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Subject: {ASSM} ASSM Story Fox and Hounds Ch 1 (F/f, m/f, spank)
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Date: Wed, 15 Dec 1999 01:10:00 -0500
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                       FOX AND HOUNDS PT 1            
                    

"Drat!" said Cindy as she flipped through her mail.
Bills, bills, and more bills. And the money was
running out. Where was Rudy, her damn agent? Not a
call in 3 weeks. Every time she called him it was
allways "things will open up soon; or, there is a new
show starting and I know the producer". But nothing
ever came of it. Cindy knew in her heart she was a
first class dancer and a good actress. She kept up
with her study at the Midtown dance studio and worked
out religiously. It showed. Cindy was a honey-haired
blonde, 5' 5" , her 120 lbs distributed in all the
right places. She had well sculpted dancer's legs and
smallish but well formed breasts, creamy skin and a
pert heart-shaped ass that  wiggled deliciously in the
short skirts and tight slacks that she favored.

She knew she had to find something soon or she would
have to slink home to Texas and admit defeat. They
would all say "I told you so", like she wasn't tough
enough for the Big Apple. Well she would show them!
Even if it took dancing as a stripper in some sleazy
club, she would survive. She was tough enough, dammit!

She was still building up a nice head of steam about
small town minds when  she noticed the blinking
message light on the phone. She hit the play button.
Like a gift from the gods, Rudy Bannerman's thick
Brooklynese emanated from the message machine!

"Sorry its been a while, kid, but hey ,I may have
something for ya. It's only a weekend gig but it pays
well. I don't know much about it, myself, but do
yourself a favor and call a Mr Arcado at 456-9008.
He's the one with all the details. Good luck!"

Great! Finally, a possible job. She wasted no time and
dialed the number. A gentleman answered. He sounded
cultured, and spoke formal and correct English with a
European accent. She couldn't place it. Spanish
perhaps?

"Uh, Mr Arcado? This is Cindy Morgan. My agent, Mr
Bannerman gave me your number."

"Ahh...yes, Ms Morgan. I am so glad you called. Rudy
spoke very highly of you. Yes, we may have need of
your talents. Let me explain briefly and then if you
are interested we can meet and I will describe this
situation in more detail."

"Yes..er..that would be fine".

"Good. I represent a company called Fantasies
Unlimited. We own resort property all over the world,
and we have a resort in the Carolinas. It's a hotel
situated on a 2000 acre preserve. We would like to fly
you to our resort for a weekend to have you
participate in a game, an athletic contest of sorts, a
fantasy that we have prepared for some very wealthy
patrons of ours."

A game? What was this?

"What sort of game, Mr Arcado? I'm a dancer and an
actress, not an athlete."

"But you are an athlete, Ms Morgan. You are a dancer
in tip top condition. You work out and run regularly,
and you played varsity tennis in high school."

How did he know all that, thought Cindy?

"You seem to know a lot about me, Mr Arcado."

"We have done our homework, Ms Morgan. Let me be
blunt. We would like to engage you, and we are
prepared to pay you 10000 dollars for one weekend of
work."

Whaaaat? Thought Cindy, $10000?? That was more than
she would see in 3 months!

"Are you serious?" Cindy blurted, still not believing.

"I am very serious Ms Morgan. If you wish to know more
about this opportunity,  I would like for you meet me
in the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton, tonight. I
apologize but our time frame is rather short."

"Yes...yes...I am very interested. What time?"

"Meet me at 9:00. I'll have a table."

"How will I know you?"

"I'll know you, Ms Morgan." 

*********************
Cindy entered the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton at 9. She
did not want to be late. She wore a cocktail dress,
having decided to go for understated elegance. It was
a short little black dress that displayed her lithe
body to perfection. As she walked in and looked
around, she saw a tall distinguished looking man in an
expensive suit rise from his table and approach her,
smiling. He was tanned and had a thin moustache, his
hair graying at the temples. He looked to be in his
late 40's.

"Ms Morgan, it's a pleasure," he said, extending his
hand, "Thank you for coming. I'm Alex Arcado. Please
sit down."

