely ignoring the fuming and still shoutingly defiant Eloise behind him. As his eyes fixed on the creamy expanse of naked young virgin girl flesh which the housekeeper was methodically unveiling. The gauzy body sheath was pulled down now and completely off, leaving Madge Jacobson stark naked from waist to toes, and at once the muscles of her bare behind tightened in a supreme and instinctive effort to diminish the immodest revelation of the most intimate portions of her young anatomy.
Dorla Ashton's eyes now glittered with that unholy glow which was characteristic of her in the act of administering corporal chastisement, The young brunette's bottom was indeed calculated to arouse her sensual and sadistic eagerness. Her cheeks were round and firm, upstandingly curved, with a sauciness in the way which the base of the behind merged into the lower summits. The shadowy groove which separated those two succulent hemispheres was extremely narrow, and dissembled still more by Madge's frantic muscular tensions as the shocked and now really terrified culprit tried to hide herself by grinding her loins down on the dirty, rough wood of the old wooden bench and by turning her face away from the relentlessly implacable housekeeper and closing her eyes very tightly.
Her thighs were charmingly plump, perhaps a bit too short for perfection, but the soft warm creamy white skin was absolutely bewitching. Erotically starved as Professor Abner Jacobson was, the exposure of all this tempting young virginal flesh acted like a cantharide on him, and his jaw dropped as he felt his prick begin to stiffen until it was evident to him that within a few moments his appearance would affront his housekeeper as well as his nieces.
Yet he could not help but watch, transfixed, overwhelmed by this aura of sensuality which cunning Dorla Ashton had known so ably how to evoke, and one which drove to the very core of his most hidden desires and repressions, as the svelte brunette widow now addressed the still struggling and kicking Madge.
"You may as well conserve your energy, young lady, and kick and wriggle when you feel the spanking I'm going to give you. It will be in two parts. First, I'm going to shame you, you big naughty girl, for your reprehensible conduct, by smacking your big naked bottom with the flat of my hand, just as I would a baby. After that, when your bottom is nice and red and when you begin to cry, the real spanking will begin, do you understand me?"
"Uncle Abner! Don't let her do it to me! You can't let her treat me like that, I never have been spanked, not ever!" Madge now tearfully turned her face towards her uncle, her hazel eyes brimming with tears. He could say nothing, and he felt curiously powerless, as if the fantasy of his nights had suddenly been made reality and forced him inexorably to experience all its tortuous windings and detours until the very end of this thrillingly exciting adventure. For such it was now to the lust-whetted, sex-starved academician.
After a last glance to make sure that Madge's wrists and waist were securely bound, Dorla Ashton put her left palm on the spine of her victim, pressed down hard as she always did to intimate to the culprit that chastisement was imminent, and then commenced a lingering and what seemed to be caressing appraisal of those upstanding, plump round creamy bottomcheeks with the palm of her left hand. This was to appraise the sensitivity, the quality, and the possible resistance of this new victim's flesh, for she was totally unfamiliar with Madge's naked behind, and she wished to give the girl an exemplary correction before her employer, since she comprehended from the look on his face, and his trembling enervation that this ingeniously planned spectacle would lead him down the path she had chosen. She did not remark, but she surely noticed the distinct bulge at the fly of his trousers, and her thin lips curved in a pleased smile at her own astuteness.
Madge, meanwhile, writhing and squirming frantically under that ignominiously caressing palm, made a last frantic attempt to break loose of her bonds and could not. Helplessly, she at last turned her face to the left to perceive her executioner, just in the act of raising her right hand over those all too vulnerable creamy naked bottomglobes. "Oh no, don't, please don't!" she wailed.
But only the sudden swift and harsh descent of Dorla Ashton's right palm responded to that poignant appeal. Madge's naked right buttock flattened under the stinging and chalorous impact of that first spank, the plumpest curve springing up under the slap and presenting the roseat hue which is the unmistakable stigma of manual chastisement.
Never before had such a hue blemished Madge's voluptuous creamy young posterior.
Never before had Professor Abner Jacobson beheld how remarkably exciting that color seemed to be when imposed upon the smooth satiny nakedness of a female's flesh.
Without haste, ignoring the victim's wails and pleas and sobs, for by now Madge head realized that her defiance was going to cost her dearly, Dorla Ashton applied some twenty-five harsh, noisy slaps all over that ripe, quaking, velvety bare behind, uniformly imparting a bright crimson color from the tops of Madge's amply rounded young hips to the tops of her thighs. The girl's bare legs kicked back and forth on the bench, and at times, towards the last half dozen slaps which were particularly severer than those which had preceded, the young brunette squirmed upwards and arched to and fro on the punishment bench, allowing her uncle to see the surprisingly thick black triangle of virgin cunthair at the apex of her creamy thighs.
Dorla Ashton now rose, and glanced over to her employer with an encouraging nod: "Now she's ready for a real spanking, Professor," she observed. "Her bottom's very sensitive, as you can see for yourself, and it's very warm, too. Never fear that she'll feel the discipline I'm going to give her and I'm sure by now she's regretting having acted in such a deplorable fashion."
"You're brutes, both of you!" Eloise shrilled from her place at the beam, turning her face towards the Professor and his housekeeper, "You're just dirty nasty cowards, that's all, tying up poor little Madge and beating her like that!"
Dorla Ashton halted, then walked slowly back towards the fuming redhead and, facing her, suddenly slapped Eloise viciously across first her right cheek and then her left. "And you, my girl," she said sarcastically, "are a nasty, noisy, impertinent little liar! I am not beating your sister, nor shall I beat you. I am going to whip her, Eloise, as I shall whip you in due turn, make no bones about it. And you will realize what the difference is when your bottom is naked and you begin to feel the punishment on your impertinent bare flesh." Her nostrils flared as she pronounced the word "whip" with a sibilance and a relish that proclaimed her furiously sadistic temperament and the sensual relish she derived from these visual and verbal contacts with he victims. And again her competence and zeal bedazzled Professor Abner Jacobson and intensified the mounting sensual fury that was gnawing away at his virile and all too long-denied loins.
Speechless with horror at having been slapped so unceremoniously, her pale milky cheeks splotched by the outline of Dorla Ashton's palm and fingers. Eloise could only gape through a mist of tears as she turned her face back, eyes very wide, to watch what the housekeeper intended to do to her sobbing and helpless sister.
Dorla Ashton had perceived a number of laths lying on the floor of the basement toward the rear wall, and she now went in search of these. When she returned, she had four or five in her hand, which she laid down at the foot of the bench and, one by one, picked up and brandished, swishing it down through the air to determine its flexibility and balance and heft to her whipping hand.
Eloise watched in transfixed horror, her mouth agape, her eyes bulging, at the gloating way, the deliberate and calculating manner, in which Dorla Ashton handled these short, narrow wooden staves. They were of varying lengths, not more than a foot at the most, and some only six or seven inches, and their width ranged from two to five inches, while they were of a uniform thickness of slightly more than an eighth of an inch. Flexible and stingy, they could inflict on a bottom already-so ably prepared as Madge's an intense burning discomfort.
At last the housekeeper decided on one of the wooden implements for Madge's fustigation, the longest and narrowest, which would enable her to visit comparatively more of the condemned bottom and apply more spanks to attain the decree of heat and coloration she intended to impart. Madge saw it, too, and at once turned her face to the right and tearfully implored her uncle to intercede on her behalf. "Oh, please, oh my gosh, Uncle Abner, don't let her hit my poor sore bottom with that awful stick! Oh please stop her, Uncle Abner, I didn't mean to be bad, honest I didn't!"
But at this point, the bemused academician felt himself carried back into the dim shadows of antiquity, as if he a Roman Emperor seated in the royal loge at the arena, with all waiting for his sign or mercy or death. And he knew then as he knew now that he would turn down his thumb and deny this naked young slave girl's piteous appeal.
His silence was tacit consent to the eager housekeeper. Her left palm pressed down the harder on Madge's spine, the lathe rose in her right hand, and then came down with a ferocious "Whackkk!"
Madge's almost naked body arched against the rope which held her waist down to the spanking bench, her bare legs kicked wildly in the air, heedless of the lascivious glimpses which she permitted her uncle to see of her virgin cunt, and her head rose as she cried out stridently, "Owwww! Oh please, it hurts awful, oh don't spank me like that, I'll be good!"
Such cries, however, were music to the ears of the brunette dominatress, and a second blow fell on the left cheek of Madge's already inflamed bottom, once again drawing a violent wriggling of the captive's naked hips and thighs, and a plaintiff wail. "Eeeyahhhrrr!!
Oh I can't stand it, I'll be good, oh please, Uncle Abner, please make her stop!"
He was shuddering now, and his teeth set into his lower lip, as his eyes fixed on that dancing, squirming, jiggling and weaving naked bottom. Dorla Ashton lifted her head to glance at him, and, hugely satisfied with her progress, returned to contemplate the condemned posterior before her. The lath rose and fell with methodical regularity now, disregarding the victim's sobbing cries, almost incoherent pleas, and heartfelt tears.
Twenty-five stinging times the flexible wooden lath visited Madge Jacobson's naked bottom, decorating it from top to base with a blazing scarlet, making the muscles twitch and spasm, so that the narrow furrow between the globes at time sporadically yawned, only to clench again.
"There," Dorla Ashton panted as she lay the final horizontal Swackk! which bridged the lower summits of both flaming bottomcheeks and drew a prolonged tearful yell from the unfortunate young brunette, "I think for a first time you have nothing to complain of, Madge. And the next time, it will be a great deal more, you have my word for it."
She moved now to the head of the bench, and bending down, her left fingers twisting in Madge's tousled black curls, lifted up the girl's tear-stained, contorted face and demanded in a husky, lust-shuddering voice, "Will you be good from now on? Will you apologize to your uncle and to me for your wickedness and your rebelliousness? Or do you want some more of this?" and she showed the sobbing girl the lath still in her right hand. Madge did not, not in the least. Contritely, tearfully, using the babbled words of a little child that is suffering, she implored both her uncle and the housekeeper for forgiveness, humbly swore never to be naughty again, and apologized for her rude demeanor of the evening.
Although Eloise was secretly frightened and her heart was thudding wildly as she realized that she was next, the older red-haired girl could not bring herself to submit to so ignominious and shameful a subjugation. As Dorla Ashton turned to her, therefore, she tugged at her wrists above her head and cried out hoarsely, "You can kill me, but I won't ever say I'm sorry I kicked you, no I'm not, I wish I'd killed you both, hurting my poor sister that way! I don't want to stay in this awful house anymore, I want to go back home to Mr.
