Christine Parradine was one of those exquisite, helpless, feminine beauties who seem destined almost from birth to be dominated by a man, and yet, paradoxically, at the age of twenty-three she was still a pure, intact virgin.
She was petite, about five feet one inch in height, voluptuously formed, and her vulnerable femininity was emphasized by thick horn-rimmed spectacles. Her golden hair was drawn back tightly from her high forehead into a demure bun at the back of her neck, leaving her shell-pink ears exquisitely bare.
Her face was heart shaped, with a poignantly ripe mouth, tremulous and soft, a mouth made for kissing -- or Frenching, which latter pursuit she had never done, and, for that matter, she did not even know what Frenching implied.
Her large, widely spaced eyes were a limpid dark brown, fringed with thick, long lashes, while her brows were penciled, very narrow and expressive. She had a lovely dimple 'in the middle of her chin, and her voice was soft, sweet and slurred, especially when she spoke quickly in the heat of emotion. But that emotion was intellectual, for Christine had been kissed only by her father and her brother, and in her full twenty-three years of life she had never been held in the arms of a man, her mouth resoundingly kissed, or the luscious charms of her bubbies and ass and round, full thighs palpated.
Her parents had become estranged about a decade ago, and her mother lived in Connecticut, while her father had a job as a radio engineer in Sacramento. As a consequence, Christine Parradine had been brought up by her mother's elderly unmarried sister, and so inevitably she had inherited a kind of apprehension of the male and a scrupulously moral outlook as regards the physical relationship between man and maid.
But fate was already deciding to take a hand in shaping a new, incredible life for the chaste and fearful, bespectacled virgin. That hand would be literal in some ways, as we shall see. In order to comprehend the workings of destiny, we may first leave Christine in her job as a filing clerk in a Chicago Loop insurance agency and move ahead through time and space to the other end of the country where Christine's aunt's married niece, Sue Cornish, was in the midst of a domestic altercation with her husband Bill.
Christine's aunt, Myra Follansbee, had had an elder brother who had gone out to Sacramento about twenty-five years ago, married a pretty local girl and had a daughter by her. That daughter had been Sue, and Sue was now twenty-three -- the very same age as Christine, to be exact -- and she was just ending her very first year of marriage to Bill Cornish, a handsome thirty-one-year-old black-haired wholesale liquor distributor, whose territory ranged between Sacramento and Bakersfield, and whose own home had been in Fresno.
The Cornish residence was in the front of the Fig Garden, one of Fresno's swankiest residential sections. There were numerous young and mature married couples in elegant, costly homes in that section, and many of them had already discovered the boredom of this intensely hot San Joaquin Valley city, which offered very little in the way of nightclubs or culture, and of which people were already saying, "Fresno is so wonderfully near Frisco or L.A., that you can have all the fun you want, and you can even fly to Reno or Las Vegas if you really want action." Sue Cornish had just made the startling and unhappy discovery that her philandering husband was a secret member of a swapping club known as "The Enlightened Cheaters."
It had come about just last night, which was Friday. Bill had come home after midnight, supposedly concluding a trip which was to have taken him through Modesto and Madera. He had kissed Sue perfunctorily, put down his suitcase with a weary sigh, then asked if she could make him some French toast and strong black coffee. Sue was only too happy to accommodate.
Whistling cheerfully in the kitchen, she made the French toast, which was one of his favorite dishes. And she thought with tingling anticipation of their reunion. He had been gone for a week, which was three days more than he had originally told her he would be absent from the two-story house on Sepulveda Avenue.
Sue was a passionate, auburn haired beauty of medium height, somewhat on the buxom side, but very nimble in bed. She was intensely devoted to her handsome husband, and she thought the world began and ended with him. After all, he had been the first man to take her cherry, and a girl is always psychologically bound to her first lover. When he made it legal, Sue's happiness overflowed its cup. But now the beverage of marital happiness was to turn into bitter brew indeed.
While waiting for the French toast to brown, she hurried into the living room where he had set down his suitcase, and noticed that one of the locks was open. She pressed the other and it sprang open. There, on top, was a handkerchief stained with lipstick. It wasn't his. When she picked it up and sniffed at it, an expensive but certainly unfamiliar perfume wafted to her perceptive nostrils. Her lovely hazel eyes narrowed. She had heard a few rumors about Bill's infidelities, but she had laughed them off on the supposition that the catty bitches in the neighborhood were jealous of her and Bill and were probably envious. She had Bill in bed and they didn't. But now she wasn't quite so sure.
So when Sue Cornish confronted Bill with the damning evidence, by holding up the handkerchief with a very cold, no-pussy-for-you-tonight-boy look in her hazel eyes, he just chuckled, patted her on the back, and said, "Baby, get with it. This is the twentieth century, and a guy has to have fun once in a while. I don't think you're a square, and I was planning to tell you all about The Cheaters."
"I'm looking at one right now, if you want to know something," she answered coldly.
"Now hold off, honey, before you start throwing around brickbats. This is a swinging group, and we do a little swapping and have fun. This way, all the wives and hubbies know what's going on, and this broad whose handkerchief you're holding happens to be Elsie Chalmers."
"You must be kidding! Elsie Chalmers and Bob are about the happiest couple I know," Sue gasped incredulously.
"Sure. That's because they've been married five years and the last year they've been in The Cheaters, so they have themselves a time and nobody gets hurt. I boffed Elsie just the other night, and Bob himself was in the same bedroom with Myrna Tollofsen."
"You must be kidding!"
"I'm not, sweetie. So help me, that's the truth. I know you think Myrna is a dowdy, gossipy bitch, but once she takes off her glasses and sheds her clothes, even at thirty-five -- has she got a figure. And a skin like peaches and cream."
"Thank you very much," Sue Cornish angrily countered. "If you want to sleep around with every bitch in town, just let me know and I'll give you your freedom here and now."
"Baby, you don't understand," he said propitiatarily, as he put his arms around her and drew her to him. "What I'm saying is, in a way I'm glad you found out from that handkerchief. Because now both of us can have a time. You can have another guy if you want to, just for variety, just like I boffed these broads. That doesn't mean we're going to divorce each other. Hell, you're still my Number One gal. I'll show you, too, if you don't believe it." And before Sue Cornish could protest, her handsome husband had lifted her in his arms and carried her masterfully to the bedroom. Then she began to struggle as he laid her down on the bed and began tugging up her cotton dress and the petticoat under it.
As luck would have it, she hadn't put on any panties, because of the heat and because she wanted to feel comfortable. So there was her thick, dark-auburn pussy fleece framing the soft pink lips of her inviting cunt, and in a trice Bill had unzipped his fly and was mounted over her, even as she was striking at him with her fists and trying to dissuade him in his efforts at fucking her.
"I don't want you to! You stop that, Bill Cornish! You think you can come around and soft-soap me after you've fucked another girl, and then I suppose you'll go back to that group you call The Cheaters -- and if that isn't an appropriate name I never heard of one -- and tell them how it was with me! Stop it, I tell you -- no -- I don't want you to fuck me -- oh my -- oh darling -- Mmmmmm!"
Her threats and protests changed to purring sighs of ecstasy as Bill Cornish expertly delved his left forefinger to find her tickler, while his right forefinger edged between the plump, velvety cheeks of her behind to find the crinkly little brown hole and enter it, slowly, moving gently forward until he was buried in her bowels to the very hilt. Then, working both fingers, while he commenced a slow in-and-out movement of his cock, he drew his beautiful young wife to paradise.
When it was over, Sue Cornish gave a giggle, kissed him, then slapped him playfully, and murmured, "You dirty bastard, you always did know how to get around a girl. All right, if you want me to join The Cheaters so I can keep an eye on you and control your extra-marital activities, why don't you bring me to the next meeting?"
It was a decision which was to have many interesting repercussions, not the least of which would be those concerning chaste, bespectacled, prudish Christine Parradine.
CHAPTER TWO
Allison Lowry thought to herself as she prepared for bed, that cute little Christine Parradine was one of the sexiest little bitches she had ever laid eyes on. What made her even sexier was the fact that she was still undoubtedly a virgin. There was a paradox there -- the lovely voluptuous Venus-like figure, the golden hair in that old-fashioned bun, and the horn-rimmed glasses. Yet the soft big blue eyes, Allison was certain, could be turned humid and very wide in the throes of passion. It was a task she herself would greatly enjoy undertaking.
Allison Lowry stared at herself in the mirror and smiled with a kind of narcissistic admiration. She was twenty-nine, about five feet eight inches in height, her dark-brown hair styled in a long thick pageboy with the ends turned under. She had a haughty face, with highset cheekbones, hazel eyes, an uptilted little nose, and a sensual, full mouth which betrayed her own ardent and impulsive temperament.
She stood now in just her slip, a black nylon slip through which could be seen the hard tidbits of her ripe nipples and the round widely spaced titties which seemed to have not the slightest sag or flaccidity. Her waist was still girlishly slim, her hips lithe, her thighs long and her calves sleek. Her milky skin was suntanned at the arms and shoulders and the calves, for she enjoyed the privacy of her walled-in garden and the little gazebo in the center.
At twenty-nine, Allison Lowry had experienced many lovers of both sexes since she was a switch-hitter. When she was fourteen, she had been initiated into pussyrubbing by her first cousin, a seventeen-year-old black-haired girl named Helen Farmer. The two of them had been inseparable, but the affair had been discovered by Allison's mother about six months after it had started. Allison could still remember wryly how her mother had given first Helen a sound hairbrush spanking on the bare tail, and then made the sobbing older girl watch while she took her own younger daughter over her lap, yanked off Allison's panties completely (they had been snugged down to Allison's knees while the two cousins had been experimenting with sixty-nine at the very moment Allison's mother had caught them at it), and then administered the soundest thrashing the charming brownette had ever had in all her young life.
At seventeen, Allison had purposely seduced a private tutor whom her mother had hired to help her brush up in geometry and history so that she could pass with reasonable scholastic honors. The experience had been a little painful, but quite satisfying.
At nineteen, the tall dark-brown-haired beauty had married a mechanic, impulsively choosing him as her husband because on a blind date with her then best girlfriend May Warringer, she had let Bill Sturtes take her into his garage and fuck her. It had been such a vigorous and passionate fucking that she had decided that here was a man who could really satisfy her needs for the rest of her life.
Of course she had been very wrong. Bill Sturtes was virile and a good stud, but he lacked imagination. He began to take Allison for granted, and he knew just about only one position into which to put his prick into a girl: the missionary posture. A year later, Allison was cheating on him with May herself, who had fallen out of love with her guy. And when Bill had found the two young women naked in bed together when he had come home unexpectedly for lunch, he had taken his belt to both of them, and sent his lawyer to see Allison to arrange for a quick divorce settlement out of court.
For another two years, May and Allison had kept up their Lesbian affair, till finally May married a lawyer from San Francisco and gone to live there.
Allison repaired the damage done her emotions by finding another man, this time a bespectacled museum curator who was quite imaginative but who, oddly enough, at the age of forty was himself a virgin. Allison had initiated him and for a year had experienced the thrill of wakening this mature man to do her bidding. He had learned to gamahuch her, and she in turn had almost made him faint by Frenching him as a preparation to their fucking.
But then he had accepted a better job in San Diego, and once again the bi-sexual beauty found herself bored and alone in Fresno. She had joined a social club which raised funds for the local orchestra and music club, and kept herself busy while at the same time always looking for an exciting and interesting sexual partner. The last six months, she had settled for her Japanese gardener, a wily little man in his late forties named Ito Ashiro. Ito had taught her some of the joys of pain mixed with pleasure. He had taken a little bamboo switch and spanked her before taking the maidenhead of her asshole, one evening when the two of them had had a little too much champagne and Allison had permitted far more liberties with her person than she was wont to accord a new lover.
But Ito, after teaching her many delicious methods of pleasure and showing her that she had a definite masochistic streak in her nature, had also departed only two weeks ago. Allison found out that he had accepted a position with a married woman on the other side of town for a great deal more money and that the woman was on the verge of divorcing her own philandering husband so that she could make time with the virile and imaginative Japanese gardener.
Allison's parents had separated and then formally divorced when she was eighteen, and they now both were dead and she had acquired a good deal of money as a legacy. So she lived alone in the little house on Calavaro Avenue. She played bridge occasionally with Sue Cornish, and she was just dying to be invited into the mysterious group which Sue had sometimes laughingly referred to as the "Cheaters." The only problem was that she was unattached, and singles were not offered membership in the group. However, after pleading with Sue for the last several weeks, the latter had finally told Allison that perhaps she might bring her along as a guest for a one-time orgy, and Allison could hardly wait. Meanwhile, she was thinking greedily of luscious little Christine Parradine, whom she had met for the first time in the library yesterday.
She was having images in which Christine would be lying over her lap, her panties down and her skirt up around her armpits, her lovely plump virgin ass bouncing and reddening under the crisp thwacks of a wooden hairbrush. Then she could see Christine kneeling on the floor, one hand rubbing her fiery behind, sobbing dolefully, while with the other hand she began to frig Allison until finally Allison would make her bend her golden head forward and put her soft lips to Allison's cunt and lap it up until she spent.
She was restless now as she lit a cigarette and stared at her voluptuous tall body reflected in the mirror. Sue had said that perhaps a week from this Friday the invitation might come to visit with her. Maybe she would meet a new lover there, a husband or maybe even a wife. If only she could meet Christine and seduce her, teach the little virgin bitch a few tricks that would make Christine just die of eagerness to be her love slave!
She was not the only one who was to lust for Christine, but her impulsive yearnings for the prim young virgin were to have much to do with Christine's eventual coercion into submission.
CHAPTER THREE
Christine Parradine was still a little dazed by the swift way in which her life had changed just about overnight.
Her Aunt Myra had phoned her just a week ago at the insurance company where she worked, told her to give notice at once and come on home because something very unexpected had happened. Christine had been startled and kept asking, "But what's the matter, Aunt Myra?" But all Myra Follansbee would tell her was, "You just give your boss notice right now, it's an emergency and it can't be helped. Then take a cab home and do be quick about it, dear!"
As soon as she arrived at the apartment, she had gasped, "What's wrong. Aunt Myra? I've quit my job, but why did I have to?"
"Ssh, darling, now you just sit down and I'll make you some hot tea, and I'll tell you all about it," Myra Follansbee was beaming.
Christine sighed, shook her head un- comprehendingly, then sat down at the dining- room table.
"You see, dear, your father is in Sacramento, as you know. Your mother, whom we won't talk about too much, has remarried. They got a divorce a few months after they left and turned you over to me. It was highly irregular, and I knew that your father loved you more than your mother did. But anyway, to make a long story short, I got a long-distance phone call from your father this noon. He's not too well, and he's sort of worried, though the doctor says that a week or two in the hospital will probably clear it up. Anyway, he wants to see you. But then there was another call right after that, and it's from Sue Cornish. She's my married niece, you see. She called to talk and gossip a little, then she asked why we didn't move out to Fresno. I told her about you, and she said that from what I told her about you, you could probably get a job in the library there. It would be a nice job, dear, quiet and respectable, with books and nice people, and it would pay pretty well. And I would like to see Sue, and certainly that way you could be near your father. There isn't much future in that insurance job, let's face it."
"You mean -- move right out to Fresno, lock, stock and barrel?" the petite golden haired beauty gasped.
"That's exactly what I do mean. Now you leave everything to me. I've talked to the rental agent, and he can sublet this apartment very easily, so we can leave any time. I told your father that you'd be in Fresno next week, and of course you'll stop over first at the hospital while I find a place for us to live. I'll even go to the library and make application for you, so that by the time you come back from seeing your father, you'll probably have a job. Isn't that wonderful?"
That was how Christine Parradine and her aunt had suddenly and unexpectedly moved to Fresno, and rented the house next door to svelte brown-haired Allison Lowry, who was yearningly awaiting a summons from Sue Cornish to be a special guest at the next meeting of "The Enlightened Cheaters."
* * *
Myra Follansbee rented an inexpensive house with an option to buy. The rent was only $130 a month, and it was a steal, on Calavaro Avenue.
Also, Aunt Myra did go to the Fresno Public Library, and was referred to the branch on Broadway Avenue, where a stiff-necked, haughty gray haired woman by the name of Miss Eugenia Crowley was in charge. Yes, it was true, Miss Crowley admitted, that she could use a good worker. Yes she would be very happy to talk to Christine, and if Christine had good references there was every chance that she would have an opportunity to prove her abilities for the post. It would pay about sixty-five dollars a week for eight-hours and a half and a half a day on Saturday.
So Christine went over, was interviewed by the old dragon -- that was what she thought of Eugenia Crowley -- and got the job. And now, just a few days before her neighbor Allison Lowry was to receive her long-awaited call from Sue Cornish, Christine was busy at the counter charging out books, under the watchful eye of the head librarian.
Eugenia Crowley was forty-six, and the description of "old dragon" which tender, ingenuous, virginal Christine Parradine had secretly applied to her would have made that worthy spinster smile a cool, thin-lipped smile and order the charming virgin to bend over the desk in her private office for a good dozen of the very best with an English malacca cane. If the truth be known, Miss Crowley had once been a private tutor in a London home some eighteen years ago, where she had been given full disciplinary authority over three very rowdy, noisy and pampered young girls, sisters whose ages were thirteen, fifteen and eighteen respectively.
When she hired Christine Parradine, she already had eight girls and young women working for her. Christine was the ninth, and Eugenia Crowley could hardly wait to expose that voluptuous virgin bottom and teach its tender, quivering flesh the exquisite meaning of voluptuous chastisement. When she locked herself up in her private office with a culprit on her staff, Eugenia Crowley transformed herself into a seductive dominatress, and she was no longer a stiff-necked, gray-haired, unprepossessing spinster. With makeup, with rearrangement of her hair style, and by wearing the glossy leather and kid fabrics so dear to the heart of a dominatress, she could become an alluring imperatrix, who could compel her young slaves to pay her Lesbian homage.
And on this particular late afternoon, as she watched Christine charge out books to a middle-aged man and smile sweetly at him, she was frowning. Not because she didn't approve of Christine's work, which thus far had not a single flaw to it. Only because thus far, that flawless work meant that she had no reasonable pretext by which she could condemn the golden haired virgin to a private session in her private office and unfold for Christine Parradine the untold delights of pain and pleasure which most of her staff had already experienced.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was five o'clock, and Christine Parradine had bidden Eugenia Crowley a sigh, "Good evening, Miss Crowley," and left the library to walk the twelve blocks to the big old house which Aunt Myra had rented An hour from now, two of them would go to supper, and then at seven the other two would have their turn. The gray-haired spinster eyed her remaining charges, and a grim smile of anticipation curved her thin lips. Two of these four were to have sessions in her private office after nine o'clock tonight, and the thoughts she had had about her newest staff member, golden haired Christine, had already made her feverishly eager to push the hour and minute hands of the electric clock up to nine and twelve respectively so that she could sublimate her burning desire to have the charming recruit summoned to her office for her first taste of discipline.