"Thank you, Mr Arcado," said Cindy, smiling as he
pulled out a chair for her to sit.

"What will you have to drink?"

"Thank you, I think a white wine, Mr Arcado."

They chatted pleasantly, killing time until the drinks
arrived. Arcado was an international traveller, Cindy
learned, and a charming host. He asked her about her
career and seemed genuinely interested in her
experiences in the New York theatre scene. She had
started in on her recent difficulty finding work when
Arcado interjected.

"That's where we may be of some service, Ms Morgan. As
I mentioned, this job pays $10000 for one weekend."

"It sounds so mysterious, Mr Arcado. Why me and what
do I have to do?"

"Let me explain. Fantasies Unlimited is in the
business of setting up and facilitating fantasy
adventures. We cater to a select and extremely wealthy
clientele. The resort property in the Carolinas used
to be a game preserve for hunters. We have turned it
into a game preserve of a different sort. We use it to
play a very sophisticated game of fox and hounds, or
if you prefer, hide-and-go-seek. When we set up a
weekend adventure like this, about 100 guests arrive
on a Friday, along with the "foxes" who will be
hunted. On Saturday the game begins. Six young women
such as yourself are the foxes, the guests are the
hounds. You are transported to remote areas of the
estate and are given an hour head start. The "hounds"
if you will, wait one hour and then set out to find
and capture you. If you evade capture until 4pm when
the siren sounds, you have won. If you are captured,
well, you are captured."

Wow! How bizzarre! I guess it's true, she thought, the
rich are not like the rest of us.

"It sounds so simple. A game of chase in the woods.
And you will pay me $10,000 to play? What's the
catch?"


"These are very wealthy and sophisticated individuals,
Ms Morgan. Thrill seekers I may say, and in order to
make things more exciting for all, the game has been,
well... spiced up a bit. You see, if you are captured
there is a forfeit to be paid. Whether you are
captured or not you still get the $10,000, but the
possibility of the forfeit keeps you on your toes. It
adds extra incentive for you to evade capture. After
all, the easiest way to earn the $10,000 would be to
simply sit down under a tree and wait to be found. We
wouldn't want that. It would be boring and pointless."

"So what is this forfeit? Do I have to push a peanut
across the floor with my nose or something?" giggled
Cindy. "Like some sorority initiation stunt?"

"Not exactly, Ms Morgan, but it is embarrassing and a
bit painful."  Arcado's eyes bored into hers. " You
see, Ms Morgan, if you are captured you will
be....spanked by the man or woman who captures you,
then, later,...whipped,... quite publicly, that
evening, after supper....for the entertainment of all
the guests."

Cindy jerked upright. " Spanked?...Whipped? In public?
Are you serious?" Now she understood the reason for
the large amount of money for a seemingly innocent bit
of fun.

"Yes, if you get caught, your capturer, as a reward,
gets to administer a somewhat humiliating but mild
spanking in front of the others. Then later that
evening you will be led into the ballroom, stripped
naked, tied to a post or other device and whipped. I
can tell you that it is a somewhat painful experience,
but it is not a brutal punishment. Specially made
implements are used that do not damage the skin. In a
week there will be no sign that it ever happened. We
have a doctor on duty who will dispense special
healing salve afterwards to alleviate the momentary
discomfort."

Cindy thought carefully. The possibilty of being
whipped... naked in front of strangers! Not to mention
a childish spanking! But it was $10,000, guaranteed!
It would pay the rent for quite awhile. As she
pondered, Arcado added,

"If you do evade capture, you will attend the evening
banquet as a guest, with the other guests. But because
you escaped, someone else must take your place at the
whipping post or the frame. Please understand, these
are thrill seekers and risk takers. So they have
elected to put themselves on the line as well. For
each "fox" that escapes, two names are drawn by lot,
and each of those pair will be chastised in your
place. Each one will have to disrobe before the
assembly and assume the position you would have taken
and accept your forfeit. So you see, the stakes have
been raised to make the game interesting, and quite a
bit more exciting. Any one of the hounds could find
him or herself bound to the post awaiting the lash.
And, incidently, since the paying guests put
themselves in the same jeopardy as the paid "foxes"
you know the lashing is only moderately severe, not
overly so."