Stephenson!"
"I have a suggestion, Professor," Dorla Ashton purred as she approached him. Her dark blue eyes were shining now with a humid glow of lascivious excitement, and her lips were moist and trembling. Her prominent, firm pear breasts rose and fell against the bodice of her dress, and she emanated an aura of sexuality which was almost overpowering to him in his present enervated condition.
"Wh-what is it, D-Dorla?" He reverted now to the use of her first name, for there was an intimate bond between the two of them; and guilty though he might feel about his betrayal of affection for those two young girls who were from his own brother's loins, he was powerless to avert the aphrodisiacal torment which their martyrdom had engendered in his psyche and his tormented flesh.
Dorla Ashton leaned over to whisper in his ear: "Eloise is a very recalcitrant creature, you can see that for yourself, Professor. If I were you, I would let her wait in suspense for her punishment, and leave her here alone, with a blindfold around her eyes. Let her think about what she's deserved by ah this insulting and kicking and struggling in defiance of your authority. I think it would be most effective."
Tremblingly, he nodded, for he could not find words to speak. Triumphantly, Dorla Ashton put her hand into the pocket of her dress, and drew out a large silk handkerchief. This she placed over Eloise's eyes, knotting the handkerchief at the back of the girl's neck.
Taken by surprise, the red-haired adolescent cried out, "What are you going to do? You let me go, Uncle Abner, I command you to let me go, Madge and I are going back home, do you hear me?"
"Don't answer her," Dorla Ashton murmured, "just let's leave her here. The longer she waits, the less brave and defiant she's going to be. You'll see. Trust me, dear Professor."
She put her hand gently on his arm, and she felt him shiver. He turned to her, his eyes hollowed and dark, his face flushed, and he saw her exotic beauty now as he had never noticed before. She was Astarte, the feline and cunning goodness of libidinous desire. He felt his prick ache for her, and yet he did not know how to manifest this sudden-imperious longing for her supple, svelte body which grew in him like a torturing fire that consumed his very vitals.
But she understood. And though she despised the male, she was now at the point of her own sensual excitement that the conquest of this pathetically virginal and mature male roused the deepest and most perverse sentiments of her being. "Come with me, dear Abner," she whispered very softly and she took his wrists and led him as she would a child... or a victim... out of the basement up the stairs, and down the hallway till he found himself on the threshold of his own bedroom.
"You want me, don't you, Abner?" she murmured, her dark blue eyes searching his.
"My God - y-y-yes - Dorla - forgive me - I can't help myself - you don't know - "
"Shh, dear," she murmured, putting her moist palm over his lips, and she felt their burning and tremoring enervation. "I understand. And I want you too... that way. I want you to love me, to have me. Because now you're a man and master in your own house for the first time you see, my dear one.
As in a dream, he felt her lead him into the room, and then close the door. And then he stood, trembling and marveling at her, as she began to undress him. And when he was down to shorts and socks and shoes, she moved away from him, and began to undress slowly and tantalizingly before him, lifting off her dress and letting her magnificent pear titties boldly thrust out all the promise of their firmness and their succulence to his eyes and lips and fingers as he waited there, his prick almost bursting through the thin material of his shorts. Then came her slip, and she stood before him in pantie girdle, sheer black nylon hose, and her pumps, and a matching peach-colored bra with straps and bandeau.
He shuddered violently at the sight of her svelte body in dishabille. As she raised her arms languidly, curving out her elbows, arching out her titties towards him, he could see the dark tufts of armpit hair, and it was like a revelation out of his most furious erotic fantasies.
The dusky buds of her firming nipples pressed hard against the cusps of the tight bra, and he could see the narrow concentrated aurolae which limned them.
"Don't be afraid, Abner darling, I want you to have me," she purred. And she moved forward to him, linking her arms around his neck, whispering, "take off my bra and love me good, dear Abner."
"But the girls - leaving them down there - " his voice was choked.
"Never mind, my darling. There's time enough later for them. Now's for us. Hurry!" her voice became a sharp exacerbating whisper, like a dagger-thrust of passion that summoned all the evil genie of his erotic longings and his suppressed and guilty dreams out of the past into this cogent nowness.
And he who had never before dared have intercourse with a woman, this erudite and introverted man, his spectacles blurred, felt his fingers grope towards the hooks and eyes of the bandeau of Dorla Ashton's bra, and then glide off the straps and let the sheath flutter down to the floor so that the naked exuberance of her titties lunged forward at him to stab his flesh and mind with new carnal longings. He scarcely knew that his fingers-were kneading those boldly ardent titties, nor that her hands had crept down to his buttocks and begun to squeeze them, as she arched her loins against his bulging crotch.
"Take off my pantie girdle, too, lover," Dorla Ashton crooned.
Like the romantic idealist he was, he who had pedestaled the female all his life and felt ashamed at lusting for her nakedness, Abner Jacobson sank to his knees and began to fumble at the zipper and the fasteners of this peach-colored satin-elastic sheath which held the final mystery of passion from his aching prick, from his longing eyes, his lips and fingers and tongue. Dorla helped him, her own perverse sensuality rekindled by his obvious fascination and longing and by the knowledge that he was virgin male. It was her greatest triumph, and it compensated her for the ineptness of her dead husband. She helped him with the sheath, release of the stocking tabs, festooned her ankles, and she stepped out of it and was naked but for hose and pumps, and the thick black thatch of her cunt-fur covered the twitching, moistening lips of her voluptuous vulva. His eyes fixed on that symbol of the Venus-goddess, the mysterious lure, the man-trap of all eternity, and then on an impulse he could not himself understand, he sank his fingers into her resilient satiny vibrant bottomglobes, and he fused his mouth to Dorla Ashton's cunt.
She sucked in her breath sharply, her eyes blazing, as she tilted back her head, her left hand thrust against the back of his neck to imprison him to this lust-yoke, and her right hand cupped one of her titties as her legs shivered under the exquisite tantalus of this improvised cunnilingus, a tribute from a virgin male who unwittingly had given her such rapture as she had not believed a mere male could accord, for Professor Abner Jacobson had unknowingly wooed sensual and perverse Dorla Ashton as might a Lesbian in his very first attempt with the opposite sex.
"Yes, yes, darling," she hissed, "suck me, kiss me, make me come - oh you lover, how nice I'm going to be to you - ohhh, Abner darling, it's so good that way - you angel to have thought of it - I'll make you very happy, I promise - I'll keep Madge and Eloise on their best behavior, and you'll see their pretty bottoms wriggling under a good spanking whenever you wish - yes, and Debbie's too!"
Thus she promised him a new world of erotic excitement, his to command as if he were lord of a harem. And what she intimated was what she did not speak aloud: that his virginal nieces would be offered up as sacrifice to his priapic and incestuous desires!
"Your tongue, Abner - use your tongue too - oh yes - yes, my darling, oh my very dear one - it's so good, deeper, deeper, against my button too - there, there's the spot-oh Abner, aaahhh-Abner, oh my God, oh lover, how wonderful you are!" she moaned as his tongue now found her clitoris and rolled and rubbed it.
The taste of her was a new elixir, a devastating cantharidic compound which made his flesh swell with an exultance he had never known before. He staggered to his feet, his eyes blazing, and he tore off his shorts and was naked for her, his prick massive and potent as he had longed dreamed it would be. And though he was an ingenuous tyrol in the lists of lust, he knew unerringly what he must now do. His fingers clutched her buttocks, digging deep, seeking even the sinuous furrow between the oval satiny cheeks, as his prickhead nuzzled at the furry softness, the silky texture of her thick black pubis, till it found at last the moistening pale pink lips of her twitching vulva, and with a cry he thrust himself forward, feeling her accept him, feeling the vaginal walls enclasp his straining prick until he was in her to his balls.
She flung her arms around him, her mouth crushing his, and since he stood at the edge of the bed, her forward momentum toppled him forward, and their bodies adjusted and wriggled forward till they lay, she stop him, and it was she who now took the initiative, furiously impaling herself, riding him with a ferocity and zest, her eyes blazing, her titties dangling and shuddering with the pent-up fury which this voluptuous disciplinary seance had roused in her perverse being.
For the first time in his life, Professor Abner Jacobson experienced the glory of fucking... but it was rather he who was fucked instead of Dorla Ashton. He felt himself explode and heard his own hoarse shout of tumultuous excitement as all his sap burst as if it had been damned up for years, burst and splattered down her quaking clinging, gripping womb.
They lay panting and satiated now, and on Dorla Ashton's face was the look of a dominatress who had conquered even beyond her wildest dreams...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After what seemed an eternity later, svelte, black-haired, voluptuous Dorla Ashton, her hands straying down Professor Abner Jacobson's lean belly towards his limpened prick, huskily murmured, "Abner dear, would you like me to go down and give Eloise her spanking now, or do you want me to wait and you can watch me do it. Or maybe you'd rather do it yourself?"
Professor Abner Jacobson's earlier anger had evaporated. He felt singularly at peace with the world. This marvelous woman with her burning flesh, her vibrant body, her agile fingers and moist, avid mouth and tongue, had given him back his manhood when he had felt he was desiccated and done, only a pedant without even prick-promise, and only the vague longings of an old man who had never known what pussy really was. He sighed with sensual content, and he put his hand over Dorla's just as she touched his cheek.
"You do it, Dorla darling. My God, it was wonderful... I didn't expect... I mean, I don't want you to think... " She looked up and smiled lazily at him. The smile hid her innate contempt for him and for all men who revealed their naked dependency on her, and she knew herself to be so much superior, infinitely so much stronger.
"Never mind," she chided solicitously, as a mother might a child. "Yes, it was beautiful, and now you're to rest, Abner. I'll teach that naughty little red-haired minx to kick you and to insult you and threaten you like that!"
He nodded, already drowsy with the sweet relaxation of fulfillment. All that he could remember in his flesh and mind was the thrilling unison of her lovely naked body squirming over his, his prick engulfed in a tight, warm chasm which seemed to have a life of its own, which drew him onward without any will or strength towards the goal she intended.
Dorla Ashton smiled victoriously in the dark as she slipped out of bed and went swiftly to the bathroom. There would be no pregnancy from this union. A few years ago, thinking of remarriage as an economic solution to her problems, she had visited a doctor who had made a complete examination. Somehow she had become sterile; she need not worry about the clumsiness of the male prophylactic, nor the embarrassing advance usage of a diaphragm or a pessary. But Professor Abner Jacobson did not have to know this. She could hold over his head the threat of her being pregnant to coerce him into marrying her.