The library was nearly empty now, but of course after six o'clock and again at eight, there would be droves of housewives and harassed businessmen seeking quick information on this or that reference subject, or to borrow sticky romances or some of the latest novels from the rental library section. Meanwhile, she could think of the actual "interviews" which would be accorded to Betty Dugan and Cornelia Wilson. These two culprits were not new to Miss Eugenia Crowley's disciplinary methods, having been hired about six months ago and each having already been called twice to the private office after nine o'clock on a weekday evening.
Betty Dugan was twenty-six, wore glasses, had her light-brown hair coiffed in a short bob and was rather tall, being about five feet seven and a half inches in height. She was willowy, and she had small round titties closely spaced and high-perched, rather slender calves and thighs, but her bottom more than made up for it. It was a spacious, tempting bottom, the very kind that Eugenia Crowley loved to whip and spank.
It was customary for the head librarian to begin a recruit, when she was unfortunate enough to run afoul of Miss Crowley's rather complicated system of merits and demerits for work or insubordination, with a simple hand-spanking, and over the panties. Experience had taught the gray-haired spinster that this, though humiliating and shameful to the ultimate degree and especially to a female who had never before known physical chastisement, was not so likely to cause argument or rebellion as a first-time whipping on the bare behind. However, a second trip earned the offender just that: yet here again Miss Crowley erred on the side of leniency, since again only a hand spanking was inflicted, though this time the culprit's panties or panty girdle had to be lowered, usually by herself, since that added to the humiliation.
But since both Betty Dugan and Cornelia Wilson had had two private "interviews" in her office, she was very eagerly awaiting nine o'clock because this time they would receive something a little more painful than a mere spanking by hand, there would be the strap after the hand-spanking, and their pose would be altered to show their submission and also to make the strapping that much more effective on bottoms already sensitized and inflamed from Miss Crowley's energetic hand.
Eugenia Crowley particularly enjoyed castigating a grown young woman like Betty, especially because Betty had been married and had tasted the pleasures of fucking with a man. Now Betty would be no more than a naughty little girl who was going to have to take her panties down and bend well over the desk for her strapping, after she had first gone across Miss Crowley's knee for the spanking. Doing this to a twenty-six-year-old woman gave Eugenia Crowley a gloating feeling of triumph, as if in this way she were paying back the pretty girl who had lured her fiance away from her back in London so many years ago. Also, because she suspected that Betty was probably languishing for sexual relief after having that brief taste of fucking, it was quite possible that she was going to be able to lead the young woman into a kind of Sapphic submission. Yes, she told herself with greedy pleasure, tonight she was going to make Betty gam her, and then maybe she would solace the sobbing young woman's burning behind by just a little bit of frigging, just enough to make Betty climax and be so grateful. Once a liaison like that was established, Betty would be her love slave.
Among the four girls who had just left, there were two who had already succumbed to Eugenia Crowley's disciplinary and Lesbian influence, but they were discreet enough to keep their mouths shut concerning the sexual submission which they accorded their stern employer. As for Cornelia Wilson, she was twenty-four, her black hair coiffed in a coronet braid around the top of her head, with a rather insolent, somewhat sharp face, large, dark-brown eyes and a small petulant mouth. She was of medium height, her skin was olive, and her thighs were a trifle short of perfection. Her breasts were rather large and sagged a little, but she had a splendidly rounded, firm behind which never failed to delight her tormentress.
It was two minutes after nine, and the two young women not scheduled for a private session with the formidable new head librarian had already punched their timecards, said a much relieved "Good night" to Eugenia Crowley -- who had acknowledged the courtesy with a curt nod -- and left the building. Now the doors were closed and locked, and the only egress from the library would be a special door at the rear of her own private office, to which she alone had the key. The shades had already been drawn, so that no one could peek in and see what was about to take place. Betty Dugan and Cornelia Wilson remained at the main counter, exchanging nervous and apprehensive glances, while the dominatress made her tour of inspection to check all the shelves, to see that there was no litter on the floors or tables, while the minutes ticked relentlessly and all too slowly by.
What agonized both Cornelia and Betty was that Eugenia Crowley never punished two girls at one time, but made one wait until she had finished with the other. And so there was additional suspenseful torture for the one who would be unfortunate enough to be called second tonight.
The gray-haired dominatress covertly glanced at her two intended victims, a mocking little smile faintly registering as she comprehended exactly what they must be thinking. The delightful part about this dual chastisement would be that she would avail herself of just one culprit's Lesbian homage, reserving the other for another time so it would be like a Damoclean sword over the victim's head. Tonight, she thought to herself, she would have Betty Dugan as her love slave. So finally, after having made her rounds, she walked up to the desk and said coldly, "Cornelia, if you please, follow me. As for you, Betty, I'm sure there are things around here you can find to do until it's your turn."
"Why -- yes, M -- Miss Crowley," the bespectacled, tall light brown-haired young woman stammered, turning scarlet with confusion.
Haughtily, the dominatress left the main room enroute to her office, and smiled again to herself as she heard the hesitant tread of Cornelia Wilson's footsteps behind her. She unlocked the door of her private office, and stood there until the black-haired young woman approached, face downcast and flushed, fingers nervously twisting against her thighs. Cornelia was really delicious tonight, and for a flickering moment, she regretted having picked Betty as her bed-toy. But there would be another occasion for Cornelia.
"Come in, young lady," she snapped, and locked the door behind the now frightened brunette. "You know why you are here, I suppose?"
"Why -- yes, M -- Miss C -- Crowley," Cornelia mumbled. She bit her lower lip, and she could not look Eugenia Crowley in the face.
"This is the third time I've had reason to call you in here because I've been dissatisfied with your work, young lady. I've a good mind to fire you."
"Oh please don't do that, Miss Crowley! Please, I need the job so badly! I'm awfully sorry, I do try, but -- "
"But you don't try hard enough," the imperatrix finished for her. "Well then, if I let you off this time, you must be prepared to take the consequences. You are going to get a good spanking tonight, Cornelia. And on the bare skin. Are you ready to submit, or would you prefer to have your notice with your check mailed to you tomorrow?"
"I -- I'll take the sp -- sp -- spanking, M -- Miss Crowley," Cornelia Wilson faltered, her face furiously crimsoned in her anguished embarrassment. Eugenia Crowley felt a twinge of delight permeate her loins, harden her nipples, and her breathing quickened, there was no other feeling in the world akin to this, having at her mercy a grownup young woman who would have to submit to being punished and humiliated like a little girl. "Very well. I want you to take your dress off first, Cornelia," she ordered.
With a sigh, the lovely young brunette hastened to obey, and then held her dress helplessly as she glanced around.
"Put it on the couch. Now you may take off your slip also and lay it on top," was the next order.
When this was done, Cornelia Wilson stood trembling and blushing, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped before her, in fetching pink bra and matching panties, a garterbelt snugging her flesh-colored nylons, and her dainty pumps. Eugenia Crowley's eyes loved the plump round firm bottomglobes, but this time she did not make the victim wait while she changed into the costume she preferred for such meetings. That would be reserved for Betty and the grand finale of the night. Instead, peremptorily, she ordered, "Now go over to my desk, lean yourself forward over it, hold onto the edge with both hands and don't let it go. I'm going to begin your punishment with a good sound hand spanking. I myself will take your panties down for you Cornelia."
Approaching now, the dominatress inserted her fingers inside the waistband of the pink sheath, and slowly began to drag it down. Cornelia Wilson uttered a stifled sob, twisting her contorted and flushed face back over her left shoulder to contemplate her executioner. The panties were drawn down to her knee hollows, but not without her having to arch herself slightly to permit their descent. Then, enraptured, Eugenia Crowley contemplated the magnificent olive sheened spaciousness of those two adorably dimpled bottomglobes, their muscles contracting in a useless but instinctive defense.
Posing her left palm on the small of the culprit's back, she now proceeded to inflict a stinging, noisy spanking with the flat of her right hand, proceeding methodically from the tops of Cornelia's hips down to the stocking tops, not neglecting the plump upper thighs. These last were extremely sensitive, perhaps more so than Cornelia's bottom, and she sobbed and twisted and wriggled frantically as the dominatress' hand made impact with the fleshy columns, imparting a bright pink discoloration to the smooth warm olive skin.
Some fifty slaps in all were administered, and then Eugenia Crowley paused to get her breath and also to survey her handiwork. Tears ran down Cornelia Wilson's face, and her small, dainty fingers were restlessly shifting back and forth on the front edge of the desk, while she shifted herself nervously from pump toe to pump toe in an effort to alleviate the blazing heat which the spanking had engendered.
"I trust," the dominatress dryly observed, "that you are truly sorry for your unsatisfactory work and that you are making resolutions to improve it."
"Oh yes, M -- Miss C -- Crowley, I'll be good -- I promise I will be... Oh please, let me rest a minute before you -- before you give me any more -- please be merciful!"
"I am being merciful by not firing you on the spot, young lady. Now stop your sniffling and get yourself ready for the strap. I am going to give you eighteen good hard ones on your big red bottom, and it will be a lesson which I hope will last a good long time. If you come to my attention again because of your unsatisfactory efforts in this library, Cornelia, I really shall have to let you go -- or else, you may be certain that the punishment will be a great deal more severe. You are properly warned. Now get ready."
With this dire decree, the imperatrix moved around the desk and pulled open a lower drawer, while Cornelia's tearstained face stared up at her beseechingly. Enchanted by the young woman's anguished and eloquent look, Eugenia Crowley slowly drew out a black leather strap. It had a buckle at the handle end, being very much like a belt, except that once it had been used to secure a valise that had sprung. It was about three inches wide, a quarter of an inch thick, and twenty-two inches in length. The end of it was oval shaped, something like a tab, to impart additional sting. At the sight of this menacing implement, Cornelia Wilson uttered a choking sob: "Oh please, not so many with that awful strap, Miss Crowley, I swear I'll be a good girl, I'll try so hard, please let me off!"
"Eighteen, and you will count each one of them, and remember, any you don't count will simply be extras," was the dominatress' sardonic response.
Moving back around the desk, she took her stance at the victim's left, her eyes gleamingly narrowed as they fixed on Cornelia's shuddering, contracting, flaming naked ass. The unfortunate young woman closed her eyes, ground her teeth together, and her fingers clenched till the knuckles whitened as they sought true purchase against the edge of the desk so as to steel herself for the oncoming ordeal.
Slowly the strap rose, hovered over the condemned behind, then swept down with an emphatic "Whackk!" as it clung tenaciously across the tops of the plump, rounded hips, just below the chinkbone.
"Ahrr, oh, one, Miss Crowley, oh Lordie, how it hurts, how it burns! Oh please, not eighteen, please not eighteen!" the victim wailed. At the moment of impact, she kicked up her right pump shod foot, then returned it, kicked up the left, and then clenched her legs together till the muscles stood out voluptuously under the sheer flesh colored nylons. The broad swathe of the bright red mark left by the strap stood out, super imposed angrily over the flushed, hot surfaces of that appetizingly plump, lasciviously jutting ass. And Eugenia Crowley's practiced eyes discerned the soft pink fig of Cornelia's cunthole, framed by thicker and blacker hair than that which graced her lovely head. A second blow ensued, about an inch lower down, and again Cornelia cried out shrilly as she counted the stroke, again imploring mercy.
Without haste, spacing the lashes about twenty seconds apart, Eugenia Crowley applied the full quota of eighteen. But by the time she had finished, the "official" count was only thirteen, for at several of these stinging cuts, Cornelia had shrieked and wailed and sobbed, utterly forgetting the count, and twice she had rushed back one soft little hand in a pathetic effort to protect the blazing naked ass.
"You have five left, my girl, and I will give you a minute to recover yourself. The next time you put your hand back, it will be three extra. It's getting late, and out of, consideration for your coworker Betty Dugan, I suggest you grit your teeth and try to be very brave for these last spanks, Cornelia," the dominatress ironically commented.
The sobbing young woman painfully turned her face back again to beseech the stern dominatress who was lifting the strap above her striped and burning bottom. "Oh please, please let me off the rest, please, I'll do anything you want, I swear I will," she babbled.
The strap hovered in the air, and the cold eyes of the imperatrix feasted on the girl's trembling fear, seeing the tremors run along the magnificent, splotched and throbbing bottom globes, the plump thighs and calves, seeing the tears running down the congested cheeks. The thought came to her that by letting Cornelia off these last five strokes, she would have a powerful argument whereby to force the light-brown-haired culprit to pay Lesbian tribute to her the very next time. Besides, it was fully nine-thirty, and poor Betty Dugan must be waiting, perspiring with agony-sweat, digging her nails into her palms for her turn. And of course that turn would be quite gratifying to Eugenia Crowley's now mounting perverse passion.
"Very well," she decided. "Just this once, I'm going to be lenient, Cornelia. Now raise yourself up, then kneel down and kiss the strap and thank me for letting you off. You remember, you still have five spanks left. I may inflict them anytime I choose, and I will if I find in the next week or two that your work has not improved, my girl."
"Ohh, th -- thank you, M -- Miss C -- Crowley," Cornelia Wilson sobbingly gasped. Painfully she straightened, uttering a cry of pain as both her hands rushed to her flaming ass and began to rub frantically.
"Is this your idea of obedience, standing there and showing yourself off so unmodestly, young woman?" Eugenia Crowley snapped.
"Oh I'm sorry -- oh, excuse me, Miss Crowley, but oh, how it hurts -- I'm doing it, I'm doing what you want," the culprit hastily sobbed as she slowly, wincingly, got down on her knees. The strap was dangled before her trembling mouth, and with her soft little hands, she brought it to her lips and implanted a kiss, then stammered tearfully, "Th -- thank you, M -- Miss C -- Crowley, for letting me off the rest, oh I will do better, I promise I will!"
"Very well. Now you may dress and go. And remember, Cornelia, I'll be watching you very carefully for the next few days," was the admonition.
Gloatingly, the dominatress watched the sobbing young woman drag up her panties, smooth down the skirt and slip, and painfully hobble towards the rear exit of the dominatress' office. But Eugenia Crowley stopped her: "Wait a bit, Cornelia. I'll unlock the front door of my office, and you tell Betty to come in here in exactly ten minutes. Then I'll let you out back here." So saying she moved quickly across the room, unlocked the front door of her private office, and the sniffling, red-faced brunette slowly and painfully walked outside. Betty Dugan was standing at the charge-out counter, and, exactly as the dominatress had guessed, was twisting her fingers, and her palms were moist with sweat. Her face was pale, her eyes very wide, and she uttered a choking gasp when she saw her coworker approach. "D -- does she want me?" she stammered.
"In ten minutes, Betty. G -- goodnight," Cornelia Wilson falteringly replied, then went back into the office, the door closed, and again was locked. Betty Dugan's heart sank; she groaned aloud. If only she had been more careful, but this work was so dreary-dull, and there wasn't really much incentive. Still, she just had to have the money, and she couldn't afford to lose this job.
Eugenia Crowley had let the still softly sobbing first victim out of the rear door, locked it and double locked it and then hurried into her private wash room, into which she had put a special wardrobe in a built-in cabinet between the door and the shower stall. Opening this door, she quickly stripped naked, and in five minutes had on a pair of black knee-length polished leather boots, a matching pair of elbow-length gloves, and one-piece black leather cuirass which took her from the tops of her breasts to between her legs, a narrow strap gusseting her crotch and a button there which allowed the flap to be detached and give access to her cunt.
Then, swiftly examining herself in the mirror, she took the perfume atomizer and sprayed the insides of her thighs and her armpits, and finally put lipstick onto her thin lips, mascara to her lashes, and took a comb to her gray hair till it tumbled into little curls just about her shoulders. The prim bun was let down, and now she looked singularly alluring despite her age. She was tall, somewhat angular, it was true, but her breasts were high perched and firm despite her age, her waist still as slim as a girl's, and her legs were long and shapely. Her flesh showed a few wrinkles here and there, but the skin was soft and pale white. If she had gone to a beauty salon for luxurious treatment, there could be no doubt that Eugenia Crowley would be in many ways desirable to both male and female.
As she finished her inspection, there was a timid knock at the front door of her office, and she grinned to herself. Walking swiftly towards the door, she unlocked it, drew it back to admit the obviously scared and trembling Betty Dugan. The bespectacled light-brown-haired young woman gasped and then put her hand to her mouth at the sight of her superior's exotic costume, but she had little time for observations. "Come in this minute, Betty," Eugenia Crowley sternly commanded. She watched the tall, quivering culprit enter the room, then closed and locked the door behind her and tucked away the key under a book which lay on a footstool near the door. "You know why you are here, I suppose?" she sarcastically inquired. "Why -- yes, m'am."
"Your work is very slovenly, you've irritated a few important customers, and there isn't any reason why I shouldn't discharge you this minute," Eugenia Crowley briskly declared.
Betty Dugan uttered a groan, and, her hands clasped in an attitude of prayer, turned to face the formidable imperatrix: "Oh please, please don't fire me, Miss Crowley! I -- I do try hard, but things haven't been going so well for me -- "
"I am not interested in your personal problems, Betty. I'm interested in only getting work done efficiently, making a good impression on the public, and seeing that you give an honest day's work for an honest day's pay."
"But I am trying, honestly I am!" Tears clouded Betty's gray-green eyes behind the thick glasses, for she was somewhat myopic.
"Well, I may give you one more chance, but in return, you will have to submit to a rather severe chastisement, I'm afraid. Are you willing to do that?"
Betty bowed her head and faintly nodded, unable to speak, her long slim fingers twisting frantically in front of her.
"Very well," she said crisply. "I'm going to begin by giving you a spanking. Take off your dress and slip at once!"
With a choking sob, Betty Dugan obeyed, laying dress and slip over a nearby chair which Eugenia Crowley pointed out to her. Her eyes ate the quivering culprit, who was really delicious in her white lycra panty girdle whose narrow tabs tugged at the tops of the beige nylons, and a matching strap-on white bra which had both bandeau and shoulder straps. Betty's skin was a pale soft pink, and there were freckles on her shoulders, With her glasses and her short bob, her tall lithe body was really mouthwateringly desirable, but Eugenia Crowley's main interest was in the ripely spacious posterior which the panty girdle so snugly sheathed.
"Now then, my girl," she said authoritatively, "take down the panty girdle to your knees, and bend yourself over the desk and take hold of the edge of it."
"Oh dear," Betty Dugan moaned softly as she stooped and her fingers fumblingly unfastened the waistband, and the zipper, or the lycra sheath, then began to tug the clinging garment down from the promontories of her lush young hips. Finally the panty girdle came to rest at the hollows of her stockinged knees, and with a gasp of shame, her face reddening violently, she hastily stretched herself across the desk and reached for the edge with both slim hands, pillowing her left cheek on the flat surface of the desk. Obviously taller than Cornelia, she was not so tightly bent and posed, so the dominatress now commanded, "Now spread your legs as far as you can, Betty, and lean still more forward. I want that big wicked bottom of yours well up for the spanking!"