"Who..who actually does the... er whipping?"

"Experts on contract, specially trained and brought in
for this event. You see, you will not be flogged
everywhere on your person. The lashes, like the
spanking, are to be administered only on the backside,
primarily to your naked, er... bottom where there is
the most ah... padding, if you will. Tell me, were you
spanked as a child? Do you know what that feels like?
Perhaps you were caned at school, or, I suppose here
in the states I should say, paddled?"

Her blush answered his question.

She most certainly had been paddled. She flashed back
to an incident that had occurred when she was in high
school. She had been 17, a senior on the cheerleading
squad. Like all new seniors they started out the year
thinking they could get away with anything. After the
afternoon away game at East High she and Betsy and
Linda had hitched a ride with some cute boys instead
of going back on the bus like they were supposed to.
Much later, after a few stops, they arrived back at
school to find a very angry assistant principal, Mrs
Ramsey, waiting for them. A tall powerfully built
woman in her 40's, "Ragin' Ramsey", as she was known,
was a formidable disciplinarian.

 She was too angry to deal with them then and told
them to report to her office after school on Monday.
THey were stunned when, on Monday, a stern visaged Mrs
Ramsey presented them with permission slips... for a
paddling! A six swat paddling, no less--the maximum
permitted. But the school could not administer a
paddling without parental permission. Since none of
them wanted their parents to know what they had done,
they could not show their parents the permission
slips. And so they agonized and plotted over what to
do. The alternative was suspension for a week, and the
cat would be out of the bag if that happened as well.
They decided to take the paddling, but in order to
cover up the incident, they had to forge their
parents' signatures on the permission slips.

It had taken place on Wednesday afternoon after
cheerleading practice. They went to Mrs Ramsey's
office and all three handed her the permission slips.
She perused the slips for a moment. They had looked
nervously at each other. Apparantly satisfied, she
called in her secretary to witness punishment, and
pulled a solid looking wooden paddle from a drawer and
tapped it against her palm. They had all gulped in
fear at the sight of the paddle. It was made of some
hardwood, maple or someting, 18" long and 4" wide and
1/2" thick. There were two rows of holes down the
length of it.

 One at a time they bent over the desk, elbows flat,
buttocks presented for punishment. Mrs Ramsey had
flipped up each short cheerleader skirt, rubbed the
paddle across the green satin panties they wore
underneath and had drawn back her arm. Then, crack!
and a band of fire was felt across a wobbling
schoolgirl fanny. Each lick with that awful paddle had
sounded a loud SPLAT! in that little room. Each one
had stung like blazes! She had given just one lick,
then the next miscreant would have to assume the
humiliating position. The painful procedure had been
repeated: flip the skirt up, press the paddle against
a firm cheerleader posterior, then SPLAT! Another
stinging swat. No one could stay in position. With
each hard swat each girl would yowl and shoot straight
up clutching her tender fanny. After three they were
dancing and blubbering and crying, but Mrs Ramsey had
been unmoved. She would merely point with the awful
paddle and say, "Next". The paddle line went around
all six times. Six painful times to bend across that
desk with only thin panties for protection from that
blistering paddle. Cindy recalled that as she had
regarded her backside in the mirror that night, her
bottom had been red and swollen.

And that had not been the end. The forgeries were
eventually discovered, which led to the discovery of
the whole incident. Her mother had been angry about
the deceit as much as the joyride with the boys. She
even told Cindy that, ironically, she would have let
her do the suspension since she did not believe in
turning the corporal punishment chores over to the
high school. No, she had said, if there was any
spanking to be done, she would darn well do it. Then
it had been off to the basement rec room where a
tearful Cindy spent a painful next five minutes across
her mom's knee while she energetically wielded a ping
pong paddle on Cindy's jiggling nude behind.

