As he closed the front door, John Fenner's good mood was jarred by annoying familiar sounds from upstairs. His wife and daughter were having another argument. Goddammit, it's a pain in the ass to come home feeling good, after a great day at the office, and listen to this. It sounded like one of their more serious arguments. His wife, Jeanne, was generally a pretty level-headed woman, but lately she seemed to have become more and more sensitive to her daughter's behavior. He felt that Susan, their only girl, had never been too much of a problem. Basically a good girl who occasionally got into trouble. When that happened, his wife usually took care of the discipline or punishment, with him backing up her decision. Lately, however, Susan, at 17, seemed to be more exasperating, and trigger her Mother's anger more frequently. Jeanne could always handle her and invariably won most of the arguments. She was fair, but firm, and when the chips were down could still control Susan, although it seemed to be getting harder and harder for Jeanne, with more frequent confrontations.
This was one argument, however, that he didn't want to hear, and was determined to interrupt and end. He still clung to his expansive mood and didn't want to lose it. But it required peace and smiles, not shrill voices and conflict. As he started up the stairs the voices rose almost as if coming to a climax. He was sure they were unaware of his arrival home and knew they could not hear his footsteps on the carpeted stairway. The sounds were coming from Susan's bedroom, fifteen feet down the hall.
As he approached he heard his daughter say, "No Mother, I'm seventeen now and getting too old for that."
"The way you are behaving, young lady, you are not too old, and it is exactly what you deserve."
His wife's words were followed by the sounds of a short scuffle, the muffled creak of bed springs, and the unmistakable whisper of slithering feminine underclothes.
When John reached the door, intending to sternly quiet the two of them, he stopped, knowing that neither of them were aware of his presence. Seated on the bed with her back to the door was his wife. Susan was laying face down across her lap, her head hidden from view by his wife's back and her smooth nyloned legs kicking the air. Jeanne was holding her daughter down with a firm right hand on her back, and slowly inching up her miniskirt with her left hand. Susan's tone of voice had changed, and she was now pleading.
"No please Mother, I'm sorry, but don't spank me."
Jeanne, however, was used to this plea and continued to pull up the tight blue skirt until it was neatly arranged inside out at the small of Susan's back. Her short white lace-trimmed minislip slowly followed until it also was well above Susan's waist. Near Jeanne's left hip was a small wooden paddle, a humorous souvenir from a vacation trip years ago. John watched as Jeanne gave Susan two swift smacks with her hand, scolded her to hold still, then picked up the paddle with her left hand.
John stood absolutely still. A powerful feeling was starting to come over him and he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He was confused by it, and wouldn't have left his vantage point for anything. Susan was starting to cry now and pleading with her mother to stop. Jeanne was methodically spanking her daughter's panty-clad bottom and scolding vigorously.
"When I tell you to do something, that you must follow a rule, I want to be obeyed. And as long as you live in this house, this is what you're going to get if you don't obey."
The stern tone of his wife's voice acted as a catalyst to the feeling John was just beginning to understand. Watching his daughter react under the stinging spanks of the paddle, he suddenly realized what an attractive young woman she was. Her long, tapering legs were moving in a sheen of panty hose that went up to cling to a full, luscious, clefted bottom. Underneath the panty hose she wore brief white panties that filled and flattened with each stroke of the paddle. John could not take his eyes off the bouncing, upreared bottom cheeks of his daughter. His wife continued the spanking, then stopped and ordered Susan to raise her hips. Susan sobbed-"No please, Mother, let me keep my panties on, please." Another crack of the paddle and her mother said, "Up, or I'll give you ten extra." Susan slowly and tearfully raised her bottom, and her mother carefully slipped a finger from each hand under the waistband of Susan's beige panty hose and slowly lowered them to mid thigh. The white panties were then stretched and pulled down to meet the panty hose. Jeanne picked up the paddle and resumed the spanking on an already red behind. Susan's cries immediately became more shrill, "No pleeeease Mother. Eeeeeiii, not so hard. I'm sorreeee. I promise I'll be good. Oh noooooo!"
John was thunderstruck with emotion. He had never seen a more exciting sight in his life. He was transfixed to the spot. He couldn't move or speak, and suddenly realized he was getting a tremendous erection. It was the most sexually moving experience he had had in years. But it was bad. To be as excited as this at the sight of his own daughter's near naked body. But that wasn't all of it, he realized. It was the tremendous feeling of power and domination he felt at the sight of his daughter's total submission and punishment. The soft shapely, pleading female under his complete control in a spanking position almost caused him to have an orgasm.
I must be crazy, he thought, and felt he should leave the room immediately so they wouldn't know he had witnessed the disciplining scene. He could hardly tear his eyes away from the rise and fall of the paddle and the gyrating bright red bottom.
He slowly walked down the hall to his bedroom, shaken and touching the walls with his fingertips to steady himself. His emotions were racing and tumbling through his mind. He stopped in the middle of the room, looking out the window, as he reached in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He lit it, inhaled, and then slowly let the smoke drift out of his mouth. It steadied him as he tried to collect his thoughts into some kind of logical reality. Why should I be so excited at the sight of a teenaged girl's punishment, he thought. The answer came quickly. It was the sensual sight of a well-shaped silken female body bounding and thrashing in a completely dominated and submissive pose, while under the absolute control of another person. God, it was thrilling, and the shrieks, and cries, and pleas made it into an electrically charged, emotional scene. Raising the cigarette to his lips, John stopped it halfway and realized that more than anything, he wished that he had been the one administering the spanking instead of his wife. What does that make me, he thought, a lecherous, incestuous, sadist? Or a concerned father giving his daughter a lesson in discipline? Or something in between? He started loosening his tie as he walked toward his wide closet. What would happen if I was the one wielding the paddle with my daughter bouncing wildly across my lap while pleading for mercy? Would I get a hardon, like I have now? Would she be able to feel it? Of course, God how could she miss it? Would I try to lay her when it was over? No, I have more self control than that. Could I give her a spanking and make her honestly feel that it was for punishment's sake only? Hmmm, yes I think so. I'm sure I could, he said to himself as he firmly closed the closet door. At that point he knew that the next spanking Susan got would be at his hands and not her mother's.
John waited silently as he heard the sounds of the punishment session ending. Susan was sobbing quietly as her mother comforted her and patiently explained that Susan must not challenge her authority, that she was sorry she had to spank her, but that it had been necessary. John could hear a kiss and his wife telling her daughter that she still loved her and all was forgiven. Good sense, that woman has, thought John, as he heard his wife leave the room and go downstairs. Susan was slowly walking to her bathroom, still sniffling. Neither one was aware that he had witnessed or heard any of it.
That evening at dinner, after carefully considering how he would do it, John brought up the subject. Glancing at Jeanne, he casually said, "From the noise I heard when I got home, I gather Susan got into some trouble?" Susan immediately blushed and lowered her eyes to her plate as her father's glance slid over to her.
"I'm afraid that your daughter feels that she is a grown woman, and no longer has to obey the rules of her parents," Jeanne commented."
"Susan!" The word came from John's throat in a firm but friendly way. Susan jerked her head up and looked wide-eyed at her father as if it had been a gunshot. "Most of the time you are a good girl and I'm proud of you. You do well at school, you have nice friends, good sense of value, and you're understanding. You are getting grown up and more mature, but you still have a lot to learn, and so long as you live in this house, you'll have to obey the rules that we set. If you don't, you're going to be punished, either by your mother or by me. It's not because we like to punish you, but because you need it. Life is a series of crimes and punishment. When you make a mistake, you are punished. Everyone is. The difference between children and adults is that children are mostly punished by their parents or teachers, because it's their job to guide them into learning right and wrong, and avoiding the more serious mistakes you can make when you're older. When an adult makes a mistake, the world itself punishes him and it hurts a lot more, and lasts much longer. I've made my share of mistakes, and the world has sure kicked me around when I did. Can you understand that?" Susan nodded slowly, said, "Yes, Daddy," with a quick glance at her father, then lowered her eyes again. As John smilingly said, "Well then, let's forget it," he did not notice the quizzical look on his wife's face at his use of the word "we." John had never taken much interest in his daughter's discipline, leaving it almost entirely up to Jeanne.
The remainder of the evening passed relatively quietly. John was working on some papers he had brought from the office, Susan was studying and on the phone for awhile, and Jeanne was puttering with a new shelf arrangement in the kitchen, quietly. John was working on some papers he had had gone to bed, but as he heard her going upstairs at 10:30, he laid his work aside, turned out the lights and shortly followed her. His mind was concentrating on the conversation he wanted with her. As he entered the room, his wife was seated at the dressing table in powder blue baby doll pajamas. Long ago John had insisted that the only kind of night clothes he would allow his wife to wear were either baby dolls or very short, sheer nightgowns. Jeanne secretly loved the choice, although occasionally protested that she was too old for the little girl look. John disagreed, and looking at his wife now, he was glad he insisted. Jeanne was bending toward the mirror, intently removing a false eyelash and her trim breasts were outlined through the thin material against the dressing table lights. The back of her pajama top was lifted showing the tight, stretched matching panties, filled out by a delightfully taut bottom. His eyes lingered for a moment and he thought, damn, she is still a beauty.
He walked to the bed, and as he sat down to remove his shoes, he said, "You know, after dinner I got to thinking about Susan and the spanking she got, and I realized that for years, or maybe ever since she was born, that I have dumped one of my responsibilities as a father off onto you. I mean her discipline. I've scolded her, and chewed her out occasionally, but when the chips were down, and some serious discipline was needed, you were the one who always got stuck with it." Jeanne had turned with a dab of face cream on her fingertips, and looked at her husband with a surprised expression. John continued, "Susan is getting older, she's probably almost full grown now, and harder to handle. I mean both physically and in reasoning with her. I meant it at dinner when I said she was basically a good girl and I was proud of her, but she still needs discipline, and I think she needs a man's strength of character to back it up." He paused, "And I think life would be a little easier for you if I was the one who played the bad guy, and did the punishing, instead of you having to do it."
"Well, I don't mind it Dear," she said with a searching look, "As long as you back me up."
"I always have, but punishment is never a pleasant task, and with Susan almost as big as you are, I don't want her to feel she can fight back at you physically. She could probably knock you down now if she put her mind to it, and in the heat of an argument, that could happen." John was concentrating on keeping an even look at his wife. It was important that he convey a sincere, concerned feeling to her.
"Well, how would you punish her? It wouldn't be quite right for an older girl to be half naked in front of a man for a spanking. You wouldn't spank her, would you?"
"Honey, my God, I'm her father, not some lecherous old kook who's trying to peek up her dress. If she needs to be punished, she needs to be punished. And usually if she's bad, it's something childish that she's done so if spanking is humiliating and makes her feel childish, then that's good. It's part of the punishment and will make her think twice to avoid it in the future."
"Well, I don't know Dear, she is perhaps getting too old for that kind of tiling, and somehow it just doesn't seem quite right."
"Jeanne, look, you've been a good wife for me. We've always gotten along better than 95% of all the married people we know, and I still love you as much as the day we were married. A child's discipline is something parents should share, and I just haven't been pulling my load. I'm sure that it will be a relief for you to know that when Susan does something wrong or challenges your authority, you won't have to go through a scene like you did tonight. You can just tell her that her father will take care of it when he gets home. Isn't that true?"
"Yes, Darling, I guess it is, but why did you decide all of a sudden, tonight, that you should become the disciplinarian?"
John had to avert his eyes from Jeanne's steady inquiring gaze.
"I think it was the sounds of the argument," and pausing, "and I was a little angry to hear my daughter talking to her mother like that." Walking over to his wife, John put his arms around her and kissing her ear said, "I don't want anyone talking to my honey like that, not even her daughter."
John nibbled at Nancy's ear, then down to the soft fur at the back of her neck, and feeling her smooth skin starting to tingle, down to her throat. He slowly slid his hands down over her shoulders onto the slope of her breasts, stopping with a fingertip on each nipple. Through the thin fabric, he could feel the nipples stiffen as he kneaded them between his thumbs and finger. She moaned, "Oh, God, darling, you still light my fire, and you're so good to me."
"Let's see how good," John murmured into her hair as he gently lifted her by the breasts with her back against him. As she moved out around the dressing table stool, he pulled her to him and she could feel his strong, hard cock through his pants against her buttocks. They moved to the bed and she fell on her back, one knee slightly raised and her legs apart. John smiled down on her as he lifted each leg to remove his trousers and shorts. Then, kneeling on the bed, he crawled over to her, his erection straining ahead of him, and reached for the waist of her panties. A warmth was spreading below her belly, and Jeanne could feel that this was going to be a powerful love session. As she lifted her hips, she closed her eyes, felt her panties sliding down her legs, then felt his lips on the soft fur between her legs. She moaned as his kisses slid down further, touched her clitoris, then up again to her now bare nipples. "Oh God, I want it," she gasped as she felt him lower his body, and his penis slide in low, rubbing her love point. It built up in a series of frantic, erotic, lunging motions, with her heels locked over his back, her mumbling, "Jesus, it's never been like this," and the orgasm starting as her buttocks were pounded into the bed.
As John made one powerful thrust and his semen starting pouring into her womb, behind his closed eyes the clear, sharp image of his daughter's thrashing legs and moon-shaped, spanked bottom, was all he could see.
CHAPTER TWO
The front door closed with its accustomed heavy thunk, high heels tip-tapped down the stone walk, and a car's engine purred to life. As his wife's car backed out of the driveway, John sat in his living room arm chair contemplating the conversation he was going to have with Susan. After their exhausting love-making two nights ago he and Jeanne decided that he would talk to Susan about the change in disciplinary status when Jeanne was at a meeting with her auxiliary charity group. It had been easier than he thought to bring Jeanne around to his way of thinking about Susan's punishment. The love-making session had helped. They thought it would be easier for Susan if just she and her father took part in the conversation. It would not seem as if her parents were ganging up on her.
John was having difficulty, however, in forming the right words that would make it seem logical and understandable to Susan. It's funny, he thought, I can go into a complicated, touchy business meeting with shrewd adversaries across the table from me, and I'm never at a loss for words, but with my own daughter I'm having trouble trying to figure out what to say. He didn't want it to sound as if he were an overbearing ogre, but he knew he had to be firm. He also wanted Susan to think that this was the best thing for her. Well, we'll see what happens, he thought, as he heard Susan finishing up the dishes in the kitchen.
"Susan, I'd like to talk to you. Would you come in here please, when you're through?"
"Yes, Daddy, just a few minutes."
He was pleased with the firm friendly tone of his voice, and thought he detected a slight tremor of questioning hesitation in Susan's reply.
"Yes, Daddy?" asked Susan a few minutes later as she walked toward him with an inquiring look.
"Sit down, I'd like to have a talk with you." John found himself avoiding her gaze, but noticing how well her almost perfect legs looked in their stockings, and how delightfully rounded the back of her tight miniskirt was. As he consciously tugged his eyes away to meet hers, he couldn't help but notice the ample curved expanse of thigh she showed as she sat down and crossed her legs. God, it's going to be tough to keep my eyes on her face, he thought.
"Your mother and I had a long talk the other night, after your uh, punishment session, and we decided that we would make some changes as far as you were concerned." Susan's eyes had quickly dropped and a deep blush spread over her cheeks and throat at the reference to a rather painful memory. John noticed it, and her embarrassment gave him a little extra moral strength. His voice, he thought was sounding too officious.
"You're getting to be a big girl now, and over the years I've always been proud of you as a daughter, and I still am. One of my regrets is that I haven't spent as much time with you as I would like, but running a business like mine, I'm afraid, takes an awful lot of time to make it go successfully. You've done well at school - a class officer, student activities, good grades, a cheerleader, you have a nice group of friends, and uh, most of the time been a well behaved girl." Susan's embarrassment was now changing to a somewhat wary, inquisitive expression.
"In the past, however, when you have been bad, most of the time it has been your mother who has been the, uh, disciplinarian." I'm still sounding like a goddamn army officer, he thought.
"Well now that you're getting older and bigger, you're getting to be a little more than your mother can handle. And you and your mother are getting into more, and longer, arguments. Partly your fault and partly hers. I don't like to have arguments in my house, the same way I don't like to have them in my business. Your mother and I talked it over and I think it would be easier on your mother, and on you, if I took over your, uh, discipline and punishment if it is ever needed."
Susan's wary expression changed now to almost one of a caged animal. "What do you mean, Daddy?"
"Well, we'll set down definite rules to follow that are fair on both sides, and that you understand. If the rules are disobeyed, we'll have a talk about it, you and I. If the same rules are disobeyed again, then it will be my job to punish you."
"What kind of punishment?"
"Well, there are lots of different kinds of punishment: restriction, grounding you, not allowing you to have dates (Susan's beauty, figure, and flowing blonde hair made her very popular with the boys) or taking away your allowance, but I believe punishment should be short and quick, over and done with, and not drawn out for weeks. So when you've been disobedient, or broken the rules, and deserve to be punished, you'll be spanked, just the way your mother's been doing."
"Daddy! I'm seventeen years old, almost eighteen, and too old for that." Susan's horrified and surprised expression was like a girl who had just been told she would have to go back to first grade and start school all over again.
"No, you're not." A new sound of authority was heard in John's tone. "When a girl is disobedient, it is a childish testing of authority, or immature forgetfulness, and she should be treated as a child. Besides, wouldn't you rather have a punishment that was over and done with in a few minutes, instead of lasting two or three weeks? I've heard some of your girl friends complaining loudly that they wish their parents would do something other than long restrictions. Didn't you tell me you thought it was terribly unfair that Anne Simpson's parents wouldn't let her go to the homecoming dance?"
"Yes, but a spanking, Daddy. Don't you think that I'm old enough to reason with?"
"Most of the time, yes, but there have been times lately when you deliberately disobeyed your mother. Like the Saturday before last when you got home at 1:30 in the morning, and you had been told specifically to be in at 12:00. And you had no excuse, did you?"
"Well, nobody in the car had a watch, except Tom, and his was stopped."
"That, young lady, is hardly an excuse."
"Oh, Daddy, it isn't fair. I'm the only girl my age who still gets spanked."
"That's what I'm trying to do, is make it as fan-as possible. And didn't you mention a few weeks ago that Jane Bechtel still gets spanked, and with a belt?"
"Yes, but, well, how do you mean fair?"
"We'll establish a set of rules tonight, you and I, discuss them, and write them down. Then if you do slip, there will be no question as to whether you had violated a rule or not."
"What kind of rules?"
"Pretty much the same rules we have now, some a little more lenient, some perhaps a little tougher, but the advantage to it now, with everything written down, is we'll always know exactly where we stand."
John and Susan then started a serious discussion of rules. Dating, curfews, schoolwork, duties around the house, budgets on clothes and other of Susan's personal expenses. But mostly John was insistent about Susan's attitude and relationship with her mother. He wouldn't tolerate talking back or loud arguments. If Susan had a disagreement with her mother that couldn't be resolved in a quiet discussion, then the three of them would sit down and work it out together. On this there would be no exceptions, and she could expect immediate punishment if she violated it.
During the discussion Susan thought some of the rules were too restricting, presented a good argument why, and John had to bend a little in setting them down.
After an hour and a half the rules were set and written down. "I'll have my secretary type them up and make a copy for the three of us, so there will be no misunderstanding," said John with a satisfied smile.
"No, Daddy, I don't want her to know about it. I can type, and have my own typewriter, so I'll do it."
"Okay, sweetheart, why don't you do it tomorrow night, then you, and mother, and I will sit down and discuss them."
He stood up, as an indication to end the discussion, then walked over to her as she rose to her feet. Susan was still troubled, and looked up at him.
"Daddy, please not a spanking. Can't you think of something else-like a scolding."
With a frown, John said, "I'm afraid a scolding is not severe enough. When you're to be punished I want to get the point across so that you won't forget it for a long time. That way the punishments will be much less frequent, and you will think twice about doing it again."
"Well, how will you spank me? Not the same way Mother does!"
"Perhaps I'll use a hairbrush instead of the paddle, but other than that, the same way."
"But Daddy, she spanks with my-Not when I'm bare, that isn't right. You're a man."
"I'm your father, young lady, and the sight of my daughter's bare bottom is only going to concern me as a means of discipline. Understand?"
"Oh no. But I still don't think it's right."
"Hmmm, for that remark perhaps I should turn you over my knee right now." John said jokingly, as he gave his daughter a firm but playful smack on the back of her well-filled skirt.
"Daddy, no!"
John was smiling, but avoided his daughter's eyes. He hoped that she had not detected the slight catch in his voice when he had made the playful threat.
As Susan said goodnight, she impulsively reached up on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. "You're a strict Daddy, but I do love you."
Squeezing his daughter's arm, he looked fondly at her and told her, "And I'm a lucky man to have you for a daughter. Have a nice sleep."
As Susan went up the stairs, he went over to the large walnut cabinet that opened into a bar and poured himself a stiff scotch and soda. In the kitchen he added ice, and took a long lingering swallow.
I'm glad that's over, he thought. By and large it went pretty well. I knew she would put up some resistance, but my level, logical arguments won her over. Just like a good business deal, he thought. If you've got the facts, and logic on your side, you can't lose.
There was one very significant thing that happened near the end of the discussion that he was trying to remember, but couldn't put his finger on. Was it a word she said, or a phrase, or a tone of voice? What was it? He stood motionless for a moment trying to recall it, then shook his head when it wouldn't come.
He sat down in the arm chair and stretched out with his head back, gazing at the ceiling, to wait for his wife. There was some little thing Susan did just before she went upstairs. He stared at the ceiling almost as if he expected the answer to be pictured there. He sat and waited.
At the sound of the car rolling into the driveway, his head suddenly snapped forward, and he recalled what it had been. That was it! There had been a deep subtle gleam in Susan's eyes after he had playfully slapped her bottom-as if she had enjoyed it.
"Well I'll be damned," he said to himself half out loud.
He heard his wife coming into the kitchen from the garage and went to greet her. "How was the meeting? Anything accomplished?"
"Oh God, I don't see how we ever get anything done when you get a bunch of gossiping women together. And all Mary Ann served was coffee. I could use a drink."
"Well," said John grinning, "I happen to know the bartender here, and he mixes a fantastic Martini."
"You're a doll," she said pecking his cheek with a light kiss and patting his arm. "Let me hang up my coat and get off these shoes, and I'll join you."
Seconds later, from the hall, her muffled voice asked, "Uh, darling, did you have a talk with Susan?"