She knew now what a sensual man he was, and he would be the more eager because he had been starved for so many years. He would be like a little boy who had walked into a candy shop unexpectedly and been told he can have anything in the place. It hadn't really been as sordid as she expected: he had even given her pleasure, especially when he had knelt down there at the first and put his mouth to her pussy. She put her hand to it now, shivering, remembering. Yes, she would train him to be her love-slave, to gratify her as she wished. And on occasion, if he were very docile and obedient, she might grant him the favors of her body.
When she returned from the bathroom, she had applied some of his cologne to her armpits and pussy and the back of her neck and the insides of her thighs, and she was svelte and naked and quivering with animation. The night was only just beginning for Dorla Ashton.
She glanced down at him and smiled contemptuously again. The old idiot had fallen asleep. She could have used him now, perhaps, because the drumbeat of her heart and the pulsations between her thighs had been renewed at the thought of the two young girls down there in the basement all this time. Madge would still be on the bench, tied securely with only her legs free. And Eloise, that red-haired snip, all this time waiting blindfolded, with her arms tied high above her head, waiting for her spanking. And she would have it, too, and that wouldn't be all she'd have!
She slipped out of Abner Jacobson's bedroom and closed the door silently behind her, then swiftly went up the stairs. Debbie had gone to bed, as a dutiful daughter should.
Dorla Ashton went to her dresser, stooped and pulled out the bottom drawer and rummaged under a pile of freshly ironed slips. She withdrew an oblong box and put it on the bed, after closing the drawer. Then she opened the box. Inside was a black rubber dildo, with web straps. The penis-simulacrum was fully eight inches long and quite thick, and the imitation was so excellent that even the testicles seemed to be gnarled and covered with hair. She went to her closet now and took out a black satin negligee and donned it. Then she took the box and left her bedroom and made her way back to the basement...
Madge had stopped crying, and she was now desperately trying to free her wrists and waist from the ropes that secured her to the whipping bench. Eloise, too, had tried to free herself, but to no avail. And the two sisters had been exchanging an anguished dialogue alone in the dark night,; isolated and incarcerated, their anguish intensified by the surroundings and by their own shame and terror.
"Oh, Elly, we've just got to get away," Madge was saying, her voice breaking into sobs.
"She spanked me something awful. And why are we being left down here so long? What is she going do to you?"
"I'll kill her before I'll let her whip me!" Eloise hissed defiantly. "Darn it, these ropes are cutting into my wrists and I can't get loose. Uncle Abner has no right to treat us like this, you know he hasn't, Madgie! We're going to run away, that's what we're going to do!"
At this moment the basement door stealthily opened, and Dorla Ashton entered in the shadows. She had taken along a towel and she now moved quickly to the whipping bench and before Madge could discern the identity of this moving shadow, the svelte dominatress had swiftly tied the towel around the young brunette's face and blindfolded her.
"Oh, don't - please don't - oh, what are you going to do to me? Not more spanking, please - my bottom's still so sore! I'll be good, don't hurt me any more! Madge completely broke down in her fright.
The lath had left her plump, round bottom-globes a brilliant scarlet which was now beginning to fade under the cool air of the basement. But Dorla Ashton had no more interest in this already subjugated captive. She now reached for the cord that connected with the overhead electric bulb and yanked it on, and the stark stone setting of this lonely, deserted basement burst into view now. Eloise uttered a startled gasp.
"Who is it? What are you going to do to me? My wrists hurt, you let me down, do you hear, Uncle Abner?"
Dorla Ashton smiled greedily as she contemplated the struggling slim body of the blindfolded redhead. Her victim was wearing a short brown cotton skirt which took her only to about two inches above the knees, and a white, open-throat, short-sleeved cotton blouse. Eloise had deliciously formed legs, with the sinuous, beautifully muscled calves of a young showgirl, gracefully rounding thighs which suggested slenderness at the lower columns and amplified excitingly as they neared the rather spacious ovals of her voluptuous virgin bottom. These nether globes were separated by a slightly widening cleft, which gave them a salacious prominence, ideally inviting to a flagella-tress such as Dorla Ashton.
Her young titties were in some ways almost counterparts of Dorla's. They were like pears, too, but placed higher on her chest and more closely spaced. Tractioned as her arms were, they thrust hard against the tight, thin blouse, and Dorla's eyes sparkled with lubricity as they fixed on those virgin turrets.
She stood behind Eloise, holding her breath so the victim would not suspect her presence.
Then, from the side, she put her hands in front of Eloise's waist and deftly unhooked the skirt and let it fall about the redhead's ankles.
"Oh no!" Eloise's soprano voice grew shrill with alarm and shame. "Don't undress me!
What are you going to do to me, Uncle Abner?"
It pleased the dominatress that her victim believed her to be the Professor. It was exactly what she wanted both girls to believe.
Eloise wore a white nylon half-slip under the skirt, and Dorla Ashton now inserted her fingers under the elastic waistband and with a swift tug slithered the frail garment down to follow the skirt, so that both garments festooned the shapely ankles. Eloise uttered a piercing cry and tried to kick out at her tormentor, but Dorla Ashton swiftly moved to one side to avoid this. The garments became entangled in Eloise's low-heeled pumps, and she now stooped to snatch them away. When she straightened, her dark blue eyes were pinpoints of lubricious desire as they swept that slim, quivering, struggling young body of the red-haired virgin who was to be offered up to her own perverse sacrifice to Lesbos.
Eloise wore pink cotton suspants, whose tiny tabs hooked to the tops of beige-colored nylon hose. At seventeen, she considered herself adult, and she disdained such outlandish array as miniskirts and minidresses. Her bra, too, matched her suspants. Her beautifully chiseled back was slim, but with deep hollowing from the chink bone down along the spinal column. The pale milky flesh was dotted with those adorable little rosy flecks which evinced the true pigmentation of a redhead of her species. Soft tufts of darker reddish hair grew in the distended armpits, and as she went round to contemplate her victim, Dorla Ashton could see the quite prominent and discernible muff of dark pubic hair at the pelvic basin, the temple of Eloise Jacobson's desirable virginity.
"What are you going to do to me, Uncle Abner? You'd better not whip me - you've got no right! You're an awful brute, that's what you are! Just wait till Mr. Stephenson hears what you've done to me and Madge!" Eloise hoarsely cried out.
The silence and the suspense were atrocious for her, but even more so was this relentless undressing. Her beautiful young pear-titties had begun to heave with a violent and erratic rhythm and drops of sweat beaded the furry niches of her armpits.
Dorla placed herself behind the young beauty and to the left. Then she drew back her right hand and applied a vigorous spank on the plumpest curve of the right buttock. Taken by surprise, Eloise uttered a strangled little cry and lunged forward. The beam creaked overhead, as the rope swung her back to where she had been and Dorla was ready for her; the second spank flattened the jouncy summit of the left buttock, and again Eloise cried out and lunged forward to escape the humiliating juvenile chastisement.
The springy resilience of the older sisters flesh intoxicated Dorla Ashton. Her nipples were swollen and stiff with longing, and the lips of her pussy twitched uncontrollably, while the secret moisture of libidinous ardor made her feel waves of voluptuous longing traversing her loins, pervading her entire body. Madge had uttered a sympathetic cry on hearing that first noisy slap and her sister's subsequent outcry. She struggled on the bench, kicking her bare legs in the air, sobbing wildly, "Oh, please, Uncle Abner, we're sorry! Please don't spank us any more - don't spank my sister Elly! She's too big for that, and so am I! Oh, please untie us and let us go!"
But this was only added music to the symphonic concert of suffering which the dominatress intended to create here in this basement with her two delicious "musicians."
She proceeded to spank Eloise with the full force of her hand, alternating on the teenagers' buttocks much as she did with Debbie, pausing only ten seconds between slaps, moving from the tops of Eloise's hips to the base of that jouncy bottom. Eventually, even through the pinkness of the suspants, she could see the irritated tone which had suffused that nacreous bottom, and by then her hand was smarting and Eloise was groaning and sobbing aloud, not so much from the pain as from the atrocious mortification of this juvenile discipline. With a frantic click-clack of her pump heels to me heard, Eloise moved constantly about and moved this way and that, hoping in her blindfolded state to evade the punitive slaps whose cumulative force had begun to make her bottom extraordinarily tender and uncomfortable. But what terrified her most was her "uncle's" continued silence, and now she began to believe that she had been terribly wrong in exciting his wrath, because it appeared that her peas for mercy would go entirely unheeded.
Dorla Ashton did not stop until she had finally visited Eloise's springy bottom with thirty solid spanks. Then she walked over to the whipping bench where Madge still lay, picked up the narrowest and longest of the laths and returned to the squirming and gasping Eloise. Tucking the lath under her left arm, she seized the waistband of the suspants and yanked them suddenly down to the upper thighs of her victim. They would act as an admirable restraining fetter. Eloise uttered a strangled cry of consternation and shame: "Oh No! For Lord's sake, Uncle Abner, not on the bare! I don't want you to see me naked, it's a sin, oh, for gosh sakes, pull my pants up if you have to spank me, but not on the bare!"
Dorla Ashton smiled at this ingenuous petition. What it proved only was that the once-defiant older sister had begun to lose her stoicism and rebellious bravado. So much the better!
For now her eyes were feasting on the once lilial flesh of that voluptuous oval posterior, whose cheeks tightened spasmodically and then yawned to show the shadowy groove between them. The bottom flamed and stood out against the milky pallor of the thighs.
Eloise's hips squirmed restlessly from side to side, and she tried to close her legs tightly to hide the furry temple of her virgin grotto from what she imagined were her uncle's eyes.
Now the dominatress took the lath in her right hand and patted the bright-red-hued naked bottom. Eloise caught her breath with a sob: "Oh, no! Oh, don't, Uncle Abner, please don't!
My wrists hurt, I'm so ashamed, I didn't mean to kick you, honest I didn't, please let me go, I'm sorry!"
Dorla shrugged to herself. It was always the same with these nasty little bitches. They would start by ordering you about and acting as if they were queens on earth, but just let them have a taste of a spanking on their impudent backsides, and they'd be wailing babies begging to be spared. Just the same, Eloise Jacobson was going to get her heinie tanned good!
The loud WHACKK of the wooden lath as it bounded across both upper bottomglobes sounded like a pistol shot in the stone basement. Eloise bellowed out and flung herself forward, her body arching like a bow, so Dorla Ashton could observe the wonderful play of back and bottom and thigh muscles, and notice the two delicious dimples, one on each side of the chinkbone.