Another choking sob, but one of utter resignation and shamed despair, was heard as the culprit complied with the new humiliating order. Her slender thighs and calves were quite exciting thus straddled, and long tremors began to race up and down the sheathed columns. But the slenderness of those slender legs was dramatically and lasciviously contrasted by the jutting, full oval cheeked ass which now loomed out, twitching and vulnerable as the moment for chastisement neared. The cheeks were broad and spacious, though without sag; the soft pink skin twitched visibly, betraying Betty Dugan's attenuated nerves from all the anguished waiting while her coworker Cornelia Wilson was having her moment of truth in the dominatress' office. Also, with the straddle of her legs, Betty unwittingly displayed the rather broadening crease of the shadowy groove which led to her maiden asshole, and the thick, dark-brown tufts of pussyhair framed the extremely plump and libidinously gaping lips of her cunt hole. Eugenia Crowley licked her lips in anticipation, as she moved slowly towards the desk.
"Are you ready, Betty?" she inquired as she put her left palm on the small of the young woman's back.
"Why -- yes, m'am," came the low, trembling murmur.
Smiling to herself, Eugenia Crowley raised her gloved right hand and applied a stinging smack to the plumpest curve of Betty's right asscheek. She heard the young woman suck in her breath, felt her squirm forward, and she saw on the pale pink escutcheon of that wonderfully tempting, jutting glove the bright imprint of her globe palm.
Methodically and slowly, Eugenia Crowley resumed the spanking. First right and then left, starting at the tops of Betty's hips, working slowly down to the ripest summits, not forgetting the tender base and lower summits with some specially hard slaps which drew sobs and groans from the unhappy culprit, the dominatress administered a spanking that was fully fifty slaps and which drew cries and tears during the last twenty from the mature culprit.
When she stopped, Betty's bottom appeared to be a much brighter red than that of her sister in misfortune, and Betty's long legs were bending and stiffening, shifting feverishly as Eugenia Crowley moved away now to consider this first phase of Betty Dugan's punishment.
There was something especially piquant about spanking Betty, knowing that the young woman had been married, seeing her with her glasses and bobbed hair, and seeing how tall she was. To reduce her to the status of a humbled, shamed little child who was crying over a spanked bottom inflamed Eugenia Crowley's perverse Sapphic lust to the "th degree. But she compelled herself to proceed deliberately so as to dominate her intended love-slave to the utmost.
Once again, as with Cornelia, she moved around in front of the desk, where Betty's tear--blurred, widened eyes mutely besought her stern face for mercy, opened the drawer and took out the same strap which she had applied to Cornelia's olive skinned naked bottom. A cry of anguished fear broke from the culprit: "Oh please, Miss Crowley, please don't strap me, please!"
"You silly girl, did you think I was going to let you off so easily? You've already been in my office twice during the time you've been working here, Betty, and either you sill submit to this punishment tonight, or you will walk out of here unemployed, is that understood?"
"Y -- yes, m'am," Betty miserably groaned, turning her face and resting the other cheek now on the polished surface of the desk. Her slim fingers were scrabbling along the edge as she sought to take a firmer grip, and her body quivered and trembled uncontrollably.
"You may count fifteen," came the inexorable order as the dominatress took her place at the victim's left, brandishing the spanking strap. "Be sure to count out clearly so that I can understand you, because if you don't they will simple be extras. Are you ready?"
"Yes, but pi -- please, please not too hard, please, m'am?" Betty moaned. Hardly had the last syllables emerged from her trembling mouth when THWACKK, the black leather strap clung across the lower curves of her vividly reddened ass. A shrill yell of pain was torn from the sufferer, who twisted back her congested face and called out, "Owwouuu!! Oh, that's one, m'am, oh it cuts, oh it hurts, oh please, not so hard, please, I'll be good, I'll work harder, honest I will, Miss Crowley!"
"Fourteen left, Betty. I hope you are really making resolutions to improve your work and your attitude towards the public here. I shouldn't like to fire you, knowing how much you need this job, but you would leave me no other choice unless your conduct is vastly improved," was the sardonic reply as once again the strap punctuated the last words with an angry Crackk, making impact with the base of Betty's jutting reddened bare ass.
"Owww! T -- two, oh, please, have mercy, oh it hurts me so!" Betty sobbed. Once again she turned her face back to look at the executioner, and her panty girdle, because of the spasmodic shifting of her legs, had now descended from her knee hollows to her lower calves, retained by the tabs which were still fixed to the tops of her beige nylons. The pose was certainly an exquisitely salacious one, and Eugenia Crowley was lost in admiration of it, for she was in no hurry to finish this portion of the shipping.
Getting back a few steps, she balanced the buckled handle-end of the strap in her gloved right hand, and stepped forward and swept it accurately so that just the oval shaped tip snapped against the inner edge of Betty Dugan's lower left asscheek, perilously near the shadowy crease which led to the young woman's bumhole.
A piercing shriek responded, and Betty, casting aside all shame and pride, kicked up one long lovely leg while at the same time she reached back with her left hand to try to soothe the injured spot.
"Take your hand away and get back into position, young lady! The very idea! Now spread your legs -- wider than that, and because you didn't count that spank, it still is two!" the dominatress ordained.
"Oh please, oh but it hurts so, oh please have mercy, Miss Crowley, please don't spank so hard, please, it hurts from what you already did," the young woman groaned.
Nevertheless, so cowed was she by the magnetic command of the implacable head librarian that she once again resumed the shameful, lascivious pose, her legs hugely spread, trembling violently with nervous spasms, as once again her long slim ringers gripped the edge of the desk, her face now pillowed on the other cheek. Eugenia Crowley could see globules of anguish-sweat glistening on the young woman's lower bare back and on the sides, as well as in the tufted niches of her armpits. She smiled triumphantly as she lifted the strap once more.
It took fully ten more minutes before the "official" count of fifteen spanks with the strap had been dealt out and duly acknowledged by the suffering, half nude young woman. At least five times, poor Betty forgot to count because of the blazing fury in her naked ass, leaving position and twisting, kicking, crying like a child and pleading heartbrokenly for mercy. But somehow she managed at last to call out "Oww-ahrrrr, oh fifteen, oh it's over, oh thank God, oh I can't stand anymore, I can't, Miss Crowley, I'll be good, honest, I will, oh please, make it over now, oh make it be over, Miss Crowley please!"
For about two minutes, Eugenia Crowley let the sobbing young woman squirm and twist and wriggle over the desk, making an utter spectacle of herself, allowing still more glimpses of that pink soft cunt which yawned and twitched and palpitated. Then, moving back around the desk, she put the strap away and walked towards the narrow closet at the other end of the room. Opening it, she took out of the corner a slim yellow malacca cane, with a grip handle, like a walking cane, swished it in the air a few times, held it with both gloved hands and bent it to make certain of its flexibility, and then slowly returned to the captive bent across the desk. Betty Dugan's eyes had followed her, and when she saw the yellow cane, she let out a despairing cry: "Ohh noooo!!! Oh not more spanking, oh I'll die, I can't stand anymore, oh not that awful cane, Miss Crowley, please not the cane! I'll do just anything you want, anything, I swear I will, but please don't spank me anymore, oh please not with the cane!"
"I told you that your conduct had really been seriously reprehensible, young lady. You agreed to take a severe chastisement. And you've behaved very badly through it. As a matter of fact, Cornelia, who is two years younger than you, was far braver."
"I know, I know, but it hurts so, oh you don't know how it hurts me!" Betty sobbed. "Oh please, I'll do anything, I swear I will, just don't spank me anymore, oh not with the cane!"
"Spread your legs wider apart, my girl," was the inexorable answer. Sobbing as if her heart would break, Betty Dugan reluctantly obeyed. Long shuddering spasms rippled up and down her stocking calves and thighs, transmitting themselves to the jutting, blazingly reddened cheeks of her voluptuous ass. She broke down into hysterical tears and sobs as Eugenia Crowley slowly pressed the flexible cane straight across the ripest curves of both shuddering bottomglobes, and sadistically the imperatrix kept the malacca pressed hard into the shuddering, reddened, sensitized bare flesh.
"Very well," she finally concluded. "I was going to give you twelve cuts -- "
"Oh my God, you'd kill me, oh I couldn't stand that many, oh have mercy, have mercy, I'll do anything you want, I promise I will, anything!" Betty Dugan babbled, again turning her tearstained contorted face over her shoulder while her slim fingers scrabbled feverishly back and forth over the edges of the desk.
"However," the dominatress went on as if Betty had not said a word, "I will be lenient just this one time. You shall have three cuts -- "
"Oh thank God, I'll be good, I'll take them, I promise I'll do better in the future -- "
"And then," the dominatress again interrupted, "you will prove how willing you are to obey me by following certain orders. I shall give you. Do you understand that clearly, Betty Dugan?"
"Oh yes, yes, oh, if only you'll let me off that many, oh yes, I'll do anything! Oh please, not too hard, please not too hard?" Betty Dugan whimpered.
The came was drawn away, poised in the air, and then leaped forward like an angry snake. The sharp crisp dry Spatt as it bit home against tender, reddened and already throbbingly painful assflesh was, a sensual sound which Eugenia Crowley loved. So too was the poignant yell which was torn from Betty Dugan, who half-straightened, then rushed both hands to her wounded ass as the tears flowed down her cheeks.
"How dare you! Get back into position at once! Just for that, that one didn't count, and you shall count all three as they come. If you so much as move, Betty Dugan, you will have your dozen and then some, and I shall still discharge you," was the awful threat.
Only by the fear of losing her pest was poor Betty able to endure those three wicked cuts that leaped across her naked ass, the first over the tops of her naked hips, the second over the ripest curves over her jutting bottom, and the third, after an extra minute of deliberate waiting to agonize her to the very fullest, over the base of her shuddering, striped and welted ass. Then only did she leap up, both hands clutching her bottom, and she danced the most ludicrous jig, her head tilted back her mouth agape, tears running down her cheeks, as she sobbed and groaned and wailed in her anguish.
Eugenia Crowley waited until this crisis was over, and then sternly reminded the culprit of her obligation: "That's enough of that! Get down on your knees, Betty Dugan!"
And when the young woman had done so, she extended the cane towards the trembling lips and commanded, "Kiss it, and then thank me for being so lenient for letting you off so lightly!"
And finally, after Betty had sobbed out that formula, the dominatress purred, "Now then, I'm going to put you to the test. You said you would do anything to keep your job. Very well. Do you see that button there on the flap between my legs? Open it, and then you may kiss me there. Do it, Betty, or you'll walk out of here no longer on the payroll of this library!"
Betty Dugan's tearstained face turned scarlet, her mouth gaped in a huge O, her eyes wide and incredulous. But the sight of the wicked cane, the cold, insolent face of the dominatress who loomed above her as she crouched there on her knees with her panty girdle twisted around her knees, reminded her of what might befall her if she refused.
And thus it was that Betty Dugan, her spectacles clouded with her tears, sobbingly and pantingly unfastened the tab which gusseted between Eugenia Crowley's legs, and then, clutching the dominatress' bottomcheeks, pressed her mouth servilely against Eugenia Crowley's cunt and, at the dominatress' explicit orders, began to gamahuch her until at last she brought about the furious creaming of her relentless executioner.
CHAPTER FIVE
The long-awaited Friday evening that Allison Lowry eagerly anticipated finally rolled around on the calendar. The summons from Sue Cornish arrived very late, at four this afternoon, leaving Allison in a tizzy of frantic dashing about to prepare herself so that she might be at her loveliest and most enticing when she entered as a special guest at the house of Mark and Eloise Purcell.
The twenty-nine-year-old dark-brown-haired bi-sexual sighed as she showered and studied her voluptuous naked body in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall just opposite the shower stall. How she wished that luscious little Christine Parradine, whom she had seen only this morning working at the Broadway branch of the Fresno Public Library, could accompany her tonight! What an exciting scene it would make to have that golden haired little piece of virgin fluff initiated at the same time she would be, because maybe then Allison could console her. Allison had a pretty good idea that some of the initiation would consist of spanking. She had avidly read quite a number of swapping magazines and some novels on the subject of group sex, and she had built all sorts of fantasies around "The Enlightened Cheaters." Now that the night had actually come -- she was supposed to come to the Purcell house on Talmadge Road at about eight-thirty -- she found herself in a state of feverish excitement and anticipation.
Sue had been very mysterious. She only said, "Well, you got your wish, pet. I'm sponsoring you just for tonight. I told you, as a rule, we don't take singles. Next time, you might have to get yourself either a girl or a fellow -- but that's up to you. Anyway, you'll know better tonight. Oh, one thing more. Wear your prettiest things, especially your undies. And don't be surprised if you get initiated the way they used to do in sororities. Okay?"
And Allison had gasped, with a sigh of relief, "Oh, Sue darling, very much okay! I'll be there with bells on!"
When Allison rang the doorbell of the Purcell house, she was at once admitted by her host, fifty-one, beetle-browed, stocky and gray-haired, but exuding enormous physical vitality. Beside him was his wife Eloise, 31, buxom and auburn haired, wearing a green faille low-cut gown which showed off half her lush closely spaced bubbies.
"Welcome, honored guest," Mark Purcell chuckled. "Come on in and meet your peers."
"T -- thank you" Allison quavered, a bit nervous now that the long-awaited moment had come. As she entered the spacious living room of the sprawling split-level house, she could hear the murmur of voices and clinking of glasses.
"That's quite a doorknocker you've got, Mr. Purcell," she giggled. It had been of the naked figures of Adam and Eve entwined, with a serpent's head hovering over them bearing the fatal apple.
"Thanks. However, you made it just on time.. another ten seconds, and you'd have had to pay the lateness penalty. Come along, we're going to have an auction," Mark Purcell told her as he took her by the elbow.
"Auction?" Allison stammered weakly, for his fingers were digging hard into her flesh.
"That's right. And you're the prize," he said with a snigger as he led her forward.
Her eyes fell on a square table in the middle of the room, a pair of nickel plated handcuffs lying on it. Then, just beyond the table, an enormous wooden wheel with painted numbers, like a roulette wheel only of course vertically placed; and at the top of the wheel an arrow-like pointer.
"Get onto the table, Allison," Mark Purcell said briskly, "we haven't all night you know. Here, I'll give you a hand."
She felt foolish as she finally stood erect looking out over the huge, lavishly furnished room. She saw Bill and Sue Cornish over by the fireplace, each with a drink, whispering and giggling. But before she could call hello to them, Mark Purcell had ordered, "Now kneel down, put your wrists behind your back, at once!"
Gulping and flushing nervously, Allison obeyed. She felt him lock the handcuffs tightly, and then he raised his voice: "Members of the Enlightened Cheaters, it's time for our usual lottery. Tonight, our special guest, referred by Bill and Sue Cornish, who rank among our favorite members, will be Allison. The rules are as always; I shall spin the wheel of fortune and the person holding the lucky number will win Allison for two hours."
Then, looking up at the wide-eyed dark-brunette, he maliciously remarked, "I trust you have no objections? That's our customary procedure. Of course, if you refuse to play the game, we'll have to punish you for wasting our time."
"Oh, n -- no, I -- I'm willing," she quavered, amid applause.
"Very good! Then here we go -- consult your little ticket stubs, ladies and gentlemen!" Mark Purcell called as he gave the wheel a hard spin.
A silence fell on the eager spectators, who numbered about a dozen, as the wheel slowed, then stopped. "Thirty-four, red," Mark Purcell called.
But no one had that number, so he spun the wheel a second time. This time, it stopped at twenty-three, black, and all of a sudden there was a shrill squeal of joy: "That's my number -- oh, what luck!"
Mark Purcell chuckled, then said in an aside to the anxiety-stricken young woman kneeling on the table, "You're fortunate, Allison, you are auctioned off to one of our most unusual couples, extremely talented and imaginative people. By the way, if you want to join the club, you'll have to make formal application along with another woman or man." Then aloud, he called, "Erika Nordstrand, come claim your prize."
Opposite the Cornishes, a tall young Nordic-looking woman, with sharp features, honey colored hair cut in helmet style, detached herself from a group of admirers, and came forward with a radiant smile. Arriving at the table, she beckoned to a fat white-haired man, "Come along, Horace, see what I won for you tonight?"
Allison Lowry gulped again and her eyes widened. Never before had she seen a more oddly assorted pair... was this girl the daughter of that fat old man? Or maybe his mistress, that was more likely in a swapping club like this.
Erika Nordstrand's blue eyes glinted with delight. "I've won you, honey. MMMM, are you and I ever going to have a time! Mark -- the rules say I can share my good fortune, can't I?"
"Of course, my dear," Mark Purcell chuckled. "The lottery prize may be enjoyed b; the lover or girlfriend or husband -- or wife, o course -- of the winner."
Allison crimsoned as she saw Erika's eyes lave her body, as greedily as a man might have done. Then the Nordic blonde cooed, "Horace darling, help the bitch down to the floor."
The white-haired man sniggered, winked, then reached out his arms as Allison helplessly knelt down on the table, leaned to him. To her embarrassment, he cupped her titties and lifted her down, set her on her feet, then, before she could guess his intent, he stooped and hoisted her skirt to the waist, exposing her black nylon panties.
"Oh, you darling," Erika cooed again, "my favorite color of scanties. What a night this is going to be! Come along, slavegirl. Horace, find something to do for about an hour, then you can come visit us."
"Can can someone help me -- my wrists -- " Allison stammeringly began.
Erika Nordstrand walked over to the fireplace, took down from the mantelpiece a long slim wand, like a blackboard pointer. Armed with this, she walked back and calmly whisked the flexible wand over Allison's shapely calves. It stung like the devil, and Allison let out a startled yell.
"You can walk, can't you? Just for that, you get an extra ten on the bare ass," Erika Nordstrand purred. "Oh, and I better warn you. Horace is a stickler for obedience, so when he does visit us, you better be on your very best behavior. Now move, bitch!" And she punctuated this order with a cut over Erika's upper thighs which again made the dark-brownette captive yell and stumble forward.
Then, sadistically gripping Allison's left earlobe with her right thumb and forefinger, she pinched cruelly and hissed, "I said, move, bitch! You must just be begging for a thrashing, and I'm the one who knows how to give it to you, darling!"
Allison could smell Erika's strong, heady perfume and her own anxiety-sweat as the Nordic blonde forced her on through the house to a door in the pantry, which opened to disclose a narrow stone stairway.
"Get down the stairs, pet. I'll hold on to your ear so you won't stumble. Be quick about it -- I can hardly wait to get at you. Oh, when I heard Sue Cornish was going to sponsor you for a onetime guest visit, I just prayed I'd win you. I've planned so many lovely things to keep us busy till Horace comes. Now hurry!"
Allison groaned softly, biting her lips, and forced herself to descend the steps. She felt butterflies swirling in the pit of her stomach.
"Now turn to your right -- that's fine, right there," Erika purred.
The basement was huge, but a series of shoji screens divided it off. As Allison turned to the right, she uttered a horrified gasp: "Oh N -- no!"
"Oh, yes," Erika's voice throbbed with sadistic anticipation, "didn't you know the Purcells have some of the best bondage and flag equipment in the country? They got married twelve years ago, when she was about 18 and he forty. She got huffy, he took a hairbrush to her ass and she found she liked it. So now she's just as nuts about whipping girls as she is about being tied up and whipped herself," the Nordic blonde was affably loquacious as she let go of Allison's earlobe.