"Yes, when you're settled, I'll tell you about it."
His wife came in and sank onto the couch. Her blue and white checked miniskirt rode up her thighs as she slid down to relax. His eyes boldly strayed up her legs to the darkened tops of her panty hose and the white triangle of her panties that showed just beneath the raised skirt.
"You know you're so sexy I might even consider marrying you," he said as he handed her the clear, chilled Martini.
"I don't think I'd like that, it would spoil a beautiful love affair. Cheers." As Jeanne took her first sip she stared warmly into his eyes. "Oh, that is good. And did I need it. Well how did your discussion go with your daughter? Did she threaten to run away from home?"
"No, she took it very well." John then told her of the discussion, the written rules and the method of punishment. "Tomorrow night, after she's typed up the rules, we'll all sit down and talk about them. The one thing I did emphasize that I would be most strict about was her attitude towards you, and she'll need your help on that. You've both been a little testy with each other lately and I think some of it is partly your fault. If you disagree with her about something, and you see it is building into a loud argument, just tell her you will wait for her father to get home, and let him settle it. This will make it easier on your nerves, and if there is any punishing to do I'll take care of it."
Jeanne sighed, stared into her glass, and said, "I guess you're right, but I still think she is too old to be spanked by a man. She'll be terribly humiliated, you know, and John, you're so strong, if you got carried away, you might really harm her. I hope all you're going to use is your hand, not not that paddle."
"Well, Susan and I talked about it, and I told her the humiliation and embarrassment was to be part of the punishment, and would make her think twice about doing it again. As far as hurting her, I'm sure I've learned to control my emotions well enough over the years, so you won't have to worry about that. I won't use the paddle, I'll probably use that wooden hairbrush that's part of the set your mother gave me."
"Oh, darling, that will sting something awful, you could really blister her with that."
"It's not as bad as the paddle, and I'll just keep it up until she's nice and red, then stop."
"And you really should let her keep her panties on, she'll be awfully embarrassed."
"No, it's going to be on her bare bottom, I'm afraid."
"Well, alright, who knows after your discussion and with the written rules, she may not ever need it. But if she does, please be careful you won't hurt her badly."
"Don't worry, honey, we'll just wait and see."
Following his wife to bed, John fervently hoped that Susan would not become too well behaved. He was anxious to put the hairbrush to its newly found use.
CHAPTER THREE
For two weeks there was relative calm in the Fenner household. Susan was becoming more and more active in school functions, with afternoon play rehearsals and evening committee meetings. Jeanne was out two or three evenings a week preparing for a charity drive. John was in the midst of taking on new lines of merchandise for his firm and was having to work late frequently. As a result, the Fenner family barely had time to say good morning and good night to each other, and this business produced a quiet family routine.
The quiet was shattered, however, one Thursday evening after dinner. While eating, Susan, who had recently obtained her driver's license, asked to borrow her mother's car for a day's drive to another city. Her school had a basketball game coming up Saturday night against another school forty-five miles away, and Susan wanted to use the car so she and three of her friends could attend the game.
Her mother said she was sorry, but she didn't want Susan driving that far, particularly when she had to return that distance at night. Besides, Jeanne, explained, she had to use the car herself most of the day. Susan then asked if she could use her father's car, and John gave her a very firm no, stating that her mother was right, it was too long a trip for an inexperienced driver. Susan pouted sullenly through the rest of the dinner.
After dinner, while he was reading the paper in the living room, John heard the sound of raised voices coming from upstairs. Here we go again, he thought, another goddamn argument. He tried to shift his thoughts back to the column he was reading on rising interest rates, but the angry voice made it impossible. Then he put the paper down and his thoughts turned to Susan. Arguing and talking back to her mother were the two forbidden things I was most insistent on in my discussion with Susan about her discipline. If this argument keeps up, she may be in more trouble than she thinks.
Hmmm, I wonder if this is going to be the first time that my hairbrush will be employed as a "corrector." Immediately the vision filled his mind of a weeping, pleading Susan face down across his lap while the hairbrush descended on a pair of reddening, bouncing, bare bottom cheeks. He shifted thoughtfully in his chair.
The voices upstairs rose to crescendo of anger. "You're treating me like a baby," Susan cried.
"And that's exactly how you're acting and should be treated, and I'm going to see that you are," exclaimed Jeanne in a surprisingly calm, resolute voice.
John could hear the firm footsteps of his wife as she returned downstairs. When she reached the bottom, he heard her insistent voice. "I'm afraid your daughter didn't listen very well at all at your discussion. She seems to feel that she can do whatever she wants, and doesn't have to pay any attention to what I tell her. I'm getting tired of arguing with her, and I want you to go upstairs and straighten her out. You said you were going to take over her discipline, and right now she needs a good dose of it." Jeanne stood, eyes blazing and hands defiantly on her hips, looking down at John.
"What is she arguing about?"
"Well, she seems to think that anytime she wants to use the car, all she has to do is snap her fingers and there it is. She still doesn't realize that using the car is a privilege, and not something we owe her anytime she feels like it."
"Okay, I'll go up and talk to her."
"I'm afraid what she needs is more than just a talking to."
"I agree with you, and I'll settle it so there is no doubt in her mind as to where we stand on it. And not just the car, either, I told her not to get into an argument with you, and if the two of you couldn't settle things calmly, to see me and I would straighten it out." John rose, walked firmly to the stairs, and started up with his mind resolved. If I let her get away with it this time, then she'll really be hard to control. No matter what she says, I can't back down from the spanking she deserves.
He meant business, and as he entered her bedroom, the firmly set jaw and hard steady eyes told Susan that she was in trouble. "Didn't I tell you that the one thing I would not tolerate at all, or give you a second chance on, was arguing with your mother?"
"But, Daddy-"
"Don't interrupt! I told you if you couldn't calmly reach an agreement with your mother on something, to come and see me about it without an argument. And now you've done exactly what I told you not to do."
As he eyed his daughter, John had a firm and comfortable command of the situation.
"But, Daddy, I'm a good driver, I passed my license test with no mistakes, and I don't see why I can't use mother's car. She could get a ride with someone else."
"The point is young lady, that you cannot use her car, or mine, without permission and when your mother tells you, you can't, that's the end of it. There should be no arguing. You're going to be punished, not for asking to use the car, but for talking back and arguing with her when she had said no. I told you what would happen if you talked back to her, and now you're going to get it."
"Daddy I was only trying to explain a way that she could get to her meetings if she didn't have her car."
"You were arguing with her after I had specifically told you not to, and for that you're going to be spanked." John could feel his own anger rising at Susan, and had to make an effort to control his voice.
Susan's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "No Daddy, please, that isn't fair!"
"It is fair, because you were specifically warned, and you should have known exactly what to expect when you got your mother angry. You're going to be punished, and there's no two ways about it. Now go into my room, get the hairbrush off my dresser, and bring it here."
Susan could see that her father was not budging an inch, and her eyes clouded fearfully. "Daddy, please, I'm sorry I started the argument, but I don't deserve to be punished like that."
"In our discussion we agreed that the only kind of punishment you would get would be a spanking. Now go in there and bring me the hairbrush or I'll really get mad."
Susan saw the unyielding determination in his eyes and felt his anger rising, but made one more try. "I said I'm sorry, and I really am, please don't do it this time and I promise I won't argue in the future."
"I'm going to make sure you don't do it in the future, and you're not going to talk me out of it. Now get in there and get the hairbrush."
Susan made one last pleading look at her father, lowered her eyes, and slowly shuffled out the door. Tears were starting to ooze out from under her lowered lashes. As she left the room John's eyes followed her and dropped to the tightly rounded back of her miniskirt, then down her nyloned legs.
He felt strong and triumphant. She had put up a fight, but he had stared her down and overpowered her arguments. Susan was basically docile, and he felt that her submission was complete. He would tell her exactly what to do and he knew she would obey, hesitatingly perhaps, but she would obey.
He heard the sniffling sounds of Susan as she came back down the hall. She hesitated in the doorway eyes downcast, and twisting the hairbrush fretfully in her hands, she looked up. "Daddy, please not this way, I'm too old for a spanking."
John was standing at the side of the bed looking at her. "You're not going to get out of it. Now come here young lady."
"Then please not with the hairbrush, it's going to hurt awfully." Susan's lips were trembling, and tears were flowing rapidly down her flushed cheeks. She came over and stood in front of her father. John took her by the shoulders and led her, stumbling, over to his right side next to the bed and facing the wall to his left.
"Give me the hairbrush!"
She handed it to him, then burst into tears, covering her face with her hands, and sobbing. "Oh Daddy, this is awful. How can you be so mean to your own daughter?"
"I'm afraid it's something you brought on yourself, and well deserve."
Saying this, he laid the hairbrush on the bed to his left. As he sat down, he took her left arm and firmly pulled her over onto his lap. She fell forward so her arms and breasts were lying on the bed next to the hairbrush, and her delicious bottom was arched over his thighs. With one hand on her side and the other on her right hip, he pulled her closer so that she was in position, with her legs stretched out behind her, toes barely touching the floor.
"Oh no, this is awful. Please don't hit me hard, Daddy." Susan's choking voice was muffled into her hands as the tears spilled through her fingers.
"You're being punished, and punishment is supposed to hurt."
In her position, Susan's taut skirt had lifted up to the tops of her thighs. John grasped the hem of the skirt in both hands and tugged it up over her bottom cheeks, revealing her skintight, brief light blue panties and dark panty hose. At the sight of her firm, luscious, rounded buttocks, John immediately felt his penis harden into an erection. Susan moaned, "Oh, this is embarrassing, please Daddy." For a flicker of a second John wondered if her embarrassment was in having her skirt pulled up, or did she feel his erectness pushing up against her belly.
Without a word, he picked up the hairbrush and brought it down sharply on her bottom.
Crack!
"Oh."
The hairbrush descended again.
Crack!
"Ugh."
And again.
"Ohhhh!"
Then another.
Crack!
"Ohhhhh nooooo!"
And another!
Smack!
"Aghhhh, please."
Again, this time harder.
Crack!!!
"Pleeeeze Daddy, not so hard."
Then three quick ones, all on the lower slope of the right cheek.
"Oh, God, noooooo, Daddy, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeze!"
Then John gave her three evenly spaced in the same place on the left cheek.
"Oh that hurts! Please, I'm sorry, but not so hard."
"I'm afraid there is much more to come, and you're getting exactly what you deserve." With that John gave her six harder smacks, distributing them over her entire buttocks.
"Oh, nooooooo! My God I can't stand it. Please let me off, Daddy." Susan was thrashing her legs, and her feet were pounding the floor. Her hips were bucking up and down so fast that John had to tighten his grip around her waist with his left hand to hold her in position.
He was experiencing an exultant feeling of power like he had never had in his life before. Every sudden movement, every shriek and plea of Susan's added to it. The sight of his daughter's body in this submissive punishment position, her skirt folded back, her perfectly rounded bottom upreared in the skintight panties and pantyhose, and her sheened tapering legs, was producing an emotion of strength and excitement that dried his throat. He swallowed hard as he set the hairbrush aside. "That was just the first part, Susan, now we'll get down to business. Lift up your hips please."
"Daddy, what are you going to do?" Susan had turned and looked fearfully at her father.
"I'm going to take down your panties and pantyhose, and you're going to get the rest of your punishment on the bare."
At this, Susan went wide-eyed, and made a violent scramble to get off his lap. "Oh no Daddy! Not that, it's just not right!" John had to use both hands to hold her in position, but he kept her under control.
"You just stay exactly where you are young lady, or you'll get it much worse. I told you you would be spanked on your bare bottom, and I meant it. If you try to get off once more, I'll give you twenty extra, and they'll be hard ones. So hold still, and lift your hips. I don't want to have to tell you again!" Susan broke down into great gasps of tears, and lay there sobbing. John gave her a sharp slap with his hand and his voice snapped:
"Up!"
Pressing her feet to the floor, she slowly lifted her hips.
"Now stay there until I tell you." John carefully readjusted her skirt so it was turned up completely inside out above her waist.
He then slipped his fingers under the waistband of her blue panties and slid them down to just above her knees. He slowly followed with her pantyhose until they were just above her lowered panties.
"Alright, "you can lie back down. Now I'm going to teach you that when I tell you not to talk back to your Mother, I want to be obeyed," John scolded as he picked up the hairbrush, and hesitated an instant as he viewed his daughter's reddened bottom. He brought it down harder than ever.
CRACK!
"Eeeeeeeeeowwww!"
Crack!
"Oh God, pleeeeeeeeeze!"
Crack!
"Yeeeeowwww."
Crack;
"Daddy, I can't..."
Crack!
"Ahhhh, stand it."
Crack!
"Eeeeeowwww!"
Susan had thrown her head back, eyes closed, neck straining, and shrieked. Her legs were thrashing furiously, and her hips were grinding down into John's lap as if she were trying to force her bottom into the bed to avoid the wicked cracks of the hairbrush. John's emotions were as if fired by a white heat. His eyes were wide and glinted with fire as they bored into Susan's scarlet red, heaving buttocks. His erection was bone hard and felt as if it would pierce the zipper of his trousers. His right hand, holding the hairbrush, was slippery with sweat.
Crack!
Susan moaned loudly and dropped her head and shaking shoulders to the bed. Her sobbing jolted her entire body.
Crack!
The trembling increased, then subsided as Susan gasped.
"Now, Susan, I'm going to give you ten more then it will be over." He could hear her sharp intake of breath as he brought the hairbrush down on the pair of cheeks that looked as if they had been stained red.
Crack!
Susan was beaten. Utterly and completely defeated. She lay sobbing uncontrollably, but didn't move from her unresisting, emotionally agonizing position. John had calmed himself and brought his emotions down from their fiery peak. He methodically and slowly delivered the last ten strokes, pausing 10 or 15 seconds between each one. As he delivered them he concentrated on Susan's reaction, his gaze traveling the length of her body after each loud smack. He knew she was completely resigned to his role of punisher and her own role as the punished. He felt she would lay docile and submissive, taking as many strokes of the hairbrush as he cared to deliver.
The last four were administered solidly on the backs of her thighs. Susan gasped sharply at each one but lay in position without moving. Finally John said with a soft tone of affection; "Okay, sweetheart, it's all over. I'm sorry I had to give it to you so hard, but I had to make you understand."
Susan remained across his lap for a long while without speaking. Her sobs subsided to short sniffles as her Father gently rubbed her back and flaming bottom. She turned her head and looked at him through tear-stained eyes. "Oh Daddy, you spanked so hard. And so long, I didn't think you were ever going to stop."
"I know, honey, but you know you deserved it and I wanted to make it one you would remember so you wouldn't do it again in the future. Do you think you understand that?"
John unconsciously patted her bottom and Susan winced as she said, "Yes, I'll really try to be good from now on. Can I get up now?"
"Yes, you can honey."
John was suddenly embarrassed about the state of Susan's clothes, and he leaned over and kissed her and asked, "Do you want me to, uh, pull your clothes up?"
"Yes please, but PLEASE be gentle."
He carefully pulled her panty hose up with Susan obligingly lifting her hips. He was as gentle as possible but noticed Susan winced as he stretched them over her naming bottom. Her panties slowly followed. As she lifted herself on her elbows and painfully climbed off his lap, John realized he still had a tremendous erection, and knew that Susan couldn't have helped feeling it. They both blushed with embarrassment, he because of the obvious bulge in his pants, and Susan because she was having trouble getting her skirt down.
John stood up and gently pulled Susan into his arms. "I'm sorry I had to do that, sweetheart. I do love you, but I had to convince you that I mean business. Let's hope I don't have to do it again."
"I know Daddy, I guess I had it coming, and I sure don't want another one ever again."
As Susan turned to go into her bathroom, she managed a half hearted smile. John walked out the door and down the hall to the stairs. He hitched up his pants, painfully aware of the bulge in them, and hoped that his wife wouldn't notice. As he walked down the stairs, a thousand separate images of the punishment scene were racing through his mind. They were a kaleidoscope of instantaneous movements, or sounds, or actions that exploded into his consciousness, then disappeared, replaced by another then another. But there was one elusive picture, one uncapturable frame in the rapid movie reel of remembrance that he couldn't grasp. The scenes tumbled through his brain, and as his foot touched the bottom step, he glanced up into his wife's questioning face, and it came to him- as Susan had turned toward the bathroom, an unusual gleam had flashed into her eyes. He had seen it once before. The night they had their discussion, he had given her a playful pat on her bottom, and the same brightness had glinted momentarily, then disappeared, in her eyes. It had been a look of exciting gratitude.
"How is she, dear? It sounded as if you beat her half to death." Jeanne's face showed genuine concern.
"She'll be alright. I'm sure she will have to sit a little gingerly for a day or two. Needless to say she didn't enjoy it at all, but when it was over she did manage a weak smile and even admitted she had it coming, so I'm sure I got the point across."
Jeanne's expression changed from worry to one of resignation as she watched her husband. "Well, I guess it's alright then. You don't think she hates you for it, do you? I wouldn't want to see her turning away from you. She does love you, you know, and always has had so much respect for you. I would hate to see her lose that."
John frowned and averted his eyes from hers, staring at the back of her chair. "No, I told her that I was sorry I had to do it and that I still love her very much. We talked for a few minutes afterwards, and she understands that she was punished because I do love the both of you and I want to keep harmony in this house. I don't think you'll have much trouble with her in the future. She won't forget that session, but you should help her, and try to avoid arguments. Will you do that?"
"Yes, dear, I know you're right. I sometimes tend to have a short fuse with her, so I'll try to be a little more patient. From the sounds of that spanking I'm sure Susan will be watching her step too. Are you sure you weren't hitting her too hard? She was really shrieking during part of it."
John looked at her and gave her a loving half-smile. God, he thought, she would flip her lid if she could have read my mind during the spanking. She would think I was some kind of dirty old freak, getting that sexed up over my own daughter. "Susan's really alright, honey. She is pretty well padded back there, and her seat was bright red when I finished, not black and blue. I think she was more embarrassed than anything. Now let's go to bed, it's getting late, and I have an early appointment tomorrow."
Jeanne sighed and smiled at her husband's sincere expression. "Okay darling, you're still my favorite husband and father, even if you do beat your children."
As they went up to bed, John couldn't help staring at her buttocks as they rotated against the tight fabric of her pink skirt. His hard erection immediately returned. God I'm going to ream her good tonight, he thought, his eyes traveling down to the glisten of her stockinged legs.
And he did, royally! Jeanne was lifted into raptures of vibrant, pounding, ecstasy as John's pent up lust drove her into one orgasm after another. Exhausted afterwards, she contentedly wondered about her sleeping husband's new-found virility. The cause of it, however, was in another room, lying face down under her covers, and sensitive to the feel of the cotton sheet on her pajamaless bottom.
As the months passed, a subtle change wove new patterns into the Fenner household. Susan grew much closer to her Father. She was more affectionate and more aware of him. She sought him out on things that previously she would have discussed with her mother; homework problems, opinions about her friends, and she even got him interested in her clothes. One Saturday, at Susan's insistence, John found himself on a shopping tour with her for some school clothes. He had been less than interested, wandering from one store to another and standing around foolishly while Susan tried on dresses, but he had been secretly flattered by her asking him.
A gulf had grown between Susan and her mother. Not one of hostility or dislike, but a lessening of communication. Susan was more pleasant with Jeanne than she had ever been, but just didn't seem to have much to say to her. Her attention had turned to her Father-seeking his advice, asking opinions, and becoming more interested in his work. It somewhat surprised him, but he loved it. They even occasionally went to movies together, just the two of them, when Jeanne was at a meeting or playing bridge.
In spite of the growing closeness, however, Susan seemed more frequently to get into trouble with her Father. Nothing serious, but small acts of disobedience. At times it seemed to John that Susan went out of her way to aggravate him on things for which she had been warned, and for which she was subsequently punished. Her spankings grew more frequent, sometimes as much as twice a week. They also became lengthier and almost ritualistic in their humiliation of Susan. At the last one, Jeanne had been out at a bridge party, and for a particularly childish offense, Susan had been required to dress in little girl clothes. Her straight blonde hair had been tied with a red bow into a pony tail. She had been ordered to wear her too small eighth grade school uniform with its short pleated skirt of blue plaid. At John's instructions, underneath it she wore a pink panty girdle, regular length stockings, with her bare white thighs showing beneath the short hem of the skirt, and high heels. John had not allowed her to wear a bra, telling her that her embarrassment as half little girl, and half grown woman, was part of the punishment. She was made to bend over in front of him and hold her skirt up behind her with both hands, while he lectured her, and administered the first part of the spanking. She was then soundly spanked kneeling on the bed with her face and shoulders pressed into the bedspread and her bare bottom upreared as high as possible. After the spanking, she was told to stand in the corner, her panty girdle down just above her knees, holding her skirt up behind her, while she displayed her flaming red bottom.
CHAPTER FOUR
Business at Southwest Hardware was growing. John had four good salesmen, one of whom was his twenty-two year old son, Jimmy, but it looked like he might need another one. In the past year they had acquired fourteen new accounts and his salesmen were being spread too thin to do a good job for each account. He also was negotiating to take on four completely new lines of merchandise, and he had a chance to buy out an old competing firm, whose owner was retiring, and this would give him a whole new territory. Sales were up, and profits, although being squeezed tighter and tighter, were also increasing.
John was pleased with the business, but he had a nagging doubt about another business, in which he owned an interest, that had been bothering him for weeks. He had put off doing anything about it because he had been so busy. On a particular Wednesday morning, as the spring sun flowed through the window into his office, he leaned back in his black leather chair and frowned. He owned a silent, controlling interest in a small tool manufacturing company, called Barton Tool. No one at Southwest knew of his ownership, nor did his wife. Jeanne had never taken much interest in his complex business affairs. For years he had been one of Barton Tool's best customers. Five years ago they had gotten into serious financial trouble and approached John for a loan. He had agreed, only if he could acquire the controlling interest in the tool company, and therefore have a strong voice in their management practices to avoid future trouble. He had wanted his ownership to be known only to the present owners. They had agreed, and Barton Tool slowly pulled itself out of the hole, and up until a few months ago had been doing well. As the recent statements for Barton Tool had crossed his desk, he noticed that sales were rising, but net profits were down sharply. It bothered him.
He was staring at a painting on his paneled wall but wasn't seeing it. His mind was focused on Barton Tool and their latest profit and loss statement on his desk. There's something wrong, he thought, but I can't put my finger on it. Leaning forward to his desk, he pushed the intercom button to his secretary. She answered immediately, "Yes, Mr. Fenner."