The lath had left a much brighter rectangle of pain superimposed over the crimson glow left by the hand spanking. It was a most satisfactory imprint. And immediately the dominatress added to the pattern with two more hard stinging cracks a little lower down each time and over both huddling cheeks.
"OWWWWH!" Eloise's voice rose shrilly in a kind of disbelief at the inordinate pain the lath was causing her tender, smarting, naked backside. Now, warming to her work, the svelte brunette dominatress began to spank the blindfolded, almost naked redhead with a quick, staccato-like rhythm. The lath cracked first on the right buttock, then the left, with hardly more than two or three seconds between blows. Dorla Ashton covered the voluptuous posterior with stinging horizontal thwacks, while Eloise wailed and yelled and struggled with her bonds, throwing back her head and arching herself, swerving from side to side, lunging from side to side, unconscious of the salacious display of her loins which she provided to those blazing dark blue eyes.
After a rapid application of some thirty such quick spanks, Dorla Ashton stopped and let her right arm drop to her side as she contemplated her handiwork. Then, perceiving that Eloise had been able to regain her breath during this brief respite, she pressed the lath over the base of both huddling and twitching bottomglobes, and even as Eloise turned her face back over her shoulder and sobbingly entreated mercy, the lath swung out and made angrily sonorous impact with the base of her naked bottom.
"OWWOOOEEEYAHRRR!! Oh please, Uncle Abner, won't you stop? I'll be good, I'm sorry I kicked you, I apologize, but for gosh sakes, let up now, please!" The words came out in an almost hysterical torrent as Eloise Jacobson turned her face back over her shoulder and twisted and moved and weaved herself uncontrollably as the fire in her naked bottom burned intolerably.
Dorla Ashton gave her victim five more hard horizontal swats which gradually ascended the writhing, spacious oval bottom to the tops of the girl's hips. Then she paused again and greedily listened to Eloise's sobs and gasps and tearful groans, walked over to the whipping bench and took poor Madge by anguished surprise by lifting the lath and bringing it down three quick times over the plumpest curves of that round and still reddened bottom.
"OWW-oh, please don't - oh, Uncle Abner, stop spanking so hard - oh, please don't, it hurts awfully-EEEYEOWWWWW!!" Madge squealed as again her bare legs kicked to and fro on the bench.
Dorla Ashton quickly returned to Eloise and pressed the lath squarely over the inner edge of both buttocks just below the ripest curves. Eloise caught her breath again and arched forward, contracting her bottom-muscles quickly to diminish the all-too-vulnerable target.
But the spank rang out obscenely as with all her might the svelte dominatress brought the lath across the inflamed cheeks.
Then, holding the lath vertically, she began to spank both buttocks from left to right, applying quick, deft smacks till she had reached the edge of the right globe, then returned to the left. She repeated this series five or six times, descending, then ascending the plunging, furiously inflamed bottom with each new series. Eloise's throat was hoarse with her shouts and cries and imploring pleas for pardon. Sweat ran down her sides, and she was shifting from pump to pump as she desperately strove to find some easy pose under this unending and atrociously painful barrage of stinging smacks.
Now Dorla Ashton moved in front of her victim, swiftly removed her negligee and let it fall in a heap on the stone floor of the basement. The box with the dildo was on the floor beside the negligee, in readiness. Reaching up, she unbuttoned Eloise's blouse, and the redhead whimpered and sobbed and tried to draw away. Now the blouse fell open, and Dorla's eyes blazed with sensuous lust. Tucking the lath under her arm again, she reached around the whimpering redhead and unhooked the bandeau of the bra, which fell.
Now Eloise Jacobson appeared more salaciously presented than if she had been stark naked; her suspants held up by the gartertabs and lodged at the middle of her thighs, her long, lovely legs sheathed in the beige-hued nylons. As the blouse gaped and yawned, it exposed the adorable, firm pearglobes of Eloise's virgin titties. The nipples were pouting and crinkly, of an exceptionally ardent sensitivity, their soft pink-coral tips shuddering with each sobbing breath.
There was the muff of dark red pussyfur, and above it the shallow niche of Eloise's naval.
Dorla Ashton bared her teeth in a rictus of lust as she laid the lath flat over the sweet, naked belly of her victim, drew back her right hand and then applied a stinging crack with the wooden implement of fustigation. Eloise screamed and backed away, for this was an atrocious new pain for which she was not prepared. Her bottom blazed and throbbed, and the waves of torment seemed to be overwhelming, but this new spank swiftly distracted her from that torture as a bright pink streak stood out on her naked belly.
Now, with the same rapidity she had shown in spanking that voluptuous young bottom, Dorla Ashton applied the lath with stinging cracks from the base of her victim's heaving, panting titties down to the muff of pussyhair itself. Bright, parallel streaks were emblazoned on the pale, milky, rosy flesh. Eloise threw back her head, yanked at her wrists, and danced a grotesque and ludicrous one-two-step as she struggled to evade this incredible and unusual punishment. And then suddenly she felt the lath dance over her titties, flattening the nipples, and she shrieked, "My God, not there! Oh please, Uncle Abner, I'll do anything you want, I promise I'll be ever so good if you'll only stop whipping me any more. Oh, please, Uncle Abner, I can't stand it any more - I cant!
Dorla Ashton was shuddering now, and her eyes were bright with desire. For her the moment had nearly come. But first it was necessary to reduce this once-mutinous redhead to a sniveling, groveling, servile slave who would then be ready for her initiation to the dark rites of Lesbos. She placed the lath against the tender inner left thigh of her victim and began to spank rapidly down to the knee and back up again then on the other side of the thigh. Eloise screamed and pleaded, throwing herself this way and that, even trying to kick. But once when she did, Dorla stooped and seized the slim ankle in her left hand and applied a barrage of about fifteen spanks over the offending limb from knee to crotch before she transferred her punitive attentions to the other side.
"OWWEEEYARRRHHHH! Oh please, oh, Uncle Abner, you're killing me. AIIII!! OWW! Oh, I can't stand it, I can't! I'll be good OOOHHHH! EOWWWWW! Oh please stop, do stop, I'll do anything you want, I swear I'll obey you, please don't punish me so hard, I'm dying, Uncle Abner, OWWWWEYEEEOWWWW!!" Eloise screamed as the spanking seemed never to end, evoking new torments in the farthest reaches of her tormented body.
And now the moment had come indeed. Dorla Ashton moved away, stooped and opened the box, took out the dildo and strapped it about her loins. The ugly black rubber phallus loomed savagely, obscenely, before the dark red triangle of silky pussyfur. Keeping the lath now in her left hand, Dorla advanced herself and with her right thumb and forefinger sought through the silky curls of Eloise's cunt for the lips of the vulva. Finding them, she yawned them apart as she advanced herself till the tip of the black rubber prong was inserted just inside the tender lobbyway of that voluptuous virgin cunt.
"Oh, Madge, Oh make him stop, he's going to - he's going to do it to me - oh, take it out - oh, please, Uncle Abner, you mustn't - oh, please - OAIIII-EEOWWWOOOHHHH!" Eloise shrieked as she felt the savagely rigid object penetrate up to the barrier of her virgin hymen.
She tried to wriggle back, but promptly Dorla reached behind the weeping girl and delivered a ferocious SMACK of the lath across the base of the girl's naked bottom. With another scream the naked girl lunged forward and thus impaled herself.
A clamorous, shrill cry tore from her as she felt the dildo rend her cherry and inexorably thrust on up to the hilt inside her tender-quaking sheath.
Now Dorla Ashton began to fuck Professor Abner Jacobson's older niece, and as Eloise screamed and pleaded brokenly, twisting and wriggling madly under the harpooning which her tender and narrow young cunt-channel was experiencing, the dominatress continued to reach behind the girl and apply stinging whacks all over her swollen, blazingly inflamed posterior.
But now suddenly the dominatress's eyes widened. Suddenly Eloise's agonized shriek had changed to a moaning, voluptuously suggestive plaint. And her hips had begun to jerk and twist and wriggle as she began to impale herself and seemingly of her own accord on the rubber dildo!
The magic of corporal punishment was at work again, delighting the svelte dominatress practitioner of this erotic art. She quickened the tempo of fucking and her left hand continued also the quick, sharp, stinging slaps all over the lunging, violently inflamed naked seat of the unfortunate, weeping Eloise. She could feel her own pussy churning with the savage rut which this pseudo-male rape was generating in her being. The music of Eloise's shrieks and sobs and pleas, the sounds of the spanking and of the girl's gasps and grunts and groans as she kept shoving to and fro the rubber shaft within the tender cunthole, intoxicated the dominatress. Suddenly she felt herself explode and churn, and her love liqueur began to seep down through her womb. With a last thrust, she buried the rubber phallus to the balls inside Eloise's tender cunthole, and she felt the girl jerk and squirm against her as with organism, synchronized with her own self-induced rut. The last two or three furious cracks over the swollen, squirming bottomglobes, and the lath dropped with a clatter to the stone floor as Dorla Ashton gripped those splotched and inflamed nether globes, dig-ping her sharp nails into the tortured flesh as she glued herself to this undone virgin as if she were the male conqueror and initiator of Eloise's first journey into the realm of Cythera...
Languidly after a long moment, she finally withdrew as Eloise whimpered and squirmed, her head fallen to one side, her naked titties heaving wildly. Swiftly Dorla Ashton unstrapped the dildo and replaced it in the box, put back on her negligee, and waited a moment until the restless churning of her being quieted. Then she said calmly and coldly, "Now then, Madge and Eloise, your uncle has gone. I'm debating whether I should leave you here, tied up, all night long, to I meditate on your future conduct."
"Oh no, Mrs. Ashton, for God's sake don't do that!" Madge cried, beside herself with terror.
The sounds of her sister's suffering had totally broken any thought of resistance. "We'll be awfully good, won't we, Elly? We won't even try to run away, honest, Mrs. Ashton. Just let us go! Oh, my poor bummy hurts so much!"
"Very well," Dorla Ashton condescendingly decreed. "I'm going to untie you as soon as I've brought you your pajamas."
"I - I wear a nightie," Eloise quavered, tears running unchecked down her flushed cheeks.
"Very well, I shall bring your nightie, then, Eloise. And you'll be untied and sent to bed. But let me warn you that the very next time that you act insolent towards me or your uncle, or make fun of my daughter Debbie, you'll find yourselves back down here and you'll get a great deal more than you've already had. Don't forget that."
