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October 20, 2009

“A Bottom For The Taking”

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“A BOTTOM FOR THE TAKING”

A Story For Adults Only by

TOM SPANKS

“A BOTTOM FOR THE TAKING” Copyright 2008 by Thomas W. Amacker. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

“A BOTTOM FOR THE TAKING” generated one late night, not long before closing time for neighborhood bars, when I had spent some ten hours trying to work my way around one of the writer’s blocks I am forever running into head first . On this occasion, I decided to shut down my computer and go out to a nearby bar. When I got there, most of the people were already paired off, or were frantically trying to make a connection before last call. As I watched them, this story began to take shape in my mind…

There are damn few bars in this town that come even close to what I needed last night. I had to settle for Mollie’s. At least it has live music, even on a Thursday. That often brings some women out. On the weekends, it’s usually packed. The music is always too loud and too fast, with too much percussion and not enough melody. The crowd too drunk and generally too young. Being Thursday there weren’t a lot of people there. Still, it was the best I could do with only a little amount of time left to drink and girl watch before last call would be given.

I had bellied up to the bar and ordered my usual double bourbon on the rocks, when a guy brought this woman off the dance floor, before the number was finished, and deposited her on a bar stool. Something about their body language and the brief exchange of words, which I couldn’t overhear, told me that he was dumping her to hunt elsewhere. A couple of minutes later, I saw him lead another woman out to the dance floor.

She had seen him with the other woman, too. She swiveled around to face the bar, picked up what looked like a zombie, and was chugging it down, obviously upset. She wasn’t paying any attention to anything around her so I had plenty of time to study her.

Her short, lustrous, black hair was styled to frame her face effectively, yet be easy and quick to take care of. She wore a pastel blue, low cut peasant blouse that displayed enough of her bosom that there was no doubt of her voluptuousness. Her full cut blue skirt ended two inches above her knees, and she was bare legged, shod in flat heeled, red sandals with red strips that laced up around her calves (very nice calves from what little I had seen) matched with red framed glasses, red loop earrings and two red bracelets on her left wrist, a red and blue sash tied around her waist.

I thought she was somewhere around twenty-five: she would most likely be looking for someone thirty-five years old or less for a playmate. I’d have to find a way to compensate for the age difference. (But it has been so many years since I didn’t have to compensate for it that I automatically adjusted to the necessity, and began to “think younger,” pulling up a vocabulary that I’ve picked up listening to people of the right age range, shifting the way I stand and move, sucked in my well-into-middle-age gut, consciously changing my attitude to one more aggressive and confident to the degree that I could.)

Her weight, I thought was somewhere between a hundred and twenty and a hundred and thirty pounds. She was definitely a little on the plump side, but well proportioned, solid and not sloppy. Altogether, I thought her quite attractive without being knock out beautiful. I wondered if she would be prettier if she wasn’t in such an obvious funk?

Several guys walked past her at the bar, but made no play for her. She paid no attention to them either.

The music would end in another half-hour. If I was going to do anything, I didn’t have long to do it in. I signaled the cock tale waitress (the bartender being too busy to hear me) and asked her to take whatever the lady was drinking to her on me. I told the waitress to tell her it was from an admirer, but not to point me out. I don’t know why I always do that when I’m buying a drink for a woman, unless she is sitting right next to me. A number of times I’ve had guys move in right after the drink I ordered arrived, and, apparently, take credit for it in their opening remarks. Once it was the cause of one of the few bar fights I’ve ever gotten into. I remember the fight well, but not happily, as I got the hell stomped out of me that evening. Truth to tell, I don’t buy many uninvited drinks for unescorted women since that brawl, at least not until I make certain the women are unescorted!

This time, when the drink was delivered, she looked around trying to spot who had sent it. She could see that no one was paying any attention to her. No one except me. When her eyes met mine, she gave a small nod and a weak smile of thanks that failed to hide her disappointment.

I knew from her reaction that if anything was going to happen, I would have to make it happen. I gave it a few minutes, trying to think of some kind of approach that might actually work. I got lucky.

The band, beginning to wine down toward last call, swung into a set of old standards from the big band days that I could dance to without stumbling over my own feet nor stepping all over hers. Though the arrangement of “Where And When,” left a lot to be desired (this band being only five pieces) I knew it was going to be as good a chance as I would get. I walked down the bar to where she was sitting. When I reached her, she looked up at me, the refusal already forming in her eyes.