"Get me Ted Ascue, will you Nancy."
"Yes sir."
He hung up and waited for the return call. Ted Ascue had been his accountant ever since he had started business. He was relatively young, early forties, and sharp as a diamond. More than a little of John's success was owed to Ted's advice and his feel for the right moves at the right time. Ted was also the accountant for Barton Tool. The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Ascue on the phone, Mr. Fenner."
"Thank you, Nancy... Hello, Ted?"
"What's new in the wonderful world of hardware?"
John smiled. Ever since he had known Ted, he always started a conversation with that innocuous question. John thought he would surprise him. "It's terrible Ted-sales are down, the government's taking all my profit, my secretary quit, and my wife's divorcing me."
"Well, I know that's a pack of lies, so you must have called me to play golf."
It's a good thing we both have a sense of humor, thought John, it's gotten us through some rough times in the past. "Seriously, Ted, I do have a problem. Do you have the latest P and L statement on Barton Tool there?"
"No, but hang on a second and I'll get it."
John was looking at the figures in front of him as Ted's voice came back on the line. "It doesn't look too good, does it? Your sales manager is doing a good job of building up the volume, but it seems the purchasing and administrative costs are eating up all your profits."
"That's it Ted, but does anything seem strange to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well I know that our raw material purchases just shouldn't be that high, and in talking to the foreman a couple of weeks ago, he felt they were not using any more steel than normal. Also the administrative costs are about double what they should be."
"Yes, you're right. Do you have any idea what's causing it?"
"No, but it just looks fishy to me. The shipping costs also are high, based on the amounts sold the past two months."
"Hmmm, right again. What do you want me to do?"
"First, I'd like you to make sure the figures are right. The sales figures seem accurate, but verify the invoices and accounts payable. And you might go down there and talk to Ed Kennell, the foreman, and see if the steel purchases seem right to him. He's a pretty savvy guy, one of the best production men around, and I'm sure he could see an error if there is one."
"John, do you suspect that someone is filtering off some company income?"
He hesitated a moment to answer, glancing up from his desk. "Well, I don't know, Ted. I just have a gut feeling that something isn't right."
"Yeah, you may have a point there. Okay I'll re-check our figures, then take a trip down there and do some detective work. You're sure you don't want to play a little golf? We're both getting rusty, you know."
The following Tuesday, John was down in the warehouse looking at two cases of returned faulty merchandise with his operations manager. The loudspeaker came to life with a static crack-"Mr. Fenner, telephone, line 31. Line 31, Mr. Fenner."
John strode over to one of the wall phones and punched the 31 button.
His secretary came on, telling him she had Mr. As-cue on the line for him.
"Hello, Ted."
"You got a minute, John? I think I've put my finger on your problem at Barton Tool."
"Sure, let's have it."
"Well, you've got a bookkeeper over there named Marilyn Kemper, do you know her?"
John closed his eyes trying to picture her, but all he could produce was a fuzzy vision of a young, prettyish, dark haired, rather plain girl tapping out figures on an adding machine.
"Yeah, I think I remember who she is."
"Well, it seems that she has written a series of phony checks to suppliers for non-existent orders, and cashed them herself."
"How the hell could she do that."
"She would write a check for a specific amount, say $100.00. On the check stub she would make it payable to a company. On the check, however, she made it payable to herself, using a dark pencil that looks like ink to fool the bank. She then cashed the check herself and pocketed the money. When the bank sent the checks back with the monthly statement, she carefully erased her name and wrote in the name of the company as payee. That way, when we balanced your account each month, everything checked."
"How did you find out about it, Ted?"
"I asked your foreman about some of the purchases that seemed a little out of the ordinary to me, and that's how I discovered the first one. After that it was a matter of scrutinizing each accounts payable check to find a pattern. I made a few phone calls to your suppliers, pretending I was just verifying some purchase orders, and it all checked out."
"Well I'll be damned. How long has she been doing this?"
"About four months. I'm in the process of finishing the report on it, detail by detail, and I should have it over to you in the next few days. You'll have an airtight case so you can get her for embezzlement or grand theft."
John's forehead creased into deep wrinkles as he stared thoughtfully into the top of his desk.
"How much did she get, Ted?"
"About $4800.00 as near as I can figure. I may have missed one or two small ones, but that's pretty accurate. She's a pretty sharp cookie, she used only checks for purchases that would be hard to trace and almost unnoticeable."
"Yeah, well she's not going to think she's so smart when I get through with her. Would you send the report over just as soon as it's done? And Ted, I don't want anyone else to know about this right now, not your wife or partners or anybody, okay?"
"That goes without saying, John, don't worry about me."
He carefully placed the phone on its cradle. It's funny, John thought, how bad news changes people. That's the first time since I can remember that Ted had not started a phone conversation with his usual corny greeting. Well, I've got to figure out what I'm going to do. John, still frowning, reached over and snapped the intercom.
"Nancy, hold all calls, and I'm not in to anybody until I let you know. Okay?"
"Yes, Mr. Fenner."
Nancy's voice was accompanied by a quizzical glance at the intercom. She had rarely heard Mr. Fenner's voice so serious.
John locked his hands behind his head, slowly leaned back in his chair, and stared out the window. That lousy bitch, if she thinks she can steal from me and get away with it, she's in for a big surprise. I'll hang her ass so high she'll never get out of jail. But I've got to plan this out carefully, so there'll be absolutely no legal loopholes she can squirm out of.
John started carefully planning his campaign to shut the jail cell doors on Marilyn Klemper.
After forty-five minutes of methodical planning and making notes, John made up his mind he wanted to see Marilyn Klemper. Not meet her face to face, but just to observe her for a few minutes. I just want to watch her face, he thought, see her move, memorize the shape of her body, the details of her dress. I want to see her at an unguarded moment just for curiosity I guess, because when I have her arrested, I want to see all of her poise dissolve into uncertainty, then panic, then watch her break down into tears of hopelessness. There was venom in the steely coldness of John Fenner's eyes as he thought about it. Abruptly he stood up and strode for the door. He told his secretary he would be gone for an hour and a half.
He pulled to a stop in front of Barton Tool as small drops of rain started to fall from the gray laden sky. Perfect day for a drive, he thought wryly, and I didn't even bring a raincoat to work. He hurried in through the front door and headed for Guy Stockton's office. Guy was president and owned a third interest in Barton Tool. His secretary was surprised to see John and immediately announced him. Although no one at Barton Tool, except Guy, knew that John was the real owner, he always got VIP treatment.
"Hello John, what brings you to this dreary part of the world?" Guy swiftly left his chair and walked around the desk, hand outstretched. Shaking hands, John genially lied that he had been on an appointment four blocks away, and thought he'd drop in to say hello.
"Would you like some coffee, John?"
"No thanks, how's business?"
"Pretty good. Last month we were up about 18% over last year, and this month should be a little better."
"Good, mind if I just look around for a couple of minutes?"
"No, as a matter of fact I'll go with you. We've got a new stamping machine I'd like to show you. They claim it will up one man's production about 30%."
"Okay, let's take a look at it."
They walked through the various departments, discussing business, and John carefully maneuvered the tour to pass by the bookkeeper's office window. John stopped outside the woman's range of vision and, looking through the window at her, asked Guy who she was.
"Marilyn Kemper. Sharp girl and a good worker. Always on time, quiet, never a problem, and really good with figures."
Yeah, she sure is, mused John to himself, too good. He stared at her silently for an instant. She was much prettier than he remembered. He glanced at the well arranged dark hair, the delicate lines of her face, her well proportioned figure, sheathed in a tailored dress, and her economy of motion as she worked on a widely spread ledger book. She was unaware of their presence and John's scrutiny through the glass.
They stood on the shipping dock talking about scheduling and transportation problems when John noticed a brand new bright red Corvette sitting defiantly in the rain in the employees' parking lot. I'll bet I know whose that is, he thought.
"What did you do Guy, inject some sporting blood into your veins?" he asked, pointing to the shiny sports car.
Guy laughed. "No, that belongs to that bookkeeper I was talking about, Marilyn Kemper. She got it about two weeks ago and I can't figure out where she gets the money. She's single, and must have some sugar daddy buying her cars and mink coats."
Guy laughed again, and John looked sideways at him, thinking, yeah, you and I are the sugar daddys.
"Well, I've got to get going Guy, got a mountain of paper work on my desk."
"Okay, John." Guy turned serious. "Are you sure there was nothing else that brought you out here John? I know our profit is not what it should be, but I'm working on it."
John looked at him with a slight smile. "Don't worry about it, Guy. I know you are, and I have a feeling the profit picture is going to start picking up. You're doing a damn good job."
Guy's face brightened. "Yes I think it will. Well, it was good to see you again John."
If you only knew, my friend, John thought, as he strode briskly through the rain to his car.
The steady rain and the windshield wipers flicking back and forth as he drove, seemed to deepen his mood.
That lousy bitch- a $6,000 car, a dress for work that had to cost seventy dollars, a perfect hairdo, and she's paying for it with my money. Oh I want to see that pretty face of hers crack when I pull the world out from under her. I want to see her plead, and cry, and say she's sorry when the cop comes to haul her in. I'll have them do it at the plant, he thought, right in front of everybody. Oh I want to see the look on her face when he walks in and says, "Miss Klemper, I have a warrant for your arrest." John's face had unconsciously contorted into a narrow-eyed grin.
The rest of the day, John shut himself up in his office, and was still smouldering when he got home. He was quiet during dinner and had a hard time concentrating on his wife's gushing news about their son. "... and when he called today and said that he had gotten engaged and wanted to bring his fiance over for dinner one night I almost passed out. He tried to sound casual about the whole thing, but I could tell he's really excited, and from the way he talks about her, I'm sure he's in love with her. I didn't even know he was getting serious, did you dear? Has he said anything at work about her?"
"No, I don't think so. What's her name?" "Oh my gosh, in all the excitement I can't remember. Martha or Mary something, I think he said. But we set it up for next Wednesday, and they'll be coming over at seven o'clock."
John was only half aware as his wife prattled on about the coming marriage. The news, unfortunately, did nothing to improve his mood.
After dinner he became upset with Susan about a request for some clothes that would put her way over her agreed budget. She made the mistake of arguing with him and finally said, "But, Daddy, you're just being unreasonable."
With that John did something he rarely ever did. He lost his temper-"You're just going to see in a minute how unreasonable I can be. Now go upstairs to your room and wait for me."
"But Daddy, I didn't do anything!"
"You get yourself upstairs before I drag you there."
Susan looked at the fury in his face, and turned woefully toward the stairs.
His wife said, "John, I agree with Susan, I don't think you're being fair."
"You stay out of this, Jeanne."
A few minutes later, through the closed door, the crack of the hairbrush and Susan's muffled shrieks could be heard. For Susan it was a long, memorable spanking. But John, as his arm rose and fell unmercifully, was seeing another woman thrashing across his lap, paying for her crime.
CHAPTER FIVE
John's son, Jimmy, at twenty-two, was almost a chip off the old block, but not quite. His face was not as firm, his eyes not as steady, and he had a little bit of a slump in his shoulders that his straight-backed father didn't have. He had never been the athlete that his father had, being more interested in the academic and sociological aspects of school. He had gotten better grades than his father, done well in debate and theater arts, and was somewhat active in student government. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and reasonably handsome, but his face lacked his father's strong definite character. It was as if his features had been gently molded of pliable plastic into a thoughtful, pleasant shape. John's face looked as if it had been chiseled from granite. Jimmy's brown hair hung low on his forehead, over widely-set hazel eyes. His lips were just a bit on the fleshy side. He had a barely noticeable inward pointing, deformed left foot. It was a condition he had lived with since birth, was slight, but incorrectable, and had always been somewhat embarrassing for him. However, when he finished college a year ago, it turned into a blessing, and kept him out of the army.
Jimmy had no desire to live the regimented existence that the armed services offered. His father offered him a job as a salesman, and, surprisingly, he did very well at it. Surprising to John, anyway. He had secretly felt that Jimmy really didn't have the perseverance, reliability, and desire that are the trademarks of a good consistent salesman. Jimmy fooled him. He was not an extrovert, but he had a calm, easy manner that people liked and he had studied hard to learn the myriad of tools and hardware that his company handled. Two months ago, he had been the top salesman on the staff for the month.
After Jimmy had been with Southwest Hardware for three months, he decided to get his own apartment. Jeanne was somewhat disappointed to see him leave the family "nest," but John encouraged it, knowing how important it was for Jimmy to start building his own self reliance. So he moved into a small, unfurnished, one-bedroom apartment, with a kitchen and a moderate sized living room. It was nothing fancy, for ninety-five a month, but Jimmy loved the independence and privacy.
The biggest advantage, however, to having his own apartment, was girls. He skillfully devised various methods of enticing dates up to his pad. He had never enjoyed greater success with women. He met a lot of them, and loved the variety of feminine challenges that graced the long, low couch in his living room. A few months ago, however, on his third date with a particularly attractive conquest, he found himself thoroughly enjoying the companionship of a girl. Not just the sexual challenge of a pretty chick, or the warmth of her femininity, but the sheer joy of knowing her as a person. Love was awakened. She became the recipient of not only his strong urgent maleness, but also his devotion and thoughtfulness. She accepted it and returned it even more strongly.
It was this girl that became his fiance, and who was to be the Fenner's honored guest. Jeanne was a flurry of excitement in making the preparations. Planning and replanning the menu, cleaning the house till it gleamed, assigning chores to John and Susan, and working as if Princess Margaret were coming. John was a little aghast, though secretly amused, at Jeanne's efforts. Susan grudgingly complied with her mother's orders, but was equally excited at the prospect of meeting her sister-in-law to be.
That Wednesday afternoon, Susan came directly home from school to help her mother. The house was spotless. The silver had been polished, the good china washed and carefully set aside, freshly cut flowers adorned the living and dining rooms, and new candles rose from the polished dining table candelabra. Jeanne and Susan were in the throes of preparation of a magnificent crown roast, spinach souffle, riced potatoes, and caesar salad. Champagne and a mint parfait were chilling in the refrigerator. At five-thirty, with all but the last minute preparation done, the two girls hurried upstairs to start the cosmetic ritual of highlighting their God-given beauty.
At six-fifteen, John arrived and whistled appreciatively at the well-ordered, gleaming showcase that was his house. He mixed himself a scotch and soda, then thought to call up to his wife to see if she wanted a drink.
"No thank you dear, you'd better rush and get dressed, they'll be here in forty minutes." Her voice had that familiar high pitch that it assumed when she was excited.
"No sweat, I'm coming right up." He took one more admiring glance around the downstairs, after poking his head into the kitchen, then jogged upstairs.
"The place looks beautiful, honey. You do good work," John said appreciatively as he looked into Jeanne's eyes reflected from the dressing table mirror. She was standing up, bending close to the mirror while she readjusted an eyelash. She was clad in matching pink (John's favorite lingerie color) bra and panty girdle, dark beige stockings, and blue slippers. John lightly smacked her out-thrust bottom as he kissed the back of her neck.
"Oh! You'll make me drop my eyelash."
"But you present such an attractive target, I couldn't resist." John said lightly as his hand moved over her taut buttocks.
"Now you hurry and get dressed, dear, I want you to open the door when they arrive, and you have to shave and change. I set out your blue blazer and gray slacks and why don't you wear your yellow dress shirt with the black tie? I like you in that outfit."
"No, I was planning on wearing just a jock and tennis sneakers," John said playfully as he slid open his closet door.
At three minutes to seven, John was sitting in his chair reading the paper when Susan came bouncing down the stairs, a sheer vision of woman-child radiant beauty. Her long blond hair shone as it floated around her shoulders, her deep brown eyes sparkled from her glowing, flawless face. Her bare shoulders sloped into softly jutting breasts molded by a white rayon mini-dress with swirling pleats that swayed above her long, shimmering, tawny legs. John stood up.
"By God, you look good enough to eat, you raving beauty. Let me look at you."
Susan lightly bounced over in front of her father, then pirouetted around, her skirt flaring out dangerously.
"Between you and your mother, I've got the two best looking women in this house," John said as he playfully smacked the back of her sloping skirt.
"Why thank you, kind sir," Susan said with a twinkling highlight in her eyes.
"Susan, dear, would you come out to the kitchen, please." Her mother's voice had a happy urgency to it.
John was in an expansive mood. It was not every day you met a future daughter-in-law. When the doorbell rang, he was almost beaming as he strode toward the door. He was in this frame of mind, when life's capricious Joker played his hand. As the door swung open, John's eyes wavered for a fraction of an instant, focused on his son, then slid over to the form next to him, and he was thunderstruck. Standing next to his son was a smiling Marilyn Klemper.
"Hi Dad," a slightly nervous voice said. "I'd like you to meet Marilyn, my fiance."
John was silent, expressionless.
Marilyn looked at him, still smiling, waiting for him to speak, then became uneasy at his silence and offered her hand in front of her.
"How do you do, Mr. Fenner."
John stood, immovable, for another instant, then Marilyn's words penetrated his shocked brain and he recovered. Abruptly taking her hand, he said hoarsely, "Yes, uh, come in. It's nice to see you. Hello, Jimmy."
He stood back slowly to let him in, then realized he still had Marilyn's hand, and let it go. Jimmy looked at his Father, puzzled, and said, "What's wrong Dad, are you alright?"
"Yeah sure. I'm sorry, come on in and say hello to your Mother." John stepped aside, glancing sideways at Marilyn, who was looking him full in the face.
"Hi Mom. Gee, you look nice." Jimmy strode to his Mother, put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her. She smiled at her son, then looked at the woman a few feet away, as she said softly, "Hello Jimmy, it's wonderful to see you."
"Hi Sue." Jimmy smiled broadly at his sister. "Mom, I want you to meet Marilyn. Marilyn, this is my Mother."
The two women smiled at each other.
"Oh I'm so happy to meet you, Mrs. Fenner."
"Honey, this is my sister, Sue." Susan smiled, then threw her arms around Marilyn. "Oh Marilyn, I'm so glad to meet you."
"Me too, Sue. Jimmy didn't tell me how beautiful you are."
Susan blushed prettily, still smiling. "And he didn't say enough about how pretty you are."
"Why thank you, Sue."
John had been staring at Marilyn with a fixed gaze, then looked away for a moment, hoping that when he looked back he would find that his eyes had been playing tricks on him, but when he returned his gaze, she was still there. Jeanne looked at her husband and frowned for an instant at the look on his face.
"John, why don't you mix us all a drink. Marilyn what would you like?" Jeanne was smiling at Marilyn but out of the corner of her eyes she noticed that John still had that odd expression on his face and had not moved.
"Oh a whiskey sour would be fine Mr. Fenner, if it's not too much trouble."
"I'm sure John can fix it without any trouble, and I mink I'll have one too. Can't you John dear?" Jeanne looked questioningly at her husband.
"Oh sure, Honey." John finally shifted his gaze to meet Jeanne's, then turned to his son. "What would you like Jimmy, bourbon and water?"
"That'd be fine, Dad."
Jimmy still couldn't figure out his Father's expression, but took Marilyn's hand and led her to one of the couches flanking the fireplace.
The early part of the evening and dinner were spent in a somewhat halting and slightly embarrassed atmosphere. Parties at the Fenner house were usually a rousing success. The mood of the gathering, the ebb and flow of conversation, the hearty, relaxed atmosphere were always controlled and inspired by John. He had a natural feel and timing for the subtle intermixing of personalities and conversational subjects that would make for a smoothly flowing, fascinating evening. When guests were at Fenner's, they expected, or soon easily succumbed to, the relaxed charm that John cast over each of them. His family was no exception. When Jimmy or family friends were over, they each unconsciously expected John to set the pace. Tonight, however, was an exception. John could not recover from the shock of realizing that the thief who had embezzled his money, was his son's fiance.
Jeanne, Jimmy, and Susan tried to pick up the faltering threads of stilted conversation, and draw John into an easy, cheerful frame of mind. But it wouldn't happen. His short, clipped answers, his serious manner, and his forced smiles, belied the fact that he had a deep emotional resistance to what should have been a happy occasion.
He kept thinking, what the hell am I going to do. This woman is going to be my daughter-in-law. I can't have her thrown in jail. But on the other hand, I can't let her off scot free, and never say anything about it. Maybe I should call Jimmy in tomorrow and tell him what a thieving bitch she really is, and to dump her because she's going to jail. On the other hand they really look happy and in love, and Lord knows, happiness is hard enough to find. Who am I to prevent it? I know I'm making a complete ass of myself by being so unfriendly to her, but what the hell can I do? Tell her I'm pleased purple to have her as a daughter-in-law, when I know she's a goddam criminal? Jesus, what a situation. Well, I'd better try to be friendly and civil before this evening turns out to be a complete bust.
As Jeanne and Susan got up to clear the dinner dishes and bring dessert, John forced himself to relax, put the situation out of his mind until the next day,, and tried to project a warmth and friendliness that would perk up the listless party. He encouraged the young couple to talk about their future plans- where they would live. Jimmy's future in the hardware business, furniture, children, wedding plans, and all the things that newlyweds face and share together. He asked Jeanne if they had any furniture they could donate to furnish a new apartment, and teasingly inquired if Susan could fit baby sitting into her schedule.
He even casually asked Marilyn if she planned to continue working after the wedding. She indicated that she would like to, but would leave the decision to Jimmy. He immediately mentioned that he felt his income was enough to support the two of them, and he would rather have his wife at home, taking care of the house. John looked at Marilyn with a level gaze and agreed with his son.
After dinner they retired to the living room for a delightful cognac concoction that was John's own recipe. They all were in a much lighter mood. The effect of the champagne (Susan had sipped two glasses, and was giggly,) and the return of John's usual charm had produced a warm relaxed aura of family closeness. The talk was freer and more animated as it continued to the late hours. At twelve o'clock, Susan was nicely but firmly reminded that tomorrow was school and time she was in bed, and shortly thereafter Jimmy and Marilyn stood up to leave. They all made friendly small talk on the way to the door, and Jimmy went to get Marilyn's coat. As he was holding it for her, Jeanne admiringly said, "Oh, that's a beautiful coat, Marilyn, is it cashmere?"
"Yes, I just adore it, and it's so warm."
John had glanced past them at the shiny red Corvette in the driveway, then looked down at Marilyn and said, "And expensive, too. What does a coat like that cost?"