A few minutes later, having returned with Madge's pretty print pajamas and Eloise's shortie nightie, the dominatress untied the weeping girls and removed their blindfolds, and stood there with the lath in hand while both hastily donned their nightclothes. Then she followed them upstairs to their rooms and closed the doors. She stood in the hallway a long moment, her nostrils dilating, a smile of cruel triumph on her thin, moist lips, before she went back to the bedroom of her employer...
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After they had gone back to the bedroom, Madge and Eloise Jacobson decided to share the same bed, doubtless motivated by the old adage that misery loves company. The idea of revolt and escape had completely left them, and Madge especially was cowed.
"Oh, it must must have been dreadful for you, poor Elly," she tearfully sympathized as her sister flung herself down on the bed and burst into heartfelt sobs. "What did Uncle Abner do that made you yell like that, Elly. You've got to tell me!
Eloise shuddered, and her shortie nightie seemed to caress her supple young pale, milky body with more amorous appreciation than before... no wonder, since she had just been made a woman!
"Oh, I won't ever tell you, Madge," she breathed, her face scarlet as she hid it in the crook of one elbow.
"But you have to! I know he - he must have whipped you awful bad, because I heard that awful stick crack on your heinie a lot of times!"
"He - he didn't just do it on my h-heinie," Eloise sniffled. "He - he hit me on the front of my legs and on my tummy, too, Madgie. And I couldn't help it, I couldn't stand any more spanking. I just had to let him - let him - "
"Let him what?" Madge breathed, her own swollen and burning bottom momentarily forgotten by her presentiment that she was about to hear a memorable secret indeed.
"He - he f-fucked me, Madgie, that's what he did - he - he put his big hard th-thing into my p-pussy, and he f-fucked me," Eloise at last confided in a tremulous voice.
"You've got to promise never to tell!" she added hastily. "I just want to die of shame, I do... because, you know something, Madgie?"
Madge, in her pretty pale blue silk pajamas, was kneeling on Eloise's bed, crouching over her quivering sister. "What, Elly, what?" she gasped.
Eloise gingerly put a hand to her burning bottom, soothingly rubbing it through the shortie nightie. She whispered, "I - I wanted him to, there at the end, honest I did. It got me so excited, I was so hot and stinging from that awful spanking, I - I couldn't stop getting awfully hot in my p-pussy, Madgie. But you're not to tell a soul, do you hear, or I'll spank you myself!"
Madge Jacobson was aghast. She was even more virginal than her older sister, but she had heard that grossly graphic word "fucked" back in Cleveland in school, because some nasty boys, seeing her coming out into the courtyard for the noon recess had raised their voices and talked about the "chicks" they had "shagged," and one of them, a fellow with sideburns and a nasty, smirking, pimpled face, had called out, "Hey, you guys, there goes a broad I'd sure like to fuck, I'd sure like to put my cock into and screw until it came out of her bumhole!" She had wanted to report the awful slob to the principal, but she hadn't dared to, and now her own sister had been f-fucked by Uncle Abner! It was unthinkable.
And most unthinkable of all was what Eloise had just confided, that she had liked being f-fucked by him.
"We'd better take a shower and go right to bed so Mrs. Ashton won't get mad at us again," she finally and shakily entreated. And so the two pretty teenagers soon stood under the shower, turning round and round so that each might compare the other's hurts.
Eloise had received a considerably harder spanking from Dorla Ashton, and there were angry red blotches all over the fronts and insides of her thighs as well as on her stomach.
Madge could not, however, take her eyes off the twitching, chafed-looking pink lips of her sister's vulva, much to Eloise's blushing confusion. The girls carefully soaped each other, then dried each other with towels, then went back to bed, but somehow being naked eased the uncomfortable heat in their bottoms and they found themselves, innocently enough to start with, in Eloise's bed together, lying on their sides facing one another.
Until now, Madge had never really seen her sister Eve naked. They were in the dark, to be sure, but Madge suddenly and impulsively reached out and turned on the little bed lamp beside her.
"Madge!" Eloise gasped, her cheeks turning crimson and quickly clapping a hand over her furry cleft. "Why did you do that?"
"I - I wanted to see what - what he did to you, Elly."
"You mustn't. You - you're too young - please don't - please turn out that light," Eloise pleaded.
But Madge had already grasped her sister's slim hand and drawn it away from the dark-red curls of that delicious cunt. Her eyes were very wide as he contemplated the inflamed-looking petals of that delicious love-slit, and she tentatively brushed the outside rims of the vulva with her right forefinger.
Eloise gasped and squirmed and promptly clenched her thighs and put her hand over her cunt again. "You mustn't do that - it's naughty," she tremulously explained.
"Gosh!" Madge Jacobson breathed, wide-eyed. "I can see all the marks on your legs and tummy, Elly! And he didn't say a word all the time he was spanking and - and - f-f-fucking you, did he?"
"Ohhh! Madge Jacobson, where did you hear that awful ugly word?" her sister breathed.
"From Alfred Franer at school - you know, that awful, pimply faced kid with the sideburns and that leather jacket of his," Madge eagerly explained.
Eloise put her arm around her sister's waist and her right hand gently touched one of Madge's round, creamy titties. Then it was Madge's turn to gasp and squirm, for the feel of her sister's warm hand on her bare tittie began to send inexplicable waves of languorous sensation through her naked flesh.
"Do - do you think we ought to run away?" she whispered.
"I - I don't think it would do any good, Madgie. You heard what Mr. Stevenson and the judge said in court. Uncle Abner is our legal guardian until we're of age. He can keep us here and do anything he wants. He - he can spank us if we're naughty. I'm afraid he can do that, so we'd better be good, Madgie."
"I - I guess so," Madge Jacobson sighed. The evening had been full of incredible events, not the least of which was her sister's remarkably composed decision not to flee this place where she had been so maltreated. But in Madge's young and impressionable mind there still shatteringly remained the momentous knowledge she had just heard from Eloise; her sister had actually enjoyed being - fucked! She couldn't get over it. She wondered what it was like to have some fellow put his big hard thing in between your legs, in that hairy little slit you had to pee from, and shove it up all the way until you felt joined. She wondered if it felt nice for the girl or just for the fellow. She was dying to ask Eloise all about it, but her sister was shivering now and out of compassion, Madge Jacobson leaned forward and put her mouth on Eloise's.
With a choking little sigh, Eloise cupped her sister's face with her hands, and their bodies merged. It was sweet and naive, a compassionate gesture made by each, out of their mutual suffering. But, roused as they were by the whipping that Dorla Ashton had so ingeniously administered, and with Eloise just having been initiated into the sensual mysteries of passion, it was no wonder that both girls trembling found themselves with their senses swimming and their hearts pounding as they felt their naked bellies and their titties and even their pussyhairs come together and vibrate in a kind of sisterly unison.
Madge was shivering now, for the persistent, throbbing heat in her naked, well-spanked bottom had begun to rouse her adolescent sensuality.
"Did it hurt lots, Elly?" she whispered as she pressed herself closer to her sister's slim, naked body.
"Did what hurt, silly? The spanking? You bet it did! My poor heinie is so sore I'll bet I won't be able to sit down at breakfast," Eloise responded. Now her left hand was gliding over Madge's round, resilient bottomglobes, and in her turn she asked out of curiosity, "I'll bet yours hurts a lot still, doesn't it, poor little Madgie?"
"Uh-huh. But you got lots more. I heard it. I thought it would never end."
"Well," Eloise said with a flash of her old bravado and sauciness, "It did, and you know how. Uncle Abner put his thing into my pussy."
"Did that hurt?"
"Sure, at first. I didn't think it would ever go in, Madgie, and then it started hurting something dreadful, and all of a sudden something broke inside of me, and I felt it go on in until he was all stuffed up inside of my spot, and then he began to work it back and forth, and he was cracking me over my poor sore heinie all the time while he was f-f-fucking me... and then towards the end I felt myself get all wet and hot and sticky inside, and I just about near fainted. It was awful exciting right there at the end, though. But don't you ever dare tell him, or I'll strangle you, Madge Jacobson!" she added fiercely.
"Oh no, I won't ever, honest," Madge breathed, her eyes enormous in the darkness, with mingled sensuality and wonder. "Can - can I touch it now, please? It's so pretty and it looks so red and sore - there - does that hurt?"
Her right forefinger had tentatively touched the rims of Eloise's twitching vulva. Her sister uttered a whimpering moan and pressed harder against her, and now her left hand squeezed one of Madge's bottomglobes. Her right hand crept up and cupped one of Madge's creamy titties, and in their mutual confusion, the two lovely naked sisters suddenly found themselves kissing wildly with long, sucking wet kisses, gulping in breath as if they could not have enough of each other. And now Madge, too, began roaming with her hands, the left coming up to finger Eloise's pear-firm bubbie, while her right forefinger continued its rimming of that tender cleft. At last she pressed it just inside the lips.
"Ohhhh!" Eloise gasped. "That's nice - it doesn't hurt any more - oooohh, don't stop, Madgie - don't, darling - put your finger in and out just like - just like Uncle Abner put his th-thing in my pussy - yes - yes - ooooh - ooooaaaaahhhhh!! Oh, go ahead and f-fuck me, Madgie, please fuck my pussy - ooooohhhh!"
Madge, panting now, her lips sealed to her sister's as she sought to hide her own blushing confusion, was fingerfucking Eloise's tender cunt, and she felt Eloise's body arch and squirm, move to meet each inward lunge of her forefinger. Their tongues now met, and a white-hot fury took possession of them, Madge, still virgin, yearned to share the infinitesimal secrets of her older sister, and finally she gasped, "Do me too, Elly, do me too!"
Eloise Jacobson put her right forefinger to her sister's black-furred quim and began to frig her delicately. And soon in that bedroom there emerged the sighs and the ecstatic moans of delirious young Lesbian consolation as Madge, though still pure virgin, became a wise virgin on this night which had marked the unleashing of their uncle's long-suppressed carnal lusts.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Madge and Eloise did not come down to breakfast until nearly eleven the next morning, and studiously avoided Dorla Ashton's gaze as they seated themselves at the dining-room table. Their uncle had slept like a log for the first time in longer than he could remember, thanks to the sexual release he had found so late in life. It being a warm day, and having believed the girls would have had their breakfast already, and to avoid an embarrassing confrontation between them and the housekeeper who had so effectively chastised them the night before, he dressed only in bathrobe and slippers. What was his startled and embarrassed surprise to find his nieces seated at the table, conversing in low, hesitant voices, as he entered the dining-room.
"Er - good morning, Madge, Eloise," he said, clearing his throat, as he seated himself.
The charming young brunette looked up and stammered, "G-good morning, Uncle Abner."