Allison Lowry was staring with horrified eyes at a metal triangle in the center of this part of the basement, and, to the left, a crossarm whipping post on a small raised dais. To the right, a spanking block, rectangular and solid with buckling straps and cuffs to ensnare the victim's wrists, knees and waist. As if that weren't enough, there was also a low flat whipping bench with attaching straps, in whose center was a dome-like round padded leather cushion, which could elevate the naked ass of a girl to be flogged. Spread out in baleful array near the dome was an arsenal that made Allison quail. Canes, paddles, three- and five-thonged martinets, quirts, a Scotch tawse with three "fingers" cut out of the broad end, dog whips and riding crops; Allison could feel her thighs and bottomcheeks twitching with justifiable apprehension. A few hairbrushes, some with terribly stiff bristles, and a worn leather sole, completed the display.
"Well, now, where are we going to put you to start with, dear? First I'll unlock those handcuffs, and then you'll start undressing. I wouldn't advise trying to escape, Allison honey. Mark has a chauffeur and a gardener who are both big strapping Negro bucks, and they'd just love to catch you and bring you back for extra spanking. Now, will you be a good girl?"
Allison, her heart pounding wildly, nodded, her throat too choked to speak.
"That's being smart. Now, off with the handcuffs, and then your things!" Erika cooed.
By the time Allison had stripped down to garterbelt and hose, bra and panties, she felt like a medieval slavegirl being appraised by her new owner. Erika Nordstrand walked slowly round and round, cupping her chin in her hand and musing over Allison's delectable charms till the latter couldn't help blushing like a schoolgirl.
"Now, take off the bra and panties," was the next order, and Allison mechanically obeyed as she did the next command, to kick off her pumps.
"Mmm, oh, you lovely piece of cunt you," Erika drooled. "I could eat you up. I think the triangle will be nice for your figure. Tell me, pet, ever been on a triangle before? No? Oh, you'll love it!"
Now the Nordic blonde pulled off her own exaggeratedly low-cut gown, and Allison gasped as she saw that her tormentress was naked but for garterbelt, hose and pumps. "My working costume, honey! Like me a little?"
She was a good inch taller than Allison, which would make her about five nine, but in her high heeled Pumps, she seemed to tower over the dark-brown-haired neophyte to "The Enlightened Cheaters." She had big round bubbies, with wide aurolae and hard-nugget-like nipples, with a slim boyish waist, long sculptured thighs and sleek nervously muscled calves. But her bottom was broadly rounded, with a deepening crack between the globes. Her cunt fleece was thick and shaggy, and dark-brown, just like Allison's. Her skin was baby-pink, without a flaw anywhere.
"Walk over and hold up your hands now, pet," she commanded. Allison was trembling violently, but she forced herself to walk over to the metal device and raised her arms, till she could feel her fingers brushing a pair of handcuffs soldered into the peak of the apparatus. Then she could feel Erika's naked body pressing against hers from the side as the taller beauty made her captive's wrists fast in the handcuffs, adjusted the pullup chain so that the victim would be stretched to maximum. Then, squatting down, she seized one of Allison's ankles and locked it in a similar metal cuff fixed into the triangle's base. A moment later, the other ankle was similarly tethered, and now Allison was completely straddled, at the mercy of the Nordic blonde. . Moving in front of the trembling victim, Erika Nordstrand cupped Allison's bubbies, her thumbpads rubbing the nipples till Allison felt them stiffen against her will. "My, dear, you're really a sensitive one. How old are you, anyhow?"
"T -- twenty-n-nine," Allison stammered hoarsely.
"Say mistress when you talk to me, bitch -- say it!" Erika's thumbs and forefingers cruelly pinched Allison's nipples.
"Ahh -- owoo --ouuu, please, oh, m -- mistress, don't pinch so hard, oh pleeeeease, mistress!" Allison wailed, writhing and squirming frantically.
"That's better. Oh, we'll get along beautifully, won't we, lover?" Erika cooed.
Her body throbbing with the unexpected torment, Allison could only nod.
"I told you what to say, bitch, now say it," Erika again hissed, and again her fingers viciously tweaked and tugged at her victim's stiff, darkened nipples.
"Owoouuuu -- oh pleeeeease, yes, yes, mistress! Oh anything, but don't pinch me there anymore," Allison yelled, feeling her own sweat trickle down her shuddering bare sides.
"That's the way to be nice to your mistress, honey. See you remember it, too. Mm, I'm just wild for you, pet." Now Erika Nordstrand pressed her naked body to Allison's till the latter could feel her tormentress' cunt rub against hers. Then the blonde's slim fingers moved round to squeeze the juicy asscheeks, even to insinuate a forefinger slyly along the crease that led to Allison's puckering asshole.
"Kiss me, bitch, before I make you really yell for mercy!"
Half fainting with her terror, Allison Lowry closed her eyes and proffered her mouth.
"I'll make you cream till you lose every drop from that sweet cunt," Erika throatily murmured. "Now tell me all about yourself. Sue was much too vague. Are you married or divorced?"
"N. .no, mistress." Allison knew better than just to nod this time.
"But I suppose you have been fucked, hm?"
"Y -- yes.. I.. I've had a man.. and.. and a woman too, m. .mistress."
"Wonderful! Horace will be overjoyed. Now tell me, ever been spanked?"
"Yes, m. .mistress."
"Yurnmyumm, tell me all about it pet."
Once again Erika glued her naked body to Allison's, her fingers pinching Allison's quivering, contracting asscheeks.
"My..m..my mother spanked me when..when she caught me with a girl, m. .mistress."
"Ah? And besides? Hurry up, I'm dying to know so many things about you, especially that firm sweet ass of yours, pet," the Nordic blonde cooed. Slyly, she reached round Allison with her left hand, till her thumb and forefinger probed into the clinching bumhole and punched the sensitive lips.
Sobbingly, Allison Lowry found herself shamelessly confessing her affair with her Japanese gardener, in all its lurid details.
"Lovely -- oh what a dirty low bitch you are, and what a whipping that big white ass of yours is going to get," Erika gloated. "Horace will be so happy to find out what a naughty girl you've been. Let's see, what shall I start with? I have it!"
She walked to the bench, brought back a curious brush, like a scrub brush for dishes, fixed to a wire corkscrew handle.
"Oh G -- God -- oh please d -- don't hurt me too much, mistress, please," Allison moaned.
"Oh of course not, dear, Just a little warm up, so to speak. But if it does hurt a bit much, you can yell all you want -- the basement is soundproofed. And I do love an appreciative whipping girl. You see, I'm only twenty, and Horace is my darling hubby, and he's taught me so much in the two years we've been married. But I have a lot to learn yet about spanking naughty bitches like you. that's why I wanted an hour all alone with you, darling." And now, the brush pressed against Allison's cunt and began slowly to rub up and down! Whimpering groans and sobs escaped the naked young beauty as she lurched and twisted to avoid the rasping contact of those coarse stiff bristles against her tender twat.
"Oh, you want to play?" Erika giggled. "Wait a bit, dear." She moved back to the bench, returned with a cracking paddle, with two leather flaps sewn together and left loose at the last six inches. "Now we'll try again."
Gleefully, she approached the scrub brush to Allison's cunt, and even as the dark-brown-haired captive tried to back away, she reached round her victim and delivered a backhanded swat with the paddle which made Allison wail out and lunge forward -- only to grind her tender cunt against the infernal bristles once again.
For well over five minutes, Erika Nordstrand kept up this dual torment, rubbing Allison's pussy while she applied spank after spank with the paddle. By now, Allison's throat was hoarse from shrieking, and her cuntlips were an angry red and swollen, gaping as if they yawned to welcome a monstrous prick. Her bottom was flaming and it burned atrociously.
Then Erika flung down the instruments of torture, flung her arms round the panting, sweating, naked young woman's back, and arched her cunt to Allison's, her mouth gluing to her prey's. "Fuck me, honey, till you make me spend, or else," she muttered thickly as she ground herself wantonly against her victim's loins.
And Allison obeyed, weaving and arching and twisting even though this friction tortured her. Suddenly, Erika uttered a hoarse shout, "oh you dirty fucking, sucking bitch, fuck me down now, give it to me!" And her arms hugged so cruelly that Allison's ribs felt as if they must crack at any moment.
Then at last the Nordic blonde writhed, her head falling back, her eyes glazing, as she tasted creaming paradise, and she sank down on her knees while Allison moaned and sobbed, head drooping, body bathed in agony-sweat.
When Erika Nordstrand had regained her composure, she lit a cigarette and then went to the wall nearest Allison, where she opened a metal box and drew out a long white feather and a pair of manicure tweezers. Armed with these, she returned to the frantic sufferer and showed the objects off: "Guess what I'll do with these, Allison love," she purred.
"Oh -- d. .don't hurt me any m -- more, oh please, I..I'll obey you, mistress," Allison babbled hysterically.
"Of course you will, Just relax, darling. I love the way you wriggle that big squirmy juicy ass of yours. I can't get enough of you, and time's going so fast... pretty soon Horace will be here, so I want to have as much fun with you all to myself as I can get."
Now the sadistic young Nordic blonde began to waft the feather over Allison's titties and belly and inner thighs, but never against her throbbing, swollen cunt, till the evanescent tickling began at last to draw the naked captive towards a sensual yearning to be fucked.
But just when that feeling began to take hold over the pain of spanked bottom and rasped cunt, Erika diabolically took hold of one of her victim's nipples and pinched it with the tweezer's sharp jaws, and a wild, prolonged scream of pain tore from the writhing victim.
For a quarter of an hour, Erika mercilessly used feather and tweezers on Allison Lowry's sweating nakedness. The feather goosed her, caressed the swollen asscheeks, ran along her spinal column, thence to her armpits -- and then the cruel tweezers nipped the armpits, pulling out a sprig of sweat-matted love hair, or bit into a tender haunch or side. When she stopped, poor Allison hung drooping from the triangle, moaning and whimpering inarticulately, nearly fainting.
Then there was the sound of footsteps, and as Allison listlessly raised her head, she uttered a choking cry. Horace Nordstrand stood before her a cigar sticking out of the corner of his fleshy mouth, naked but for sandals, his prick already massive.
"You've done a nice job, Erika honey. Got her all worked up for me?" he demanded.
"Uh huh, Daddy. Her ass is nice and tender for a cornholing, I'm pretty sure. I saved it for you," his young wife purred, coming to him and fondling his ramrod with a slim hand.
"Let's make it still more tender, hm, pet? Give her the special" he chuckled sadistically.
Erika giggled, then moved swiftly behind the frantic young woman, who turned her contorted face back over her shoulder to see what new horror was to be perpetrated. Then she shrieked wildly as Erika, prying open her swollen asscheeks with left thumb and forefinger, took the stiff bristled scrub brush in her right hand and began to rub the sensitive asshole. Her body lunged and twisted madly till the triangle creaked.
"That's it, doll," Horace sniggered. "Now I'll take over." Getting behind the wildly pleading, sobbing naked victim, while his young bride obligingly yawned Allison's bottomcheeks apart, he thrust his prick in slowly to the hilt. The victim's eyes rolled in their sockets, and her hoarse shouts and hysterical shrieks rang out incessantly as he buggered her vigorously.
Before the time was up, Allison Lowry had been released from the triangle; made to kneel on all fours to suck off and swallow every drop while at last she received her own release when Erika, donning a dildo, crouched behind her dog fashion and fucked her till her martyred naked body heaved and threshed in the throes of pussycome...
CHAPTER SIX
A week had passed since Allison Lowry had her initiation at the Purcell home as a special guest of "The Enlightened Cheaters." It was Thursday evening, and tonight was Christine Parradine's turn to work the nine o'clock shift. The other girl who would be working with her was Rose Addams, twenty-eight, of medium height, her sandy-blonde hair coiffed in a pretty guiche with the pointed curls pressed to the sides of her cheeks. Rose Addams had been at the library for two and a half years, and she had been interviewed by Eugenia Crowley when the latter had become head librarian, rose had been offered a small raise and had eagerly agreed to stay on. Since then, she had discovered to her dismay and subsequent embarrassment that the new head librarian believed in spankings for bad work or attitude, and she herself had had about four since the new regime began.
Rose had discovered greatly to her shame that Eugenia Crowley enjoyed spanking her. Indeed, these four spankings had taken place during the last six months, and tonight, just at six o'clock before she had gone out to dinner, the dominatress had whispered to her. "You'll come to my office after closing time, Rose. Those letters you typed for the overdue books were really sloppy. I'm surprised at you, a grown woman like you, such detestable typing. I see the last spanking didn't convince you that I mean business and I want a high standard of efficiency from you. After all, I'm about to give you the title of assistant librarian, and you have to earn it."
The first two spankings had been on the bare bottom, draped across the desk as was Eugenia Crowley's usual custom with her errant employees. But the third, for some curious reason had been very different and it had left Rose somewhat shaken and trembling. Just as she was about to bend herself over the desk after she had let down her own panties and hoisted up dress and slip, Eugenia Crowley had stopped her and said in a dry voice, "Not this time, Rose. Come here to me, young lady." She had turned to see that the gray-haired head librarian was seated in a straight-backed chair, holding a short, squat wooden hairbrush. Blushing violently, her eyes downcast, because she was showing her furry cunthole with her panties clinging around Her knees, Rose had hobbled over and hastily plunged herself over Miss Crowley's lap. But Eugenia Crowley hadn't started spanking for quite some long time. Instead, she had shifted Rose here and there, finally slipping her right leg out from under the young woman's, and then clamping it over Roses's calves. Then she had told Rose to reach down and grip the rung of the chair and hold on tight. Her left hand then fussed about with Rose's upturned clothes, till she had them practically rolled up to Rose's armpits. Then she posed the brush on the middle of Rose's naked carnation-sheened back, and her right palm began to caress the delightfully lush but firm and velvety bare hips, the bottom ovals and the thighs, till Rose was scarlet with confusion and embarrassment.
Then in a strangely gentle voice, she had demanded. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Rose Add am s, a grown woman like you, nearly thirty, lying with your big bare bottom over my lap like a little girl who is going to get a spanking with the hairbrush? And all because of your work, too. I have high hopes for you to be my new assistant, but I'm not ready to give you the title yet because you don't deserve it. You agree that you need this spanking Rose?"
Rose had stammered out an affirmative, dying of shame and wanting it to start so it could be over all the sooner. She had mumbled her yes, and then the hairbrush spanking had begun slowly and gently, till the tingling warmth was not really unpleasant. Then there had been a pause, and the hairbrush had come down rapidly and stingingly, till Rose, quite forgetting her maturity, had begun to sob and squeal, wiggle and weave, trying to throw herself off her dominatress's lap, and finally reaching back to cover up her flaming hindquarters.
Miss Crowley seized her wrists, dragged her hands away, rapped her knuckles smartly with the back of the hairbrush, then ordered her to count out twenty. They were real stingers, and Rose bawled like a baby. But when it was all over, Miss Crowley had made Rose kneel down and clasp her hands and thank her for the spanking, with her panties still tumbled around her knees, showing her pussyfur and everything else she had to offer. And Rose felt a curiously enervating sensation as she slowly got up, tears running down her cheeks, dressed, and finally left the office.
This time, she ordered Rose to take off everything except her bra, panties, garterbelt and stockings, and then she herself had unhooked the bra and for a moment stared greedily at the panting full ripe pear titties till Rose had the frantic impulse to rush her hands up and cover them from those glowering eyes.
Once again she took Rose over her lap, but this time it was a gentle hand spanking over the panties. Then she made Rose arch herself up so the panties could be pulled down, and then she spanked again, but still with her bare hand.
In the washroom, some of the other girls had secretly confessed to Rose that they had had far worse, like with the strap and even the cane. Rose was puzzled, but somehow she had the sensation that Miss Crowley liked her more than the others.
She was right. But Eugenia Crowley wanted to make Rose Addams her permanent personal love slave, and she was even about to offer Rose a chance to live with h r and share her bed and board, as well as the spankings which would make Rose more passionate for girl fucking...
Pretty Christine was mystified about Rose Addams' behavior this evening. She had come back from supper at a little restaurant around the corner, and found that the sandy haired young woman was speaking in a low, earnest voice to Miss Crowley, and that the-latter was stern faced and broke off the conversation immediately when she saw Christine return to the charge-out desk. She contented herself with saying, "Nine o'clock, Rose, don't forget!"
"Why -- yes, m'am," was Rose's timid, husky reply, and then she turned scarlet and busied herself rummaging through a stack of correspondence which had to do with late books and requests for renewals.
As soon as Eugenia Crowley had disappeared into the sanctum of her private office, Christine Parradine turned to her coworker, and hesitantly asked, "Miss Addams, is anything wrong?"
"Oh heavens no! Why -- why do you ask, Christine?"
"I -- I don't know. It's funny, but since I've been here, most of the girls seem afraid of Miss Crowley. I think she's awfully nice. She's fair, though she may be a little strict."
"Strict?" Rose gasped, glancing nervously around. "You don't know the half of it, dear. But then, you're new. She hasn't -- well, she hasn't called you into her private office yet for a scolding, has she?"
"Why no. Does she do that with all the girls?" the golden haired young virgin innocently asked.
"It's much worse than a scolding, and if you promise not to tell a word, not ever, I'll tell you." Rose confided. She felt a tingling sensation come over her loins, because she knew she was going to be spanked and Very hard tonight, but somehow she found herself wanting to tell this innocent, sweet little pocket Venus all about it. Ever since Dave had left her for that other woman, Rose's needs were growing furiously within her. It was just awful to be alone in bed, a full-blooded woman as she was, not yet thirty, without a man to fuck her good and hard. She wouldn't even mind a good sound spanking or a thrashing if Dave would come back and just give it to her once in a while.
"Of course I won't tell anybody. My goodness, what is going on?" Christine murmured.
There was something else she had noticed just before lunch today. A very handsome, rather tall, dark-brown-haired woman had come in for a reference book, engaged her in conversation, smiled and said, "You don't remember me, dear, but I'm your neighbor. At least. I live close enough to you to be called one. My name is Allison Lowry. Someday I'd like to have you over, if you have some free time. Thank you for your help." And the way she had stared at Christine just before leaving the library had left the golden haired virgin somewhat embarrassed, because it was the sort of look that an ardent man would give a girl, not one woman to another.
But Rose was now in a confidential mood, a kind of catharsis which she needed very desperately, in a way, to give her courage for the oncoming chastisement. "Well, cross your heart then, and promise you won't ever tell anybody," she insisted in a low whisper.
Christine made the sign of the cross over her left tittie, and blushed becomingly. "All right then," Rose Addams murmured, still glancing nervously toward the corner which led to the dread private office of the imperatrix. "The fact is. when a girl is naughty here, she can be fired."
"But that could happen in any job," Christine protested.
"Yes, I know. Only here, Miss Crowley lets a girl off being fired if she'll, well -- if she'll take a sp -- spanking instead."
"What?" Christine was aghast, her lovely eyes widening behind her glasses. She looked thoroughly adorable, and the incongruous dowdiness of those horn-rimmed spectacles and the prim bun into which she had set her lustrous golden hair made her soft pink skin and bewitchingly angelic face and luscious petite figure all the more mouthwatering. Even Rose, who had yet to learn what Lesbian girl fucking or girl gamming was, felt a vague longing in her pussy for this tempting piece of femininity.