The ominous tone, and obvious rudeness of John's question, caught everyone off guard. For an instant there was a pregnant silence as John's level gaze bore into Marilyn's surprised eyes. Confused, and somewhat bewildered, she answered, "Oh, I uh, got it on sale, I think. I can't remember."
Jeanne, trying to cover her horrified expression at her husband's unexpected rudeness, quickly patted Marilyn's arm. "It's lovely dear, and I'm so glad you could come, and I wish you both a world of happiness."
She quickly kissed both Marilyn and Jimmy, while John, stiffly, said goodnight.
When they had gone, John turned and walked into the living room to finish his drink. Jeanne looked questioningly at him, then followed him.
"John darling, what was wrong with you tonight? At dinner you were barely civil to them, and that question about Marilyn's coat was the rudest thing I ever heard you say. I couldn't believe it was you saying it. I don't know..."
"Jeanne, I'm tired, I have a headache, and I just want to finish my drink and go to bed."
"But why, John? I've never seen you react to someone like you did to her. She seems like a wonderful girl to me, and your son is obviously in love with her, and you almost treated her like dirt."
"I'm sorry, honey. I'm just very tired, and I don't want to talk about it. Now why don't you just go to bed!"
"Because I want to do some things in the kitchen first. But I still don't understand why..."
"Jesus, Jeanne, quit bugging me! Will you just leave me alone. I don't want to discuss it now."
CHAPTER SIX
The day following the engagement dinner, John Fenner was uneasy. He had gone to bed very late, and slept fitfully, wrestling with the problem of Marilyn's guilt and the upcoming marriage. He had not come up with an answer. All day long, he could not concentrate on his business. While dictating a series of letters to his secretary, he completely lost his train of thought in three of them. In a meeting with two of his foremen, one of them had to ask a question twice, because John had not heard it the first time, his mind occupied with a mental picture of Marilyn's shining eyes looking up at his son.
When he went down to his car at the end of the day, his mind was still in a disjointed daze. The drive home was pure automatic reflex, traffic just a series of nebulous shapes and blurs. Waiting at a stoplight, however, a glimmer of an idea started to lighten the shadows of his brain. He concentrated on it, nurtured it, and felt it grow into a logical series of solutions. His eyes narrowed and his forehead creased with the effort of concentration. As he pulled into the driveway and walked to the door, the idea had matured and he was weighing the merits and disadvantages. After a cursory greeting to his wife, he sat down with the paper, but wasn't reading it. His mind was expanding into the myriad ramifications of his solution. Through dinner, he hardly said a word, answering questions with short, clipped phrases and an occasional grunt. His whole being was feeding on a uniquely interesting way to solve the problem of Marilyn's crime and punishment, and how it would affect her relationship with his son.
He left the table to be by himself. He wanted to think out every possible aspect of the problem, and its solution. His brain was working rapidly like a well tuned engine. The smallest details were introduced, rolled judiciously through the tunnels of his mind, discarded or honed to a fine edge, then placed in their proper sequence of time or importance. His mind was shutting out the rest of the world, and narrowing down to the manipulation of Marilyn's future. By the end of the evening, the answers had been thoroughly worked out, and the strategy planned. For the first time that day, a smile crept into his face. It was the subtle smile of a cat observing the trapped canary.
The wedding date was set for the end of March, six weeks away. The Fenner household became a hysteria of wedding activity. Marilyn's father had died years ago, and her mother lived in an apartment alone, so John and Jeanne generously agreed to hold the reception in their home, and take care of most of the wedding plans. Jeanne was delighted at the prospect, and set about her plans with enthusiasm and surprising organizational skill. John left most of the effort to Jeanne, which pleased her, but kept a wary eye on the budget. Susan was excited about the prospect of being a member of the wedding party and pitched in to help her Mother.
With slightly less than a month to go, John working late at his office one evening, called Marilyn at her apartment. Jimmy was out of town for four days on his last sales trip before the wedding. Leaning back with his feet stretched out on the carpet behind the desk, he listened to the phone ringing at the other end.
"Hello."
"Marilyn, this is your future father-in-law, how are you tonight?" His voice carried a friendly, relaxed smile across the wires.
"Fine, how are you?"
"Oh, a little tired. I'm still at the office, wading through some papers I have to have finished for tomorrow. I was just thinking that I would like to do something nice for you, and I wanted to chat with you before the wedding, so I thought I would ask you out to dinner. Are you free tomorrow night?"
"Uh, well, yes, that's very thoughtful. Will your wife be with you?"
"No, I thought it would be fun just the two of us. You'll have plenty of chances to see Jeanne, with all your wedding preparations, so I thought I would impart some masculine wisdom to you on the pitfalls of men and marriage. Besides, I was such a clod at your engagement dinner that I wanted to apologize and make it up to you."
Her voice had a light, friendly sound to it as she said, "Well, I could certainly use the advice, I'm starting to get nervous already."
"No need to be, Jimmy's a reasonably kind, levelheaded type; and I'm sure your marriage will be a success."
"Oh, I hope so. Jimmy has been just a doll, and I hope I can live up to his expectations."
"I'm sure you will. Seven o'clock tomorrow, okay?"
"Yes, that's fine. What should I wear?"
"Oh, your prettiest mini-skirt and sexiest stockings. I always have admired good looking legs."
She chuckled, "I guess your son is a chip off the old block then."
"Well, I hope so, I'll see you at seven then."
"Wonderful. I do appreciate this. My apartment is on the second floor, number eight."
"I'll find it. See you then, Marilyn."
"Goodbye, and thanks again."
"Bye Marilyn."
He closed his eyes, and locked his hands behind his neck, head thrown back. I wonder if she'll be as grateful about twenty-seven hours from now, he thought. Chuckling, he tried to picture the consternation on her face when she learned what he had in store for her. She'll hardly be grateful. It's a good thing she has the manners not to ask a man Where he is taking her for dinner. She might have become a little uneasy if I told her I was bringing her up to my boardroom here at the office. Satisfied, he straightened his desk, turned out the lights, and left for home.
John had carefully laid his plans down to the minutest detail. He made sure that nothing was scheduled that would require any of his employees to be working late the night he had set aside for Marilyn. He called a caterer, as he had done previously for staff dinner meetings, to deliver the dinner. And this was not to be chicken or pizza, but a specially ordered veal Parmesan, asparagus with cheese sauce, potatoes au gratin, and the caterer's delicious spinach salad. It was brutally expensive, but he wanted everything perfect. The dinner was to be delivered at eight. The white wine and goblets were chilling in the small refrigerator that was part of a well stocked, concealed bar. The office cleaning service had been in last night, and the room was efficiently clean. John stood next to the long table and surveyed his board room with pride. He had chosen the furnishings and decor himself when he had had it built, and the results had always been pleasing to him-deeply grained panelled walls, thick marine blue carpeting, a long polished walnut table, black upholstered walnut chairs, and just the right balance of color accents in a few bold paintings and sculpture pieces. The table was set at one end with blue cloth place mats, fine silver and china, and an elaborate wrought iron candelabra. The soft notes of Muzak flowed into the room. A perfect setting, he thought, as he glanced at his watch. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ceramic ash tray, squared his shoulders underneath the tailored gray suit, and strolled to the door.
On the drive to Marilyn's apartment, he went over each detail, for the hundredth time, of the sequence that was to take place. When he pulled up in front of her building, he was satisfied everything was ready.
Marilyn was radiant. Framed by the open doorway, with the lights behind her, she was lovely. A dark blue pleated mini-skirt showed off the shining, tapering lines of her thighs and legs. It was tightly belted by a light blue sash that snugly gathered her tailored white blouse. The blouse was open rather low at the throat, and outlined the firm contours of her widely spaced breasts. Her makeup was dramatic, highlighting her deep set liquid eyes, subtly emphasizing the vivacious smile and complimenting the cascading hairdo that framed her face, then receded along her shoulders.
"Ah Marilyn, you're lovely. You're going to make me envious of my son."
"Well thank you. I'm flattered that you would ask me to dinner."
"I'm sure it will be one of life's greatest pleasures for me." John hoped that his smile was genuine, and did not hint at the licentious feeling that she had stirred.
"For both of us, I'm sure." Marilyn smiled as she turned to get her coat that lay over the arm of her couch. He watched the back of her skirt lift as she bent to pick up her purse with the coat. For an instant his eyes were fixed as the skirt tautened around her buttocks and revealed an extra two inches of the backs of her smooth, rounded thighs.
As they were driving back, she asked, "Where are we having dinner?"
"At the perfect spot where we can enjoy excellent food, superb wine, soft music and uninterrupted privacy. My favorite place to eat-the board room at my office." As he spoke the last sentence, he turned to her and gave her his best calming smile. He could see a questioning hesitance in her eyes.
"Your office?"
"Yes. Years ago I discovered it was a sound idea to periodically hold informal, relaxed dinner meetings for my staff, where we could talk business without interruptions. Noisy restaurants or banquet rooms were not the answer. So I had a board room built that would combine the relaxed atmosphere of a living room, and the functional design of a dining-meeting room, with panelled walls, carpeting, a bar, paintings, and the works. I also use it for dinner meetings with out-of-town customers. It's really very pleasant, and I think you'll like it."
"Well, I've never had dinner in a man's office before."
John detected a troubled note in her voice and soothingly said, "You won't even know you're in an office. There's candlelight and music, and upholstered chairs, and even a couch. It's like a well decorated estate dining room. We'll have a cocktail or two, then the catering service will bring the food, which should be excellent, and we'll have the whole evening to talk about life and marriage."
"Well, it does sound like fun. It's just a little unusual I guess."
"Not really. A lot of businesses do it." Then he turned his attention to driving, while Marilyn stared out the window.
They pulled up next to the rear door that opened into the board room. He unlocked the door, holding it open for her. As she entered, she looked curiously around, and was pleasantly surprised. It is beautifully done, she thought, relaxing, decorative, yet subtly businesslike. "Oh it is nice. The furniture is beautiful, and this carpeting is fabulous. You had a very good decorator."
John swelled with pride. "I'm afraid you're looking at the decorator. It took me weeks to find the right furniture, and I didn't find the sculpture pieces until the room had been finished for six months. The paintings were done by a friend of Jimmy's who's now studying in Paris. A really brilliant artist, I think. What would you like to drink?"
"Oh, anything, bourbon and seven-up, if you have it."
"I'll tell you what, let me fix you a simple, yet delightfully exotic cocktail for this occasion." John's plans called for Marilyn to be slightly inebriated for her ordeal. Not drunk, just pleasantly high.
"Oh good. Surprise me. I like a change to something exotic every once in a while."
He busied himself with cocktail glasses, brandy creme de menthe, ice, and a blender. The frosted, foam topped Stinger looked deliciously inviting as he carefully placed it in her hand.
"Cheers," he said, raising his glass to his lips and glancing at her over the rim as she sampled it.
"My, that is good. What is it?"
"A Stinger. A delightful concoction of brandy and white creme de menthe. I think it's one of the tastiest cocktails you can serve. Much nicer than a martini."
"Oh, it's perfect, and I don't like martinis at all. They taste like medicine."
"You do have to acquire a taste for them. Shall we sit down?"
John led her to the couch, then sat in the chair next to it and watched her cross her legs. They chatted comfortably for awhile, he served another round of drinks, then the discreet tap of the caterer's delivery boy was heard. He had him set the covered dishes on the table, tipped him, and bade him good night.
"I hope you'll enjoy the dinner, it's one of my favorites." As he held the chair for Marilyn, he glanced down while she smoothed her clinging skirt down along her buttocks as she sat down.
"Excuse me, while I get the wine. Do you like white wines?" he asked, as he opened the refrigerator.
"I'm afraid I'm not that knowledgeable about wines, but I do like white better than the heavy red wines."
"Good, then you should like this. It's a hard vintage to find now, 1959, and from a particularly good wine producing section of the Rhine valley." He set the chilled goblets on the table, deftly removed the cork, and filled her glass, then his. He looked fondly down at her, and raised his glass. "I would like to propose a toast to my almost daughter-in-law," he said smiling. "To a long and exciting relationship," he paused, "for you and Jimmy, of course." His eyes had narrowed slightly and Marilyn's smile faltered for just an instant.
The food was superb. The wine was everything he had promised it would be. John was charming, lightly humorous and relaxing, as he adroitly steered the conversation down avenues of thought that delighted and entertained Marilyn. She couldn't help dunking what a wonderfully gracious man he was. She felt fortunate that the excitement and tenderness of being Jimmy's wife would be enhanced by his interesting and fascinating father. He cleared the dishes, and served a light, colorful lime parfait for dessert. She was thoroughly content and happy. John suggested she have her liqueur and coffee at the couch. She noticed his glance at her thighs as she crossed her legs, and was self-conscious about her short skirt.
"Did you enjoy the dinner, Marilyn?" John was looking directly into her eyes with a penetrating stare that was unsettling.
"Oh yes, it was perfect. Everything was so good. Thank you very much."
"You know, Marilyn, I did have another reason for asking you here tonight. I want to show you something that will have a very important effect on your future and your marriage. Let me get it for you." His suddenly serious tone made her uneasy, as she watched him get up and walk over to the wall next to the concealed bar. A soft inward pressure on one of the panels caused an unnoticeable door to swing open, revealing a wall safe. He rapidly twisted the dial, opened it, and took out a large envelope, and closed the safe.
He sat down, looking steadily at Marilyn, and held the folder in his lap. His quiet voice had an ominous tone. "You see, Marilyn, when you first came to our house with Jimmy that night. I was somewhat shocked to see you. You didn't know me, but I knew quite a bit about you. One thing that Jimmy, nor anyone else in my family knows, for reasons of my own, is that I am the principal owner of Barton Tool." He paused, and Marilyn's hand flew to her mouth. The color drained from her face and was replaced by a look of fear.
"I had known for sometime that everything there was not quite right, but I didn't know what the problem was. So I had my accountant do a little detective work, and he discovered that someone was stealing from me. Relatively small amounts of money over a period of months, but it added up to quite a sum- $4,863.00 to be exact. Now we both know who that thief is, don't we Marilyn?"
Fighting back tears, and the terror of discovery written on her face, she tried to bluff it out. "I don't know what you mean. Why are you talking about this to me? I didn't steal any money."
John's steady gaze bore into her. "You're a poor liar, Marilyn. Open the folder. All the facts are there. The dates you wrote the checks, to whom they were written, the amounts, where you cashed the checks, the way you altered them when they were returned from the bank. It's all there. There isn't a shadow of a doubt about your guilt. Any court, any jury, would have to convict you, and the penalty in this state for grand theft is five to thirty years in the penitentiary. With good behavior, you may get out in three years, if it's your first offense."
His words were as cold as doom. Marilyn started to shudder as she stared at the words and figures in the folder before her. Finally she broke down, covering her face in her hands, and sobbed uncontrollably. "Oh God, I couldn't help it. I was in trouble and needed money badly. I had so many people after me to pay their bills, I had to get some money somewhere. And mother was sick and needed money to pay her doctor and a hospital bill." She raised her head and looked at John, still sobbing. "I meant to pay it back right away, but it got to be so much, I mean, it got to be more than I could possibly pay out of my salary."
His hand lashed out and cracked across her right cheek, jerking her head back. "Why you little bitch-so I had my accountant do a little detective and you HAD to buy seventy dollar dresses, and you HAVE to get your hair done once a week!" John had sunk his fingers in her hair, as if to ruin the wavy glossiness, and pulled her face to his.
Eyes blazing and teeth bared, he said, "Do you think my son will want to marry a thief he knows is going to spend at least the next three years of her life in jail? Do you, huh, do you?" He was shaking her head, then let it go, still staring at her.
"Oh, please, I'm sorry. I wish to God I'd never done it. Please don't send me to jail."
"But you did do it. And jail is where you belong with all the other criminals."
At this, she broke down completely, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders hunched and shaking, her hair spilling down over her knees. John looked down at her lowered head, then let his eyes wander over her body. His face had the greedy look of a man is that why you HAD to buy a six-thousand dollar car, nation, greed, were all reflected in his downward gaze.
Slowly Marilyn lifted her tear-streaked face arid looked at him.
"Wh-what are you going to do?"
His face became impassive. "What can I do, Marilyn? You've committed a major crime, a felony, and you must be punished. I'll have to report you to the police, tonight."
"Oh God no, please, I'll do anything-work for no pay until it's paid back, or anything you want, but please don't report me to the police. I don't want to go to jail, and I do want to marry Jimmy." Her face was twisting into a grimace, and tears started flowing down her cheeks again.
"What do you think I should do? Let you go scot free, and marry my son? You've done a very bad thing, and you must be punished, shouldn't you, Marilyn?"
"Yes, but not jail, oh God, I couldn't stand it. It would ruin me for life. Please don't." She looked up at him from her hunched position, beseeching him, begging him with her eyes. He looked down at her, then turned and walked away a few steps. He stopped, remained still for almost a minute, then slowly turned and looked into her eyes for an instant without speaking.
"Is this the first time you've ever stolen anything?"
"Oh yes, I've never taken anything before."
"Don't lie to me Marilyn." His voice cracked.
"I swear I've never stolen anything in my life before."
"Never?"
"Well, just some money out of my mother's purse when I was a little girl. But I swear nothing else."
"Did your mother catch you?"
"Yes, she did once."
"What did she do?"
"She, well, she punished me."
"How?"
"She, uh, she spanked me."
"How?"
"What do you mean?"
"How did she spank you? Tell me exactly how she did it."
She looked at him questioningly, then lowered her face and stared at the carpet at her feet. "Well, she used a belt."
"Describe to me exactly how she did it. What were you wearing?"
"I was wearing a red pinafore, and-and she grabbed my arm and pulled me into her room next to the bed. Then she went to-to the closet and got out one of her belts and brought it over and put it on the bed. Then she sat down and pulled me over her lap and used the belt on me."
"Did she pull your dress up?"
"Yes," she answered in barely a whisper.
"On your bare bottom?"
"Please!"
"Answer me!"
"Yes."
"Now start over from the beginning and tell me every detail of how your mother spanked you."
"I did!" Her pleading eyes looked at his, then wavered.
"Marilyn, do what I tell you!"
"She grabbed my arm and pulled me into her room and made me stand next to the bed. Then she went to the closet and got the belt, and-and, brought it back and put it on the bed. Then she sat down and pulled me face down over her lap. Then she pulled my dress and slip up and p-pulled my p-panties down. Then she held me down with her left hand and started hitting me with the belt."
"How many times?"
"I can't remember."
"Guess."
"About twenty, I guess."
John moved closer to her, standing so he towered over her bent head.
"Marilyn, do you think that bad little girls who steal should be spanked?" Silence.
"Well, do you?"
"I don't know, I guess so."
"Do you think they should be spanked, or sent to jail?"
She jerked her head up to look at him, but couldn't meet his penetrating gaze.
"I asked you a question."
"S-s-spanked."
"Do you want to marry my son?"
"Oh God yes, I do very much. I'm in love with him, I really am. Please don't call the police, it would ruin everything." Her pleading words rushed out in a torrent, almost tumbling over each other. Her beseeching look held the fear that filled her whole being.
"But Marilyn, you have to be punished, don't you?"
Silence.
"Don't you, Marilyn?"
She slowly nodded her head, and, "Yes," was barely a whisper.
"I didn't hear you."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I need to be punished."
John walked slowly to the center of the room. Turning, he half leaned and half sat against the table and folded his arms across his chest. He looked steadily at Marilyn. "Alright, I'll give you one chance. And the only reason I do, is for Jimmy's sake, because I think he really loves you, and he has a chance for happiness with you if you'll be a good wife. Will you?"
"Yes, oh God, yes I will. I'll love him and be everything he wants me to be."
"Okay, then I'll give you this one chance, and it's the only one you're going to get, or you'll go to jail tonight. You must be punished for what you did, and I'm the one who's going to punish you!"
Her head jerked up and she looked at him with an expression that was half question and half fear.
"I'm going to spank you, thoroughly and soundly, just like you were a little girl. Not just once, because for what you did, one spanking is not near what you deserve, but regular spankings twice a month, here in this room."
Marilyn couldn't believe her ears. Her mouth opened in astonishment, and she tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. John gazed at her impassively.
"Oh no, you can't mean it. But-but I'm a grown woman, and going to marry your son. You couldn't do this. You couldn't be this cruel."
"You mean you're going to marry my son if I don't report you to the police, and if I don't tell my son what you've done. Do you think he'd marry you if I told him? Do you think my wife would want you for a daughter-in-law? Remember, young lady, you have one chance. If you accept my punishment, no one, except you and I, will know what you did. No one knows that you came here tonight, at least I didn't tell anybody, and no one will."
"You mean, even after we're married?"
"Yes, for one year."
"Oh please. Good lord, no. Jimmy would find out. I'd have to tell him where I was going, and he could see the marks."
"Jimmy goes out of town at least once a month to see his customers anyway. The marks would be gone by the time he got back, or you could cover them up."
"Oh please, there must be another way. I'll pay it back, really, it would take a while, but I promise I'll pay you."
"I'm afraid not, Marilyn. It would take you almost a year to pay it, if you put every penny you earned into it. Sorry, you do it my way or I call the police right now."
Marilyn moaned, bowed her head into her hands, and slowly shook her head back and forth. "Oh please, can't you do it some other way? I'm a grown woman, not a little girl."
"One choice, Marilyn, or I call the police. How were you punished as a little girl when you were caught stealing?"
She continued to shake her head.
"Answer me!"
Her words were barely audible; "I was spanked."
"And you've done a childish thing again, only more serious, haven't you?"
Barely a whisper came from the girl who knew she was beaten, and had no chance of escape, "Yes."
"And how are you going to be punished now?"
She lifted her head and stared at his shoes. "H-h-how would you do it, I mean what would you use?"
"You'll be spanked with a hairbrush on your bare bottom, in whatever position I tell you to assume."
Without moving or raising her head, Marilyn again slowly started to cry until fresh tears were coursing down her already stained cheeks. She looked at him and shook her head unbelievingly. "Oh God, you're awful. You're just a cruel, filthy old man. You're -you're unspeakable."
Hate had replaced the fear in her eyes, but John just steadily stared at her with a faint smile curling the corners of his lips. "Three years in a cold, empty jail is a long time, Marilyn. Do you want the jail or the spankings?"