In that moment, something happened to me I had never experienced before. I knew exactly what I needed to say and do to interest her. I knew that whatever she was searching for it was not some young (or wished-he-still-was) stud. Nor was it the quick but temporary sexual release of a one night stand. For once, I knew, that my age would not work against me but for me. She had real needs and real problems and needed someone she could trust to help her solve the problems and answer the needs. She wasn’t likely to find her answers among her own age group, but within mine.

“Hi. Let’s end the evening dancing. That way it won’t be a total bust for both of us.” The bluntness of the statement caught her attention, for it told her I knew she had been dumped and that I hadn’t had any luck either. Without waiting for her answer, I reached out, took her hand and led her out on to the floor. She didn’t resist.

Neither of us said a word as I took her in my arms and we began to move to the music. Once we had found the rhythm, I pulled her in closer to me, dropping my left hand to rest lightly, but firmly, on her well-shaped bottom. Startled, she raised her head and looked up at me. Instead of making any effort to apologize, I increased the pressure and said, “Do you find it unpleasant?”

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes magnified by the glasses she wore. Then she said coldly, “You don’t lose much time do you?”

“We don’t have much time. Only about twenty minutes until closing to get to know each other. Decide if we want to take it elsewhere.”

“I’m sure I’ve must have heard some version of that line before.”

“I’ve used it on several thousand women. You may know one of them,” I said, smiling down at her. “Did she tell you if it worked?”

It got a small laugh out of her. When she continued to stare into my eyes without saying anything, I said, while increasing the pressure of my hand and bringing her in still closer, “You haven’t answered my question. Do you find it unpleasant?”

“No,” she admitted, with a surprisingly shy smile. “Who are you?”

“My name is John Troutman. Friends call me Johnny. And your name?”

“Samantha Ann Porter. What few friends I have call me “Sam.” She continued to gaze up at me for several moments before she softly added, “I hope you’ll call me Sam.”

“Be happy to,” I replied. “Of course, when the occasion warrants formality, I may have to use the ‘Samantha Ann Porter‘ to achieve the full weight the occasion demands.”

“I don’t go many places where that much formality would be required.”

           “Glad to hear it, Sam. Perhaps you won’t be disappointed that we can’t dine at The Twenty-one Club, but must satisfy our appetites at Denny’s. Any problem with that?”

“I don’t usually eat at this time of night, Johnny. It doesn’t give me any time to work some of the calories off before going to bed.” She studied me for a moment then said, “As you can see, I’m not always successful in keeping my weight down. I should weigh only about a hundred and five but I love to eat, so I’m back up to a hundred and thirty pounds, and gaining…”

         “Maybe you need a new diet plan?”

“I’ve tried every diet plan I’ve ever heard of. Sooner or later, I fall off all of them.”

“That’s why I think you need to change your plan to one where you can’t fall off and where you can eat anything you want, and that includes all the deserts you want.”

“What are you talking about Johnny? There is no diet plan that actually lets you eat anything you want and as much as you want. Diets simply don’t work that way. And in addition to restricting what and how much you eat, they really work only if you bust your butt exercising, running and bending, and all that stuff.”

“Actually, Sam, a good diet plan is based on getting you to change your approach to food. The best plans build in several different ways to get you to approach food in a manner that will have positive effects on your weight.”

“Well, I haven’t found one yet that works for more than a few months at most.”

“I’ll bet you I could put you on a plan that would take twenty-five pounds off of you in fifteen weeks, and you would never regain them. More over, you will be able to eat whatever you truly want, including sweets of any kind, and as much of it as you truly want, but you will stay at one hundred and five pounds without a lot of exercise you don’t want to do. Want to bet?”

“What kind of bet?”

“Let’s say that if you agree to try my plan, for every week you lose at least one and a half pounds, until you are down to a weight of one hundred and five pounds, I will give you one hundred, five dollars in cash. Once you have lost the excess weight, and remain at one hundred and five pounds when we weigh you each week, I will continue to give you one hundred five dollars in cash per week as part of the motivation to remain on the diet.”