It could have been worse. Betsy got a licking from her
father with his belt. She had had to lay across some
pillows on the bed, pull down her jammie bottoms and
howl her way through 40 hard licks. Linda's mom
sentenced her to 100 spanks with a hard wooden
hairbrush, but she wouldn't give them to her all at
once. So every Friday night for the next 4 weeks, just
before the football game where she was to lead cheers,
she had to bring her mom the brush and go over the
maternal lap for 25 hard licks. Once she even had to
remind her mom that it was time for the next
installment. She had to lift her skirts and lay across
her mom's lap while her mother sat on the bed. Her mom
would slip down the little satin cheerleader panties
to her knees and deliver a stinging spanking to her
naked bottom with the hairbrush. The 25 crisp smacks
were delivered evenly, slowly and hard. Linda said
later that she felt like her butt was glowing red
through those panties and hoped no one would notice
while she did her twirls and jumps.

These thoughts came rushing back to Cindy as she
contemplated Mr Arcado's offer. But wasn't the
possibility of a stinging backside worth $10,000? She
could take it if it came to that. She was tough,
dammit!

"If you decide to accept our offer, I am prepared to
present you with a contract. If you sign it, a deposit
of $5000 will be made to your account immediately. The
other $5000 will be placed in your account when you
are on board our corporate jet and on your way to the
resort."

When it's too late to turn back, thought Cindy.

"If you need time to consider..."

"I'll do it."

"....our offer...you'll do it?" asked Arcado.

"I'll do it. Where do I sign?"

*****************

So it was that three days later Cindy found herself on
Fantasies' private jet winging her way toward North
Carolina. It was a luxurious craft and she was treated
like royalty. An attendant saw to her every need. A
girl could get used to this, she thought. The only
reminder of her possible fate that weekend came when
she remarked to the cute hostess about how much more
comfortable the seats were as compared with commercial
flights. "Yes," she had said, "And we have extra soft
pillows too", and added with a wide grin".....for the
ride home." 

Another thought had occured to her. Would there be
rich single men attending as "hounds"? It stood to
reason that there would be. This thing did not sound
like woman's sport. Indeed would such a man be
intrigued by a beautiful woman willing to bare all and
suffer the indignity of the lash for some sport?
Possibly. So she had packed some of her most
attractive (and provacative) outfits. 

Her reverie brought to mind another encounter in which
a playful spanking had played a role. It was after
graduation. She was 18 then and had a summer job at a
lake resort for tourists. Steve was one of those
summer romances. He had been staying with some friends
in one of the lakefront cabins. They met and there was
a mutual attraction, in fact, Cindy really liked Steve
a lot. They went out a few times, but Steve was the
perfect gentleman, never making a move.

 This began to irritate Cindy and she decided to see
if that gentlmanly demeanor could be cracked. One
Saturday they went on a picnic. They had layed out the
lunch by a stream and Cindy, feeling mischevious,
surrepititiously filled a water gun in the stream. She
had stripped down to a daring bikini, declaring that
she wanted to take a swim before lunch. Steve
demurred, since it was well after noon and he was
hungry. She didn't miss the look in his eyes when he
beheld her in the skimpy bikini. Now we're getting
somewhere, she thought.

 She took the toy watergun and started squirting Steve
with it who laughed at first but then protested that
she was getting the food wet. Cindy didn't care. She
wanted to provoke something. She laughed and teased,
squirting the gun at Steve who tried to catch her to
wrestle it from her grasp. Steve finally told her that
she'd better stop or he would "paddle her little
caboose". In the time honored tradition of teases
everywhere, she taunted him with a "you wouldn't
dare", and, putting a tree between her and Steve,
squirted him right in the face.

 That did it. She tried to run but Steve caught her
around the waist. Lifting her up he carried her over
to a fallen log. She was held under his arm, kicking
and squealing. He seated himself and laid her across
his muscular thighs. Telling her that he had warned
her, he raised his hand and brought it down squarely
across the crest of both bottomcheeks, barely
contained in the brief bikini bottoms. She had
screeched and demanded to be put down. Steve had just
laughed and told her she had it coming. He then
proceeded to give her a very sound spanking while she
wiggled and squirmed across his lap. He spanked her
steadily for 2 or 3 minutes then put his fingers in
the waistband of the tiny bikini bottoms. She had
squealed even louder at this new indignity, but Steve
had just chuckled and yanked them down, baring her
curvy fanny. Then he resumed with loud crisp smacks
that echoed through the remote glade. She had wriggled
and kicked while he had spanked her bare fanny with
gusto. He smacked from cheek to cheek, building a fire
in Cindy's curvy hiney. Finally he stopped and Cindy
felt him rubbing and kneading her inflamed
buttocks.The sting of the spanking became a hot glow
in her buns.