"Oh yes! She spanks them. Do you know, I'm supposed to get spanked tonight. It'll be my fifth time since she started here as head librarian, Christine."
"But I can't believe it! Isn't -- isn't that against the law?"
"Oh no. I mean, not if the girl says she will take it, and all of us do, we have to, because we need the job. I -- I'm supposed to be assistant librarian some day, as soon as I earn it, Miss Crowley says. But I guess I disappointed her with some of the typing I did, so I have to see her when the Library closes. Now you won't tell a soul?"
"Of course I won't. Oh dear, this is dreadful -- suppose -- I mean -- oh my goodness, I -- I don't think I should ever be able to endure such an awful thing -- I mean -- " Christine was flustered, and her cheeks burned a bright red at the mere thought of having to lie across that stern woman's lap and have her luscious bottom paddled.
She could hardly dream of what was going to happen to that voluptuous ass of hers and to her virgin pussy as well, and even that soft sweet mouth which was so tremulous now as it quivered at the mere thought of what Rose Addams had just told her.
The electric clock showed nine o'clock once more, and Christine Parradine put on her very light cape, bade Eugenia Crowley a faltering "G -- goodnight," and then left the library. Promptly the dominatress locked the front door and slid the bolt. Then she eyed Rose Addams who was standing at the charge-out counter, her eyes cold and narrowed. "Did you say anything to that little minx about tonight, young lady?" she hissed.
"Oh no -- I mean of course I didn't -- oh, Miss Crowley, I'm so ashamed -- I don't even dare to think about it -- " Rose blurted, but her blush was telltale, as was the widening of her eyes and the sudden shocked intake of breath as she tried to answer the question quickly without floundering.
Eugenia Crowley had her own suspicions that Rose Addams had sneaked a little hint of what went on in the private office after nine o'clock on a Thursday night. But that was fine. It wouldn't do that little golden haired piece of pussy any harm to get the idea that maybe she could be spanked for being naughty. So far, her work had actually been perfect. In fact, Eugenia Crowley was getting a little worried that maybe she shouldn't be able to find a genuine pretext for summoning Christine to her office after closing time and there compelling the luscious and ingenuous novice to lean over the desk and let her panties be taken down so that her virgin ass might for the first time feel the kisses of a gloved hand or a strap or a cane or even a hairbrush. No, Christine was such an adorable child, so small and yet so delectably formed, a full grown woman and yet in a way a child, that she would much prefer to take the charming little minx over her lap and arrange her, and listen to Christine's sobbing pleas for pardon, while her hand caressed the quivering, twitching naked globes of Christine's velvety smooth young ass. She shivered with voluptuous anticipation at the mere thought, for it roused the most lascivious images. Finally she gave Rose Addams a stony glare: "All right. Come into my office in about ten minutes. As a matter of fact, Miss Parradine will probably find out from the other girls, maybe from some one like Betty Dugan or Cornelia Wilson, how I ounish naughtiness around here. But that doesn't let you off, Rose Addams."
"No m'am," the sandy haired young woman wretchedly admitted, hanging her head, her arms at her sides, her fingernails digging into her already sweating palms.
"I'll see you in ten minutes, then." The dominatress turned on her heel and marched off into her office. There she swiftly put on her cuirass and the leather boots and gloves, sprayed herself with perfume, touched lipstick to her mouth, mascara to her lashes, then combed her hair, and once more became an alluring, mature, perverse dominatress.
When Rose timidly knocked on the door, it was opened at once and Eugenia Crowley gestured without a word towards the desk. Rose Addams was wearing a green cotton dress whose hem modestly fell to the hollows of her dimpled knees. She had on flesh colored nylons, and open-toe sandals. The dominatress noted this and smiled to herself: "Don't you usually wear low heeled shoes to work in the library, Rose?"
she chided.
"Oh -- I'm sorry, Miss Crowley -- it -- it's been so hot, my feet swell a bit and these sandals are much more comfortable."
"That may well be, but they don't present a very good impression to the public here. They might think that we're here for a rest cure or that we're vacationing. Tomorrow, you'll wear sensible shoes."
"Yes, m'am," Rose stammered, her cheeks aflame.
"Very well now. You may take off your dress -- are you wearing a slip under it?"
"No -- M -- Miss Crowley, only a petticoat and my brassiere and my -- and my panty girdle."
"Then take off the petticoat too. And you may as well remove your bra. I'm going to give you a very sound spanking this evening."
"Oh dear!"
"Not another word! Now hurry!"
Trembling, tears welling to her dark-blue eyes, Rose Addams tried her best to hold them back as she hastily removed her dress and then the petticoat. She took a deep breath, casting a frantic appeal -- which was ignored -- at the executioner, and then reached back of her to unhook the bra. Momentarily, instinct made her cover her big full pearshaped titties with her hands, but the dominatress called her to order with a curt, "Take down the panty girdle, detach it entirely, and get over the desk with that bottom of yours well up!"
Rose burst into tears at this heartless sentence, but she knew better than to argue. Fumbling with the tabs of the stocking supporters, she at last freed them, then unfastened the top of the sheath, and began to drag it down, wriggling and twisting a little in the most lascivious manner. As the ripe oval shaped cheeks of her ass came into view, with the temptingly shadowy furrow just below the chinkbone, Eugenia Crowley's eyes gleamed with lust.
The panty girdle fell to the floor, Rose stepped out of it, stooped to retrieve it, but was stopped by the terse "Never mind that, let it lie as it is! Get over the desk this minute!"
A few minutes later, her head bowed, her eyes closed, her soft little fingers tightly clutching the edge of the desk, forced to arch on stockinged tiptoe because of her medium stature, her plump oval shaped carnation-sheened assglobes thrust out in the most enticing and provocative manner imaginable, Rose Addams next heard the order to spread her legs all she could. She did so, shivering and blushing, biting her lips feverishly as she heard the dominatress move around the desk towards her. She knew perfectly well that by spreading her legs she was showing her pussy, and suddenly the thought of Dave entered her mind and she was yearning for him. She would gladly take a good hard strapping, even a caning, if only her darling Dave would come in right after that and take hold of her and stick his big hard wonderful cock deep into her itching cunt!
But there was to be no fucking for Rose Addams tonight. Twenty minutes later, sobbing plaintively, she lay across the desk, twisting and shifting herself, her bottom flaming from a sound hand spanking. After that, it had been a wide flat fuler which had cracked down twenty times across the ripest curves of her oval shaped ass.
She was still in position, moaning, perspiring, not knowing what was going to happen, when finally Eugenia Crowley spoke in a husky voice: "Now then, Rose, that was a little extra for fibbing to me. Don't think I don't know that you were saying things you shouldn't have to that sweet little Christine. And don't try to lie yourself out of it. Her turn will come. Yours is now. Do you still want to be assistant librarian?"
"Oh yes, m'am!"
"All right. If you want to be, come down on your knees and crawl to me, your hands clasped and ask me to take you over my lap and finish off your big naughty bottom. Use those very words!"
Rose repeated the formula, sobbing and sniffling, as she held up her clasped hands in prayer to the dominatress. She was really delicious, naked except for the stockings which had begun to sag down to her knees, her bottom flaming, her big pearshaped titties rising and falling turbulently, the nipples hard and dark.
Eugenia Crowley smiled grimly. She understood, because she knew about Dave and Rose's anguish, and Rose's frustration these past few years. She had even guessed that Rose played with her pussy, the old sweet-finger game in the dark of night.
Seating herself on the straight-backed chair, she beckoned the sobbing young woman to her, and Rose promptly draped herself across the dominatress' lap. Tucking her in, stroking her velvety, hot red behind, the dominatress at last finished Rose Addams' chastisement with twenty more spanks from the ruler, which she made Rose count out. Then after Rose had kissed the ruler and thanked her for the spanking, once again she had to kneel naked as she was, and this time, the order came to use her fingers and open the gusseting flap of Eugenia Crowley's cuirass... and after that, to put her lips and tongue to Eugenia Crowley's cunt and draw her to sweet bliss.
After Rose had done this, Eugenia Crowley languidly stretched and murmured, "That was being a good girl, dear. And I suppose you're all excited yourself. Don't bother to deny it. I can tell from the way those big titties of yours are moving around, and the way your thighs are squirming and rubbing together. I know you play with yourself, you naughty girl. What you need is a husband -- but since you can't have one, I'll have to satisfy you, won't I? You'll have to come here for another spanking one of these days, you know. Now this time get back over the table, but I want you with your back on it and your legs spread. I'll satisfy your itch,, you nasty little minx you!"
In vain Rose pleaded, her cheeks scarlet with confusion. The thought of a worse spanking and job loss at last made her take the shameful pose. Her legs straddled, her arms reaching behind her to grip the edges of the desk with her soft trembling fingers, spreading her thighs and offering her cunt, she closed her eyes as Eugenia Crowley bent over her and, with a gloved forefinger, began to frig her until at last Rose sobbed and cried out, forgetting herself in the throes of passion to call out, "Oh Dave, oh my God, oh it's good, screw me, oh put it harder into my poor little cunt, oh Dave, oh fuck me!"
After she had finished, Eugenia Crowley sniffed contemptuously. "You're just a slut, Rose Addams. But you're going to be my slut now. Calling for Dave when I was giving you pleasure! You'll learn that a woman can give another woman much more pleasure than any stupid man. Now put your clothes on and go home. And don't play with yourself again. That's all you're going to get until next week when I cann you in here. And if I find that you've played with yourself until then, heaven help that big bottom of yours. Now goodnight!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was the last week of August, and the temperature had dropped into the lower nineties, much to the relief of many Fresnans who had practically wilted the past few weeks when the mercury had been soaring up to the hundred-degree mark.
But while some people are quiescent in warm weather and find their sexual energies restored only when the weather turns cooler, this was true of neither Allison Lowry nor of Eugenia Crowley. That latter, indeed, was burning with a furious unrequited passion for sweet, naive Christine's delectable virgin body, and she was racking her brains to find a way to make that paragon of virtue and efficiency make just one misstep at the library so as to bring about a private rendezvous in her office after hours.
At last she believed she had hit upon a scheme which would accomplish her twofold desires: first, to be the first one to unveil that juicy, firm young baby-oink bottom for chastisement, and secondly, to be the first also to initiate delicious Christine into the delights of girl loving. She was reasonably sure that her newest employee had no boyfriends. She had made some investigations on her own, for after all Christine's aunt had already visited her in advance to find out if there would be a job for her niece, and she was quite satisfied that the charming golden haired novice who did her work so quietly and neatly, was as innocent of sex as she was of what went on in the private office after nine o'clock on many a Thursday evening when the library stayed open until then.
Another Thursday evening had rolled around, and this time Eugenia Crowley's appraising gaze fell on Margaret Brandt, who she was certain could be trusted with so delicate a mission as she had just evolved for the entrapment of the unsuspecting Christine.
Margaret Brandt was twenty-five, about five feet six inches in height, with timid features, large sky-blue eyes, a soft small mouth which trembled at the slightest provocation and a dainty little straight nose. Her chestnut hair was styled in a piled upsweep, which left her nape bare. She had tawny skin, and a really appetizing figure, though perhaps her calves were a bit lean, and her fingers somewhat short and stubby. But the rest of her would have made a red blooded man experience a hard-on just by seeing Margaret stripped for action -- as she several times had been already over the desk in Eugenia Crowley's office. Margaret had a beautifully sculptured back, with a deeply cleft spinal column, and an adorable mole to the left of the chinkbone. Her buttocks were spacious, beautifully rounded, and the base was delightfully symmetrical as it merged into the sudden fulminating rotundities of the summits. The shadowy groove between those luscious bottomcheeks was narrow at the start, broadening as it neared the base, and so when Margaret upturned herself over the desk for a spanking, with her legs straddled as was customary, she revealed the thick fleece which fringed her plump pussy, and also the ambery tract which insinuatingly advanced to the dainty fissure of her bumhole. Her waist was extremely slim, and would have been the delight of a MidVictorian lady of fashion. Her bubbies were closely set, and quite large, but firm, with dark brownish-coral aurolae and ripe nipples. Eugenia Crowley had given Margaret a job the second day of her own appointment as head librarian, but first she had investigated the young woman and found that Margaret was a perfect candidate for her intended Lesbian spanking harem.
When she was seventeen, Margaret had been married, to escape her strict parents who had later divorced and remarried. She had become pregnant by her husband, a young sailor, and he had decided to shirk his responsibilities as soon as he learned of her pregnancy through one of her pathetic letters. Consequently, she had been obliged, because her parents had also left the state and practically deserted her (not having wanted her in the first place) to give up her child to a foundling home. Then she went to work, and at first had been able to get only a domestic job or two, and in the third home where she had worked for three months, she was raped by her middle-aged widower employer in front of his two laughing teenaged daughters.
Of course Margaret had the man arrested, but the story with all the lurid details came out in the paper, and both daughters had testified that Margaret was a slut and had asked to be raped, True, their testimony had been overridden, but the stigma remained, and so for the next year, poor Margaret found it very difficult to find any kind of work in respectable surroundings.
At last she went to a charitable organization, learned how to become a reasonably good typist and filing clerk, and stayed there about three years. When the firm closed down, it gave her an excellent letter of reference, and after another job or two, she finally applied to the library because she needed a sinecure where the work would not be too hard and where she would be sheltered enough away from prying eyes of lecherous men so that she could maintain a proper life. Unhappily, the papers had been full of her picture and the testimony of the two daughters of that man who had fucked her, and every once in a while, some man would come up from behind her, leer, tip his hat and ask her if she wasn't that "cute little bitch who tried to take old Mr. J-- for everything he had," and then propose that he might himself be interested in her company for a night or two -- for a fee, of course.
Knowing all these things about Margaret Brandt had given Eugenia Crowley a kind of blackmailing advantage -- of which she had taken full advantage. Already, Margaret had been to her office about ten times, and she had endured not particularly severe spankings, at least not by the dominatress' standards, but certainly humiliating and degrading ones. But what Miss Crowley had discovered during these spankings was that Margaret was something of a masochist, and that she actually seemed to derive a certain amount of sexual satisfaction near the end of a good thrashing, sometimes with a strap, occasionally with a cane, but most often with the gloved hand (while the other hand slyly slipped under Margaret's belly and began to frig Margaret's squirming pussy).
So it was inevitable that the lovely young chestnut-haired woman should have accepted a greater thralldom from the grey haired head librarian than had any other member of her staff. Indeed, Margaret had often been an invited guest to Miss Crowley's little bungalow, and there the two women had lain in bed, caressing and kissing, while Margaret shyly confessed the feverish passion she felt when her "Mama" (as she had learned to call Miss Crowley in such intimate moments but never in the library) took her over her lap and spanked her bare behind.
Margaret was working this evening with Christine, who began to wonder why the past several weeks she had been called to work on a Thursday night. At last she attributed it to the fact that she was the newest employee and consequently could hardly protest the worst assignments as regards working time.
She had just come back from supper and it was seven o'clock. Now Margaret was to go to supper and return at eight. But while Christine had eaten at the little restaurant, Margaret Brandt had been in Miss Crowley's private office for about five minutes, her hands clasped, her eyes wide, and her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment as the dominatress explained very succinctly what she expected of her favorite: "You know what a cute little thing Christine is, don't you, Margaret dear? Well then, you could certainly understand why I'm just dying to get her in here and give her a good sound spanking on that adorable bottom of hers. It's such a juicy bottom, isn't it? Even you, who love to be spanked, I should imagine, would get a thrill from slapping it or taking a hairbrush or a strap to it. All right Margaret, listen very carefully. You're going to find some reason to get Christine into the washroom between eight o'clock and nine. It looks as if it's going to be a very slow evening, because we have only a few patrons here tonight. The hot weather has kept most of them either at home or else taking their vacations in places like San Francisco or Reno or Los Angeles."
"I -- I don't quite understand, Miss Crowley," Margaret Brandt stammered.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Margaret, just use your imagination! Now suppose you were to make a pass at Christine when you get her in the washroom -- do you follow me?"
"I -- I think so," the young woman hesitantly admitted, her blushes spreading even more.
"Of course you do! Now pay attention! I want you to fondle her or kiss her, put your hand under her dress or something like that, do you follow me?" Again Margaret Brandt hesitantly faltered out an affirmative.
"Good! Well, I'm sure she'll cry out, or come running out of there. And of course I will be on hand to see what all the noise is about. Then you're going to tell me that Christine made a pass at you -- do you understand that? No matter what I say in the way of cross examination, or what she tries to say to deny it, you will be firm in your story. She made a naughty advance to you, and of course that will be a terrible thing for a supposedly decent young girl like Christine to do, so I shall naturally have to punish her -- or else threaten her with immediate discharge. Now do you understand my plan?"
"Why--yes, M--Mama." Don't you dare call me that ever again in this library! Only when you're at my house, do you hear me? Not even in the office. Now, just for that, of course I'm going to have to punish the both of you at the same time. Besides," here the dominatress smiled grimly, "that will make things much more convincing, or don't you understand, if I have to admonish both of you for being naughty. And after all, pet, you are a girl lover, as only I should know -- isn't that right, Margaret?"
Margaret Brandt drooped her lovely head, her lovely titties rose and fell quickly, and she emitted a painful sigh. She knew only too well that what Miss Crowley had said was quite accurate. She hated herself for it, because she knew after being in love with Bud and giving him a baby, she really ought to have a man between her legs. But she just couldn't help it, because everybody had taken such unfair advantage of her all her life, even her own folks. This was the only decent job she ever had, and now she was just beginning to save a little money and look forward to the future. Maybe one day she could break away from this and find herself a husband. But she needed the job and she had to submit. And anyhow, she just went all weak in the knees whenever she had to lie over Miss Crowley's lap and feel Miss Crowley pulling down her panties and then fondling her bottom.
She just couldn't help herself.
"I see you understand. That's a good girl. I won't be too harsh on you tonight, you needn't worry. Or with Christine either, for that matter. But I just must get that lovely bottom stripped down and find out what a joy it will be to smack that firm pink ass of hers. I'll make it up to you, Margaret, don't worry. Now you better get back to your work in case Christine comes back early from supper."
* * *
At about eight-fifteen Christine felt nature's pressures, and shyly murmured to Margaret Brandt, "would you excuse me for just a minute, I have to go to the bathroom."
"Sure, go ahead, Christine honey. Gosh, I wish I could go too!" the chestnut-haired young woman sighed. Eugenia Crowley had gone back to her private office, gloatingly awaiting the reverberations of the scene which she had so carefully rehearsed with her dominated protegee.
No sooner than Christine had pushed open the door of the washroom and entered than Margaret Brandt, glancing about, making sure that there were no patrons who needed her services, left the counter and went down the hall at the back on the other side of the library from which the librarian's office was located, pushed open the door and saw with a smirk of satisfaction that one of the toilet stalls had its door closed. It was obviously Christine. Margaret waited till she heard the flush of the toilet, then the door was unlocked and Christine emerged. At the sight of Margaret standing there, she uttered a gasp and turned scarlet with sweet confusion: "Ohh -- you -- you scared me, Margaret -- but we both shouldn't be in here at the same time!"