“That’s insane. If I stayed on the diet very long, you could go bankrupt! Just how long would you expect me to stay on the diet, anyhow? And what do you mean, ‘part of the motivation’?”

“It will take a while to explain the whole thing. Want to go to Denny’s with me?”

I had read in a book on salesmanship, that to overcome a customer’s resistance you have to pitch your product from the standpoint of what it would do for them. Being overweight bothered Samantha, and I was offering some way that might solve the problem. She capitulated.

“Well, I guess I could risk the calories just this once. Do I follow you over there or leave my car and you can bring me back later?”

“Neither one. We’ve both been drinking; enough to get busted on DUI if we ran into a cop. And I can promise you there’s a couple of patrol cars watching the parking lot right now. They know this place will close in another ten minutes.”

“So, how to we get to Denny’s?”

“Taxi,” I said, pulling out my cell phone and flipping it open. The cab number was already programed so I just hit a single button to make the connection. Police patrol cars are not the only people keeping an eye out at bars as the closing hour draws near. I was told a taxi would be with us in two minutes, and it was.

Being a Thursday night, there was no big crowd rushing to Denny’s at the bar closing hour, as there would be on Friday and Saturday night. But we beat what crowd there was by a good ten minutes, which gave us a choice of seating. I was fairly sure that we might be there for sometime, so I asked for a booth out of the main traffic pattern, near enough to a air conditioning vent to stay cool, but not so close that the draft might make Samantha cold. The one we got was perfect: reasonably quiet, pleasantly cool, and we could talk without being easily overheard. That was very important because we had a lot to talk about.

And talk we did. After ordering, Sam eagerly wanted to know more about the diet plan, but I said we should eat first and discuss the plan over coffee and desert. When we reached that point, I’d had plenty of time to consider how to outline the plan I had in mind, I laid it out for her as clearly and as briefly as the subject would allow.

“Okay, I’ve already told you about the positive motivational factor of earning a hundred and ten dollars a week for staying on the diet. You remember the details about that, don’t you, Sam?”

“Yes, Johnny. But I don’t understand what foods I’ll be allowed on the diet. And I remember you said that the cash was only part of the motivation for staying on the diet. What did you mean by that?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about selecting special foods, or counting calories. You can eat anything you want, including deserts. You simply have to learn to eat less of the foods you normally like.”

“I don’t know how I’ll lose any weight, eating what I like. Are you sure this can work?”

“Like all diets, it works for some people and not for others. The difference is entirely a matter of motivation. You already know one of the positive factors; the cash you can earn by sticking to the diet. Other positive factors include the range of foods allowed, the pride in yourself you’ll take when you stay on the diet, the new clothes and styles you’ll look great in, and the compliments you will receive from everybody who knows you.”

“Well, that all sounds good, Johnny. But, those kind of factors, except for the money you say you’re willing to pay me, are associated with a lot of diets, to some degree or another. They haven’t made that much difference to me before, so what makes you think they will work this time?”

“Because, I’ve allowed for temptation, frustration, poor habits and sheer laziness in the motivational mix. To deal with them, I will use what I call the negative factor.”

“The ‘negative factor?’ How would that help me?”

“Each week you fail to lose at least a pound and a half, until you reach one hundred, five pounds; and each week after you reach your goal, that you gain any weight back at all, the negative factor, which is actually a very positive part of the overall motivation, will be implemented.”

“What negative factor?”

“Each week that you fail to live up to the terms you’ve agreed to, you will receive no cash that week. In addition, I’ll turn you over my knee, or the arm of a sofa or chair, take your panties down and spank your bare ass by hand, paddle or belt, one hundred and five times.”

Her eyes flew wide open to stare at me. Her mouth opened, too, but before she could find her voice, I asked her a question in a manner meant to convey that we were having a perfectly normal conversation.

“Tell me, Sam, did your father have to discipline you often when you were growing up?”

Distracted and still trying to accept what I had just told her, she replied without thinking about the question or why I’d asked it. “Yes. I was stubborn and mouthy and got into trouble all the time.”

I realized from the truthful way she had answered that she really wanted to tell somebody about the way she was raised. “How did your father punish you, Sam?”