 Then she felt another fire building, this time in her
pussy. And she could feel Steve's hard penis through
the rough jeans as she sprawled over his lap. He let
her up then kissed her passionately, rubbing her
bottom, then his fingers seeking the spot between her
legs. He laid her on her back on the picnic blanket
and proceeded to take his own clothes off. Kneeling
down he had pulled her to him and plunged his hard
manhood between the wet lips of her quim. They had
made love all afternoon. Him on top, her on top, from
behind, every way they could think of. Later she would
reflect that the spanking had been a catalyst. He had
manhandled her gently, but in a way that left no doubt
of his dominance. Being pulled over his knees and
spanked had turned her on like nothing she had felt
before. The gentlemanly facade had been cracked.
Sadly, he had left not long after, and she had gone
off to school.

Her thoughts drifted back to Arcado and their meeting.

There was, said Arcado, to be a Friday night cocktail
party and dinner to be attended by "hounds" and
"foxes" alike. The next morning the participants would
be fed breakfast separately. The "foxes" would be
transported by jeep to remote areas of the property
and given an hour to hide before the "hounds" were
loosed. At 4:00pm sharp the all clear would sound and
the game would be over. If captured before then, a fox
would be taken back to the hotel to await her fate.
Arcado was less than forthcoming on the details of
capture and custody and even less so on the
"ceremonies" later that evening. He did say, however
that the captured would dine in their quarters before
the events that night. Sunday morning she would be
returned via private jet to NYC.

Cindy's thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of
descent of the plane. She asked the hostess about it.

"We are landing in DC to pick up a passenger," she
said, "We'll be underway again shortly."

The plane touched down and Cindy a woman standing just
outside the private hanger to which the plane had
taxied. When the plane stopped, the woman strode
briskly to the jet. Cindy could see that she was a
blonde in her mid to late 30's, tall, with well
muscled legs in a short skirted business suit. Her
blonde hair was pulled back into a woven plait that
fell to well below the middle of her back. Her bags
were carried by a male attendant, all except a long
thin case, flat, about three feet long. An odd piece
of luggage, Cindy thought.

The woman entered the cabin and smiled at Cindy. She
had a generous sparkling smile and deep blue eyes,
with a presence about her that suggested a powerful
personality. A corporate executive, perhaps?

"Hi", she said, taking a seat across from Cindy and
extending her hand, "I'm Julia Marsden."

"I'm Cindy Morgan. Pleased to meet you."

Cindy found Julia a pleasant and charming travelling
companion. As the jet climbed through the cloud cover
at National, they chatted about the good fortune of
being able to travel in such luxurious surroundings.
Cindy learned that Julia frequently did work for
Fantasies Unlimited, but she basically had her own
company. Julia wanted to hear all about the
tribulations of a struggling actress in NY. She was a
good listener and Cindy felt curiously drawn to
Julia's warm personality, as if she were a big sister.
At a lull in the conversation, Julia asked Cindy if
she was going to the Carolina Resort.
Cindy acknowleged that she was.

"As a guest or...." ventured Julia.

"No. I am a "fox" as they call it," admitted Cindy.

Julia eyed Cindy reflectively and nodded.

"So why are you going?" said Cindy, now very curious.

"You might say I'm one of the..ah..facilitators for
the weekend."

"Oh really! What is it that you do?"

"Well...oh dear, I suppose I must tell you," Julia
said with a rueful smile, "You might call me the
'company's disciplinarian' or maybe 'bosun's mate',
might be more appropo."

Cindy's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "You don't
mean..."