When she didn't answer, John pushed himself from the table, walked slowly toward her until he was standing directly over her. She looked up at him with venom in her eyes as he curled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head back. Pain exploded behind her eyes as his right hand cracked across her cheek.
"Answer me, you thieving bitch. Which is it? Right now."
Crack! The pain exploded again.
"Please stop."
"Which is it?"
"Spanking."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Alright now, get down on your knees."
Marilyn slid to her knees in front of him as he backed up a step, and stared at his belt buckle in front of her eyes.
"Look at me."
She raised her head.
"I want you to repeat exactly what I say, and I think it would be nice if from here on out, you called me Daddy. Do you understand?"
She nodded.
"Daddy, I've been a very naughty little girl and I deserve to be punished. I deserve to have my skirt pulled up and my panties down, and regularly given long, sound spankings on my bare bottom."
Marilyn looked vacantly at him without speaking. He slowly drew back his right hand.
"Don't slap me again, I'll say it. D-daddy, I've been a naughty girl and deserve to be punished. I uh, uh, deserve to have my skirt pulled up and my uh-uh..." she dropped her head into her hands, and John immediately pulled it up and slapped her. "Say it!"
"... and my-my panties down and given long spankings on-on my bare bottom."
"Say it again, and say it right-a VERY naughty LITTLE girl, and REGULARLY given long, sound spankings."
"I've been a..."
Crack! He slapped her again. "You forgot, Daddy."
That final slap was like slamming the door on the last of Marilyn's remaining resistance. Her spirit was utterly and completely crushed. At that instant in time, she had become a will-less automaton, with only the ability to do exactly what she was told. She couldn't even cry. All she could do was try very hard to say the words correctly and avoid another slap. Her voice was empty and toneless, "Daddy, I've been a very naughty little girl, and I deserve to be punished. I deserve to have my skirt pulled up and my panties down and regularly given long, sound spankings on my bare bottom."
"That was very good, Marilyn, and I'm going to start with your first one in a few minutes, but first you have to sign a little paper to make sure there is no question in the future about your punishment. You may get up now."
When Marilyn was standing, John took her by the arm and led her over to the table. He left her there, retrieved the folder from the couch, and stood by her side. He opened the folder and laid a sheaf of papers, stapled together, on the table.
"These are the papers that are going to keep you from going to jail, Marilyn." John looked at her as he talked, but she just stared at the papers on the table, not reading them, just letting her eyes rest on them.
"They say that you admit to stealing the money, as is proved in the folder, and that you agree to accept whatever punishment I propose to give you instead of being placed under arrest. You do want to sign them, don't you, Marilyn?"
She slowly raised her head and looked at him. "I guess I don't have much choice."
Softly, John said, "No you don't." He took out his pen, folded back the top sheets, and poised the pen over a blank line with her name typed under it. "Right there, Marilyn."
She grasped the pen and signed it, not bothering to read any of it. He took another sheaf of papers from under those she had just signed, and repeated the process.
"Another copy," he said. She signed it also. He took the pen and put it back in his pocket. Then he took the papers, replaced them in the folder, and walked to the safe.
"Don't I get a copy?" whispered Marilyn.
"You don't need a copy. Just the fact that I didn't call the police, and that you're not in jail now, is all you need."
"I see. I guess you're right."
When he had replaced the folder and closed the safe, he walked back to Marilyn.
"Now, young lady, it's time for your punishment to begin."
Marilyn was facing the table, just a few inches from its edge.
He put his hand on the nape of her neck, and slowly pushed her head forward and downward, until she had to turn her head to rest her cheek on the table's surface. Her hands were placed flat on the table, her elbows flaring outward. In this bent over position, her miniskirt had lifted up in the back, showing the dark tops of her pantyhose, and tightened over her rounded buttocks. John stepped back, letting his eyes slowly travel over her upreared bottom, down to the hem of her hiked up skirt, then slowly down her shining legs. Marilyn remained motionless, feeling his eyes on her body, but helpless to move from her required position. He stood next to her and dropped both his hands to the edge of her blue skirt and slowly raised it up.
Marilyn shut her eyes and clenched her long fingernails into the palms of her hands. As her white panties came into view, John held his breath. Savoring the moment, he carefully raised the skirt until it was well up on her back.
He held it there with his left hand, and fondled her beautifully firm bottom with his right. He squeezed and kneaded her twin cheeks as his hand continued to roam over the entire surface. After a full minute, he reluctantly drew his right hand back, then swung it forcefully forward. The sound that exploded into the quiet room was a startling crack.
His hand lingered on her bottom as he said, "I'm just going to warm you up in this position, then take you to the couch for your real spanking."
Marilyn was silent as she felt his hand lift from her body. She waited.
Smack!
Again his hand lingered, while he reveled in her complete submission. The sight of her, obediently bent over, with her skirt inverted over her upper body, pressed onto the table, her magnificent upthrust buttocks, and her straight, tapering, nyloned legs, was enormously exciting, and giving him a powerful erection.
Smack!
Pause.
Smack!
Pause.
Marilyn quietly endured ten hard blows, then could sense that he had stopped.
"Stay in position."
As she meekly remained in her horribly embarrassing position, John walked to the hidden cabinet, opened it, and took out an object. Her eyes were following him, and when he turned she sucked in her breath at the sight of the large wooden hairbrush. He returned again, and stood at her side, his left hand pressing down on the small of her back, from her position, she watched in fascinated terror as his right arm drew back. "I bought this just for you, Marilyn." She tensely drew in her breath and closed her eyes. Crack!
"Owwwww, my God!" She arched her head back and tried to lift off the table, but John firmly held her there.
Crack!
"Oh noooo, please."
After he had watched the hairbrush flatten her stretched panties, he slid it caressingly over them, then stepped back. "You can get up now, but hold your skirt up in back with both hands."
She clumsily righted herself, clutching the back of her skirt. After a pause, she looked apprehensively over her shoulder at him.
"Turn around and go stand in front of the couch." He thrilled at the sight as her high heels carried her across the room, flawless legs flashing, the tight white encasement of her bottom rippling with each step, the rumpled, uplifted skirt, and the beaten, submissive droop of her shoulders.
"Get your skirt up higher."
She obeyed, lifting her arms up her back, then stood facing the wall next to the couch. He walked to the couch, carrying the hairbrush, and sat down next to her. Setting the hairbrush next to him, he placed his hands on her bottom and hips. Squeezing tightly, he turned her so she was in profile to him. Pulling her down, he said, "Now you naughty little girl, I'm sure you remember the proper spanking position, don't you?"
As he pulled her down, she lowered her body across his knees. Her shoulders and breasts were lying flat on the couch, her arched bottom directly over his thighs and her legs extended straight behind her, toes touching the floor. He pulled her body closer to him, then carefully arranged her so that she was in the most comfortable position for him. He slowly and deliberately pulled her skirt up higher like a surgeon preparing for an operation, until it was turned inside out up to her shoulders. He fondly rested his hand on her prominently displayed buttocks. Then he slowly began to squeeze and fondle every curve and crevice.
"You've been a very bad girl, Marilyn, and I'm going to give you the soundest spanking you've ever had. I'm going to spank your panties until they're burning up, then I'm going to pull them down to your knees and spank your bare bottom until it's a blazing red."
At his words, Marilyn's stoic silence broke down, and she caught her face in her hands and sobbed into them. As he picked up the hairbrush, John's emotions were at a burning pitch. The sheer thrill was overpowering of seeing this shapely, grown woman stretched out in her humiliating punishment position, her skirt lifted, her bottom raised as an altar, her long legs extended, completely under his mercy. He gloried in the awareness of her soft silky body pressing down on his urgent erection. His eyes gleamed with lust as he raised the hairbrush.
Crack!
"Now, young lady..."
Crack!
"You're going to find out..."
Crack!
"That when you steal money from someone..."
Crack!
"That you have to be punished."
Crack!
"You're just lucky..."
Crack!
"That I didn't say forget it..."
Crack!
"... to the whole idea of your marriage..."
Crack!
"... and have you arrested."
Crack!
Crack!
He continued spanking her as he lectured her on the seriousness of her crime, and how fortunate she was to be getting this private punishment instead of going to jail. Marilyn, at first, had tried to hold back any sign of pain, but as he increased the tempo and severity of each stroke of the hairbrush, the hurt became unbearable, and she cried out.
Marilyn was wildly thrashing about, her legs kicking frantically, and her body arching up at each spank. She had tried to wiggle off his lap and put her hands back to protect her pain-ridden bottom, but John's strength was too much for her as he held her to him.
He paused, and set the hairbrush down next to him, then lightly tapped the fleshy apex of her bottom.
"Lift your bottom, Marilyn."
She remained sobbing into her hands.
Smack! He delivered a sharp, solid blow with his hand that caused her to gasp.
"Lift your bottom, or I'll give you twenty extra before I'm through."
Pushing her toes against the carpet, and digging her elbows into the couch, she slowly lifted her hips.
"Now stay there 'til I tell you!" he barked. John carefully fitted a finger from each hand under the elastic of her panties and slowly dragged them down to just above her knees. Marilyn groaned loudly. Then he did the same with her dark panty hose until they were rolled next to her lowered panties. She continued holding her bottom up.
Crack!
He had picked up the hairbrush and brought it down as hard as he could. Marilyn flattened herself against his lap, and screamed.
He went on lecturing and spanking, lecturing and spanking, until her buttocks were a deep flaming red, with random purple splotches marring the surface. It contrasted dramatically with the smooth white of her thighs. John paused for a moment, stroking her globes with the hairbrush as he stared at her thighs. He then delivered ten hard punishing strokes to the backs of her upper thighs as Marilyn screamed through her tears. She was bucking and jerking automatically.
Then it ended as John reluctantly laid aside the hairbrush. Her sobs were coming in great heaving gasps. She had never known such pain. She had never been so thoroughly and completely dominated. It was as if the whole world had narrowed down to a timeless, unbelievable throbbing pain in her buttocks. John's hand was aimlessly caressing her inflamed skin. His eyes wandered slowly over her entire body, from her disheveled hair to her shoeless toes. She had kicked off her shoes just after he had started on her naked bottom.
After a few minutes, that seemed like hours to both of them, he asked, almost gently, "Do you feel that you have been well punished?"
She nodded, hardly able to choke out the words- "Oh G-God, yes. I, won't be able to walk."
He continued stroking her bottom cheeks and thighs. "Oh, I think you will. Here, let me get you something that will make you feel better."
He gently slid himself out from under her body, and laid there sobbing, unmindful of her prominently exposed intimate areas. John walked to the bar and soaked a clean towel in water, then returned to her. Sitting next to her, he unfolded it and gently laid it on to her spanked surfaces. She immediately threw her head back and moaned loudly. "Oh God, you don't know how that hurts. I won't be able to sit down for days, or go to work, or anything."
"I'm afraid your days of working at Barton Tool are over anyway, and if you have to stand to eat for awhile, it will be a good reminder of your crime."
He then gently helped her to her feet, and watched as she closed her eyes and carefully rubbed her crimson cheeks with both hands. Suddenly she realized the state of her appearance, her skirt hiked up, stockings and panties sagging around her knees, and her furry triangle showing. She tried to pull her pantyhose up, and it brought new waves of pain as she tried to ease them over her scorched bottom. Glancing timidly at him, she blushed profusely, then hobbled over to the table to steady herself as she removed her panties and pantyhose. This accomplished, she stood and glanced embarrassingly at him. Their eyes locked for an instant, and they both knew it had been a powerfully emotional experience for each of them. He walked to the wall safe, put away the hairbrush, then went to get her coat.
The drive home was spent in painful silence for Marilyn. She knelt uncomfortably on the seat during the whole trip. John parked at her apartment, and guided her up the stairs. As she unlocked the door, he went inside, then took her arm and turned her to face him. "Remember, Marilyn, no one will ever know about this, either your crime or your punishment. But that was just the first one, and if you think you don't want another one, the only alternative is jail. So make up your mind that in two or three weeks, you're going to visit me again. Aren't you Marilyn?"
She glanced up at him, then quickly lowered her eyes to the floor and nodded.
"I asked you a question!"
"Yes."
"Yes, what? What did I tell you to call me?"
"Yes," pause, "Daddy." The words came out barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Daddy, what?"
Shifting uncomfortably, and still staring, at the floor, she said, "Yes, Daddy, I'm going to come to you again for another spanking."
The corners of his mouth were turned up into a faint smile, as he stared at her.
"Good night, Marilyn."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Ted Ascue returning your call, Mr. Fenner." John looked up from the shipping report on his desk, and thought quickly about what he would tell his accountant. He wanted to choose his words carefully, so that there would be no hint of suspicion in Ted's mind.
"Hello Ted, how are you?"
"Fine, John, how's the world of the hardware business treating you?"
"Oh, pretty fair. The reason I called you earlier, was to let you know the outcome of the situation at Barton Tool. Something unexpected, to say the least, has come up, that alters the picture considerably. You know my son, Jimmy?"
"Sure, great kid, how's he doing."
"Well, he's doing very well in the business, and he's getting married. Guess who his bride-to-be is?"
"Uh, now wait a minute, you don't mean it's..."
"Right. Marilyn Klemper at Barton Tool."
"Whoooeee, you're kidding!"
"No, I'm afraid not. How's that for a shocker?"
"Jesus, that's unbelievable. What are you going to do?"
"Well, my first inclination was to tell Jimmy about her, have her arrested and try to break it up. The other night, however, they came over for dinner, and they seemed terribly happy and very much in love, so I had second thoughts about it. I thought I would talk to her, lay my cards on the table, and at least give her a chance. So I called her when Jimmy was out of town and told her I wanted to see her. We got together and, to make a long story short, I listened to her side of it, and decided to give her a chance. She'd be leaving Barton Tool, as a matter of fact, she's already left, but I'm not going to press charges. She admitted everything, and pleaded for mercy, so I said okay. Happiness is a hard thing to find, so I decided to give the kids a chance at it."
John said nothing about the alternative Marilyn had selected, and waited for Ted's reaction.
"Do you think that's wise, John? I mean, wouldn't it be worse if she got into some kind of trouble as Jimmy's wife?"
"I thought of that, but I'll gamble that it won't happen. Now the important thing is that there are only three people that know anything about this, you, me, and Marilyn, and I'd like to keep it that way. So keep your copy of that report someplace where no one will get at it, or better yet, just destroy it."
"Okay. I hope you know what you're doing. That's a lot of money to let someone get off scot free, but under the circumstances, I guess maybe it is the best thing. Don't worry about me talking about it. This isn't the first time one of my clients had a skeleton he didn't want the world to know about. I'll burn the papers tonight."
"Ted, I'm grateful to you, and I hope the next time we talk, it's on a more routine business matter. Thanks again, and next week let's see if we can have lunch together."
"Sounds good, John. Good luck, I hope it all turns out for the best."
"Right, see you next week."
After he had hung up, John tried to think if he had given the smallest hint of Marilyn's alternative punishment. He decided he hadn't, and went back to the shipping report.
Two weeks later, Jimmy stopped by Marilyn's apartment at 8:30 in the morning to kiss her goodbye as he left on another three day sales trip. His father had scheduled the trip a week early, much against Jimmy's objections. John had won out, however, on the basis that he wanted a timely sales call made on his out of town customers, to help introduce the new lines they were going to sell. Jimmy reluctantly agreed that it was good strategy, although he hated the time away from Marilyn.
After he had left, Marilyn had a light breakfast, then got ready for an appointment at the hairdresser, and some shopping. John had been surprisingly explicit about the details of what she was to wear for her next "session" that night. Even down to her lingerie. Her heart sank when he had called, informing her of Jimmy's early trip, and their next meeting at his office.
After the hairdresser, she picked up the required lingerie for her dreaded appointment that evening- dark, smoky, regular length stockings (so her bare white thighs would show), and a tight red panty girdle. The salesgirl had sexily winked and made a comment about that being the kind of underwear a man likes to see. Marilyn had blushed embarrassingly at the remark, almost feeling that the girl knew why she was buying it. That night she was so nervous she couldn't eat, and spent the time in the necessary preparation. The minutes crawled by, until finally it was time for her to leave. She gathered her purse and coat together, checked the apartment lights to see that they were off, and went out the door. The trip to John's office was sheer torment in her anticipation of her coming ordeal.
The punishment was long and drawn out. John was in no hurry, savoring every minute of her discomfort and pain. He made her bend over the back of one of the chairs,, her skirt pulled up as high as possible, and tell him exactly why she was being punished. She had to repeat it over and over until she got it exactly right, her words punctuated by strokes of the hairbrush. Then she lay across his lap while he turned her milky white bottom and thighs into a color that matched her lowered panty girdle. Afterwards, she had to stand in a corner facing the wall, skirt still up and panty girdle down while she displayed her soundly spanked, blazing bottom. Before she left on a long painful drive home, she had to kneel before him, kiss the punishing hairbrush, and thank "Daddy" for her well-deserved spanking. She slept fitfully on her stomach that night.
When Jimmy returned, however, everything was forgotten in the rush of wedding plans. The myriad details, the series of parties and showers, the fittings for the gowns, the invitation list, and the plans for a long future together, were all a whirl of breathless excitement for the happy couple.
The wedding was a smashing success. The ceremony was lovely and colorful, with just the right touch of solemnity. Appropriate tears of happiness were shed. The reception was gay and exciting, as all receptions should be. Marilyn, though vivacious and smiling at the reception, had deep misgivings about how John would treat her in front of the guests. But her uneasiness soon vanished. He was as charming and ebullient as a father-in-law could be. He was the perfect host, and proudly showered Marilyn with genuine affection, as if she deserved nothing but love and admiration from him. At just the right time, amid showers of rice and kisses, they left for their three week honeymoon in Acapulco.
As honeymoons always do, it ended too soon. The three weeks they had looked forward to for so long seemed to be over in a few glorious hours, and they reluctantly, but lovingly returned to the world of reality. They had rented a two year old apartment, and launched themselves into the challenge of furnishing and decorating.
But hanging drapes and sanding furniture was interrupted temporarily by Jimmy's return to the routine of his out of town sales trips. As the day neared for Jimmy to leave, Marilyn's trepidation increased. She knew that it also would mean another session with "Daddy." A phone call one day while Jimmy was at work, confirmed it. John called, not only to tell her the appointed time, but also explicit instructions on what she was to wear. Marilyn blushed as she listened, because the specified skirt was to be so short it would end above the tops of her stockings, showing her bare white thighs. She asked if she could wear a long coat over it, and he generously agreed. On her drive over to his office, a deep soft cushion lay beside her on the car's seat, in readiness for the trip home.
That night, the board room of Southwest Hardware again echoed with the loud cracks of a hairbrush on bare flesh, and the muffled screams of a woman in pain. The session started with Marilyn draped over the arm at one end of the couch, as he applied the wood-backed weapon to her tightly girdled buttocks. Then she had to kneel down on the couch, her head and shoulders resting on the black leather cushion, her bottom upreared as high as possible, hands back between her knees, as he made her count each stroke. The lengthy spanking ended with Marilyn in her usual bare bottomed position across his knees, where the hundredth stroke was delivered to her fiery cheeks. The ritualistic meeting finally came to a close with Marilyn again on her knees, expressing her tearful thanks, as she kissed the familiar hairbrush.
After three months, a subtle change was taking place in Marilyn as a result of her extended punishment. The sessions were becoming longer and much more ceremonious, with Marilyn completely under his control and domination. She became two people, one the loving wife of a steady, working husband, the other a virtual slave to a forceful, demanding master. John, completely controlling her every word and action, was adding a variety of humiliations at each meeting. At one, she had to dress as a naughty school girl, her hair in braids and tied with a big red bow, braless under a starched blouse, and a short plaid skirt with bobby socks. At another, she was ordered to come completely naked under her coat, except for very high heels. At still another she dressed as a slave girl, with handcuffs, chains, and felt the lash of a long black whip. She slowly discovered, however, that instead of dreading the punishment as she had at first, she became fascinated and drawn to it. A strong sexual arousal had manifested itself during her hours of pain and submission. At her last workout, the tip of his punishing whip had curled in to lash the lips of her vulva, and it had triggered the most violent orgasm she had ever known. She had become terribly attracted to her masterful daddy, and although she shuddered to admit it, she became more aroused sexually when she thought of him than by her husband.
After a particularly painful evening of discipline, she took a long, hot, soaking bath to steady her feverish nerves, and had a few stiff drinks. My God, it can't go on like this, she thought, as she stood in her living room with a negligee wrapped around her body. The soaring, shuddering climaxes she had reached that night under the punishing blows of the hairbrush were like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her vagina had been sopping wet and had stained John's trousers as she lay across his lap. He had chuckled at this, and ordered her to spread her legs. Then, calling her a naughty girl for wetting his pants, he had maddeningly stroked her clitoris with his finger, then soundly spanked her into another orgasm. When he had finished, she reflected, what I wanted most to do was open his pants, take out the hard penis that had been rubbing my belly, and suck it till it spurted into my throat. This is all crazy, she thought, good lord, he's my father-in-law. I'm going to have to think of some way to get out of this before I wind up asking him to make love to me. How can I get so hot and sexed up from a beating? I must be a hard core masochist or something. I must have come four times tonight. He's really become an expert with that hairbrush. Oh God, I've got to figure out some way to change this. Another problem is that the marks aren't going away fast enough anymore. I know he's spanking me longer and harder than he was. My bottom is almost covered with blisters now, and some of the marks will still be there when Jimmy gets home. Thank God for make up, so far I've been able to cover them up, but tonight they're worse than ever. I guess I'll have to keep panties or a night gown on for the first few days after Jimmy gets home.
She grinned to herself. That's going to be hard, he does like me to come to him naked. Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
She went to bed later than usual, but had trouble falling to sleep. She felt there had to be some way out of the ever-deepening situation she was in, but she couldn't find it.
Sleep, however, has a way of subtly transferring a problem from the narrow channels of the conscious mind into the computer-like caverns of the subconscious. There, long forgotten memories and experiences are called on to illuminate the shadows of a problem, and serve to pull away the curtain that conceal a solution. Marilyn woke up the next morning with the feeling that there was an answer. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it was there, a glimmer of an idea. It stayed with her as she moved around the kitchen fixing breakfast. Then as she put a slice of toast in the toaster, it came to her.