“Until I was six, he’d just smack me on my bottom whenever I did something he had told me not to do. But, after I was in the first grade, I would be punished on Friday nights, in his study, when he gave my brothers and sister any punishment they had coming.” She stopped speaking for a moment, lost in memory. She started to talk again in a low voice. “We had to line up by age, standing in the line naked while he lectured us on what we had done wrong. He always punished the oldest first. Larry, my oldest brother was always first, then Charlotte, my sister, then Jimmy, my youngest brother, then me. No one was allowed to leave until I had received the punishment he’d decided I had earned.”

She was quiet for a moment, recalling the circumstances of the disciplinary sessions. “Larry and Jimmy were excused from being punished when they turned sixteen. But they and Mom had to witness any punishment given Charlotte or me. Lotte didn’t get in much trouble after she was twelve, but I got a spanking every month and sometimes, every week.”

“How old were you the last time he punished you?”

“Eighteen,” she said, then sat silent, her fingers shredding a napkin into bits. A minute or two went by before she spoke again. “It wasn’t like any of the other times. It was a Saturday morning after my high school graduation prom. Instead of going home after the dance, I went with my date and two other couples to the lake.”

“We drank too much, and messed around. I didn’t get home until dawn. I still stank of the booze I’d drunk. I was praying I’d get into the bathroom to clean up before anybody else was out of bed. I should have known better. My father has been up before dawn everyday of his life.”

She stopped speaking, and took a took a deep, shuddering breath before she could continue. “He was waiting for me. He marched me into the barn, yelling for the rest of the family to come to the barn, too. He ordered me to strip, then had my brothers tie me to a post. He said he was not going to have a slut living under his roof. He used a buggy whip to lash me until I passed out. I guess he had the boys cut me down, because when I came to I was lying, still naked, in some straw. My mother and sister were smearing some kind of antiseptic lotion on my back, ass, and thighs, from my shoulders to below my knees, and on my belly, even my tits, wherever the whip had marked me.. It hurt like hell. My father and brothers weren’t there.”

No wonder she had needed to tell someone. Keeping it buried inside merely let it fester into a crippling wound. I reached out and took her hand. “That was pretty severe discipline, and damn little forgiveness for no greater a fault than staying out overnight on your prom night. Your father obviously had his own demons to contend with.”

“You don’t understand.” She dropped her eyes and hung her head in shame before she whispered, “While he whipped me, he kept demanding to know what I had been doing all night. He and Mom. With every lash he gave me, they would demand the truth. I held out as long as I could. I thought he might kill me if I told the truth…and I was so ashamed of what I’d done…but, I couldn’t take the pain…I passed out…”

The tears were running down her cheeks unchecked now, her voice fading lower and her breath coming in pants as she relived the event over again. She clutched my hand so tightly that it was becoming painful as she struggled to throw up the poison inside her. “Father was right. I was a slut whore! I let myself get so drunk that I agreed to participate when they started playing a game.  They said the rules were pretty much like strip poker, except we didn’t need cards ’cause it was played with a bottle that would be laid on its side and spun by hand.”

For several moments she didn’t speak as she recalled the event.  Still raw emotion caused her to tremble, as she tried to control her breathing.  “Knowing that we were going to the lake after the dance,  we had all brought a change of clothes with us so we could dress more casually.  I was wearing a tank top, really short cutoff jeans, and sandals.  Unlike the other  girls, I had a bra and panties on under my clothes.  I didn’t know they didn’t until we got into the game.  A couple of spins into the game, I lost and had to remove my top.  When they saw that I had underwear on, their attitude changed and they started teasing me.  The game changed, too.  The next four spins, the bottle stopped pointed at me.”

Again she stopped talking, lost in the memory of what had happened. Finally, she continued. “Everybody in school knew I was a virgin. A couple of dates had gone bad and I had slapped the boys silly. They got back at me by scribbling nasty things all over the walls in every restroom in school and both of the shower rooms in the gym. The whole student body considered me a frigid, stuck up bitch that thought she was better than they were. I guess I did behave that way sometimes…”

Her eyes squeezed shut, she began to speak swiftly, barely above a whisper. “Anyway, at the lake, the five of them were even drunker than I was. When I was left with nothing on except my panties, they voted that I should be stump broke and gang banged after Bobby, my date, broke my cherry. They said I could either agree, or have a long walk home, and if I snitched to anyone, they’d just tell them I was a liar. It would be five to one. I begged them to let me off. The girls were even meaner about it than the boys.  They said they were tired of me being a goody two shoes; I could either spread my legs or they would spread the word around town to put me in Coventry, exile me…I didn’t want that – they had only recently started to include me in things, invite me to their parties, talk to me. I…I…I couldn’t chicken out…”

Without saying anything, I moved over to her side of the table and took her in my arms. I held her close and let her sob out the rest of the confession she had needed to make for a long time.