"'Fraid so, dear. I dish out the, ah, forfeits on
Saturday night."

Cindy now understood the reason for the strangely
shaped case. "And that case you brought on board....?"

"The tools of my trade."

Cindy was quiet for a moment. Could it really be? This
warm, engaging, big sisterly woman with whom she was
sharing girl talk would be the one to wield the whip
on her naked bottom if she were caught?

"Whew! I...I...don't know what to say," stammered
Cindy, "It's so bizzare, I mean here we are talking
like just normal people and you are the one who might
have to...to..."

"Whip your cute fanny on Saturday night?" queried
Julia with a light smile. "I know", she sighed, "But,
listen it won't be so bad, you'll get through it. Lots
of girls have. Some, no, many have even come back to
play again."

"You're kidding!" said a wide-eyed Cindy. "Why?"

"One reason is that they find it sexy and exciting.
They come back for the thrill; and, of course, the
money. And last but not least, there are some
unattached men at these events, you know, and, they
are very wealthy. I can see you don't believe me,"
said Julia, regarding Cindy, who seemed flabbergasted.

"It's true. The whip can be very sensual. The
spectacle is exciting. Whipping actually  releases
endorphins and amplifies the tactile senses,
especially in the erogenous zones; and, there is
something about a woman under the lash that inflames
hot passions both in herself and her partner. Also
there is the thrill of not knowing. Who will get it?
If a fox escapes, which of her pursuers will find
herself or himself conscripted for sacrifice? It has
the allure of some pagan ritual. All of this is an
adrenaline rush."

"But doesn't it hurt?" asked Cindy. Even as she said
it, she remembered the intense arousal that had
resulted from the episode with Steve.

"Yes, it does...but let me show you something," said
Julia, rising and fetching the case. Julia opened the
case to display several implements of fustigation.
There was a long handled whip with a single 4' thong,
a thing like a cat-o-nine-tails only it had  6 long
lashes, a bundle of what looked like green switches
only Cindy couldn't tell if they were real or
synthetic, and a familiar-looking wooden paddle, only
thinner than what she remembered. There was also a
thin cane, a large oval-shaped hairbrush, an 18"
ruler, and a wide leather strap attached to a handle.

"These are my basic tools," said Julia. "I have
others, too, but I won't need them for this weekend".
Cindy just gaped at the fearsome looking collection.

"They look intimidating, don't they?" Cindy nodded.
"But let me explain how each one works and how I use
it."

"This bundle of green switches is called a birch. It
looks real but actually these 1/8" switches are
artificial, made from a special resilient plastic.
Unlike a real birch these switches won't fray or
break. I typically give 3 dozen strokes with this.
They produce at first, a light surface sting that
builds and builds to quite an exquisite burning
sensation. Real birches like this were used as late as
the 19th century in homes, schools and reformatories.
They were favored by lady's whipping clubs for their
ability to impart a healthy red flush to the seat that
aroused the libido."

"There were ladies' whipping clubs?" asked an
astonished Cindy.

"Indeed there were--wealthy, bored society wives with
much time on their hands and not much to do, they
would meet and and draw lots or play games--the losers
were birched. If you "lost" it was skirts up and
drawers down for a good stinging session with one of
these while you bent over an footstool. Later the next
week the ladies would gossip about the passionate sex
with their husbands afterwards. Poor men never knew
what hit them, but they probably weren't complaining.

"The multi-stranded whip is a modified
cat-o-nine-tails. You can see it has a foot long
handle and 6 long strands of smooth leather. No knots
or braiding like Captain Bligh's. This gives a more
solid sting with each lash."

"Er, how many...?"

"20 lashes is the normal dose. It's designed to have
the same overall intensity as the 36 with the birch,
but there is a longer delay between strokes. The
sensation of each separate lash must be...appreciated
before the next one is given."

"The last one I'll be using Saturday is this single
thong lash. As you can feel, here... hold it, it is a
smooth single thong. It's  braided snakeskin, in a
tight braid, very smooth. This one is yet more intense
than the 'cat' so its only a bakers dozen for the
lucky lads and lassies who get this. The lashes are
spaced even farther apart."