"Oh sure we should, honey," Margaret said with an easy drawl as she walked up to Christine and put her arm around the petite golden haired young beauty's waist. "I have to tell you this, honey, I've had a yen for you for a long time. We just haven't got together, that's all. You're so sweet, I could just eat you up!" And with this, she took hold of Christine's dimpled, rounded shoulders and kissed the astonished bespectacled novice full on her rosy mouth.
"Mmmmfffff! M -- Margaret, what -- what are you doing -- please stop that! What's the matter with you?" Christine backed away, putting a hand to her mouth, her eyes enormous behind the horn-rimmed spectacles.
"Oh, come on, Chris, don't be so silly. I've got the hots for you, that's what I have. Now you don't even have a boyfriend, so why don't you and I get together and make each other happy? I know a lot of things I could teach you so you could have fun, and you don't even have to worry about having a baby when you're not with a man, you know!" Margaret insinuated as she moved closer to the now really frightened young woman.
"No -- I don't want that sort of thing -- oh please, Margaret, be sensible! I -- I'm not that sort of person -- please, please, we have to get back to work or Miss Crowley will be very angry!"
"I don't care any more! I just have to have you, you sweet darling! You've got such yummy breasts, and that sweet bottom of yours -- I just want to squeeze it -- " and with this, Margaret Brandt reached behind the astounded Christine and sank her fingers into Christine's voluptuously rounded firm sweet virgin ass while at the same time she kissed Christine solidly on the mouth, slipping her tongue in between the girl's lips before the horrified beauty could realize what was happening.
"Ohh--Mfffff--oh you stop that--that's awful--I don't care for that--now please, you get out of here--no--what are you doing--oh take your hand away--oh that's disgraceful--I won't stand for that--I'll call for help if you don't--ohh ohhh!!"
For now, backing Christine up against the wall, Margaret had stooped and slipped her right hand under Christine's green cotton skirt and the soft petticoat beneath, till her forefinger beneath had prodded that virgin pussy which was snugged by the thin but adhering white panty girdle which the golden haired young fish was wearing this evening instead of her usual panties. Alas, even ingenuous Christine was conscious of her figure, and wrongly believed she was putting on a few pounds and should hem herself in with a panty girdle instead of panties!
Her blushes spread almost down to the valley of her bubbies, as she struck Margaret's hand away and uttered a wild cry, then tugged the handle of the washroom door and ran out. As she did so, she bumped right into Eugenia Crowley, who, having heard the sounds of her protest a few moments ago, had hurried out of her office to be on hand for the dramatic denouement of this titillating scene.
"What's this? What's all this noise about, Miss Parradine?" the head librarian demanded, her face very stern.
"Ohhhh--M--Miss C--Crowley, oh my--I-- I--I had an accident -- please--I--I was just going back to work--"
"But you were crying for help, and you were telling someone to stop -- now what is this about, Miss Parradine? As your superior, I demand to know!"
At that moment, just as Christine was trembling and blushing violently before the glaring look the head librarian was fixing upon her, the washroom door opened and Margaret Brandt, eyes downcast and her face quite demure, came out.
"Oh, Miss Brandt, perhaps you can explain what has been going on!" the head librarian pursued.
"I wouldn't want to say -- truly I wouldn't -- please don't make me, Miss Crowley!" Margaret Brandt ingeniously played her role to the hilt.
"That's this now? Nonsense! I want to know what all my employees are doing at all times! And especially when both of them leave the desk unattended and go to the washroom together. Now then, Margaret, Since Christine here doesn't seem to want to discuss what has happened, suppose you tell me the entire story, and be quick about it. And keep your voices down, both of you, there are still a few people in the library and we may attract undesirable attention!" the dominatress demanded.
"I don't want to get anybody into trouble," Margaret Brandt began to sniffle, pretending real tears. "And I didn't expect it of Miss -- I mean Christine -- not at all--"
"What in the world are you trying to tell me? .Now be quick about it!" the head librarian snapped.
"Oh please, it was a terrible mistake -- I'm sure you don't want to hear about it, please, Miss Crowley," Christine Parradine begged, casting Margaret a frantic and appealing look.
But the buileful love-slave of the dominatress knew perfectly well what was expected of her: "I'm awfully sorry, Miss Crowley, because Christine is new and her work is very good. But -- well, we were in the bathroom together--"
"I know that, Margaret! Will you kindly get to the point!"
"Yes--yes, m'm I--I was just going to. Well, anyway, she said something to me, and then she started to kiss me and put her hands all over me--"
"Ohhhh! That's not true, Miss Crowley!" Christine Parradine uttered in a cry of astonishment, turning to look at Margaret with a stupefied and incredulous expression. "You have to believe me -- I--I'm not that sort of person -- why, I wouldn't do anything like that to anybody -- this is a terrible mistake!"
"Yes it is, young lady. I'm shocked to hear it. Margaret, you realize what you're saying? It's a very grave accusation, you know," Eugenia Crowley pretended to be outraged.
"I don't want to get her into trouble, honestly I don't, Miss Crowley." Margaret Brandt was humble. "But you wanted the truth, and that's it. She -- she wanted to -- wanted to have an affair with me--"
"Ohhhh Margaret, that's a lie and you know it! You're the one who--" Christine began almost hysterically, wringing her hands in anguish, turning first to stare poignantly at the prim and deceitful chestnut-haired woman, then back at the stern imperatrix.
"You will keep your voice down. I shall attend to this very grave situation after closing time. Both of you, do you understand, Margaret and you, Christine, you will report to my private office after the library is closed. Now get back to that desk at once, the very idea!" Eugenia Crowley hissed.
"But--oh please--" Christine began, tears shining in her big brown eyes.
"Not another word until after nine o'clock, young lady! Didn't you hear me? Back to your desk and do your work!" the head librarian vituperatively exclaimed and turned her back and marched off in high dudgeon.
Back at the charge-out desk, Christine was very nearly in tears, and she tried to catch Margaret's glance, but the latter studiously avoided her. Finally the last patron left the library, and then Margaret walked to the heavy doors, locked them and drew the bolt. Then she turned back and stared at Christine, with a soft little smile: "I guess we'd better go see Miss Crowley now," she said softly.
"Ohh Margaret, for God's sake, tell her it's a lie! Why in the world would you want to invent such a horrible story? You know I'm not that sort of girl, you know I'm not," Christine pleaded.
"I'm sorry. We'd better go now. We'll make her angry."
"But it's not true, and you know it! Oh please, help me, why are you doing this to me? I never did anything to hurt you, Margaret, I didn't!" Christine's voice broke with sobs as she buried her scarlet face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved with her choked sobs.
Margaret Brandt cast her a curious look, in which both compassion and shame and also not a little sensual greediness were mixed. Then she walked firmly towards the private office of the dominatress, halted on the threshold, turned back and called, "I think you'd better come right now!"
Controlling her sobs with an effort, the golden haired virgin finally left the counter and walked listlessly towards the office door.
Margaret knocked, and was told to enter. She opened the door and stood, holding it open for Christine in turn who reluctantly came forward.
No sooner had she entered than she began her passionate appeal: "Oh, Miss Crowley, it's not true, not a word of it! I don't want to hurt Margaret, but she lied to you about me, she truly did!"
"I don't want to hear another word now." The dominatress was seated at her desk, for she had not yet put on her costume of training and discipline. Nor did she intend to this particular night. That would be too great a shock for the gentle virgin. It would be sufficient, oh yes, quite sufficient, to sentence luscious young Christine Parradine to a bare-bottom spanking, to arouse her emotions by voluptuous preparations and the prolongation of that chastisement, and to induce into her novice system an awareness of her lovely physical self which then could become victimized and exploited so very easily.
Eugenia Crowley leaned back in her stiff chair, and contemplated both beauties, a mocking little smile of anticipation wreathing her thin lips. "Well now, Margaret, I want a full explanation," she said sibilantly.
"I don't think Christine ought to be fired -- honestly I don't," Margaret Brandt began with a hypocritical look of deep compassion towards the frantic, shamed golden haired victim. "I know she's awfully lonesome, and the rest of us girls haven't really made friends with her. So I suppose it was natural what she did--"
"But I didn't do anything!" Christine wailed, again wringing her hands. "Oh, you just have to believe me, Miss Crowley! I--I'm a decent girl -- I haven't ever -- why, I haven't even gone out with a boy--"
"That's fairly obvious, young lady, from what Margaret is trying to tell me," the dominatress dryly broke in. "Please go on Margaret."
"Well, if I have to--"
"Yes, you have to!"
"All right then, Miss Crowley. Anyway, I was in there washing my hands and she came up to me and put her arms around me and she said she was lonely and she wanted me to be her friend and couldn't we have a date or something? And then when I turned to ask her what she meant, she kissed me!"
"But that's not true! Every word of it is a lie! I was the one -- I mean -- when I came out of the -- when I came out, she was there and she started to talk to me and then she kissed me and--and--put her hands on me--" Christine babbled, her eyes huge with horror as she realized that the grim gray-haired woman at the desk was hardly paying her any attention.
"Go on, Margaret, please. I know how difficult this must be for you, but I certainly will not tolerate any such disgraceful conduct here in this library from any of my employees -- - the idea, Christine, in a public place like this which serves people, to attempt such a shocking -- well, I can't find a word for it!" Eugenia Crowley declared.
"Oh no -- oh you have to believe me -- I never -- oh in all the world I wouldn't ever think of such a thing -- oh please, please, Margaret, you know you're lying, I don't know why you are, but you are -- oh tell her, tell her, don't blacken me like this! Christine clasped her hands in an attitude of prayer as she turned toward the chestnut haired older beauty.
"I have to tell her, Christine," Margaret Brandt replied, "because it's true. I'm awfully sorry for you, dear, I really am--"
"Oh no! But this is impossible!"
"I can't agree, Miss Christine Parradine," the head librarian's voice cut like a whip to interrupt the sobbing beauty. "And what Margaret has told me is grounds enough for your dismissal on the spot."
"But I didn't want to get her into trouble, Miss Crowley, honestly I didn't!" Margaret burst out. "Please don't fire her, give her another chance!"
"Oh no -- but I don't believe this is happening -- it can't -- oh I've been a good girl all my life. I wouldn't ever dream of such an awful thing--" Christine sobbed, beside herself with anguish at the injustice of what was happening to her.
"Your sentiment does you great credit, Margaret. But I suspect you were just a little to blame yourself," the imperatrix suavely interposed. "Admit it, Margaret, you must surely have returned her attentions -- shall we call them that for the sake of propriety -- or it would have been you who cried out, isn't that true?" Margaret Brandt read the meaningful command in the cold eyes of her superior, and meekly lowered her head to offer an admission through her silence.
"I thought so!" Eugenia Crowley triumphantly exclaimed. "This is really a vexing situation. I don't want to discharge you, Christine, because your work has been really outstanding. Yet I cannot and will not tolerate such wicked, sinful actions as this. There is only one alternative to your being discharged at once -- and with a very black mark on your reputation, I might add."
"Oh please, Miss Crowley, please, please believe me!"
"I can't, in the face of the evidence. Do you wish to be discharged?
"Oh no! That's unfair -- I didn't do anything -- I swear I didn't!" Christine was crying now, big tears running down her flushed cheeks.
The dominatress greedily surveyed the trembling young beauty, drew a deep breath and then pronounced: "I am going to make a great exception in your case, Christine. I realize that you're very lonely, that you probably don't have many friends in this new town, and as I have said, your work is quite good. But I think that a salutary lesson is in order, once that will drive from your mind any further thoughts of such outrageous conduct in the future. It is for the sake of your aunt that I am going to do this. It will be done here in the privacy of my office, and no one else except the three of us will ever know about it. Do you understand me, Christine Parradine?"
Christine had dropped her trembling hands from her tearstained face and stared mutely at the cruel, Lesbian sadist. Then she shook her head, her magnificent titties rising and falling agitatedly in her overwrought emotions.
"I propose, Christine, to teach you as I would a naughty child. In a word, to spank you. Either you will submit to that, or else you will leave this office no longer in our employ and with a letter to your aunt explaining the reasons for which you have been discharged. Well?"
"Ohh, G--God -- oh no -- you couldn't be so cruel -- I never have -- oh nobody -- oh this is dreadful -- oh please, please have mercy!"
Eugenia Crowley shook her head. "Either you take the spanking, Christine, or you'll walk out of here discharged for just cause. I will give you exactly two minutes in which to make up your mind. As for you, Margaret, you are going to be punished also, just to show that I am fair and equitable. And since you are older, you should have been able to handle this unfortunate situation with much more aplomb. I'm afraid I shall have to be rather severe with you."
"Yes, m--m'am," Margaret Brandt quavered, keeping her head bowed and her arms at her sides.
Glancing at her wristwatch, the implacable dominatress snapped, "Your two minutes are beginning, Christine Parradine! At the end of them, I will ask you for your answer. Think it over very carefully. I'm sure your aunt would feel bitterly the disgrace of such a dismissal."
"Oh yes! Oh my God, what can I do?" Christine moaned, clenching her little fists, moist with anguish now, digging her nails into her palms, staring piteously at the gray-haired tormentress before her.
There was silence in the room now, and nothing was heard except Christine's choked sobs and sighs, as she bowed her head and closed her eyes, her lips moving as in prayer.
"Your two minutes are up, young lady! What is your decision?" came the inflexible voice of the dominatress.
"If--if I--if I do what you want--Miss--Miss Crowley--will it be all over? I mean, oh dear--"
"Yes, it will be all over for now -- unless you repeat this abomination. I am sympathetic to young girls like you, Miss Parradine, because I understand the temptations that beset you. But you must learn to control yourself. I give you my word that once you have had your spanking, no word of this will ever pass my lips. But be quick, the time is getting late."
"Oh my God, I guess -- I guess I'll have to -- oh this is dreadful -- oh my!" Christine groaned.
' look of gloating triumph flashed over the face of the head librarian. She rose briskly from her desk and moved towards the innocent, victimized golden haired novice. "I think you have made a sensible decision, young lady. I am going to give you your spanking here and now. Come with me." And with this, she took hold of Christine's unresisting hand and let the softly sobbing young beauty towards the straight-backed chair.
Seating herself, she pulled Christine down over her lap, circled the young woman's waist with her left arm, and then made a sign to Margaret who hurried to the chair. Before the unfortunate young beauty had realized what was happening to her, Margaret Brandt had stooped, lofted Christine's green skirt and the petticoat beneath, exposing the luscious round hillocks of that delicious virgin ass sheathed so tightly and suggestively by the white panty girdle.
"Ohhnooooo, oh please don't, oh can't you -- can't you spank me -- can't you spank me over my c--clothes?" Christine sobbed, turning her congested face back to her executioner.
"No, Christine. I always give a spanking on the bare bottom. It is the only way to teach you the proper humiliation and penance you must be prepared to accept because of your wickedness," the dominatress sententiously declared. "You may proceed, Margaret."
"Yes, m'am." The chestnut haired young woman now expertly unfastened the panty girdle, then began to tug it down, while Christine struggled and uttered a cry of shame and horror, "Oh no, no please, please, I'll take double, oh please let me keep that on, oh please, Miss Crowley!"
In her frantic shame, the golden haired young woman tried desperately to plunge her hands back to halt the descent of the final veil to her modesty, but Eugenia Crowley promptly seized both slim wrists in her left hand and prevented this.
Margaret, seeing her nod, gave the sheath a vigorous jerk, and lowered it to Christine's knee hollows, exposing for the first time that magnificent virgin ass.
Eugenia Crowley's eyes blazed, and she could not suppress a gasp of admiration. Swiftly clamping her right leg over Christine's struggling stockinged legs, she pinioned her intended victim, her strong lean fingers digging into Christine's soft wrists. Her eyes feasted on that voluptuous target which she now meant to chastise so unjustly.
Christine, feeling the cool air of the room lave her virgin nakedness, burst into hysterical sobs and covered her face with her hands, abandoning herself.
Her ass was really glorious, the cheeks had a fullness and succulence to them that was absolutely mouthwatering, the spacious summits, velvety and pink sheened, twitched and contracted in the victim's understandable chagrin and deep shame at being so exposed to alien eyes. The ambery groove which separated those globes was narrow, broadening towards the base, and there the pouting inner edges of those lusciously ripe assglobes seemed provocatively to suggest in a way to her two temples of sexual delight, her pussy and her bumhole.
"Now I am going to give you your spanking, Christine, and I sincerely hope it will be the very last time I shall ever have to correct you for such naughtiness. Get ready," the dominatress' voice trembled with eagerness and lust.
Raising her right hand, she brought it down with a vigorous Smack on the plumpest curve of Christine's right asscheek. The hot sting and the realization that she was being thus humiliated deeply mortified the young virgin. Her head rose, her eyes huge and blurred with tears, and her soft red mouth opened in a poignant "Aahhh, ohh, oh dear, oh please don't -- oh this is dreadful!"
"Yes, it is dreadful," the dominatress agreed, taking a firmer grip of the struggling little wrists, "And I see that you are already beginning to feel ashamed of what you have done. I am going to give you a good sound spanking, Christine, on your naked bottom, and after that, I shall be very vigilant with you. And you have my word, as I have already told you, that no one except the three of us will ever know what has happened this night.
With this, unable any longer to contain her veritable frenzy of lustful coercion over this exquisite, ingenuous virgin, she brought her hand up and down a dozen times, spanking the ripest curves of that jouncy pink-satiny naked ass. At each slap, which rang out crisply, Christine's hips lunged and weaved and bucked, and her struggles over the dominatress' lap succeeded in rousing Eugenia Crowley to shuddering Lesbian lust.
Her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, fixed always on the pink-aplotched target before her, she spanked and spanked and spanked. Tirelessly and rapidly, her hand rose and fell, decorating the velvety-smooth globes with hot burning chastisement, till at last the pink turned a vivid crimson, and Christine began to sob and groan and squirm with discomfort.
Margaret Brandt also watched, standing off to the right, her hands clasped before her, her face flushed and her own eyes sparkling as they stared at that magnificent bottom.
Relentless, Eugenia Crowley continued without any sign of stopping. Now the young woman's shame had begun to be exchanged for acute distress as the burning spread throughout her satiny naked bottomglobes. She arched and squirmed and twisted, and the contractions of her bottomglobes excited Eugenia Crowley to even more vindictive and punitive energy. Now she began to use the tips of her bony fingers like the thongs of a whip, flicking and stinging the already exacerbated, reddened flesh, especially at the summits and along the inner edges which led to the shadowy crease between those luscious hemispheres. Then finally Christine broke down, for all her courage, annihilated by the sheer injustice and the mortification of exposing her private person, and finally to the increasing unrelenting heat and pain which besieged her lovely virgin ass.
"Oww--aiiii--oh please, Miss Crowley, it hurts--eeeowwwouuu!! --oh please, oh have mercy, please, that's enough -- oh I can't stand it -- you're hurting me so--aahhh--awwrrr--oh my G--God, oh do stop, I beseech you-- have mercy--aarrr--oohhhooooouuuuu!!!"