“Bobby ordered me to get on my knees. When I didn’t obey and tried to argue, the girls grabbed me, bent my arms up behind my back, pushed me to my knees, and held me down while their boyfriends tore off my panties and took turns hand spanking my bare ass. Bobby dropped his shorts, took a fist full of my hair and jerked my head back so I had to look at his big hard dick. He told me that if I begged to kiss, lick and suck his cock, he would give me a really good fuck before the others had me…I…I was terribly humiliated and horribly embarrassed because, because…because I was so excited that I was dripping wet between my legs…I couldn’t resist anymore. I…I…I surrendered completely and begged him to please let me kiss, lick, and suck his cock.”

“He had me suck his rod while he made me take more and more of it in my mouth until I thought I would choke…they all kept telling me how to do it… breath through your nose, you stupid girl…use your tongue you silly slut…lick the head of his cock before he pushes it into your mouth…when he’s pulling out, suck his cock hard, keep sucking until he starts back into your mouth again, that’s when you let him push in as far as he wants or until you gag!”

“When Bobby was ready, he told them to spread eagle me  over  a tree stump that was nearby.  The girls jerked me to my feet and marched me over to the stump, pushed down over it on my back, pulling my arms above my head on one side of the stump while the guys grabbed my legs and spread them wide apart on the other side of it.  Bobby got between my legs, and gripped the cheeks of my ass in his hands lifting me up onto his cock…He rammed it into me until he broke my cherry…Then he made me take it all, every inch of it, thrusting into me so hard I screamed…before…before I begged for more! He did what he said he’d do; gave me a really good fuck before the others had me.”

“He drove me to orgasm twice before he was ready to cum. He made me get on my knees again, and he ordered me to suck him off and swallow his cum. I obeyed. No one had to hold me. I knelt and sucked Bobby’s cock for five minutes or more before he came in my mouth and I swallowed his load and licked him clean. When Bobby was through the other guys took turns fucking me doggy style –  saying it was the right position for a bitch like me – while  the girls made me lick their pussies ’til they came. When Bobby did me again, the others paired off…we spent the rest of the night trading around. None of the guys used condoms. Nobody cared if I was protected or not. Not even me — I didn’t even think about it that night. I  was just lucky that I didn’t catch anything…”

“My family could smell that on me, too…that I’d had sex. It drove my father into the worst rage I’d ever seen him have. If I had told him the truth, I think he would’ve killed me, but I passed out before he could beat a confession out of me. Still, he’d ordered my mother to tell me that I was to get off his land. He never wanted to see me again and no member of the family who continued to live under his roof was to ever speak to me again. Charlotte had thrown some things into a suitcase for me. And she and Mom had managed to slip a hundred bucks into my purse…Father had taken back the keys to the car he’d bought me for graduation, so I cried all the way on the walk into town…and a hundred miles on the bus…”

I didn’t say anything much, just kept telling her that it was all right, that everybody made mistakes, the only important thing was to learn not to make the same mistake over and over. Gradually, she calmed down, her head resting on my shoulder, and her hand still clasped in mine.

When her tears had dried, she looked up at me and whispered an apology, “ I …I didn’t mean to dump all that mess on you, Lee. I just…for some reason, I need you to know that I…I got what I deserved. If you don’t want anything more to do with me, I’ll understand…”

“Look, girl, that was what, six years ago? You were eighteen, and you made a mistake. You were pretty severely punished for it. And I get the impression that you had a bad time of it for quite a while after you left home?”

She nodded her head in answer to my question, but didn’t try to speak.

“You can tell me about that later. I’ll want to hear just how bad it was, and what you’ve had to do to survive. But, for now, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been punished enough for the crime you’ve confessed to committing when you were eighteen. It’s time you were paroled.” I couldn’t help but grin at her. “Of course, if you’re paroled, you will need to have a parole officer, ’til you complete your sentence. I guess that’s going to have to be me.”