When Jimmy had returned from his last trip, he had mentioned something about the sales manager quitting at one of his customer's stores. She tried to think what it was he had said. Yes, one of the larger hardware stores. I can't remember which one, but he had said the sales manager was quitting to go into a business of his own, and they had not hired anyone to replace him. He also said that he felt they had no one else in the store who could move up to take his place. Which city was that in? She thought for a moment, but couldn't remember. Why couldn't Jimmy apply for the job? If he got it we could move from here, and I wouldn't have to go through any more sessions like last night.
Marilyn spent the next few hours thinking about the problem from all angles. Would Jimmy qualify for the job? Maybe he was too young. Did he have enough experience? How did he get along with the people at that store? Would he want to do it? Maybe he wouldn't want to leave his father's firm. Also he might not want to leave his hometown. But the most ominous question in her mind, if Jimmy did agree, and got the job, what would John Fenner do? She had another seven months of her year's sentence to go. Would John arrange it so she couldn't leave? Or threaten to go to the police? He still had her signed confession. Or worse yet, if they did move, would he make her travel back to Riverside for her punishment.
As she considered all the possibilities, her mind wavered from the heights of a positive escape, to the depths of bleak hopelessness. Whatever the chances were, though, she intended to bring it up with Jimmy when he got home and push it for all it was worth.
"What's up, Jimmy, this is an unexpected Friday morning pleasure?"
The genuine smile of greeting on his father's face gave Jimmy a twinge of regret about what he was going to say. "Good morning, Dad, I uh, well I'm, uh, a little nervous about this, so I guess the best way is just to say it, I've got another job, and I want to give my notice."
John was briefly jolted by the shock, but kept his face impassive.
"What kind of job?"
"Home Improvement Mart in Oceanside is looking for a sales manager to replace Don Greeves, Who left to form his own company, so I applied for the job last Saturday, and got it. It's a great opportunity, and I hate to leave you and Southwest Hardware, but I could not pass it up."
"Do they feel you're qualified for the job?"
"I'm actually not starting as sales manager. I'll be going in more as a trainee, and if I can cut it and show results, then I'll get the job. But they are holding the position open for me."
John tilted his chair back, focused his eyes on the corner of the wall and ceiling, and thought for a moment. "A sales manager, particularly in a big store like that, is a tough job with a lot of pressure. Do you think you can handle it?"
"Yes, you're right. But I've worked under pressure before and never blew my cool, so I'm confident I can make it. It will be a lot of work, and longer hours, but if I can gain their confidence by working hard and learning fast, I think I can produce the results they want."
"Well, maybe you can. You've done an excellent job here, and I've been more than proud of you. I hate to see you go, not just because you're my son, but you're one of my best salesmen. It sounds like a good opportunity, and I won't try to discourage you. What does Marilyn think of going to Oceanside?"
"Oh, she's excited about it. She drove down with me last Saturday, and likes the idea of living near the ocean. As a matter of fact, she's the one who came up with the idea. She remembered my mentioning the fact that the sales manager was leaving, and suggested that I try for the job. So she gets the initial credit."
"I see," said John thoughtfully.
After that, they discussed the business aspects of his new job, then got down to the problems of training a replacement for him. Jimmy wanted to leave in three weeks, but because of the length of time necessary in training, John talked him into a month. When the conversation was over, John mentioned that he would tell the family about it. They stood up, shook hands, and he wished his son good luck as he regretfully watched him go out the door.
After he had left, John leaned back in his chair in a reflective mood. He gazed out the window at the rustling trees and the cotton-like cloud formations silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky.
The only thing you can count on in life, he mused, is the unexpected. He would miss Jimmy. His son had become not only a top salesman, but a good reliable worker. Although they had never discussed it, he had thought of him as eventually taking over the business, so John could ease gracefully into retirement. Now, in the space of a few minutes, that possibility had vanished. However, what he would miss most had nothing to do with Jimmy, or business. The sessions with Marilyn, which started as an unexpected and exciting diversion for him, had come to be the most powerful emotional experience he had ever known. The tremendous sexual arousal they produced, the uncommon feeling of power and domination, and the visual thrills of a totally submissive woman, were something he would miss with a soul deep regret. He tried to think of a way he could prevent Marilyn's leaving, but logic and the risks involved told him it was hopeless. So it was her idea, he thought, well, it seems I will have just one more session with her. It will be an evening she won't forget.
Two weeks later, he called her. Jimmy was out training the newly hired salesman, and his secretary was at lunch, so he knew Marilyn would be home, and he would have the privacy he needed. Jimmy's out of town schedule had been arranged, and he wanted to set the night for Marilyn's next, and last, disciplinary meeting. She tried desperately to beg out of it. She pleaded that she needed every minute to get things ready for their move, that the day following her last session she had been forced to stay in bed, and she couldn't afford it this time, and that Jimmy had almost found out about it when he had seen her bruises. John angrily dismissed her arguments, stating that if she did not come, he would disclose her guilt and turn her over to the police. He did indicate, however, that he would give her and Jimmy the chance to continue their happiness in the future by signing a statement releasing her from future punishment after the session was over. She reluctantly, but gratefully, agreed.
Marilyn's prescribed costume was to be what he termed, girlish, but sexy. Her hair was to be worn in a teen-like pony tail, gathered by a big red bow. Her face was to be overly made-up, like a teenager for her first formal ball. A plain, prim, schoolish white blouse was to cover her un-brassiered breasts. It was to be tight, so her nipples could be easily seen thrusting it out. A very short red pleated skirt was to be worn over a white lace trimmed minislip. A tight black, lace edged panty girdle, dark nylon stockings, and very high heels were to complete her costume. The skirt was to end at least two inches above the tops of her stockings, so when she was standing, her bare white thighs would show, and when she bent slightly, the black lace of her panty girdle would appear.
A few minutes after seven that night, Marilyn stood in front of her full length mirror nervously zipping up her red skirt. She turned around with her back to the mirror and noticed over her shoulder that her minislip, which she had shortened, was showing about a half-inch. She reached up under her skirt and pulled it higher, then let her skirt drop. She couldn't help blushing to herself at the amount of thigh showing.
I'm sure that skin will be almost as red as my skirt when I get home tonight, she thought. She unexpectedly giggled at the thought, although she knew the cause would be sheer pain. Keeping her legs together and very straight, she bent forward. Turning her body to look into the mirror, she checked for the desired effect. A scant quarter-of-an-inch of black lace peeked from beneath the hem of her skirt. I hope that satisfies him, she thought as she straightened and unconsciously ran a hand down the back of her skirt across the well outlined mounds. She checked the wall clock, gulped the last sip of a strong bourbon and seven, and reached for her coat. Halfway out the door, she remembered the pillow. Lord knows, I'll need it coming home, she thought as she picked it up from the couch.
At 7:33 John looked down at his watch as he heard the light tap at the door. "You're late!" he glared at her as he opened the door.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," Marilyn said quietly, as she slipped through the door. She automatically went to the chair and placed her coat and purse on it. She returned to stand bashfully in front of him. With her head hanging, she clasped her hands in front of her like a naughty little girl about to be scolded.
"I'm here for my punishment, Daddy, I've been a very bad tittle girl, and I deserve a good sound spanking." He smiled at the results of his special training.
"Turn around!" he commanded sharply.
She instantly obeyed, her eyes still glued to the floor.
"Assume your proper position."
She bent over, legs together and perfectly straight, arching her back so that her nipples and breasts strained in relief against the thin fabric of her blouse. She reached back with both hands and grasped the hem of her skirt and slip. She lifted them straight up as high as she could, and waited.
Smack! The sound of his palm on her tightly stretched panty girdle rang throughout the room Marilyn shifted forward slightly to keep her balance.
"This..."
Smack.
"... part of your spanking..."
Smack.
"... has nothing to do..."
Smack.
"... with your regular..."
Smack.
"... punishment,"
Smack.
"But is only because you were late."
Smack.
"Do you understand?"
Smack. Smack.
"Yes, Daddy, you're giving me an extra spanking because I was a very naughty girl and, and was late."
John smiled again at the results of his training. She had learned to play her role very well. His teaching method had been a simple, but effective one-when she didn't play her role properly or to his liking, he administered a series of extra applications of the hairbrush. After many such applications, she had become an obedient pupil.
John looked speculatively at her as she remained in her bent over position. It was a stance he had taught her at the cost of numerous strokes of her punishment instrument. She could feel his eyes on the mounds rounding out her black girdle, and she fought the tendency to straighten up. She knew better than to move without his orders.
"You may stand up now."
She raised her back, but still stood facing away from him holding her skirt and slip up-another lesson she had learned.
"Now drop your skirt, and let's see if you wore it the length I told you to."
She obeyed, clasping her hands in front of her nervously. His smug gaze traveled up her legs slowly, then settled momentarily on the dark tops of her stockings and the contrasting whiteness of her thighs. It continued to the horizontal line of the edge of her skirt, then rested on the curved fullness of her smoothly outlined bottom. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her body. She loathed to admit it, but the near physical touch of his fiery gaze sent a warm heat of anticipation into her loins.
"Bend over, slightly."
She leaned forward, hoping the curved line of black lace would appear below her skirt as he expected.
"Farther."
She obeyed. Then she could feel his footsteps approaching her. She felt her skirt and slip lifted, and closed her eyes for what she knew was to come.
Splat! The powerful blow sent her staggering forward as she screeched at the unexpected amount of force behind it.
"I told you to wear your skirt short enough so that when you bent over slightly, your panty girdle would show."
"But I did, Daddy. I checked it in the mirror before I left, and it showed."
"How much did it show?"
"Well, uh, a little bit anyway."
"Then you didn't take into account that I'm about five inches taller than you, did you?"
She looked pleadingly at him, then shifted her eyes to his feet. "I, I g-guess I didn't."
"Then you disobeyed me, didn't you?"
"But I did check it, I really did."
"But you didn't check it right, did you?"
Silence, as she stood fearfully before him.
"Answer me!"
"No, I didn't, Daddy."
"Then you disobeyed me, didn't you?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Daddy, I disobeyed you."
"And...?"
"And I deserve to be punished."
"And how are you punished when you've been a disobedient little girl?"
By now Marilyn's submission had become so ingrained in her, that it was a natural part of the very fiber of her being. She was now no longer playing the role of a naughty little girl, she WAS the errant, fearful girl trembling before her stern daddy.
"My Daddy gives me a long and painful spanking."
"Go over to the chair, young lady." John had a penchant for variety, and he had carefully instructed her in a number of prescribed positions. She knew the details of each one well. Walking was one of them. At one session he had taught her the posture she was to assume while walking. As she had circled the room, he had been directly behind her, liberally applying his belt to her prominent buttocks, when she made the least little error.
She approached the chair at the head of the table with both hands holding her raised skirt and slip behind her, her head level, and her shoulders thrown back so that her nipples were forced against the front of her blouse in exaggerated prominence.
When she reached the chair, she pulled it out a foot from the table, pressing the front of her skirt against the back of it. She spread her legs so mat the pointed toes of her shoes touched the legs of the chair. Then, carefully keeping her skirt up high, she bent over until her outthrust elbows rested on the upholstered arms of the chair. She heard him unbuckling and slipping his belt out from his trousers. She felt his left hand lifting her skirt even higher, then pressing down on the bare flesh just above the waist band of her panty girdle. She heard the soft swish of the doubled belt, then fire roared through the lower curves of her tightly encased bottom cheeks.
Whack! He scolded her on her disobedience as he expertly applied the thick supple leather across the entire area of her jutting voluptuous curves. She had been taught to contain her screams with the threat of gagging, but her muffled cries still filled the room as the last two arcs of the belt left searing red lines and a raging sting at the tops of her thighs. He paused and laid the belt on the table. Marilyn's shoulders were shaking as her wet tears fell to the seat of the chair. Her hair spilling on to the chair from her lowered head, she remained still as his hand traveled over the smooth girdle and down to her thighs. It boldly and lasciviously sought out every curve and crevice, squeezing and caressing, then lingered with a finger firmly pressing the silky black fabric up and into the opening of her vulva. He noted the fabric was revealingly moist, and chuckled at the discovery.
"Well, well, this is the earliest you've started to make it, isn't it Marilyn?"
Bent forward in her ignominious position, she cursed her own body, and the torrid warmth that was building up between her legs and suffusing out to aroused nerve ends throughout her whole body. The warmth was not part of the fiery pain from the belt, but only its by-product. A by-product that brought to life the sexual energy of her vibrant soul.
He picked up the belt and walked behind her, letting the tip trail to the floor. He eyed the black shiny inverted V of her crotch supported by the milky white of her thighs. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping the arms of the chair as beads of sweat formed above her eyebrows. She waited feverishly, knowing what to expect. He made her wait, savoring the agony of anticipated pain he knew was mounting in her brain. His hand suddenly jerked up level with his shoulder, as the tip of the belt lashed into the apex of her groin. Her scream shattered the heavy silence.
"What did I tell you about screaming?"
Marilyn sobbed, "I'm sorry, but, oh God, you don't know how much it hurts there. Please not there again, you'll kill me. Pleeeeeeeze."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you another one right on your cunt. You know that's the punishment for screaming-the same place until you can take it without the noise. Isn't it Marilyn?"
"Oh God, please not there. It's unbelievable pain, I can't take it."
"Marilyn, you didn't answer me."
"Yes, Daddy, that is the p-punishment for screaming."
"Then get ready."
She forced her lips together and clenched her teeth. His arm jerked again and the tip of the belt shot up towards her crotch.
Swish, splat!
"Ahhhhrrrrrr." A pitiful half-moan, half-cry escaped from her clenched lips, as her body shuddered violently. He again laid the belt down on the table and slowly let his finger slide down her flank until it pressed at the lips of her vagina. He could feel the warm juices flowing onto his finger tip. She moaned again, unconsciously bending her legs and moving her knees apart. He noticed the subtle sign of invitation and forcefully pushed the tip of his finger upward until it stretched the fabric of her panty girdle through the lips of her vulva and threatened to lift her off the ground. She threw her head back, eyes closed, and lips pulled back across her clenched teeth. "Ohhhhhhh Godddddd, pleeeeeze."
He held it there for an instant, then released the pressure. She let her head droop back. A trembling sigh escaped her lips.
By now John's senses were at a lustful peak and he showed a powerful erection bulging out the front of his pants. The hot, sensual flow of power and dominance was consuming his entire being. His eyes were gleaming, his nerve ends were crackling with desire, and his pulse was racing with erotic excitement.
"When you jerked your head up, you moved out of your proper position, didn't you, Marilyn?"
For an instant there was pained silence. Then when John drew in his breath to repeat the question, Marilyn nodded. "Yes, Daddy." Her answer issued from her lowered head.
"And you know you're always punished when you move out of position, aren't you?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Well then, before I get to your regular spanking I must punish you for it, mustn't I?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Then stand up and go over to the cabinet and bring me the hairbrush. Next to it is a thin plastic ruler. Bring me that, too."
She stood up, pain throbbing throughout her body from the whipping and the stretched muscles in her legs. She walked to the cabinet in her proper manner. John drank in the sight of the shifting highlights across the skintight black girdle and the play of her smoothly tapered, scissoring legs. She stopped at the cabinet and performed another ritual. She carefully rolled her skirt and slip tightly up in back and tucked it into her waistband. She had to carry the hairbrush in both hands in front of her, as an offering, but she also had to keep her skirt up behind her. If the skirt ever unrolled and fell down, it meant further punishment. She picked up the hairbrush and wondered about the thin, inoffensive looking plastic ruler. She turned with both of them held at shoulder level and started across the room to him. About halfway, she could feel the smooth fabric of her slip starting to unravel from its tightly wound position. She hesitated fearfully as she felt it loosen from its prescribed confinement, and cascade down her sloping buttocks. She stopped, wide-eyed with fear as she saw him notice the infraction. Confused, she didn't know whether to put the two objects down and repair the offending garments, or to keep walking to her destination. His barked command removed any doubt.
"Come here, you stupid little girl!"
She approached him, her lower lip trembling with fear.
"Tell me what happens when you don't fix your skirt correctly and you stupidly let it fall down."
"I g-get another s-spanking."
"So now I owe you two more, in addition to your regular spanking, don't I Marilyn?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Yes, What?"
"Yes, Daddy, you owe me two more spankings in addition to my regular one."
"For what, you stupid little girl?"
He was sternly staring in her face, but she avoided his cold visage, keeping her head lowered abjectly. "For moving out of position, and letting my skirt fall down."
"That's right, now give me the hairbrush and ruler."
She lowered her head further and offered them up to him. He set them on the couch to his left, then stepped around her and retrieved the belt from the table. He sat down, then turned her body in profile so she was facing to his right.
"Kneel down."
She glanced at him, puzzled by his order to assume the previously unused position.
"Do I have to tell you twice?"
She immediately dropped to her knees, looking questioningly at him.
"Put your hands behind your back and grab each elbow with your opposite hand."
She automatically obeyed, struggling to get her arms into the exact position he desired. When she did, she became aware that it threw her breasts into a bizarre prominence against her blouse. He picked up the belt and wrapped it tightly around her arms, locking them into the horizontal, captive position. He then slowly rubbed her jutting nipples through the fabric of her blouse.
Awareness crept into her face and was quickly replaced by horror as he started unbuttoning her blouse. She had a sudden sickening feeling that she knew what the thin ruler was to be used for. Struggling to get to her feet she cried, "Oh Jesus, no you wouldn't. Not there, please. God, you're insane."
John grabbed her arms and pulled her back to her knees, locking her body against the couch with his legs. She was crying almost hysterically, with terror twisted into her face. "That's inhuman cruelty. Oh, please don't. Noooo, oh God, please."
He continued unbuttoning her blouse, then pulled it down her arms in back so she was naked from the waist up. He stared intently at her magnificently up-tilted breasts thrown forward by her arched position. He grasped her protruding left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it forward even further and twisting it. She grimaced in pain as her teeth clenched her lower lip.
"Now, you know about screaming, don't you Marilyn?"
She nodded noiselessly.
He pulled again. "Don't you Marilyn?"
She gasped in a new wave of pain, "Yes, Daddy."
He reached over and picked up the ruler with his right hand and held it six inches in front of her stiffened nipple. She stared at it in fascinated disbelief, perspiration popping out in beads on her forehead.
"Now tilt your head back so your nipples will stand all the way out for my thin little friend here."
She closed her eyes tightly and strained her head into place. For an instant there was silence, broken only by Marilyn's labored breathing, as he studied the silken white, sloping mounds of her gorgeous breasts, coral tipped by the obscenely jutting nipples.
Thwack! The soft snapping sound was deceiving, as the clear plastic ruler flicked onto her jutting nipple. The instantaneous pain was the most excruciating she had ever known. "Ahhhhhrrrrrrr," she gasped with an animal noise that stuck in her throat. It was a low, unintelligible sound that wasn't loud, but raised the hairs on the back of John's neck. His first reaction was that perhaps he had gone too far in the administering of pain.
Frightened at her reaction, his eyes shifted to her face. Her expression could only be described as exquisite pain. Her face was twisted into a tortured grimace. But part of her facial pattern was the unmistakable expression of sheer sexual joy-the upturned, stretched corners of her mouth, the flaring of her nostrils, the tightly closed eyes, bespoke pain, and at the same time the rapturous heights of sensual pleasure. He drew the ruler back again.
Thwack! It snapped against her right nipple. She tried to hold back a shuddering, muffled cry. He continued the short snapping strokes with the ruler until the skin on the upper and lower curves of her breasts had become bright red, and her nipples were focal points of agony. Throughout the bizarre punishment, tortured sounds had issued from her lips. John's emotions had reached an almost uncontrollable pitch. He felt he could never satisfy his surging passion to dominate and inflict pain on this sensuous woman. He tried to speak, but at first the sounds came out only as dry, croaking gasps. He fought to bring himself under control. He was impatient to see her face down across his knees.
"That was your dual punishment that should teach you not to scream, and to keep your skirt rolled in place. Do you think you'll remember your little lesson?"
She tried to choke out the right answer, but she couldn't form the words. She was bent forward in agony, her whole body racked with her sobbing. Tears flowed in rivers from her cheeks. Finally, afraid of his impatience, she choked out the words. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good. You're fortunate I didn't give you two punishments for your two offenses. Now it's time for your regular spanking. I'm sure you know the position you're to assume for it, don't you?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Good. Now tell me what it is, and why you're being punished."
She was still in the uncomfortably bound position, and the ache in her arms and shoulders was becoming more and more excruciating.
"Please untie my arms."
"Not until you've told me how and why you're going to be punished."
She grimaced as she lifted her head to speak. "You are going to take me across your knees and soundly spank me with the hairbrush, because I was a very bad girl and took a lot of money from you."
"That's right, and this is going to be your last spanking, isn't it Marilyn?"
"I-I hope so."
"Then I must make it a very severe one, so that you won't forget how naughty you've been, shouldn't I Marilyn?"
"Yes, Daddy."
As he unbuckled the belt restraining her arms, he said sternly, "Now get up and assume the proper position a naughty girl should, who is about to be spanked."
He had dropped his confining legs from around her waist, and she stiffly climbed to her feet. A new wave of lust flooded his emotions as he watched her cup her pain ridden breasts with both hands. She positioned herself to his right, then dropped her hands to lift her skirt and slip. She bent over in the prescribed manner and he pulled her down into the familiar position. Before she stood up, he had completely removed her blouse. Now as she lay across his lap she placed her arms under her body to hold her breasts up off the couch. As he arranged her skirt high up onto her back, he noticed this and ordered her to put both hands behind her back.
"Oh no, please let me keep them here."
Smack! His hand cracked against the black nylon of her panty girdle. "Do what I tell you or I'll make your spanking even longer."
She slowly and reluctantly moved her arms out from under her, and eased her upper body down to the leather covering of the couch. As her breasts flattened from-her weight, she winced. A long moan flowed from her open lips as she turned her head to rest it on the cushion. She dutifully put her arms behind her, wrists crossed. He grasped them in his left hand and pressed her further into the leather. With his right hand he roughly squeezed and rubbed her eleyated black encased mounds.
In a hundred years, he thought, I would never get tired of this sight and this soft resilient flash. His fingertips dug into her spheres like a baker kneading his rubbery dough.
"Now recite again to your daddy."
She had said the words many times before, but tonight he detected a change in her voice. A subtle tone of feeling that had never been there. Before, there had always been a throb of fear in her words. Tonight it was almost as if there was a longing.
"Daddy, I've been a very naughty little girl, and I deserve to be punished, I deserve to have my skirt pulled up and my girdle down, and given a long thorough spanking on my bare bottom."