Finally, out of breath, her hands smarting, Eugenia Crowley stopped, her palm pressed against one flaming ass summit, while Christine sobbed and groaned, her flaming behind continuing to execute the most lascivious choreography imaginable.
For a long moment the dominatress sat there, keeping the petite golden haired victim across her lap, her leg still clamped over Christine's stockinged calves, her left hand still gripping the struggling slim wrists. Through her palm, she could feel the nest of that soft virgin flesh, feel its twitching and palpitating, and her own pussy began to moisten with lust as she stared triumphantly down at the sobbing young beauty.
"Very well, now it's over. You may dress yourself and leave by the rear exit. Margaret will open the door for you. I will see you tomorrow morning, and there will be no further discussion of this very painful situation, I promise," she at last declared in a voice that was hoarse and trembling.
She released Christine's wrists, and slowly, whimpering and sobbing, the unfortunate beauty stumbled to her feet, stooped a little to retrieve the downrucked sheath of her panty girdle, then tugged it frantically up and adjusted it, smoothed down her skirt and petticoat, and, covering her face with her hands, burst into hysterical sobs, the aftermath and nervous reaction of the cruel and unjust chastisement.
"I'm so sorry, poor darling," Margaret soothed as she put an arm around Christine's shoulder and led the unhappy, confused and shamed victim towards the door. "Please forgive me, I just had to tell, I had to. If it's any consolation, she's going to give me an even harder spanking, you can bet on that. Good night, Christine dear." She opened the door, but Christine did not speak. In her misery, her utter agony of soul and flesh, all the unfortunate golden haired young woman could think of was hurrying home. She didn't even know how she was going to face her aunt, who would certainly be upset to see her in such a state. She wanted to be in her own bed, in the dark and cry it out The door was closed and locked, and then Margaret Brandt turned back.
"That was beautifully done, Margaret!" Eugenia Crowley hissed. "Now suppose you kneel down on your palms and bow your head in front of that straight-backed chair. I'm going to change clothes now, and I'll be ready for you very shortly."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Back inside the private office of Eugenia Crowley, a new scene of Lesbian sadism was being enacted. The head librarian had emerged in a one-piece body sheath, her gloves and boots, emanating perfume, her mouth lipsticked into a seductive Cupid's bow, mascara to her lashes, and clipon earrings dangling from her lobes, earrings made of jade and in exquisite figurines representing naked young girls -- ideally, a symbolic token, since young girls were dearest of all to her lustful passions!
Between her hands she held a swishy yellow rattan, with cord grip, a cane of about thirty inches in length, extremely flexible and tapering. It was one she had made specially in Texas, from an elderly woodcarver's shop where she had chatted with the old man and found him sympathetic and knowing.
Margaret Brandt's eyes widened with fright as she saw the dominatress advance, flexing the cane between her gloved hands. "Ohh, Miss Crowley, not that awful cane, oh please not that! Didn't I do it right for you? Didn't I get you Christine just the way you wanted me to?"
"Of course you did, darling," Eugenia Crowley purred, "but I told you in front of her you would have to be punished and severely, because you are older and should have known better. I always keep my word. But don't look so sad, darling. After I give you your spanking, I'll make you vibrate with delight, you'll see." Then her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed: "And now, I want everything off except your stockings and I suppose the garterbelt you use to hold them up -- isn't that right?" Choked with terror, Margaret Brandt could only nod. A few moments later, whimpering, she stood cowering in the center of the room, her hands cupping her panting titties, stark naked except for stockings and a pink satin elastic garterbelt whose narrow tabs clung tenaciously to the unwrinkled gauzy sheaths of smoke-colored nylons.
"Those are very fancy stockings, dear. They really are a little out of place for a library, but personally, I'm glad you wore them. It makes such a nice contrast with your bare skin, but then, so too does the cane. Now let's see how we want you," the dominatress purred.
"Oh please, not too hard, I'll do anything you want, anything, Miss Crowley!" Margaret Brandt sobbed, her huge sky-blue eyes fixed with dread on the swishy implement between the gloved hands of her imperatrix.
Her tawny skin was really excitingly smooth and satiny. Now that she was naked, one could see her assets as well as her shortcomings; the lean calves were perhaps unfeminine, with the muscles rippling and tightening, but the thighs were charmingly shaped, and her bottom was really exciting in its jut and firmness. The triangular bush of dark-chestnut pussyhair covered the soft lips of her twitching cunt, and the smell of perspiration rose from her quivering body as the dominatress approached cane in hand.
"You do want to be my assistant, don't you? You see, by the first of November I'm going to submit to the board of trustees my recommendations for an assistant, and you are at the top of the list, not exactly in seniority, you understand, but because you've been a good submissive girl," Eugenia Crowley drawled. "But that will mean more money, about fifty dollars a month. And of course, since you're my favorite, there will be other little benefits -- intangible, it's true, but benefits nonetheless. You do understand, don't you, Margaret?"
"Y--yes, m'am." Margaret Brandt gasped in a faint, trembling voice. Her eyes had never left that cane, and she covered her titties perhaps in self-protection, for the dominatress had on occasion and out of caprice sometimes spanked those lush bubbies until they stung and until Margaret yelled for mercy and was then ready to do anything in the world to escape more tittie-thrashing.
"Then I know you're going to be sensible. If you think you're going to yell a lot, Margaret, you had better take this gag. Here!" With this, Eugenia Crowley held out a handkerchief, perfumed but also redolent with another odor. It was that of her own urine, and it was a symbolic token to this young woman whom she had so cruelly and sagely exploited, having known Margaret's past. By it, she as much as told the naked young woman that subservience was her thing, and that obedience alone could save her from dismissal and degradation.
Softly Margaret began to cry as she took the handkerchief and put it into her mouth. Then she dropped her hands from her bubbies, stared questioningly at the exotically clad imperatrix, asking what she should do next, "Let's see, Margaret, you're twenty-five, aren't you?" was the question.
The chestnut-haired naked victim nodded, her eyes filming with great new tears.
"Then you shall have twenty-five spanks with my little swisher. But don't look so sad, they won't be too cruel, and they won't be all over your big bottom. But let's see, where shall we start and how? I have it! Go over the desk for the first three. Reach out and grab the edge of the desk, dear, and hold on tight. And of course I want your legs spread as far apart as you can get them. Arch up that big behind of yours, so I can spank it nicely. I want to see your pussy too, Margaret. Whenever I spank a big bare behind like yours, I must see the pussy as well. Now be quick about it!"
Trembling, her sweat rivuleting down her flanks, the naked chestnut-haired victim submissively moved towards the desk, draped herself forward, closed her eyes, grasped the edge of the desk with both hands, and slowly spread her legs until they as far apart as she could get them. At the same time, she seemed to arch up her behind, a difficult and stress-filled pose to take, but she knew it was mandatory. In this way, the muscles of thighs and calves stood out violently, but so did the jutting globes of her ass, and also there was a greater prominence to the pink lips of her cunt which seemed now to protrude through the tangled mass of her dark pussycurls.
With a whimpering sob, she waited. Eugenia Crowley, came forward slowly, patted the shrinking behind a few times, then admonished, "Now hold very still. The first three cuts will be on your behind, and then we'll find another position for you."
Margaret Brandt's jaws began to tremble as she clenched them. Her breath came more quickly now, almost a hiss through her nostrils. All her muscles were tensed in defense of the searing pain which would at any moment lacerate her nerves and tender flesh.
Cruelly, the dominatress kept her waiting, lifting the cane off the huddling bottom, and keeping it in the air just a foot or two above that splendidly jutting naked ass. Margaret began to whine in her agonized suspense, and finally turned her contorted face back over her shoulder to implore a quick commencement so that her ordeal might be the sooner over.
"Turn your face around and keep your eyes closed! And hold your position, Margaret," was the sibilant rebuke.
And once again the unfortunate young woman had to endure this atrociously sadistic nuance, this ritualistic ceremonial of Lesbian sadism which enthralled the perverse psyche of the head librarian.
It took fully five minutes to administer those three cuts, not too harshly, and yet each seemed to sting to the very marrow of Margaret Brandt's distended, up-arched naked ass. Each, also, drew a sobbing moan from the frantic sufferer, who twisted her face this way and that as her fingernails clawed the sharp edge of the desk to which she clung for support.
The smell of her sweat was stronger now, and her naked tawny skin was glistening with it, proof of her anguish. The calculated, suspense-filled dominatory method of Eugenia Crowley was being demonstrated at its most perversely cunning.
"You took those very well," she complimented the gasping naked chestnut haired young woman. "You have twenty-two left. Now where shall we put you? Straighten up now, dear, and then I want you to bend your head down and grasp your ankles, keeping your legs quite well apart. Move over here towards the straight-backed chair, that's it, now go down nicely, dear. A little more down, if you please," and here the swishy yellow cane patted Margaret's quivering naked bottom. On that magnificent bottom three darkening, narrow weals marred the satiny symmetry; one across the broadest part of the fleshy globes, another just at the tops of the hips, and a third about an inch above where the thighs joined the base of that tempting posterior.
"Oh please, won't you hurry, please, dear Miss Crowley?" the victim pleaded in a choking, tearful voice, which the gag completely muffled. Eugenia Crowley stepped behind her and to the left, admiring the play of the muscles, the shaking legs, their lewd distention which more than ever now accentuated the thrusting out of those plump pussylips through the thick curls of dark-chestnut hair. "Be silent! If you want to be nominated for the post of assistant to me, you'll do exactly what I tell you to at all times. Now hold still. I shall give you two cuts here, and when I have given them to you, you will get down on your knees, kiss each of my boots, and then climb up onto the chair and lean over the back."
"Ohh, dear!" a groan as from the very soul of the victim was heard, and the lipstick-tinted thin mouth of the head librarian curved in a gloating little smile. How she relished her emprise over her harem of young slaves!
The two strokes were given quickly that Margaret had hardly any time to call out, since one followed exactly upon the other. However, the first slashed diagonally between the tops of the hips and the red welt which reached across both broad summits; the second spank stung painfully but only the right buttock, at the lower summit. However, Margaret's strident yell of pain was a kind of punctuation to both, and her hips swerved from side to side even as her mouth gaped in the cry of "Arrrowww!"
Then, straightening, her hands went behind her to rub her burning ass, but Eugenia Crowley stopped her with the harsh rebuke: "Stop that this minute! I've a good mind to give you extras for that. Do what I told you to do at once!"
Sobbing now, her tears running unrestrainedly down her cheeks, the naked young woman sank down to her knees, bowed her head and managed to impart a tremulous kiss to each of the glistening boots of her executioner. Then she rose, made her way to the straight-backed chair, slowly got onto it, reached down with her arms and grasped the lower rung as far as her fingers would allow, bowed her head over the top and waited, miserably. Miss Crowley saw that she squirmed and twisted uncomfortably, for the cumulative burning of these five spanks thus far from that extremely flexible and tapering cane had left a lingering heat that was atrociously uncomfortable.
"That makes twenty left, doesn't it, Margaret?"
Since the young woman still retained that gag, she could only nod her head. Eugenia Crowley pressed the cane against her huddled thighs, and announced, "Two cuts on each thigh now."
Margaret Brandt's wails were heard even through the handkerchief gag as the cane leaped forward four whistling, rapid times, expertly stinging the fleshy part of each upper thigh twice, for a total of four cuts as promised. And now there were only sixteen left.
"Now then, Margaret, get down off the chair, lie down on your back, grab hold of your knees and pull them back to your breasts. And I want your legs spread as much apart as you can get them," was the next sadistic order.
Margaret Brandt's blue eyes were blinded with tears as she painfully took that salacious pose. Her hands grasped her stockinged knee hollows, drew her knees back against her panting titties, and towards the outer sides, thus straddling and splitting herself in the most obscene manner. Now not only the plump fig of her cunt was visible, but also the puckering fissure of her asshole, which shrank convulsively as the unfortunate young woman dreaded that in this vulnerable pose that hideous cane might well seek out the tenderest spots of her femininity.
"Sixteen left, I think. Well, you'll be happy to know that I shall give you eight of them while you're in this pose, dear. Now hold very still, and try not to yell too much. The gag should help a little. Bite down on it if the pain is too much." Eugenia Crowley purred.
She moved to the young woman's left, leaned forward and with her left hand grabbed Margaret Brandt's stockinged right ankle as a kind of fulcrum of support for herself. Then very slowly she lifted up the yellow cane, and flicked her wrist. The tapered tip stung the lower abdomen right above the lips of the cunt, and Margaret's body jerked and twisted violently while strangled yells burst through the handkerchief gag, her eyes hugely dilating.
"Seven more, pet. Now be a very good girl and hold your position," the head librarian warned. The second flicking cut made a sharp "Spattt!" as the tip bit along the inner edge of the left bottom base, perilously close to both asshole and cunt, and once again Margaret Brandt's body leaped and lurched, while ewling sounds emerged from her gagged mouth.
Tears flooded her congested cheeks now, and her fingernails tore at the rug, as her head rolled from side to side.
There were six more cuts, and each was fiendishly and slowly administered. The third smacked wickedly over the navel, the fourth stung the merging curve of left thigh and bottom base, the fourth flicked horizontally over the ripest curve of the left asscheek, and the fifth, delivered after a prolonged pause that had Margaret Brandt sobbing inarticulately, leaped down to apply the narrowed tip of the rattan right up against her asshole.
A maddened, prolonged shriek, hoarse and wordless, was wrested from the unfortunate young woman at this diabolical cut; her body lunged, her hips shook and twisted, and her hands had once again let go of her legs to claw at the rug. Eugenia Crowley admonished her to grip her knees again and warned her that a repetition of that would bring five extra cuts. Then she applied the last three swiftly and mercilessly and diagonally over the wriggling, welted, jutting naked ass while Margaret wailed and sobbed and moaned hysterically.
Now there were eight strokes left, and as Margaret got to her feet, stumbling and trembling, her body bathed with sweat, her face haggard with pain, Eugenia Crowley's titties rose and fell violently in her mounting fury of sadistic lust.
"Now, Margaret, the hardest test of all, to prove that you're worthy of being my assistant," she directed. "Kneel on your palms, your legs very wide apart, and tilt your face up and look at me. And smile. I'm going to give you four on your titties, and then four well between your legs to get you ready for love."
"Mffff!! Ahhhhghhhh!" Margaret wailed, trying to speak through the soaked handkerchief which she still retained in her mouth.
"Save your breath, dear, because if you don't obey, I'll tie you and double the dose," was the viciously perverse reply. "Take the pose!"
Crushed, dominated, the plaything of the head librarian whimperingly knelt on her palms, spreading her thighs as far apart as she could, and forced herself to lift up her face and put a smile on those trembling lips, so that the gag was seen.
"Very good. Now be very brave, dear, and it will soon be over," the dominatress purred. She put out her left gloved hand and entwined the fingers in Margaret's chestnut hair, yanking a little at the upsweep to force the young woman's contorted face up a little more. Then the cane sprang forward, doing its heinous work. Twice across both titties, then a third upward-lunging flick right between the straddled thighs into the soft pink cleft of Margaret Brandt's tender cunt!
Maddened shrieks emerged, and the unfortunate young woman tried desperately to pull her hands out from under her knees and to soothe her agonized twat, but a warning command from the dominatress stopped her.
Twice more the cane fell on those bare heaving bubbies, and the sixth flick darted once again up between Margaret's thighs. This time the young woman rolled over onto the floor, her hands clutching her bubbies and cunt, wailing and hysterical in her agony.
The smell of her sweat and now of her own urine, for she had lost control in the torment -- came as sweet perfume to the thin nostrils of the dominatress. "Two left, Margaret, back into position at once!" she harangued the sufferer.
And as Margaret Brandt at last compelled herself by sheer dint of will to obey, the cane swept viciously across both titties, flattening the nipples, and even as Margaret shrieked and twisted and tried to get her hands loose from her knees, the cane disappeared under her thighs and leaped upward to sting her cunt once more.
Eugenia Crowley stepped back and watched the naked young woman roll and twist over and over on the floor, babbling and sobbing, tears flooding her face. Then, her eyes glittering with lust, she swiftly stripped the cuirass from her body, and fell upon the moaning victim. Like a man, she mounted Margaret Brandt, like a man she clutched those cane-welted bubbies, and like a man her mouth came down hard to silence Margaret's already gagged mouth and her cunt began to grind to the tortured, chafed cunt of her slave-bitch.
* * *
Christine Parradine walked slowly home, sniffling, pausing at times and, glancing frantically around to make sure no one was present, put a tentative hand to her pain-throbbing virgin ass. She was dying of shame, but now the pain seemed to have receded, and a persistent heat inflamed her luscious flesh.
She didn't know how she was going to get into the house past Aunt Myra's inspection without having to explain the horrible humiliation she had suffered tonight.
She didn't know why she had allowed Miss Crowley to treat her so unjustly. Oh it was so unfair! And that awful Margaret Brandt, to lie so -- but why?
Her innocent mind had not yet been able to cope with the insidious lust of the head librarian.
But when she reached home, to her great surprise Allison Lowry was standing on the porch, smoking a cigarette and pacing nervously this way and that waiting for her.
"Oh, Christine, there you are at last, I was worried about you!"
"What -- what's the matter, Miss Lowry?"
"Well, I happened to drop over earlier this evening to see your Aunt -- it's Aunt Myra, isn't it?"
Christine nodded, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Well, you see, dear, she got a phone call from Sacramento. It's from your father, I believe."
"Oh my goodness -- is anything wrong?"
"Now don't be upset, dear. No, he just had a little relapse, but he'll be fine. But she decided to take the last plane out and be with him. And she asked me if I would mind waiting for you and tell you about it. She might be up there a couple of days, so don't you worry. What's the matter, you look as if you'd been crying, Christine dear!"
Allison Lowry was wearing tailored slacks, a shortsleeved white silk blouse, and her sheerest brown panties under, with no stockings and only sandals. Since her initiation at the Purcell house, she had been just dying to be asked back, but this time she wanted to stipulate to Sue Cornish that she be given a man who would really give her a little fun, because the combination of that cruel Erika and that old bastard of a Horace had been a little too much for her. She wanted a little loving, not just hate and cruelty. And so now, she sensed that Christine Parradine was more than just upset.
"Did you have your tea?" she anxiously inquired.
Christine nodded, fumbled at her purse, produced it, opened the door and turned on the light switch in the living room.
"I think I ought to stay with you tonight, dear. You do look upset -- yes, you have been crying! Now you tell me what it's all about," Allison purred.
"Oh please -- I--I don't want to take about it--"
"I tell you what. It's been awfully hot, why don't I fix us both a glass of iced tea, that is, if you don't mind a stranger going into your kitchen?" Allison giggled.
"That--that would be fine," Christine faltered.
"No trouble at all, I'll be back in a jiffy. Now you just sit down and relax, darling." As she hurried to the kitchen, Allison Lowry thanked her lucky stars. Something was very wrong with this delicious little darling, and she was going to find out what it was before the night was over. And because that nice old woman had gone away for a couple of days, there would be every chance for her to attempt the goal she had set for herself: namely, seducing virginal Christine and teaching her the sweet bliss of pussyrubbing and gamming!
Ten minutes later, sitting very close to the golden haired young virgin on the couch, Allison Lowry had forced the woebegone Christine to falter out the terrible thing that had happened to her tonight at the library.