Eloise cheeks were flaming and she could not turn her face to look at the man who, she believed, had taken her cherry. She stammered a barely audible "good morning" and fell to eating her cereal with more gusto than she usually showed to oatmeal, which she detested.
From the kitchen, pushing open the door just a little to see, Dorla Ashton smiled to herself.
It had worked wonders, as she had known it would. That red-haired little devil would believe that her uncle had taken her maidenhead, and she would be very much on her guard from now on. Later, when it suited her, Dorla Ashton intended to relieve Madge of her cherry in some deliciously contrived and prolonged corporal correction. Yes, it wouldn't be long before dear Professor Jacobson asked her to marry him. He had been such an entranced, dreamy suitor last night. Her body still tingled with the pleasant remembrance of the orgasm she had achieved. It really wouldn't be so horrible being married to him as it was to that stupid, unimaginative Jackson. He had never thought of putting his lips between her legs and loving her the way a woman really liked to be loved, not like Professor Jacobson. And he had never in all his life earned as much money as the Professor was earning now. She could do much worse. And if it meant, upon occasion, opening her legs and letting him put his big hard ugly thing between her thighs, well, she would have her solace. She would force Madge and Eloise, under threats of a good sound thrashing, to come to her bedroom whenever she wished and gamahuche her and be her little lust-slaves. For an instant, she even dallied with the thought of perverting her own daughter to afford her such exquisite and lascivious pleasure as only one woman can procure for another. But there was no hurry about that; things could work out themselves.
Professor Jacobson felt the constrained silence about the table, and, himself hugely embarrassed, blushingly stammered that he hoped his nieces would forgive the housekeeper for her having had to punish them last night, and that he sincerely hoped there would never again be a recurrence of their transgressions. It was pedantically put, and he floundered, but Eloise took this to mean he was stricken by conscience over what he had done to her. And in the cool of light of day, the red-haired adolescent found that, singularly enough, she bore him almost no rancor for having fucked her. Her folks had never wanted her to date until she was eighteen, and that was awfully silly. There had been one awfully nice boy at school, Bob Maxton, black-haired and with a real nifty line, and his own car, and she had just known he wanted to get inside her panties and give it to her, and she had wanted him to do it. But there wasn't any place they could go, because his parents had an apartment and were always there, and naturally she wouldn't have dared bring him home to her place, not with their maid always snooping around, even if her folks were out of town.
Both girls, therefore, stammered out acceptable responses to this earnest solicitation from their uncle, who was greatly relieved that they did not flare up vindictively as they had seemed to do when the moment of chastisement was at hand last night.
* * *
A week had passed now, and Dorla Ashton had purposely remained aloof and stern, in her role of employee and vigilant supervisor of Professor Abner Jacobson's household.
He, on the other hand, having for the first time tasted the rapture of feeling his prick dig into the soft and gripping confines of an excitingly voluptuous woman's cunt, was anxious to renew the experience and to augment his practical acquaintance. But Dorla Ashton's cool and poised attitude gave him no opening to grasp whereby he could induce her to visit him at night.
Debbie Ashton continued to work at Ted's Eatery, and for this whole week there were no more unfortunate incidents for her. She had been unusually careful when she washed dishes at the little restaurant, and the bluff Czechoslovakian complimented her and even gave her a small raise.
So Dorla Ashton had had to content herself with the happy memories of that first burning seance of passion and to lay plans for the next one, whenever opportunity should present itself.
It did, on the following Monday evening. It was ten o'clock, and Eloise and Madge had gone to bed, as had the housekeeper and her lovely brownette daughter. Professor Jacobson, in his pajamas and slippers, was sitting in his study-den, reading the love poetry of Ovid. It was a kind of sublimation for him, he thought mournfully as he glanced up at the ceiling which he now knew to be directly below Debbie Ashton's bedroom. More and more, he had come to admire the quiet, self-effacing lovely milky-skinned daughter of his housekeeper. Whenever she greeted him, it was in a low, sweet voice, and her cheeks always flushed with a kind of embarrassment, which made her more bewitchingly attractive. And he could not look at her without recalling that he had watched her being spanked across her mother's lap, like a child. The memory invariably made his prick ache with longing. It was as if, having dwelt in a wilderness for so many years, he had suddenly stumbled into a clearing and seen, as by the magic of mirage, a beautiful harem extended before him, with languorous and exotic beauties in shimmering and diaphanous veils awaiting him on couches, smiling at him and beckoning him. And he was eager to make up the lost years and prove his manhood and to have it so deliciously proved back to him, clasped in a woman's arms, her thighs wrapped around his, the agile walls of her vaginal sheath telling him how joyously she accepted him...
Madge Jacobson couldn't sleep, and decided to go visiting her sister. She tiptoed to the door, opened it and sneaked in, and then uttered a gasp of surprise. For Eloise wasn't asleep at all. She was lying there with her shortie nightie pulled up to her waist, and she was tickling herself right where her hairy spot was.
"Elly!" Madge breathed, her eyes big as saucers.
"Oh my gosh! You get right out of here, Madge Jacobson, do you hear?" Eloise fiercely whispered.
"I won't either! I'll lock the door, though. My gosh, whatever are you doing, Elly honey? Oh, I can see, you're playing with your p-p-pussy - that's naughty!" Madge giggled.
"Shhhh! You keep your big mouth shut, Madge Jacobson, you hear? So what if I am?
Don't you every play with yours?"
"Uh-huh," Madge blushingly confided, shifting from foot to foot like a little girl caught out in naughtiness by her elders. "Does it still hurt from - you know - when he - when he did it to you?"
"No, silly, it's all gone away. It feels wonderful now."
Madge moved hypnotically towards the bed, her eyes fixed on Eloise's slim, delightfully rounded, pale milky thighs, and she saw the dark red curls parted to expose the gaping pink and suspiciously moist entry to her sister's cunt.
Her breath came more quickly now and she began to divest herself of her pajamas.
"What are you doing? You get back to your room right now!" her sister hissed.
"No, I won't. I want to play with you, Elly, and you do me too, just like that night we both got - you know."
"Stop it - I don't want to - Oh, you little beast, cut that out - ouch! you're pinching - ouch - OOOOHHH!"
For Madge had clambered onto the bed, naked as the day she was born, and had gigglingly begun to tickle her sister and suddenly put her right forefinger into the moist pink chasm which was now that of a full-fledged young woman.
Eloise's squeals were rather piercing, as Dorla Ashton found as she sat up in bed. When she heard them repeated, she swung her long, lovely legs out of bed, drew a bathrobe on over her sheer nylon nightie, thrust her feet into slippers, and went down the hall to listen at Eloise's door. She heard the unmistakable sound of kisses and gigglings and moanings, and tentatively she found the knob, found that it would yield, and suddenly flung open the door and switched on the light.
"Well! I'm ashamed of both of you! The idea, just like little sluts!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, please, turn out the light," Eloise begged, tears of mortification stinging her dilated eyes.
"I'll do no such thing, young lady. You and your sister are going to get a spanking and a good hard one for a wicked, dirty game like this! Do you want me to tell your uncle what I caught you doing?"
Both girls shook their heads, trembling, staring at her piteously.
"Very well," she said gravely, "then follow me. Just as you are, naked this way. It will be much easier to spank you as you are."
The two sisters held hands and exchanged anguished, furtive glances as Dorla Ashton led the way to the basement and turned on the light.
"Since you like to play such wicked games, I'm going to let you share a new one," she said gloatingly. "Lift up your arms."
Mounting a ladder, she took a rope which she found coiled in one corner of the basement and made it fast to the beam next to the one which had held Eloise's wrists too tightly during her blindfolded spanking and dildo-fucking. In a few moments, both sisters faced each other, standing on tiptoe, and finally Dorla Ashton tied a rope around their waists which merged their naked pussies and bellies and titties in the most lascivious way.
Picking up one of the laths that had been used the week before, she began to spank them both, applying three or four hard swats over Eloise's milky bottom before moving around to attend to poor wailing Madge's plumpier, jouncier hemispheres with an equal number.
The spanking seemed interminable. By the thirtieth blow, each girl was wailing and sobbing and wiggling, looking back at her executioner and imploring mercy, but the pain of the stinging lath against their naked bottoms caused them to wriggle and twist and squirm and grind cunt to cunt, until inevitably, as Dorla Ashton had known it would, they began to experience the throbbing pulsations of Lesbian desire in their young loins.
"Oh, you're starting that wickedness all over again, are you?" Dorla Ashton angrily upbraided them. "Very well, since you're enjoying punishment instead of suffering from it, I'm going to change matters."
Again ascending the ladder, she altered them indeed. In a few minutes, each girl found herself with her back to her sister's, and now their naked loins and bubbies were helplessly exposed to the stinging kisses of a thinner wooden lath.
Dorla Ashton began first to spank their titties, applying four or five hard smacks to each globe, then moving around to deal the other weeping girl the same quota. To vary the treatment, she then spanked their bellies and their inner thighs, and then returned to apply four or five stinging smacks to each tittie, till each weeping girl was screaming for mercy and forgiveness, avowing they would do anything in the world if she would only stop.
"Are you quite sure you mean that, girls?" she gloatingly demanded as she applied a cruel THWACK to Eloise's left tittie.
"Owww! Oh my God, yes, yes, Mrs. Ashton, anything you want, but don't hit me on my bubbies any more, oh please don't hit me on my poor sore bubbies," Eloise wailed.
"What about you, Madge Jacobson? Are you going to obey me in anything I tell you to do?" the dominatress sternly demanded. She crossed around to face the sobbing brunette and lifted the lath over Madge's heaving and already heaving and inflamed titties.
"Ooooh, yes, yes, Mrs.. Ashton, I will, I will, only please don't hit me there again, I can't stand it there, Mrs. Ashton, I'll do anything you say, honest I will!" Madge sobbed heartrendingly.
Blindfolding both girls, Dorla Ashton now let her bathrobe fall, then doffed her nightie and was naked in her slippers before the two sobbing, tethered, naked sisters. She had brought the box with the dildo and she now strapped it about her loins. Then, fondling Madge's swollen titties, her thumbpads flattening down the swollen, darkened nipples, she began to press the dildo home against the black, crisp, curly triangle of Madge Jacobson's virgin twat.
Madge uttered a piercing scream and wriggled her bottom against Eloise's, trying to evade the penetration. But her hymen soon gave way and the dildo found its mark up to the holt.
Then, in her element of sadistic glory, Dorla Ashton dildo-fucked the weeping Madge Jacobson.