Samantha raised her head and gazed into my eyes for several minutes without saying anything. Finally, she put her arms around my neck, melted into my embrace, and kissed me, long and passionately. When we had to break for air, she hugged me and said, “Johnny, as my parole officer, you won’t let me be bad, will you? I…I mean…”

I stood up from the booth, and held out my hand to assist her in getting to her feet. “I know what you mean, Samantha. And the answer is no, I won’t let you be a bad girl. I’ll give you one warning when you misbehave. If I have to tell you about it a second time, you’ll get a spanking. The more serious the offense, the harder and longer the spanking will be. Sometimes, I may spank you just because I think you need to have your bottom warmed up before we get involved in other matters that may affect your butt. And, of course, you’ll get spanked whenever you fail to stay on the diet I’ve given you. Understand me, Sam?”

She looked up me and smiled shyly as she took my hand. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

I brought her home, here, about 4:00am. After we showered together, I carried her into my bedroom. I placed her on her feet by the side of the bed, and sat down on it myself. When I held out my hand, she placed hers in mine, looked into my eyes for several moments, then, without speaking, lowered herself face down across my lap and wiggled herself into a comfortable position for the spanking we both knew I had to give her if I was going to be the Top she needed.

A Top that could assume the control over her that would be necessary when she had to be truly disciplined. A Top who could thoroughly arouse her with an erotic spanking. A Top who could take her in hand and lead her into complete submission and willing obedience as we built a built a lasting relationship together.. A Top who would take her love, tend it carefully, and return it many fold.

She shivered as I ran the palm of my right hand over the twin globes of her lovely ass. I began, almost gently, to spank her, slowly increasing the speed and force until I had smacked her cheeks fifty times each, and she was crying hard. She did not beg for me to stop, leaving it up to me to decide when she had been punished enough to be ready to be loved. I paused, and massaged her cheeks again, feeling the warmth radiating from her bottom. Her breath came in panting gasps, and she whimpered not in pain but in desire. In that moment, she was what I had wanted all my life. A woman willing to give me all she had to give.

I raised her from my lap and held her in my arms, comforting her until her tears dried. She raised her head and looked into my eyes, her desire clear and urgent. I kissed her, her mouth opening to mine eagerly, willingly. I laid her on the bed and knew she was ready to surrender to me. That she wanted me to take her. Use her. Guide her. Love her. Keep her. Top her.

She was in that timeless moment, a bottom for the taking.

I took her. I took her and made her mine. And I will hold her forever…

   THE BEGINNING…

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Filed by tomamacker at October 20th, 2009 under domestic discipline, erotic spanking, fiction
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October 14, 2009

Short Story: “Mother Should Have Told Me!”

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The story that follows germinated sometime during the reception that followed the wedding of two friends of mine that no one suspected would end up getting married. But they did, and still are…

“MOTHER SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME!”

a sexually explicit short story by

TOM SPANKS

THIS STORY IS RESTRICTED TO ADULTS ONLY.  DO NOT VIEW WHEN MINORS ARE PRESENT.

(”Mother Should Have Told Me!” copyright 2008 by Thomas W. Amacker.  All Rights Reserved.)

Part One

 

I guess it’s natural enough for a girl to want to talk about her wedding. And to want to show off her wedding pictures to friends. But I bet most girls don’t get spanked their first night wed. Or have pictures to prove it. I do.

From what I’ve heard, most girls these days have had some sexual experience prior to marriage. I guess that makes me a bit of an odd duck, because I was a virgin on my wedding night.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t say that to brag or anything. I’m not trying to put down girls who weren’t virgin on their wedding night. Its just that I was. I didn’t plan it that way, but my parents had always been strict and protective with me. Like the boarding schools I was sent to. They all were pretty strict when it came to discipline and had a long list of things you weren’t supposed to do. By the time I was a Junior level student, most of the things you weren’t suppose to do had to do with boys.

 When I wouldn’t squeal on the other girls, Mrs. Muller, who ran the school, decided that I needed to be taught a lesson. She called an assembly of the student body to witness my punishment on two charges. She called me up on stage in the Assembly Hall to plead to the charges against me. The first was for sneaking out off campus at night after curfew, and the second was for not telling the truth about who was with me. I had to plead guilty to both charges.