The whip felt positively alive in her hands thought
Cindy, and she flicked the end against her palm. Ouch!
it hurt!

" I'm using the ones I showed you because the guests
attending wanted it that way. They requested a  "17th
century" experience, simulating something much like
the punishments that were actually given in those
days.  At least they want the same ambiance. 

"I don't want you to worry Cindy, I know exactly how
hard to use these, and my aim is true. The stripes
will go exactly where I want them to, which will be
mostly across the cheeks of the bottom."

Cindy felt the cheeks of her own bottom involuntarly
clench at this news. This would surely be more painful
than the school paddle! Or the playful spanking from
Steve!

"But how did you get into....?...I mean how did you
learn all this stuff?"

"It's a very long story, but you should know that I
have a degree in psychology from Temple University,
and that I am a liscensed clinical psychologist in
several states."

Wow! Thought Cindy, this was too much. She couldn't
believe that this smart and articulate woman with a
psych degree was moonlighting as some kind of
whipmistress.

Shaking her head, Cindy asked," What are the rest of
these for?"

"Well, they're not for this particular event but I do
tend to use them at one time or another. For example,
Fantasies Unlimited has a "Little Red Schoolhouse" in
Nebraska. Sometimes I play the schoolmarm for a group
who want to play at a "return to schooldays" fantasy.
The paddle, cane and ruler figure more prominently
there. And incidently", she chuckled, "I do have an
appointment with rather naughty lad who attended the
last "Schoolhouse" weekend I did. Seems he has been
remiss at doing the follow up 'homework' I gave him.
He will be here this weekend for a make-up 'tutoring
session' Friday evening after dinner."

"At least he won't have to eat dinner off the
mantlepiece," laughed Cindy, "And if I hear smacks and
squeals that night, I'll know why."

Both women laughed. "Yes, I'll tell you," whispered
Julia conspiratorially, "He's going to spend some
quality time over my knee getting reacquainted with my
ruler."

They laughed again, then Julia's expression turned
more serious.

"Cindy, I want you to know, I think you're a lovely
girl, but I've been given a job to do. I hope you
understand. The Arabs have a saying,'Flog her gently,
but make it sting'. That's my approach to this too. I
hope we can still be friends...even after Saturday
night."

Cindy could only nod. And somehow the thought that it
would be Julia doing the whipping made the thought
easier to bear.

************************

In another jet winding its way across the country sat
Kath O'Leary, another fox recruited by Mr Arcado. With
her was Margo Ruger, also an Arcado find. Kath was
fiery Irish collen with long curly red hair to match
her temperament. She was something of an adventurer.
Whether it be sky diving, hang gliding or bungee
jumping, Kath was game. She consumed life rather than
lived it. There was no dare, no bet, no experience
that she would turn down, and woe betide any would be
admirers who could not keep up. And there were plenty
of those. Kath was a slender 5' 7" with ample breasts,
a slim waist, and boyishly slim hips with a pair of
teardrop-shaped bottom cheeks that jutted deliciously
from the deep hollow at the small of her back.
Arcado's offer had challenged her. It was a dare that
she could not resist. Even the thought of the forfeit
had sent her blood racing, for she was adventurous in
sexual matters as well, and there was no doubt that
the evening described by Arcado would likely end in
sexual excess.

Margo Ruger was an altogether different sort of woman.
Also an adventurer, Margo was very much her own woman.
She was a journalist who had spent time in any number
of global hot spots: Bosnia, Honduras, Afganistan,
Lebanon. To handle the rigors of her job, she trained.
She did triathlons and swam. She had learned
techniques of survival in hostile environments. She
was a black belt in judo. And she needed $10,000 in a
hurry. Gambling was her weakness and she owed some
unsavory people a bit of money. Margo was tall, 5' 9" 
with jet black hair that fell in ringlets to the sides
of her classically sculpted face. And she had a figure
to boot. Her curvacious body had caused heads to turn
all over the world. The prospect of the forfeits had
not fazed Margo. She had been in plenty of tight
places. Besides, she didn't figure on getting caught.

End of pt 1











 


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