"If you dare breathe a word of this to your uncle," she warned them as she finally untied them, "I'll tell him what I found you doing. Do you want that?"
Both sobbing naked culprits hastily agreed that they would not complain if only she wouldn't tell Uncle Abner what she had caught them doing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
For the next two weeks, the sensual imperatrix amused herself with either Eloise or Madge or, on occasion, both. All she had to do was come to their bedchambers at night and warn them that she had a mind to tell Professor Jacobson of their shameless and brazen lasciviousness, and the unfortunate young beauties hastily accepted a session in the basement rather than be mortified by having their uncle know what nocturnal diversions they had pursued.
But in her contemptuous triumph over both lovely sisters, Dorla Ashton failed to consider that the fifteen-year-old brunette knew that it was not her uncle who had fucked her that night but rather the housekeeper... though Madge, having never heard of a dildo, had not been able to divine how this penetration had been made. She confided as much to Eloise, who had been startled and thunderstruck at the news. Madge, too, confessed to having just a little pleasure at the very end, though her tittie-spanking had hurt atrociously and minimized the sensual pleasure she might otherwise have derived from the awakening of her young loins.
"But I tell you, Elly," Madge insisted, "she did so fuck me!"
"You're crazy, Madge Jacobson! Girl's don't have c-cocks, just men do."
"But you know yourself, Uncle Abner wasn't down there in the basement with us, was he?"
"Well, no," the redhead dubiously admitted.
"You see, I don't know how she did it, but I tell you I felt it and I wasn't dreaming! I showed you my p-pussy, didn't I?"
"Yes... it - it looked just the way mine did after he-after he did it to me," Eloise faltered. You know what?" Madge suddenly gasped as a great light dawned, "I'll bet you she did it to you too, and it wasn't Uncle Abner at all."
"Gee-gosh, you think so? But how could she have done it?" Eloise wondered.
"Maybe - maybe she used her finger - "
"Uh-huh," Eloise shook her head, "it sure felt like a lot more than a finger, Madgie. Didn't it to you?"
"Sure it did. But all I know is that Uncle Abner wasn't there. And we don't dare tell him, either. I'd die of shame if he found out that you and I - you know - "
"You hush up about that!" Eloise blushingly gasped.
But by now Dorla Ashton had become impatient to make certain that she would become more than the housekeeper of Professor Abner Jacob-son. And so, on this warm early August evening, a month after his two nieces had come to live with him, and after Eloise and Madge had gone to his den-library with his permission to borrow some books which would help them prepare for the resumption of school the following month, the svelte brunette housekeeper approached him in the living room as he sat reading a new psychology journal that had just arrived in the mail that day, and murmured, "Abner darling, you've been so neglectful, I didn't think you cared any more."
"You - but, my gracious, Dorla, don't you know I've been dying for you," he exclaimed eagerly as he tossed the magazine to the floor and stood up to take her in his arms. But mockingly she moved away and shook her head.
"No, darling, we have to think of the girls. My daughter respects me, and I'm sure your nieces respect you. We can't have a secret liaison, it would be sinful. Yet I want you, Abner, very much."
"I want you too, Dorla."
"Well, you can have me. All you have to do is marry me, darling," she said blithely. "Just say yes, and I'll be yours tonight."
His excitement made his prick harden, but at the same time the voice of conscience whispered to him. "I - I'm not sure we should do it right away," he said hesitantly.
But Dorla did not intend to let her victory slip away, not when it seemed so near in sight.
Stepping close to him, linking her satiny arms around his neck, pressing her loins against his swollen crotch, she whispered softly, "I'll be so good to you, Abner. I'll let you watch me spank Debbie on the bare, and I'll punish Madge and Eloise when they're naughty. I'll show you how to punish them, too, if you like."
He shuddered violently. The thought of taking all three of these beauties across his lap, feeling their bodies pressed against his, feeling the succulent flesh vibrate, under his smacking hand, under his caressing fingers, was enervating to the extreme.
But a bachelor is loath to give up his liberty without a struggle, and so he proposed judicious waiting to the impatient svelte, brunette housekeeper.
Dorla Ashton frowned. "I think you'd better reconsider, Abner dear," she said silkily.
"Why? What do you mean?"
"You know, a wife can't testify against her husband, and if it ever should come out that you made love to your nieces, you'd go to prison."
Professor Abner Jacobson recoiled, his mouth gaping. "What - what did you say?" he at last ejaculated.
"Come now, darling, I'm a very broad-minded woman. That's why I'd make an ideal wife for you. And I can understand it. Madge and Eloise are very lovely, fresh and young and innocent. I would never testify or bring charges against you, but they could, unless I'm here to discipline them and make them nice and meek and submissive."
"Are you - but it's impossible! You mean to tell me you think I - I ravished them?"
"What an old-fashioned term, Abner dear," Dorla laughed. "Yes, I'm afraid that's precisely what you did. When Eloise was blindfolded down there in the basement, that night we punished them both, I was so happy because we'd made love and it was so beautiful. And then I went back to my room and had a little doze, and when I went back to you, you'd gone downstairs."
"But I didn't. I fell asleep - I know I did!" he protested. Then his face tautened with suspicion. "How do you know they were - violated - then?"
"Because they told me," Dorla Ashton smiled sweetly as she played her trump card and told an incredible lie. For that very reason she hoped to confound and panic him into marrying her.
"I see," he said. "Let me think this over, Dorla. Of course I want you, and I admit it would be nice to have a wife."
"Now you're being sensible, darling," she wheedled, coming to him to arch her supple body against his. Her hand slipped to his buttocks, and she began to squeeze them as she huskily intoned, "I'll thrill you every night, I'll teach you things you never knew, and you can have them every night, all you want, once we're married. I know how to discipline girls and make them obey. Besides, they're at the age when they're getting very sexy. Why, would you believe it, only the other night I caught them both in bed, playing with each other. Now we can't have them Lesbians, can we, dear? We have to spank that out of them. Darling?"
"What?"
"Wouldn't you like to go down in the basement might and tie them both up, pull their panties down and spank their naughty bottoms for playing around like that? Then you and I can go off to bed together and I'll give you a foretaste of what it's going to be like when you're my husband, dearest Abner."
His temples were pounding with lust, and the soft, supple feel of her body against his was a maddening torture. But he steeled himself and pushed her away gently, saying, "Not tonight. I've got to finish an article for this journal they sent me, but I promise you it will be soon, Dorla, very soon."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next noon, Dorla Ashton went into the little town of Moresby to do the marketing for her employer. Professor Abner Jacobson waited until she had gone and was out of sight, then climbed the stairs to the rooms where his nieces and Debbie were quartered. He knocked first at Eloise's door, and at her startled "Come in," turned the knob and went in.
The redhead blushed furiously to see him, then lowered her eyes. "Hello, Uncle Abner," she quavered.
"Eloise, I want you to be very truthful with me, and I'm not going to punish you. Mrs.
Ashton just told me something that I find almost impossible to believe."
"Oh my gosh!" Eloise ejaculated, her blushes spreading to her earlobes and temples. She was sure that Dorla Ashton had betrayed the secret between herself and Madge.
"I don't want to embarrass you, my dear child, but I have to know this for my own good.
She tells me - you remember that night when you and Madge were taken downstairs and - and spanked?"
Eloise nodded, not daring to speak or take her eyes from her uncle.
"Well, I'll be truthful with you. I was very excited, because I've never married, you know, and - well, Mrs. Ashton and I made love. And later that night she says that I went downstairs and - and made love to you. Is that the truth, Eloise?"
"Uncle Abner! I - I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I mean - oh gosh, it's all so mixed up, and I've been so scared. Madgie and I - "
"Well, you are not to be scared any more. But tell me the honest truth, what did happen?"
"Well, I was blindfolded, and I had been spanked awfully hard, and then all of a sudden something hard was pushing into my - you know - between my l-legs - and it broke into me and then - and then - " Professor Abner Jacobson scowled. "I'm sure I would never have done a thing like that.
It's incest, darling. Now I want to talk to your sister. Don't tell Mrs. Ashton of our little conversation, mind you."
A few minutes later the blushing young brunette confessed that she had been blindfolded and fucked, but she blurted out: "But I know it wasn't you, Uncle Abner, 'cause you weren't down in the basement, only Mrs. Ashton was."
"That's true. I didn't even know about that night. But why did she spank both of you?
Come on, Madge, tell the truth. I won't punish you and I won't embarrass you. It'll be forgotten, I promise."
"Well, Eloise and I - you know - we - we were in bed together - and she caught us and she said we were going to get an awful licking and then she was going to tell you unless we - unless we did what she wanted."
"I'm beginning to see. Thank you for being so frank with me, Madge."
Professor Abner Jacobson had one final visit to make, and he knocked at the door of Debbie Ashton's room. The lovely light-brown-haired young woman admitted him with surprise, and when he closed the door silently behind him and put a finger to his lips, she stepped back, her eyes huge with anguish. What had she done now? Was he going to spank her? Oh, it couldn't be-Mother wouldn't be that cruel!
But after she heard his first words, her apprehension diminished, and finally she sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes very wide, as she listened to him tell her of his conversations with his nieces.
"I'm convinced, Debbie, that your mother is a very perverse woman, and in some ways dangerous to those around her because of her sexual obsessions. Do you know if she locks the door of her room?"
"No, sir."
"I want you to come with me. I don't know what I'm looking for, but maybe - well, just come along."
Five minutes later, Professor Abner Jacobson opened the drawer of Dorla Ashton's dresser and, under a pile of slips, found the oblong box. He automatically lifted the lid, and his eyes bulged. Then he turned to her daughter and said gravely, "Now I think I know the truth."
* * *
After dinner that night, Professor Abner Jacob-son gestured to his beautiful brunette housekeeper. The two nieces had already gone to their room.
"What is it, Abner darling?"
"I want to give you an answer tonight, my dear one," he said gently. "Do you think we might punish those naughty girls? They've been very disrespectful all day long."
"Of course, darling! I'll wait until it's almost time for them to go to bed, then I'll bring them down to the basement and you and I will spank them. Which one would you like to spank most, darling?"
"Eloise, I think. Yes, she's really the prettiest and the oldest, and a very saucy baggage, too."
"You lover, you! You won't be sorry for making this decision. I'll make you such a good wife, Abner, dearest. Let's say I meet you in the hallway by the stairs at about ten o'clock.
By then they ought to be going to bed.