"Why, that's incredible! You mean to say -- oh no, oh Christine, you can't be making it up--"
"Oh no, I'm not, M--Miss Lowry. It was dreadful-- I was so ashamed, but I didn't want to lose the job -- and I was so ashamed that maybe Aunt Myra -- Oh I don't know what to do -- I don't know if I can go back there -- but I have to -- oh dear!"
The nervous reaction from her first bare-bottom spanking and the singular aura of domination which Eugenia Crowley had emanated, had compelled virtuous and ingenuous Christine Parradine to confide in this svelte young woman who seemed so sympathetic and concerned. She was so upset, and in a way relieved to avow the story of her terrible betrayal by Margaret Brandt that she didn't see how Allison's eyes were beginning to become humid, how her lips were red and soft and inviting, and how her bubbies rose and fell with excitement -- for Allison Lowry was sensually stirred by what Christine had just told her.
"Why, that's true, you do have grounds for civil suit, Christine!" Allison Lowry gasped. "Did she use an instrument or anything on you?"
"N--no-- just with her hand -- but oh it still hurts -- and you don't know now ashamed I am -- oh I want to die, I'm so ashamed!"
"You'd better let me look -- I mean I'll put some cold cream on or something -- and besides, if she really hurt and marked you, then I want to be able to testify as a witness in case you decide to take her to court, dear." Allison cooed.
"Oh I couldn't!"
"Come on darling, I'm a woman too. Now show your Aunt Allison. You're so upset you're trembling, you poor thing," Allison's voice was quivering with eager lust. She could hardly wait to get her hands on luscious Christine, and so gently she cupped the girl's face between her soft palms and gave Christine a tender kiss on the mouth.
"Come along, darling, I promise I won't tell your Aunt Myra. You know, I've known a few people like that, and maybe I can help. Now you show me what happened."
Christine hesitated, then burst into tears. Once again the nervous reaction to her ordeal had overpowered all her will. She found herself lofting her clothes, and then Allison herself leaned forward and tugged down the dainty little panties. "Oh my, it is still red!" she purred.
Then suddenly, before Christine could suspect what was going to happen, the dark-brown-haired bisexual sank her fingers into Christine's luscious pink sheened ass, buried her mouth against Christine's soft cunthole and began to gamahuch, Her tongue thrust diligently and found the clit at once.
"Oh no -- oh Miss Lowry -- oh stop -- oh my God -- don't do that -- ooooh -- oh please -- oh you mustn't -- oh aah -- oh my God -- oh what's happening -- ooooh, Miss Lowry -- Miss Lowry -- Miss Lowry!" Christine moaned. She-tried to push Allison's head away, but the brownette was not to be denied. Voraciously she sucked and licked at Christine's clit, until suddenly, in the aftermath of all her attenuated nerves, the lovely golden haired virgin's body quaked and trembled... and Allison Lowry uttered a cry of ecstasy as she tasted Christine's pussycream and felt the girl shuddering and quailing in her embrace.
Then she released Christine, who sank back on the couch, buried her face in her hands and burst into hysterical sobs. But the deed was done!
CHAPTER NINE
An hour later, lovely bespectacled Christine Parradine was lying in her own bed, wearing just her horn-rimmed spectacles, her stockings and garterbelt, and svelte Allison Lowry was lying naked beside her, wearing only a fond smile as her hands cupped the glorious globes of Christine's panting virgin titties. "Oh you sweet, you," the dark-brown-haired older woman whispered, "I could just eat you up, Chris sweetheart! And just think, you've never had a man in all your life -- what a treat some fellow is going to have when he gets you like this!"
"You mustn't -- oh Allison -- what have I gone and done -- oh I'm so ashamed -- I ought -- I ought to be spanked even harder for letting you do all these things to me," Christine Parradine sobbed, putting her hands to her face and turning over onto her side.
"I will spank you, you naughty little devil, if you don't stop sniffling. Admit that you liked what you got. Why, honey, Mama knows best, that nice aunt of yours may have brought you up, but she never once tried to find out what really made you tick, I'll bet. Just look at what a bundle of nerves you were when you came home from that awful spanking that mean woman gave you! That's why you were so eager to be loved, honey, you wanted affection! And there's something else you didn't know -- when a girl like you who is so full of nervous energy and still hasn't lost her cherry, gets spanked, it makes her so hot and itchy that she just has to have some loving. So don't blame yourself, you can blame that nasty old Miss Crowley."
Meanwhile, moving up close behind the trembling naked beauty, Allison began to rub her cunt against Christine's delicious bottom, which was still warm from that spanking, though by now the color had faded and was almost the lovely baby-pink sheen of its natural state. Allison's hands once again found the golden haired girl's bubbies, but soon her left hand slipped back down to Christine's dark-golden pussy thatch and began to tickle the lips until once again her forefinger discovered the budding and palpitating clit. And soon Christine Parradine, in spite of her timid, stammered protest, moaned and turned around to face her lover and they exchanged a frantic kiss of passion. And then the two began to grind cunt to cunt and belly to belly while their lips merged in a beatific kiss of unison Aunt Myra phoned on Sunday afternoon from Sacramento to say that she was still with Christine's father and might even stay a few days '"ore. She anxiously asked her niece if anything was all right, and Christine ushingly said that everything was just fine. She sent her father all her love, and was hoping that soon she might visit him or else if he were well enough, he should certainly come down to the house in Fresno and spend time with them and recuperate.
But on Sunday evening, just after Aunt Myra's call, Allison Lowry, who had spent that entire weekend with the voluptuous young virgin, had gone back to her own house to check her answering service and discovered a phone call from none other than Mark Purcell. There was going to be a special meeting about nine o'clock this Sunday night, and while it was very short notice, he was wondering whether she would like to come over and maybe bring a friend.
Allison Lowry at once accepted, and, tongue in cheek, added, "Mark, I'm going to bring along the most adorable girl you ever saw. Only one thing, she's cherry, although I just taught her how girls play games. She's so sweet and innocent, I don't want her raffled off or spanked or anything like that. Can't you maybe find a nice guy for her?"
"It's funny but Elsie Chalmers has a second cousin visiting Fresno from L.A. this month," Mark Purcell chuckled. "His name is Bill Davies, and he's about thirty and a bachelor. He's sort of shy too. In fact, Sue was telling me it would be fun to put him up against someone like Erika."
"Oh no you don't!" Allison giggled. "That would be just perfect, because if he's a virgin, and Christine is, it would be just perfect to have them get together. That swapping club of yours can do some Cupid's work for a change, can't it?"
"I think it could be persuaded to," Mark Purcell laughed. "But what about you, Allison? You got a pretty good workout from Erika and Horace. They won't be here tonight, by the way; they've gone to Europe for about a month. Seems that Erika wants to visit Hamburg and the Reeperbahn and learn a few cute tricks and maybe pick up some special whipping equipment to use on a few novices like you."
"Brrrr!" Allison shuddered. "I can do very nicely without any more equipment, thanks very much. But if you'll do this favor for this adorable little girl, I'll do something nice for you."
"That's a good girl. I've got a yen for your pussy, I don't mind telling you."
"Shhh! What if the operator is listening?" Allison giggled and blushed very becomingly.
"So what? I still have a yen. And incidentally, there's another new guest here tonight. He happens to be my wife's cousin, and he's about forty but very good-looking and he's got lots of money. He's up from L.A., too, taking a little vacation while his electronics firm is being sold. He might even settle here in Fresno if he can find the right location. How would you like to meet him?"
"Forty, tall, dark and handsome, hm?" Allison murmured, then she shivered and then she giggled and then she said, "You save him for me, and you save Bill Davies for Christine. We'll be over directly. Is it at your house again?"
"That's right. We only have about four or five couples, but we're thinking about changing some of the rules and maybe admitting others. That's why I wanted to have you get a chance to meet the officers besides myself, and have them vote on you. that way, you won't have to worry about coming alone if you feel like it sometime. See you soon."
Allison's eyes were dancing as she put down the phone and hurried back to Christine's bedroom. The enchanting golden haired young woman was wearing just her slip and sandals, and she blushed violently when she saw svelte Allison enter. "Get your prettiest clothes on, honey, I'm taking you to a party," Allison Lowry declared.
"Oh no! I just couldn't -- I have to go to work tomorrow morning at nine --"
"Now I won't take no for an answer, Chris! We won't be out late. There's someone awful nice I want you to meet. Now you do it, because you've been in the doldrums ever since that awful night you got spanked, remember?"
"I don't even want to think about it! Oh my, when I went back the next morning, that awful Miss Crowley gave me such a look, it was as if she was taking off all my clothes again and -- and --"
"Forget it! You get prettied up, now! Want me to help you?"
"Oh no -- I -- I can manage."
"I'll give you twenty minutes and that's all. Now hurry!"
* * *
When Christine Parradine and Allison Lowry walked into the Purcell house and the golden haired virgin saw the four couples and the tall dark handsome man who was standing in a corner sipping a glass of Chablis and then a curly-haired, bespectacled, pleasant-featured young man in a tweed suit talking animatedly to Elsie Chalmers, she turned questioningly to Allison and whispered, "My goodness, but I don't know any of these people!"
"You will, baby. Well, Mark, here we are!"
Mark Purcell came forward and held out his hand with a grin. "Glad you could come, Allison."
"I hope I do," the svelte bisexual quipped with a naughty little giggle and a wink. "This is Christine, the charmer I was telling you about."
"Well, hello, honey!" Mark Purcell said in a low admiring voice. He took Christine's hand and kissed it, and the golden haired virgin turned a very becoming scarlet even to her earlobes. She had put on a red cotton dress, a soft lace-trimmed white nylon slip, matching white nylon bra and panties, a pair of charco-brown nylons and her narrowest, slinkiest garterbelt. She really looked adorable, and once again the contrast between her petite, ripe figure and the sweetly beguiling face with the horn-rimmed spectacles drew the attention of every male in the living room -- to say nothing of some of the females who had also gone the Lesbian route.
"There's someone I want you to meet, Miss Parradine," Mark Purcell turned to the curly-haired bespectacled young man who was standing beside Elsie Chalmers' armchair. "Bill, come over here. This is Christine."
"I'm -- I'm very happy to know you, Christine" Bill Davies stammered. He blushed, and Christine's eyes widened. Why, he was awfully handsome, and he had a nice soft voice and he was blushing just the way she did! Her heart began to beat very quickly.
"Why don't you young people get yourself a drink from that punchbowl on that table back in the dining room, and get better acquainted?" Mark Purcell jovially suggested.
"Oh, Phil -- can I see you for a minute, please?"
Eloise Purcell's cousin nodded, came forward, and his eyes swiftly swept Allison's voluptuous body. Allison herself had put on a brown cotton dress with daringly short skirt which showed off a good two inches above her knees, smoke-colored nylons, open-toe high heeled sandals, and her skimpiest black nylon bra and panties, and no slip. She had come loaded for bear, because when Mark Purcell had mentioned that tall, dark, handsome bachelor, her pulses had begun to race. After the workout she had had that last time with Erika and Horace Nordstrand, all she wanted tonight was good old-fashioned fucking in the worst way. "Well, hello," she said in a low throaty voice and gave him her most dazzling smile.
"Hello yourself, beautiful," the man responded. Then he grinned at Mark Purcell: "Well, let's have the introductions fast. I've got a feeling that I didn't come here in vain. Who is this gorgeous queen of beauty?"
"Oh my! I like you already, whoever you are," Allison giggled.
"This is Phil Bennings, Allison, and Phil, this is Allison Lowry."
"No marital or other entanglements?" Phil asked as he lifted Allison's slim hand to his lips and kissed it, Continental style.
"Not now, that's for sure. But I'm ready, willing and able for anything you have to suggest, Mr. Bennings."
"Well, why don't you start by calling me Phil? Let me get you a drink, Allison -- if I may call you that."
"I hope you will, and lots of other nice things," the svelte dark-brown-haired beauty purred as she let the handsome stranger lead her into the dining room About half an hour later, Mark and Eloise Purcell led the way down to the basement recreation room, where they were going to show a stag movie. But during that half hour, Christine Parradine and Bill Davies had wandered off to a deserted corner and started talking. Christine had discovered to her delight that Bill had once lived in Chicago, till he was about fourteen, and then his parents had moved him to the West Coast. He liked books and music, and he was a laboratory technician in a Los Angeles chemical manufacturing firm. She was impressed by his scientific knowledge, but she found herself singularly attracted. For his part, Bill Davies kept glancing secretly at the luscious golden haired young Venus, whose head came up to about his chest. When Mark Purcell came forward and laughingly ordered them downstairs for the entertainment, Christine uttered a deep sigh and slipped her little hand into Bill's, and was thus escorted down the steps.
They sat in the back row, and suddenly the lights went out and the projector began to whir. Then Christine uttered a strangled gasp. On the screen before her, there was a pretty coppery haired young woman, with big round titties and a succulent behind, lounging on the couch. She was with a friend or roommate, a tall blonde with long legs and pearshaped bubbies. The blonde wore only bra and panties, and soon the two girls began to get very cozy. Soon they started French kissing and their hands roamed, till finally they were both naked. Then all of a sudden they reversed and began to do sixty-nine to each other.
"Oh my goodness, Mr. Davies, I -- I don't want to watch this -- can't we go somewhere?" Christine stammered, thankful that the darkness hid her blushes.
"Of course, Christine, if you like. I don't think they'll miss us. I don't exactly go for that myself."
"Well, I should hope not!" she giggled nervously.
They tiptoed up the stairs and the house was deserted for them. Back in the living room, Bill Davies sat down on the couch and Christine beside him. She was breathing quickly, and her face was still quite red. "I'm so glad to find that you're refined and cultured, Mr. Davies."
"Why don't you call me Bill, honey?"
"Well, I'd like to. BUI, there you see, I did it."
"And that deserves a nice big kiss, honey." To Christine Parradine's astonishment, the pleasant-faced bespectacled young man very efficiently took hold of her shoulders, leaned forward and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth. At first her little fist came up to push him away, but then suddenly she felt a vague stirring between her legs, not unlike the one she had had when she was walking home after that awful spanking Miss Crowley had given her. And the next thing she knew, her breath was coming quick and fast and she was clutching desperately, her lips clinging to him, and she was whimpering, "Oh Bill darling, oh Bill, whatever are you doing to me?"
"Not what I'd really like to, honey. You know, you're the first nice girl I've met in a long time. I'm going to be here for a couple of weeks, because it's my vacation, and I might change jobs or even go into business for myself. I have to talk to a few people here, but I'd like to see you a lot. I might even -- well, I know it sounds silly on such short notice, but I might even propose."
"Bill Davies! I -- I think you're just awful --"
"No you don't honey. Say that you don't after this!" he whispered. Very boldly now, and certainly not acting like the soft spoken, blushing young man she had taken him for at the outset, Bill Davies again sealed her mouth with a kiss. This time his tongue crept in, and Christine began to tremble and shiver. She moaned, leaning back on the couch, as his hand slowly moved towards her panting titties.
And when she felt his fingers on her bubbies for the first time, she nearly fainted with ecstasy.
* * *
The movie was forgotten. In fact, the guests and the Purcells didn't even emerge from the basement for at least an hour later. It was just as well.
Christine couldn't explain it, but inside that time, she had allowed Bill to escort her to a guest bedroom, close the door, cuddle with her fully clothed on the bed, and then slowly, kissing her until she was almost breathless, and ready to faint, had slyly put his hand Up under her skirt and worked into the leg of her panties. She had clenched her thighs and whimpered, "Oh no, don't do that, oh darling, don't!"
But he didn't stop at all. And finally his finger touched her pussy, and then her clit, just the way Allison had done that memorable night when she had had her spanking from Miss Crowley.
And so that was how Christine Parradine found herself wearing just stockings and a garterbelt and her glasses, just as she had done with Allison Lowry. Only this time, a bespectacled young man, naked except for socks, was mounted over her, and he was kissing her titties, and his hands were squeezing her plump bottom, and his prick was nuzzling at the virgin gates of her citadel. She didn't know how it happened at all, but she didn't want him to stop. Even when he tore through her cherry, she squealed and then hugged him with her arms and legs. Because he had promised to marry her, and she knew that she wanted him to do just that, but she didn't want to wait until their wedding night for what was happening to her then and there Phil Bennings and Allison Lowry had crept out of the basement, too, and found themselves another bedroom, long before the stag movie ended and another one went on.
It wasn't long before Allison was wearing just a garterbelt and stockings, and very much enamored of the tall dark stranger who, wearing only socks, was fucking her in the most masterful way she had ever been fucked in all her life. Palming himself on either side of her, supporting himself, with a muscularity that thrilled her, he would slowly advance his prick, just teasing the rims of her pussy before putting it in, then slowly slip all the way to the balls, and then slowly draw out. She writhed and squirmed, and finally she couldn't stand it. She flung her arms and legs around him, kissed him hard and then moaned, "Oh my God, Phil, screw hell out of me, oh my darling, I've never felt this way about anybody, oh my darling!"
And that was how Christine Parradine's carnal chastisement led her to the loss of her virginity and yet a very happy ending. And Allison Lowry found herself being courted by Phil Bennings and agreed to marry him just a month later.
In fact, they had a double wedding, and Aunt Myra stood up proudly in church beside her lovely blushing niece as the two young people joined hands and listened to the words which made them one.
"What a lovely, good girl, who never did anything wrong in all her life," Myra Follansbee was thinking to herself. Of course she was wrong, but now it was legal, and she would never know. Christine had promised herself that. She felt so naughty and sinful because they had cheated in advance. And she would never need a club like "The Enlightened Cheaters" for excitement, not so long as dear darling attentive Bill gave her what she needed, including even a good spanking from time to time. Oh yes, he had done that too just the night before the wedding, when she had told him very primly she thought they ought to wait until tonight. He had rolled her over, spanked her bottom until she squealed and kicked, and then he had rolled her back onto her back, and given her what she really wanted all the time.
Eugenia Crowley? At last notice, she still has her harem, but she wears a dour look these days. She is missing one novice, Christine Parradine, and when she thinks of that golden haired pocket Venus in the arms of a mere man, she grits her teeth and scowls at her eight quaking slaves, and all of them shiver in their boots and wonder who will be next to visit the private office and be the whipping girl to compensate for Christine's absence.
Eugenia doesn't know it yet, but the night watchman, old Edgar Mellfus, had been doing a little prying, because he has been wondering why the light so often burns brightly in Miss Crowley's private office on Thursday nights. And just last night, just a week after the double wedding, he did some peeking, standing on a garbage can, and because Miss Crowley hadn't quite drawn the blinds down far enough, he was able to see the dominatress in her one-piece leather cuirass, in the act of spanking a very pretty young woman who was stark naked and bending over a desk.
One of these days Edgar Mellfus is going to get up enough courage to have a little chat with Eugenia Crowley, and the upshot is going to be either that she gives him some, or he's going to blab to the authorities. And if Eugenia Crowley wants to keep her harem of whipping girls, the chances are very likely that she is going to have to surrender her virginal person to a disgusting male. So for her it will be a beginning, but not necessarily the end!