He automatically glanced at her face, as if he might see there some other indication of the elusive quality of her voice. Surprisingly, she was staring back over her shoulder at him. Usually, when he was about to apply the hairbrush, she had her eyes closed or was looking vacantly at nothing. Now, in her eyes and expression, he saw a look he had never seen there before -almost of contentment and belonging. The fear had vanished. Did he imagine it, or did her look tell him that she was happy and satisfied in her humiliating position? He averted his eyes and looked at the hairbrush near her shoulder. As he reached to pick it up, he realized that in that instant, something had happened for the first time-he had shifted his eyes away from her stare before she had.
He raised the hairbrush above her. "Are you ready for your spanking now?"
"Yes, Daddy, I'm ready." That same, almost sensuous tone of voice.
Crack! The heavy wooden back of the hairbrush flattened her left cheek.
Crack! Then the right side.
Crack! Crack! Crack; Then three swiftly spaced hard blows that spanned the crevice under her girdle.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Then four more that traveled from the top of her sloping buttocks down to the lace edge where it joined her thighs.
Crack! Crack! Crack! He applied three more right at the sensitive lower curve of her bottom. They both had remained silent. He glanced at her face, and saw her eyes closed, head lifted forcing her breasts and shoulders into the couch, and a look of sheer rapture framed by her pulled back hair.
Crack! He continued the punishing strokes, as he talked.
"You enjoy it..."
Crack!
"... don't you, Marilyn?"
Crack!
"This is what..."
Crack!
"... You really need..."
Crack!
"Isn't it, Marilyn?"
Crack!
"Deep down you know..."
Crack!
"... That you do deserve to be punished..."
Crack!
"... for what you did, and that the spanking..."
Crack!
"... Drives out the guilt you feel..."
Crack!
"Doesn't it, Marilyn?"
"Oh yes, Daddy."
"And that your beautiful bottom..."
Crack!
"... Is just made to be spanked."
Crack!
"Spanked by me."
Crack!
"Isn't it, Marilyn?"
"Yes, Daddy, it's meant to be spanked by you."
By this time tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she was gasping out exclamations of pain as each blow landed.
"Then I think, young lady, it's time it was spanked without your panty girdle, don't you?"
"Yes, Daddy."
As he was about to tell her, she automatically lifted her hips high up off his lap. She held them there expectantly. He hooked the fingers of both hands under the tight elastic at the waistband and folded it back, pulling her panty girdle down inside out until it stretched from the tops of her stocking down to just above the hollows of her knees. He noticed that the crotch was sopping wet. She waited, remaining in her upreared position, while he picked up the hairbrush again.
Crack! The blow was delivered with all his might, and drove her hips down into his lap again.
"Owwwwwww. Oh God, please not so hard."
Crack! Crack! - He applied ten sharp stinging spanks, all in the same place, on the upper summit of her right cheek.
"Eeeowwwwww. Pleeeeeeeze."
Crack! Crack!-Then ten more in the same place on her left summit.
"Ohhhhhh God. Pleeeeze. Not all in the same place."
"That's what your bottom is for, isn't it, to feel the hairbrush?"
She remained silent, her face pressed into the cushion.
Crack!
"I asked you a question!"
"Oh yes, Daddy, that's what it's for, to feel your hairbrush."
"Then move forward so the lower curve of your bottom and your thighs are in position." She obediently moved toward the end of the couch until she felt that the crease at the juncture of her bottom and thighs was centered over his lap.
"That's where it hurts the most, isn't it Marilyn?"
"Oh yes, Daddy, please don't hit me too hard."
"But it's supposed to hurt when you've been a naughty girl and have to be punished, isn't it Marilyn?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Now open your legs while I finish your spanking."
She moved her legs as far apart as her lowered girdle permitted, keeping them both balanced on his thighs.
Crack! The blow landed on her right cheek, just above her thigh.
Crack! Then her left, in the same position. Then he gave her ten more, alternating from one lower cheek to the other as she wailed in pain.
He set the hairbrush down, and slowly caressed her flaming bottom. He moved his hand softly over her crimson globes, then down the cleft until his finger rested over the lips of her drenched slit. She moaned as she felt the pressure of two fingers insert themselves into her. She shuddered, then as his fingers rubbed her sensitized clitoris, she exploded into the long awaited lightning flash of her orgasm. For what seemed an ecstatic eternity she floated in a body tingling emotional rapture, then slowly drifted back to earth and her sacrificial position across John's lap. His husky voice penetrated her fogged mind.
"It was a good one, wasn't it Marilyn?" His stern tone had been replaced by one of fondness.
"Oh God, yes. You're something else."
"Well let's just see if I can bring you up to another one."
He had picked up the hairbrush, but Marilyn's hurried words stopped his hand in mid-air. "Oh please, let me rest for a few minutes before you start again. I beg of you, please don't start right now."
John looked into her pleading eyes that peered back at him over her shoulder. They were wide pools of feline-like sensualness. He slowly laid the hairbrush down and returned his hand to her lower hips. She inched her legs open wider as she felt his finger scrape her raw clitoris. He slowly moved it in and out as Marilyn felt the heat between her legs rising again.
"Oh Jesus, you know how to turn me on." Her head was lifted as if in adoration, her eyes tightly closed, as his finger continued to friction her love bud.
"Oh, now, now, with the hairbrush. Spank me! Spank me!"
In an instant the instrument of her pain and ecstasy was descending rapidly over her thighs.
Crack! He labored with the brush until her thighs were beet red. Her body again started it's now familiar bouncing as her nyloned-legs thrashed the air.
Crack! He revisited his blows back to the lower summits of her blazing bottom. The hairbrush was pumping up and down furiously. John's whole being was concentrated on the swinging hairbrush and frenzied motion of her body as Marilyn neared her sexual peak for the second time. Finally one hard punishing stroke brought an animal cry from her throat and she shuddered violently as the climax overpowered her.
Minutes later Marilyn lay limp across his thighs. Half sobbing, half gasping from the powerful pleasure-pain that gripped her, she turned her head to look back at John. His head was tilted back toward the wall, his eyes closed, his arms loosely at his side. His right hand still held the hairbrush. She lay there silently a few minutes longer, then slowly slid her legs to the floor and pulled her body over until her head rested in his lap. Her skirt and slip had fallen, covering her crimson, purple flecked bottom, and her panty girdle was stretched just above her knees. As she knelt between his legs, she pressed her arms along his thighs until her hands gripped his buttocks. She softly moved her head back and forth across his lap, then stopped with her mouth held above the thrusting bulge in his pants. She slowly moved her right hand forward until it reached the clasp at his waist. As she undid it, he opened his eyes and looked down at the top of her head. He could feel the band around his waist loosen, then watched as her hand guided the zipper down. This is crazy, he thought, but he didn't try to stop her. He remained motionless. She struggled with his zipper to get it all the way down. Then carefully opening his pants as far as she could, she reached in for his stiffened cock. She pulled it out, strong and erect. He watched as her hands held it lovingly, caressing the length of the shaft as if it were an idol to which she owed homage. She lowered her head, and he could feel the moist pressure of her tongue on the tip. He threw his head back and groaned. "Oh God, Marilyn."
She continued with her tongue, running it up and down the length of his turgid organ. She fondled it lovingly with her lips, then slowly drew her fingers down to its base of dark matted curls. Positioning her head above its red swollen crown, she lowered her lips around it. His body stiffened as her mouth descended down its length. He curled his hands into her hair and lifted his hips into her.
"Jesus, you're beautiful," he groaned, as her mouth rose and fell around his rock-hard shaft. Her tongue lapped the sides of it as she bobbed up and down, then lingered on the tip as if she were licking a succulent rod of candy. Gripping her head, he forced it down until her lips pressed against his body. He drove his hips into her face as his love-juice exploded into the warm corners of her mouth.
"Oh God, do it!" he cried. Choking, she raised her head to swallow, her cheeks hollowed inward as she lovingly sucked the spurting meat. After he had emptied his charge, she continued running her lips and tongue along his spent member.
Finally she raised up, freeing him, and lay her head on his thigh. She moved closer so that her lips could touch the limp idol to whom she had paid her supreme adoration. She looked up at him. His eyes were shut, and his face radiated a blissful exhaustion.
"Was I a naughty girl to eat your cock, Daddy?"
He opened his eyes, and softly stroked the waves of her shining hair. "I wish you could always be my naughty little girl."
Marilyn sighed wistfully, then a pained look crossed her lovely face. Not a physical pain, but the hurt of an inevitable loss. The world of reality slowly seeped through the walls of the board room and into their minds.
"Your punishment is over, you know. I signed the statement absolving you of any further punishment, and that I wouldn't report it to the police."
She sighed again. "Yes, it's over."
He gently lifted her head. "You can get up now."
"Yes," she paused, "but it's so comfortable here. Can I kiss you again?" Without waiting for a reply, she leaned over and kissed the object of her oral love, then struggled to her feet. She was hindered by the panty girdle around her knees, and self consciously bent to work it up her thighs and over the painful globes of her bottom cheeks. After one final provocative wriggle, she had it in place, and dropped her wrinkled skirt. He always made her replace her girdle after each session, rather than allow her to take it off. Looking shyly at him as he zipped up his pants, she became embarrassingly aware of her dangling naked breasts. She reached for her blouse, and put it on as a blush spread over her cheeks.
Silently, he rose and walked to the wall safe. He spun the dials back and forth till it opened, then withdrew a sheet of paper. He returned to the couch, conscious of Marilyn's eyes following his movements. He looked into her steady gaze, and held the folded paper up to her.
"Here. You're free now. Your punishment is officially over."
She took the paper and looked absently down at it, as if she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with it.
"Yes, I-uh-Thank you." She looked up at him again with the same steady gaze as if she were trying to see beyond his eyes into the depths of his mind. She stepped towards him and put her arms around him, leaning her body into his. As she nestled her head on his shoulder, he circled her waist with his arms, then slowly let his right hand slide down the curving slope of her buttocks. He gently caressed the familiar roundness, and gave her a number of soft, loving pats. She squeezed him affectionately.
"You've got to go, Marilyn." The whispered words were spoken in a low, despairing tone. She nodded.
"Yes, I know."
For a few moments she didn't move. Then she slowly unwound her arms and stepped back. Their eyes held each other for an instant, then she turned and moved to get her coat, the folded paper dangling from her fingertips. She put it into her purse, and shrugged into her coat. He waited at the door. She approached him and lingered with her hand on his sleeve, as he held the door open.
"Goodbye, Marilyn."
"Goodbye, Daddy."
Then she was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Upstairs, Susan also was wrestling with a problem. She couldn't concentrate on her homework. She had no assignments that had to be turned in tomorrow, and she couldn't seem to settle her mind down to read the words before her. She realized that she had been staring at one page of her Spanish book for at least ten minutes without absorbing any of it. She was worried about her father. In the last few weeks, she had felt a change in him. She couldn't pin down exactly what it was, or even guess at the cause of it, but she knew something was troubling him. He was quieter, more moody, and sometimes hardly aware of her at all. One or two times at the breakfast table, she had felt that he didn't even know she and her mother were there. And he seemed to have lost his easy, smiling humor. She couldn't remember when she had last heard his deep-throated laugh resounding through the house.
Worst of all, he was less affectionate. The little kisses, and hugs, and pats that she was used to, and loved, had become less frequent, and the occasional ones she did get were almost automatic, with no real feeling in them.
She missed affection. Although she had never admitted it to him, it was a very important part of her life. As she thought of it, another idea popped into her mind that momentarily caused a crimson color to creep across her cheeks. She hadn't been spanked in a long time either, and Daddy was always very affectionate and consoling after her punishment. She hadn't been bad lately or merited any kind of discipline, so she had no reason to expect it, but she did miss the soft spoken, kind words and the warm shelter of his arms that always followed each disciplinary session in her room.
Then she thought of the undiscovered trick she had played on her parents, its ugly aftermath, and the feeling of guilt she still had from it. About two months ago she had been invited on a date by a boy named Earl Queen. He was twenty, a highschool dropout who had avoided the draft, and worked at various short-lived jobs in Riverside. He was considered handsome, in his long-haired hippy way, by the girls in town, but had a reputation as being fast and loose, and always on the make for tender young stuff. He openly smoked pot, and had been seen on numerous "trips" on LSD, but never caught with the stuff. Susan had met him through a friend, and he had immediately asked her out. When he had picked her up for their date, her father and mother both had taken an instant dislike to his unkept hair, his wild hippy dress, and surly, unfriendly manner. When he had brought Susan home an hour late, John had forbidden her to ever go out with him again. Susan, however, had thought him kind of groovy, in an animalistic way, and was fascinated by him. She contrived a secret date, two weeks later, using her friend Barbara as an accomplice and alibi, and met him in a coffee shop downtown. They had gone to a neighborhood bar where he was known, and no questions were asked about her age. He had tried to get her drunk. She had insisted on coke, but noticed it was spiked, and had gone easy on them. He had tried to talk her into sharing a reefer with him, then got angry when she refused. From there on, the evening had gone downhill, and culminated when he ripped her blouse and pushed her out of the car when she had furiously repelled his attempts to make cut with her. He had showered her with gravel as he spun out of the parking lot, leaving her stranded with the filthy names he called her ringing in her ears. Luckily, she had found Barbara at home and talked her into coming out to pick her up and drive her home. On the way home she had been forced to listen to Barbara's scathing remarks about "babies" who get scared when a real man wants them. She had been able to conceal the horrible episode from her parents, but still lived with the guilt of disobedience, and knowing that her Father had been right about Earl Queen as a loser and bad company.
Thinking about it, she impulsively got up from her desk, and went downstairs to her father. As she descended the stairs, she was surprised to hear the television set on. He almost never watches TV, she thought, except the news occasionally, or a special documentary on business. I wonder what show he has tonight. When she walked into the den, she was further surprised to see horses galloping across the rocky landscape, so familiar in a stereotyped western. She hesitated, knowing that her father was unaware she was in the room. She watched him as he concentrated on the figures fleeing across the tube. She thought about quietly retreating back upstairs, but held her ground. The moment and her decision to talk to him were too important.
"Daddy, I uh, could I talk to you for a minute, please?"
John's head jerked around. He was surprised to see her standing there, and vaguely wondered how long she had been there watching him.
"Sure honey. I was just watching an old western anyway."
As he got up to turn the set off, he was somewhat embarrassed and uncomfortable to have his daughter see him in what he considered to be a foolish and wasteful form of relaxation. After shutting it off, he turned to look at her.
"What's on your mind? We haven't had much of a chance to talk lately, have we?" He stood facing her, aware that he was ill at ease because it had been by his choice that they had not communicated closely in the past few weeks.
She looked up at him, then lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her hands before she spoke. "I, well, I don't know how to say this, but I, uh, did something wrong, and uh, feel bad about it, and I wanted to tell you."
As she ended the sentence, she looked up at him again with a pleading glance.
She's in some kind of trouble, he thought, and needs my help. "Sure honey, why don't you sit down and tell me about it." He managed a warm smile as he led her to the couch, then sat opposite her in his chair. She returned his warmth with a weak grin, and was almost sorry she had come to him with the story, it was going to be painful to tell.
She sat for a moment, looking down at the floor, and trying to figure out the best place to start. He regarded her with a level, but puzzled, gaze.
Finally, she began in a soft, barely audible voice. "You remember Earl Queen?"
"Yes?" His reply came out as a cautious question.
"Well, after that one date with him, you told me not to go out with him again, and I, uh, disobeyed you, and uh, had another date with him."
John's face tightened noticeably in anger, but he held his voice level as she paused.
"Yes, go on."
Susan then let flow an avalanche of words, tumbling over each other in her haste to get them out, as she painfully recounted the story of her unfortunate experience. Finally, with flushed cheeks and moist eyes she finished. A pathetic plea for forgiveness was written on her strained, lovely face. He was angry at her disobedience, but proud of the courage she showed in offering her confession. He looked at her steadily.
"Well, honey, do you feel you have learned your lesson, that perhaps my judgment is better than yours?"
"Yes, Daddy, I'm sorry and ashamed that it happened, but the thing I'm sorriest about is disobeying your orders." Tears were silently rolling down her cheeks as she said it.
He relaxed a bit inwardly, as he felt her confession could have been something more serious. However, he wanted to make sure that the unfortunate experience brought her some measure of wisdom.
"Susan, honey, there are two important things to learn from something like this; one is that you have gained an experience that will sharpen your judgment about other people. And the other is that life is a series of crimes and punishments. When you do something wrong, that you know is wrong, sometime, somewhere, life punishes you. It may not be another person that delivers the punishment, but life itself always finds a way to even the score. Do you understand that?"
Susan had been sitting on the edge of the couch, knees and legs together, hunched forward, eyes downcast, as she nervously rubbed the top of one hand with the other. As she moved closer to the edge of the cushion it pulled her short skirt back farther up her thighs, and John couldn't help noticing the smooth symmetry of her legs, and the dark tops of her panty hose that appeared.
"Yes, Daddy, I know I've learned a lesson about boys, but I still feel guilty about doing something you told me not to do."
He looked at her crestfallen features, and his heart opened to her. His love for her as a daughter told him that forgiveness was the best thing he could do.
"Honey, I'm proud of you for coming to me and admitting it. I know how hard it was to do it, and I feel you have paid the price for being disobedient. I forgive you, and I don't think you should feel guilty any more."
He had come over to her and fondly bent to lay his hand on her shoulder. But Susan, although warmed by the tenderness of his words, felt the purpose of the admission of her guilt was slipping away. In her awakening woman's mind, she could feel that the amount of affection she craved could only result, as it had before, from the aftermath of her physical punishment.
Head tilted back, she looked at him, then lowered her eyes. She was silent for a while as she formed the right words in her mind. She spoke slowly. "Thank you, Daddy, but you told me that whenever I was disobedient, you would punish me. I know I was bad to do what you had forbidden, and I would feel better if you did punish me."
He was looking down at the silken golden hair, brushed back from the part along the top of her head, then met her eyes as they lifted at the end of her statement. He thought he detected a faint glimmer in them that he had not seen before. His pulse quickened imperceptibly at that familiar glow.
"And how do you think I should punish you?"
"The same way you have before, Daddy. I deserve a spanking."
"But you know the experience itself was a punishment. Would you feel less guilty if I punished you, too?"
"Yes, Daddy, I think I would."
John had sat down next to her, at her left, and had pulled her to him. Her face was buried against his chest, her right arm loosely gripping his waist.
"Well, if you feel it would help, I will, but I don't think it should be as severe as spankings you've had before. I won't use the hairbrush, and I'll give it to you right here on the couch. Would that be alright?"
"Yes Daddy. Thank you. I know I deserve it."
With that, he slowly applied pressure on her shoulder to pull her face down across his lap. As she started to move, she glanced up at his eyes, and he was surprised to see the gratitude and love that shone from them.
Lifting her knees onto the couch, she then lay submissively across his lap, wriggling her body until she felt it was in the proper position. Before he prepared her, he let his eyes travel the length of her lush girl-woman's body. He had almost forgotten-the lowered head with its soft golden hair sweeping down revealing her slim milky neck, the tapering curves from shoulder to waist, the sumptuous upreared mounds outlined by the tightened skirt, the shining columns of her thighs, and the graceful excitement of her extended legs. Slowly he let his right hand move over the taut fabric of her tan skin, then put both hands at its lower edge. As he did, Susan automatically lifted her hips. He inched her skirt up, gazing at the dark tops of her panty hose, then the skin tight, lace edged pink panties. She kept her hips up until her skirt had been raised inside out as high as it would go. Then she settled back onto his lap and felt his hands pull her closer to him, and position her as he wanted.
He let his hand linger on the silkiness of the up-thrust pink panties as he pressed his left hand onto her back. His right hand rose, and came down sharply.
Smack!
"Aren't you going to spank me bare, Daddy?"
"When I get ready to, I will, young lady."
Smack!
He continued distributing the lighter-than-usual spanks over the entire surface of her bottom. When he had administered ten more, he rested his hand across the crevice shadowed by the clinging panties and hose.
"Up."
Susan knew what was expected, and lifted her hips high off his lap. This time when she did it, however, she elevated her bottom higher than usual, keeping her breasts pressed to the couch, her back arched, and her knees moved forward closer to his right thigh. Her highly upreared body was in an invitingly obscene position. John noticed this and realized that his daughter was sensually enjoying the punishment and the subservient position. He very deliberately lowered her panties and panty hose until they were carefully turned down and stretched from mid-thigh to the tops of her knees. She had spread her legs to allow him to adjust her panties as he wanted them, and knew that he could see the fleshy lips of her womanhood between her legs. She remained in her raised position, face turned to the back of the couch, waiting to feel his palm again. He viewed the rosy-pink skin, then resumed his arousing task.
Smack!
"Ohhhhhh."
Smack!
"Ahhhhhh."
Smack!
"Ohhhh Daddeeeeee."
Smack!
"Ahhhhhhh."
Smack!
"Ohhhh Daddy, I'm sorry I was such a bad girl."
Smack!
"Yes, you were a bad girl."
Smack!
"And you're getting the punishment you deserve-"
Smack!
... Aren't you?"
Smack!
"Oh yes, Daddy."
Smack!
"I was a very bad girl, and I do deserve it."
Smack!
The spanking continued at a faster pace with John lecturing Susan in what was now a mock severity. The session ceased to be a punishment and was mounting to an intense sexual excitement for both of them. Susan had lowered herself onto his lap and was squirming fitfully, reveling in the feel of her bare thighs rubbing into the fabric of his trousers. Her head was elevated. Eyes closed and mouth opened, she emitted a long continuous series of moans that sharpened to a rasping squeal as each blow fell. The pain had kindled an erotic fire that centered in the ample flesh of her beet red, bouncing globes, and was racing to a wet, flowing climax down between her legs at the center of her adolescent womanhood. All inhibitions and restraints that exist between father and daughter had disappeared. They were discarded and replaced by an all consuming heat of passion that engulfed them both. Each had given up, and allowed the rushing wave of emotion to sweep aside moral convention. He was hypnotized by the sensual thrashing of her sumptuous body, engrossed by the overwhelming response Susan was experiencing. She was conscious only of the overpowering sexual force that had complete control of her mind and body. Finally, at one sharp, flattening blow of his hand, Susan's head was thrown back, her open lips emitted a shattering cry, her hips ground into John's lap, as her body shuddered in the throes of her first orgasm. His right hand tightly clenched the apex of her left thigh in her cleft, and he felt her juices flowing at the tip of his finger. His left hand unconsciously dug into her hip as he helplessly felt the semen pumping from his stiff gorged penis up against the fabric pressing into her body.