* * *
Dorla Ashton had put on her green satin housecoat and sandals, and was naked underneath. The hairbrush which she had often used on Debbie's delectable bottom was thrust into the pocket of the garment. Confidently, a smile on her sensual, thin lips, she waited for the professor in the hall. She saw him coming up the stairs in his bathrobe and slippers, and her smile deepened. She felt a warm churning lust grow in her cunt and knew that it meant an unforgettable night of corporal chastisement and sexual fulfillment.
She would teach him how to gamahuche her and how to put his tongue between her buttocks and give her what the French call a "feuille de rose".
"I'll get Madge, you get Elly," she whispered to the Professor. When she saw him nod, she went to Madge Jacobson's door and knocked sharply.
"It's Mrs. Ashton, Madge. Come out here this minute, just as you are, young lady. Your uncle wants to talk to you."
The door opened and Madge Jacobson emerged, wearing her miniskirt and blouse, pantyhose and loafers, to Dorla Ashton's astonishment. Meanwhile, Professor Jacobson had knocked at Eloise's door and, being admitted, gestured to his older niece to emerge.
She, too, was fully dressed, as she had been on the night of her violation by the perverse priestess of Sappho.
"Why aren't you girls undressed and ready for bed?" Dorla. Ashton snapped. "You're becoming very slipshod, both of you, and your uncle and I are going to teach you manners tonight. Now come downstairs."
"Just a minute, Dorla," he interposed. "We need someone else, too. You might as well make it a threesome for spanking, don't you think?"
"What?" Her patrician eyebrows arched, and then, comprehending, or so she thought, she smiled sensually. "Of course, darling. So you want to spank Debbie's big bottom? Why not? You shall spank it whenever you like, lover. I'll go get her right this minute."
But at that moment the door opened and beautiful Debbie Ashton came out into the hallway, fully clothed, and carrying an oblong box in one hand. Her mother's eyes fixed on it, and then Dorla Ashton uttered a strangled cry and her face turned scarlet. "What - what are you doing with my property, young lady? You're just itching for a good spanking, aren't you? You haven't had one now for much too long, and I can see it's a mistake to leave your bottom untouched for longer than a week at a time. Come along!"
"Justa minute, Dorla. Give me that box, Debbie dear," the Professor intervened.
Dorla Ashton's mouth gaped as she stared at the bespectacled, gaunt man. His eyes were twinkling behind the spectacles and his lips were curved in what was a terrifyingly mocking smile. Debbie Ashton stepped forward and offered him the box. He opened it and disclosed the black rubber dildo.
"This, my dears, was what was used on you, not myself, I can assure you," he told his goggle-eyed nieces. "Now do you agree that you have been punished unjustly?"
"Oh yes, Uncle Abner," Madge gleefully exclaimed. "It's she who needs a good sound spanking, not us!"
"And you, Debbie, do you concur?"
"I certainly do," came from the sweet lips of the meek and submissive mature brownette.
"What are you talking about? Abner, have you gone crazy? What are you girls doing? No - you shant - oh no - help! - Abner, I'll have you put in jail for this - ouch! - stop it, I say!"
For at his sign, both his nieces and Dorla Ashton's own daughter had seized the svelte housekeeper and begun to drag her down the stairs and to the basement.
Professor Abner Jacobson removed his bathrobe, and it was evident that his prick was in violent erection. He aided the three beauties in securing Dorla Ashton's wrists tightly to the rope which dangled from the beam, and forced her to stand on tiptoe. Then he squatted down before her and grasped her calves, directing, "Strip her naked, and get her ready for a spanking, girls!"
Dorla shrieked with rage and shame as she saw her own daughter approach, seize the zipper of the green satin housecoat and yank it ruthlessly down to expose her from titties to lower belly. Madge and Eloise, at her sides, seized the yawning folds of the glossy sheath and ripped it from her body, and Dorla Ashton was naked, the crisp thicket of black pussy-curls covering her lascivious Mount of Venus, her pear-shaped titties heaving wildly as she struggled violently to free herself from the traction of the wrist ropes.
"I think a good hand spanking will prepare her big bottom for a real punishment," Professor Jacobson decreed, and in turn, first Dorla Ashton's own docile and subjugated daughter stepped behind her mother and began to spank that squirming oval-cheeked posterior, her eyes glowing, her lips curved in an eagerly vengeful smile, as for the first time in her twenty-three years she could pay her mother back for the servile bondage and the demeaning juvenile degradation to which she had been so long subjected. She had the satisfaction of hearing her own mother sob and cry out for mercy before she concluded with an energetic swat which fairly made poor naked Dorla lunge forward, her buttocks an angry red from some forty hard, stinging slaps.
Then it was Eloise's turn, who first began to pinch the flaming bottom of the dominatress, and to taunt her, "Gosh, you're squirmy, Dorla honey! Your big bottom's awfully red, but I'm going to make it a lot redder before I'm through! I just want to see if you can still feel a little pain, you know! The way you stuck that nasty old thing into my pussy and then tried to blame it on poor Uncle Abner! There, how does that feel? Wait till I take a lath to your big backside, Dorla honey. But for now, I'm just going to spank you till my hand gets tired!"
Which the redhead proceeded to do with as much energy as Debbie had previously done.
Dorla's shrieks became more deafening, until Professor Jacobson at last suggested that a handkerchief be thrust into the woman's mouth and a towel tied around her head, knotted at the back of her neck.
After this was done, it was Madge's turn, and by now Dorla's voluptuous behind was swollen and a dark, angry, ominous red. This did not prevent Madge from applying almost an equal number of vigorous slaps, until the unfortunate housekeeper was dancing, squirming and lunging, wild cries stifled by the improvised gag.
Professor Jacobson then removed the gag and demanded, "This was only the beginning, Dorla. Each of the girls is going to take one of those laths and paddle your titties, your thighs and your bottom."
"Oh my God, Professor Jacobson, have mercy on a poor woman! I can't stand any more.
I'll do anything you want, anything in the world! I'll go away, I'll never - anything! Oh my God, I'm suffering so!" Dorla Ashton hysterically sobbed.
"No, you won't go away. I'm going to marry your daughter, you see. And I want you to continue being my housekeeper. Only you're not going to spank anybody ever again, unless I give you permission. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes, sir, yes, sir! I'll do anything you want!" She moaned. He extended his right thumb and forefinger and was pinching one of her nipples, and she was arching and tautening herself, sobbing hysterically, her eyes fixed on his fingers as she tried to propitiate him.
"I'm glad that's understood, and I have three witnesses who just heard you agree. Now then, to pay back these lovely nieces of mine for the shameful thing you did. Because after all, if a girl is going to get fucked, it should be with a real prick. I want you to ask Madge and Eloise to fuck you with the dildo. Go on, let me hear you say it."
"Oh, I can't! Oww, oh my God, yes I will! Oh my God, Professor, stop it! You're killing me!"
This time he had seized a sprig of the black pussyhair and was tugging it viciously, and Dorla Ashton's perspiring, naked body squirmed and writhed on the end of the rope.
"Very well, let me hear you say it, then!" he warned, keeping his fingers tight against another sprig of hair.
"Oh please, Madge, Eloise, Gwwwww!! - I'm saying it, Professor - oh, please don't pull out my hairs!"
"You will address them as Miss Madge and Miss Eloise, do you understand me? And be quick about it, because I'd just love to give you a shave down here the hard way," he quipped.
Dorla Ashton was absolutely beside herself. She did not recognize Professor Abner Jacobson - nor did he recognize himself. But suddenly, just as the phoenix rises from the ashes, so had he from this one perverse deception of this voluptuous imperatrix, which had freed him from the onus of his thwarted virginity, discovered his full sensual proclivities. And now he was enjoying this with all the zest of a youth - or rather, with the passion of a mature man who was determined to make up for so many wasted years.
"Miss - Miss Madge, oh please - and you too, Miss Eloise, please f-fuck me with - my d-dildo, and don't hurt me any more," Dorla Ashton groaned.
It was Eloise who strapped on the dildo, aided by her giggling sister. But instead of facing Dorla Ashton, the coppery-haired beauty took her place behind those swollen, angrily reddened buttocks and, gripping the cheeks with her fingers, yawned them apart.
"Oh God, not there! You'll kill me, you'll tear me to pieces, oh Professor, in the name of heaven, spare me! I'll be good - I'll be your slave - I'll do anything you want - but not there - not there!"
"There!" he said tersely, but then he made a sign to Eloise to hold back until he had replaced the gag. Then he nodded. Then Dorla Ashton's eyes bulged with agony as she felt the hard rubber dildo pry apart the tender lips of her virgin asshole and thrust inexorably and cruelly to the very bottom of her entrails.
And after Eloise had bottom-fucked her, it was Madge's turn.
Once again the gag was removed, the half-fainting woman incoherently begging for mercy.
"Swear, then," the Professor instructed, his arm around the blushing Debbie, "that you will do everything all of us command. Either that, or you'll get the spanking which is still due you!"
"With this, Mama," Debbie giggled, as she held up the thickest and broadest lath of all.
"Oh no! Please - please, Professor, I swear I'll do anything you want! I'll be your slave, I'll do anything you want!"
"Cut her down," he commanded.
And when the rope at last had been removed and Dorla Ashton stumbled to all-fours, her head bowed, gleaming with sweat, shuddering, half-fainting, he made her kneel before him and ordered her to take out his prick and suck it gently.
And when she had done that, he turned to Debbie and said, "Now then, Debbie darling, since I'm going to take you to the justice of the peace tomorrow, let's start our honeymoon right now, because I'm very much in the mood to make a real woman of you and not a slave."
And while the haggard, naked, weeping brunette dominatress saw her daughter strip off her clothes and eagerly come to the Professor's arms, standing there entwined, she was suddenly commanded by Eloise, who seized her from behind by the hair, "You'd better kiss my pussy and make it well, Dorla, or maybe I'll give you that spanking after all!"
* * *
The fall term has begun. Professor Jacobson is told by his contemporaries that he has never looked younger and happier. And no wonder. He has never looked younger and happier. And no wonder. He has a beautiful young wife who is his devoted bed slave. And what spanking she gets, she eagerly demands herself from his beloved hand. There are diversions, to make her submit all too gladly to a husbandly regimen of discipline.
Whenever Debbie feels the need for erotic stimulus, she has her beautiful, haughty mother brought into the Jacobson bedroom. And then Dorla Ashton serves as whipping-girl for her own daughter and her son-in-law.
Debbie has even hinted that she wouldn't mind if her husband taught his nieces what it is really like to fuck, because he's so virile and makes her so happy when he does it. So perhaps Professor Abner Jacobson may really become an incestuous uncle after all!