Ever so slowly, they both floated down from the lofty emotional plateau they had held for an instant eternity. The fiery intenseness cooled to a warmth, then to a damp clammy reality where her body touched his. An uncomfortable awareness, an embarrassment, crowded out the moment of sheer ecstasy.
A blush crept down Susan's cheeks as she realized how she must look to the man above her. She had a picture in her mind of the upraised, rumpled skirt, the long expanse of bare reddened skin, the unlikely dishevelment of her lowered, sagging underwear, and the moist clamminess between her thighs. She slowly slid to her knees in front of him and rested her head on his knee. Both were silent, and neither one could look at the other.
Susan's mind was a conflicting turmoil of emotion and reality. In the depths of her mind, she had known before tonight that there was a definite pleasurable sexual response in her while she was being punished. It had been a nebulous, misty awareness that had crept to the forefront of her mind occasionally, only to be pushed back to her subconscious because it was a bad, unnatural, socially horrifying thought. It was bad because the sensations she felt were produced by her father. Things like that just shouldn't happen. So she had been afraid to bring it to light, to examine it in her mind, to weigh the possibilities and consequences of it. The thought had always been shunted back and buried in her mind among the many other unpleasant things that people really don't like, to think about. It was awful enough, the thought of baring one's soul to examine the unnatural thrills and pleasures that are strangely accumulated through pain, but the aspect of sharing it, or having it result from your own father was an experience to be avoided. Now it could not be avoided. The powerful, mind blowing sexual climax that she had felt had been to obvious. She knew her father was aware that she had orgasmed. Her climactic actions, her lusty moans, the piercing scream, her heavily flowing love juices that saturated his trousers, were all too obvious. And she knew that he also had come. She had felt it. The signs were unmistakable.
Now she was confused. Kneeling with her head resting sideways on his knee, staring unblinkingly at the dark stains on his trousers, she didn't know what to do or say. But the natural honesty she possessed dictated to her that she should admit the truth, and talk about it. It was an honesty that combined the innocence and directness of youth with the integrity she had learned from her father.
She felt his hand gently touch her shoulder and pat it. When she glanced up at him, his eyes were focused on her hair. Slowly they turned to meet hers. He spoke carefully and, she could sense, painfully.
"I'm sorry, Susan, I-I got carried away. At the end you were no longer my daughter, but a woman. This is a terrible thing for-for your father to say, but it was not punishment I was giving you," he paused, "it was a pleasure, a sexual pleasure, that I wanted for myself. I'm sorry, and I'm ashamed. You should hate me for what happened."
She lifted her head and reached for his hand. "Oh no, Daddy, I don't hate you, I love you. I always will love you, and respect you. I'm the one who should be ashamed, because I-I started it when I came down to see you. I wanted you to spank me. I know that sounds crazy, but when you spanked me before, you were always so nice afterwards. You were so affectionate and tender. You held me, and even though the spanking hurt, it made me feel so good when you held me." Susan's words were spilling out'-"And, and the other thing was it made me excited, I mean like sexy, and I liked that, too. I must be crazy, Daddy, to-to enjoy that, but I did. Is that crazy, or freakish, or something?"
She looked at him with an intense, questioning stare. He wondered if he had the wisdom to answer her.
"No, honey, it isn't crazy. A lot of people feel the same way." For an instant the picture of Marilyn's face, twisted in ecstatic pain flashed into his mind. "The problem is no one talks about it, or admits it, because it is out of the ordinary, or not according to society's standards. That doesn't make it weird, or freakish, or unnatural, it just makes it... unacceptable. I feel that anything you want to do is not wrong, as long as it does no harm to anyone. There is a lot of unfounded prudishness in society today that, to me, just doesn't make sense. They say that if you don't conform to polite society, then you are wrong. I don't believe this. And the world is full of unhappy, inhibited, neurotic conformists who have never had the wonderful experience of just letting themselves go, and having a few brief moments of sheer joy to interrupt the hours of boredom that is their life. Susan, what you and I did was wrong, only if it warps the closeness, and love, and respect that we had for each other. Can you understand that?"
Susan's eyes were shining, and a tear slowly slipped from one corner and traveled downward, leaving its glistening trail. She bent forward and hugged his waist.
"Oh yes, I do. And I know that I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have such a wonderful Daddy. I was worrying about you, because lately you had become so moody and you weren't very talkative. It was like you were trying to withdraw from Mother and I. You didn't seem to want to kiss me as much, or hold me, or even talk to me, and I missed that. But I'm glad you talked to me tonight, so I guess the spanking wasn't too bad after all. This is the first time we've really talked at all for weeks, isn't it, Daddy?"
He looked down at her smiling, upturned face, and a flood of love rushed through him. He circled her with his arms and held her head against his chest. "Yes it is, Honey, and I'm sorry I've been so moody. You're awfully good at cheering me up."
"Is something wrong, Daddy, at work or anything, I mean?"
He hesitated. "No, not really, everything's fine at work. Business has never been better. I guess I'm just getting grouchy in my old age."
"Oh Daddy, you're not getting old. You're still the handsomest man I know. And I'm going to miss you. When I'm away at college, I mean. My gosh, that's only three weeks away now. Will you miss me, Daddy? If I'm bad at college, you won't be able to spank me."
At her words, John felt a sudden twinge of longing, and realized how much he would miss her.
"Of course I'll miss you, Honey, the house will be terribly empty without your lovely face to brighten it up. But I think now you'd better get up and, uh, straighten your clothes before your mother walks in."
Susan blushed with embarrassment when she realized how she must look with her panties down around her knees, and although her skirt had fallen back down, it was still twisted up indecently high, and her panty hose sagged uncomfortably. They each had their separate, unsettling thoughts about the scene they presented if Jeanne had walked in then.
Susan scrambled to her feet, turned away from him to adjust her clothing, then turned back and leaned over to kiss him.
"Thank you, Daddy, you are the greatest."
He patted her arm, and said, "Good night, Honey, you're very special yourself."
"Good night, Daddy."
When he heard her bedroom door close, he went upstairs to take a shower. As he undressed, he rolled his pants up in a ball and dropped them in the hamper for the cleaners. Then he thought better of it. He took them out of the hamper, lifted the matching suit coat off it's hanger, folded the pants inside it, and dropped them both in the hamper. He knew the coat didn't need cleaning, but it would be less suspicious to Jeanne. She always sent the whole suit to the cleaners if just the pants were rumpled or dirty. He had always been very open and honest with Jeanne, and had never cheated on her. He rarely did anything of which he was ashamed, or wanted to conceal from her. The guilt of his act with Susan, and the ruse with his stained trousers weighed heavily on his mind as he stepped into the shower.
While he was shaving, he heard the front door close and Jeanne turning out the downstairs light. He stopped for a moment, listening to her soft footsteps on the stairway, and wondered what his reaction would be when he saw her. Would she be able to detect some slight difference in his face that would give away the experience with Susan? How would he feel about making love when he watched her undressing? Each night after he had spanked Susan, they had soared to thundering peaks in their sexual union. He wasn't sure about tonight.
"Hello Dear, are you showering tonight?" "Hi Honey. Yes, I was feeling a little grubby from work and didn't want to wait till morning. How was the bridge?"
"Oh fair. We won two rubbers, and played well, but I sometimes think those chattering women in the group are going to drive me crazy with their non-stop talking. There's nothing worse than a bunch of women who get together and just talk. What did you do tonight?"
"Oh, just watched television for awhile."
"Really? Was there something special on?"
"No, just a John-Wayne-type western."
"Oh?"
He came out of the bathroom in his clean shorts and T-shirt, scrubbed, shaved, and lotioned. Jeanne loved the smell of him right after his shower and went to kiss him.
"My, you smell delicious."
"Just my fancy perfume," he said fondly as he kissed her.
He went over and climbed in bed, propping up his pillow to read, as he waited for her to undress. He liked to read one or two books a week, and usually read most of it in bed before he turned off the light each night. Tonight he had trouble concentrating. Instead of absorbing the words, his mind kept filling with visions of the scene with Susan-her positions, her actions, her expressions, her flesh, her voice. His eyes kept lifting from the book to his wife, seated at the dressing table in her light green slip, as she did her nightly ritual with her face and hair. Once she noticed his eyes in the mirror, looking at her body.-Unconsciously she straightened her shoulders to throw her breasts forward. He followed the movement, and knew she had seen him looking at her. Normally that little sensuous motion of hers aroused him. Tonight was different. His mind dwelled on Susan and the reminded loss to him when she would leave for college. The more it occupied his mind, the greater the anticipated pain of loss spread into his soul. It had a deadening effect on his senses, as if a black mass of heavy protoplasm was slowly settling onto his feelings, subtly smothering his emotions.
He looked up again at Jeanne. She had stood up, and was taking off her slip. He never tired of watching her do this. Seeing the lace edge ascending, revealing the dark tops of her stockings, then the stark white of her thighs, then the lace edge of her panty girdle as she slid the slip over the fullness of her hips and bottom.
It usually stirred him, starting the tingling flow of sexual energy. Tonight, however, his senses were dead. He was tired. As she walked into the bathroom with her nightgown over her arm, he put the book down and turned out the light. He pulled his pillow into place and slid down under the covers. Each night, just before he was ready to go to sleep, he stretched his body out, luxuriating in the feeling of his muscles relaxing in the warm cocoon of the bed. Tonight it felt especially good. He settled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. Although he was tired, he could feel that sleep would be a long time in coming.
CHAPTER NINE
The pain of loneliness seemed to invade every fibre of his being and crept in and out of his mind each hour of the day. To escape it, John literally threw himself into his work. The nights at home were the worst, so he spent more and more late hours at the office, fine tuning an already smoothly operating business. He looked into every niche, every corner, every detail of his company, to seek ways to improve, and more importantly, problems that would keep his mind off the dark, empty well that Susan's absence left him.
His employees, sensitive as they always were to the boss's moods, noticed the difference. He was becoming picky... His usual relaxed manner had noticeably been replaced by an impatient gruffness. Sharp, critical words became more frequent. His easy smile became a rarity. Rumors and conjecture flew about among the workers that the business was in trouble, and the boss worried. Word had it that one of the banks was pressuring him for repayment of a loan. Argument's were held at lunch time in which it was stated that sales were down, and profits disappearing. A reliable source in middle management had heard that two of their biggest clients had cancelled orders, and were now buying somewhere else. However, the truth was that Southwest Hardware had never been in better shape. The demon inside John was born outside his business, but manifested itself most obviously to those who worked around him. A few of the women, including his secretary, suggested that he was having trouble at home. Short whispered conversations about his wife's frigidity, another woman, losing his virility, a pregnant daughter, and mounting gambling debts, became the number one topics in the ladies' restroom. To a degree, they were right, but for all of the wrong reasons. Life at home had become a strained, uncomfortable series of silences and short, uneasy, inconsequential conversations. Jeanne knew he missed his daughter, but she would never realize how much. Although she hated to admit it, she also knew that he and Susan had become much closer than she and her daughter. She saw very little of him. They both went about their own affairs, being pleasant to each other when together, but an ever widening chasm was swallowing the deep rooted love they once had. They had not had intercourse since Susan's departure.
One afternoon at work, three weeks after Susan had gone, John's concentration on business came to a halt, and his mind drifted off into an unstoppable series of thoughts about Susan, sex, the female body, and his own urges. It was as if his mind had rebelled, became overfilled with facts and figures, schedules and balance sheets, and all at once emptied itself of these cold hard facts, to replace them with softness and femininity. He tried to pull business back into his head into the logical order where it belonged, but his mind kept rejecting it, as if it had a will of its own, and filled itself with sexual images. John tried walking around the office with the door closed, reading one paper from his desk, then another. It was no use. He just couldn't concentrate. A phone call from a manufacturer helped bring him back to business, but as soon as it was over, his thoughts drifted off again.
At one point his secretary came in with some letters, which she placed in his desk tray, then went to the corner file cabinet to get some records she needed. He lifted his eyes from the paper he was reading and watched her. He had seen her do this a thousand times and never paid much attention to her. Today he watched intently as she walked away from him to the cabinet. He noticed every slight swinging movement of her hips, tightly encased in a light green knit skirt. His gaze rested on the undulating muscles of her buttocks as they rippled. He let his eyes drop down the shining smoothness of her legs, glanced at her high heeled shoes, then traveled slowly back up her legs to the shadowed undercurve where her tight skirt held to the lower slope of her bottom. She stooped and bent down to open the second lowest draw of the file. He drank in the sight as her skirt tightened around her out-thrust bottom and lifted slightly to show the backs of her thighs. As she pulled the manila file out and closed the drawer, she became conscious of his eyes and her bent over position. She blushed as she straightened up. She didn't dare look in his direction, to avoid the embarrassment of catching him watching her body. Then, self consciously, she walked to the door and closed it behind her. She had felt his eyes on the back of her skirt every inch of the way.
When she got to her desk, she thought, my God,, he's never looked at me that way before. Maybe this skirt is too tight, or I'm gaining weight. She immediately dropped the folder on her desk and headed for the ladies' room. Turning sideways in front of the mirror, then looking back over her shoulder, she checked the fit. She noticed the way the knit fabric hugged the upper slope of her buttocks, rounded snugly down the summit's, curved in slightly below, then dropped straight to end just above her knees. It is a little tight, she admitted, but he's seen me wear this before. I'll have to watch the way I bend over in front of him again. I wonder if he's going to make a pass at me, or even pat my fanny. A lot of bosses do that.
As she went out the door, she realized that it was not an unpleasant idea at all.
John thought about his secretary. He had always considered her as having an acceptable figure, but had never really paid that much attention to it. She had always been more of a walking, talking business machine to whom he gave directions and she complied. He had never completely thought of her as a woman. Now he did. She really has a nice ass, he thought, not the best I've seen, but nice. I wonder what she would think if I patted her on the fanny every now and then. Just kind of a friendly gesture. Or even spanked her when she made a mistake. Just a light spanking, not hard at all, but just as kind of a paternal disciplinary measure. He had heard once of a boss who did that and got away with it. He thought about it for a few minutes. Nancy in various positions while he applied a few brisk smacks to the seat of her skirt, or even with her skirt up (she probably wears a white girdle), while he lightly scolded her for her typing errors. God, I must be crazy, he thought, she'd have me thrown in jail or send her husband down to punch me in the nose, or worse yet, quit. He lurched forward in his chair, got to his feet, and paced the room.
He thought of other girls who were employees of his. Sheila Nunnely, in accounting. Boy, does she have a body, and fantastic legs. And she loved to show them off, wearing nothing but mini skirts to work. Wouldn't it be nice having her over my lap, with that short skirt pulled up and my hand bouncing off those jiggling globes of hers. He could feel an erection starting.
I must be going nuts, he thought. I've got to get my mind off sex and back to business. He walked back to his desk, sat down and forced himself to concentrate on the report in front of him. It worked for a while, but his mind kept tugging him back to thoughts of women and their shapely, well fulled bottoms. One of those women that crept into his mind as a candidate to spend time across his knees while his hand bounced off her glowing backside, was his wife.
That night at dinner, he looked at Jeanne closely, but surreptitiously. He tried to envision her in the position Marilyn and Susan had occupied. He pictured her writhing across his lap, or bending over, slowly lifting her dress as his hand was poised to mete out punishment to her. He tried to imagine her entering into a spanking "game" with him, with her as the willing victim. In between spurts of their desultory conversation, he weighed the pros and cons of the idea. She'd think I was crazy if I even mentioned it, he thought, and the only way it would work with Jeanne, would be if she agreed to it and would enjoy the sexual aspects of being spanked. Maybe she would, he mused. Every woman has a streak of latent masochism in her, the desire to be dominated, and if Susan has it as strong as she does, then perhaps her mother also does.
Just before they finished dinner, he almost asked her. He intended to tell her about his arousal as a result of Susan's punishments, his misery at having lost the source of sexual fervor, and see if she would agree to take her daughter's place. He wanted to get it all off his chest, except his involvement with Marilyn. He knew he would feel better if he could bring it out in the open so they could discuss it. Just as he was about to reach over for her hand and mention it, he lost his courage. Although perhaps it really wasn't a loss of courage so much as it was a fear of a far-reaching change in their relationship. It could produce a horrified, negative reaction in her that might last for years, or forever. He still loved Jeanne very much, and he didn't want to risk anything that would cause him to lose her. Also she might think his relationship with Susan was now a completely unnatural one. She might insist that he see a psychiatrist, and that he didn't need. He dropped the idea and told her that he had some things to read tonight, would she excuse him?
A little sadly she said, "Of course, Dear," and watched him get up and leave the table.
There's something really bothering him now, she thought. I wish he would tell me what it is and let me help. She had tried to penetrate the newly formed shell of moroseness around him twice before. Both times he had mumbled, "No, nothing is wrong, just a little more pressure at work." Then he had either changed the subject or silently returned to his reading with an obvious gesture of dismissal. He had become withdrawn at times before, but never for as long as this. God, it's been months, she thought, and gotten worse since Susan left. I know he misses her, probably even more than I do, she admitted, but his coldness had started long before she left. The number of times we make love gets less and less frequent, and then not as satisfying. He usually stays up late reading, and if I'm still awake when he comes to bed, he turns his back to me and shrugs off any advances I make by saying he is too tired.
Still sitting at the dinner table, she worried over the problem. If I could find the right moment to arouse him, to get him interested in me and make love to me, maybe he would soften his reserve and tell me what's bothering him. She thought about finding that right moment.
It came four nights later on a Saturday night. They had spent the day together working in the yard. It was something they did infrequently, maybe four or five times a year, but always enjoyed. They had a gardener who kept the yard in good shape, but every now and then, time permitting, they liked to work out in the sun cleaning up shrub beds, weeding, pruning, and planting in some colorful flowers to brighten up the grounds. It had been a perfect day-warm and sunny, with an occasional breeze drifting in to cool off the sweat. They had recaptured a forgotten warmth and closeness that they always felt when they worked on a project together. A little stiff and tired, but exhilarated from their efforts, they had come in about five o'clock to shower and clean up. John had suggested dinner out, and mixed them both a set of very dry Martinis while they were dressing.
Dinner had been fun. A relaxing continuation of the warm, easy mood they had shared during their day. They returned home with a pleasant wine-induced glow and walked from the car to the front door with his arm looped around her shoulders, and her's encircling his waist. Looking up at him lovingly, she thought, tonight's the night. He fixed a couple of drinks for them, and they chatted easily in the living room. Unspoken, they both realized it was the nicest, most pleasant day they had spent together in a long time. After a while though, the day's efforts began to take their toll? and they sleepily agreed it was time for bed. They finished their cognac, held each other close for a few relaxing moments, then, arm in arm, went upstairs.
There was a reliving of a love, a recapturing, that each of them felt. It made them come alive, regain a hope that the love they had shared would return. Their eyes spoke of it to each other. They wanted to believe that the love they had lived with for so long could be regained.
When they got to their room, John went into the bathroom to relieve himself of some of the wine and cognac that he had consumed that evening. When he came out, Jeanne was bending over, removing her dress by slipping it down and off at her feet. With her back to him, and her pink rayon slip tautened over her outthrust buttocks, she presented an inviting target. He gave her a crisp, yet caressing, slap on her bottom.
"Ummmm, that was nice," she said, turning and straightening up with a warm smile.
At that moment, John was again tempted to broach the subject of spanking as a form of love play for them. He hesitated, looking into her eyes, then decided to wait until they both were in bed.
Jeanne, warmed by the affectionate pat on her lower anatomy, was planning her strategy for the next few minutes on how she would entice her husband into an unforgettable love session and talk with him about his recent moodiness. She hung up her dress, searched in her drawer for his favorite baby-doll pajamas, then retired to the bedroom. John undressed, put on his pajamas, and got into bed. He picked up the book he had been reading for the past four nights, and waited for Jeanne. As he started on the third page, she returned and sat down at her dressing table. He glanced at her, noting an interesting smile that was framed by her long hair, which she had let down and combed into a long cascading silkiness, then returned to his book. He became engrossed, then after awhile he looked up at her again. She seemed to be taking an unusually long time. Then he noticed that her face, instead of having that usual nightly, creamed, washed out look, was more alive. Her eyes stood out, glowing, and she had darkened her lipstick. He watched as she bent forward, putting the final touches on her sensual looking lips. She saw him looking at her in the mirror. She picked up her eyebrow pencil and outlined her arching brows. She then gathered her hair behind her head, arching her back and thrusting her nipples against the filmy nylon of her pajama top, securing her hair with a rubber band so that it still fell straight down but was tightened almost like a girl's pony tail. He watched her breasts press firmly out against the sheer fabric and could feel his pulse quicken and an erection starting. She then did something that made the hair on his arms rise and turn his slowly rising penis into a rock hard ramrod. She had thrown her shoulders back even farther so that her breasts jutted out obscenely, then slowly lifted the lacy hem of her pajama top up the front of her body to just below her neck. She gathered it and held it tightly, so that her breasts were completely exposed, then picked up the dark lipstick and sensuously started applying it to her out-thrust nipples. She carefully teased the tips until they stood out like rods, then, with an easy circular motion, painted all around the sides and even the light hued aureoles, first one, then the other, Her eyes were narrowed and glowing with lust. Her lips were open into a sexual pout as she slid her tongue along them giving them a sleek sheen. Her body shuddered as she again touched the tip of her lipstick to the very center of her right nipple. Still holding her baby-doll top up, she slowly laid the lipstick on the dressing table and picked up the stopper from a perfume bottle. Almost ritualistically, she applied the perfume to the tip of each breast, the lush valley between them, then, stretching her legs out in front of her, she opened them, and carefully applied the perfume to the thin fabric stretched across the lips of her vulva.
John was hypnotized by the scene. His eyes were straining open, his hands clutched the bedspread, every nerve was tingling with a blazing lust, his penis was stretched into a hard shaft.
Jeanne got up and turned to him so her body was silhouetted against the lights of her dressing table through the swaying nylon. She bent down provocatively to turn out the lights, then approached the bed. Placing one knee on the bed, she lightly grasped the silky fabric and pulled it tightly down against her breasts. "Do you want me, Darling?" she asked softly. For a moment he couldn't speak. Then, reaching for her arm, his voice cracked with hoarseness.