Then, in full view of the student body, she ordered two of the teachers to remove my shoes, skirt and panties and secure me over what she called a “spanking horse;” kind of a long barrel with stirrups into which my feet were chained and a pommel to which my hands were cuffed. It held me firmly in place, face down, with my bare ass easily seen from every seat in the hall.

She informed me that the penalty for the first charge was thirty whacks with a paddle, and the penalty for the second charge was thirty strokes of a cane. Because I had confessed to having broken both rules at the same time, I would be given a fifty percent increase in the penalties: forty-five paddle smacks and 45 cane strokes. She explained that if I confessed who had been with me, she would give me only half of the original sentence for each offense: fifteen blows each for the paddle and the cane.

I was embarrassed and humiliated at the position I was in and terribly afraid of the pain I knew was coming but I simply could not squeal on the girls who had been with me. To rat them out would have made me an enemy to every girl in the school. Nobody would forgive me or let me participate in anything. Better to take the spanking, no matter how painful, than to have everybody hate me.

 When I refused Mrs. Muller’s offer, she was obviously angry. She told me that I would count aloud each of the paddle whacks and cane strokes, and my count had better be loud enough to be heard in the back row of the auditorium. If I missed one, or any teacher said she couldn’t hear the count, Mrs. Muller would start the count over from the first smack of the paddle.

By the time she was through punishing me, I could barely whisper from having screamed in pain, and yelling the count as loud as I could between blows. Some of the girls in the audience were crying as hard as I was, knowing that any of them might be the next victim if their luck ran out as mine had. (A year later, a law would be passed that would prevent both public and private schools from using corporal punishment to discipline students. Only three other girls would ever suffer at the hands of Mrs. Muller.) Others shut their eyes or tried not to watch the beating whenever a teacher wasn’t looking at them: if they were caught doing it, they would find themselves being punished. (Some of the girls watched avidly, and with great satisfaction — I had my share of enemies among the student body.)

Being punished won me a couple of real friends; the girls I had not squealed on. It did nothing to discourage my interest in boys, but it certainly stopped me from pursuing the matter and left me frustrated. This condition would continue until the night of my wedding. Anyway, I just wanted you to understand why I was still a virgin on my wedding night.

After I graduated from Muller’s School For Young Ladies, I returned home expecting to begin preparations for attending college at one of the finer co-ed universities, possibly somewhere on the East Coast. I was looking forward to it as I felt I had a lot of catching up to do, if you can dig it.

It was not to be. The joy of my homecoming was curtailed for me shortly after my arrival. The displays of affection and welcome were less demonstrative than usual. I became aware that my parents were more reserved than I remembered them being, as, too, were my three brothers and my younger sister. I couldn’t help but wonder at what was wrong?

 I found out soon enough. That first night back my father and mother indicated they would want to have a private chat with me after dinner. It was my younger sister, Charlotte, who alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t going to enjoy the talk. On the way into dinner she whispered to me, “Cripes, Dad’s really got himself into a mess this time. Looks like you may be the only way out for him!”

How would you like to try making it through dinner while a statement like that rattled around in your head?

My parents insisted on acting like there was nothing pressing and we should all enjoy a leisurely meal, right down to the desert and coffee. But the tension was obvious among my siblings. And even the domestic staff seemed to be affected. The maid, Molly, pouring the coffee, actually splashed some in my saucer. By the time dinner was over I was a nervous wreck.

Father never minced words whenever he had something to tell any of us. But after calling me into his sturdy, where Mother joined us, he was surprisingly reluctant to begin and was obviously stalling for time with idle gossip. Not at all like him. It actually scared me.

“Daddy, what’s wrong? Has something bad happened? Everybody seems to be on edge.”

Mother spoke up. “You might as well tell her straight out, Harvey. You know it won’t make it any easier if you spend the night flushing quail.”

“Of course you’re right, Maude.” Father fixed his attention firmly on me, cleared his throat, and dropped a bomb on me. “Laura, I know that you are counting on beginning college in the Fall. However, I’m going to have to ask you to postpone your plans.”

“Postpone my plans, Father? For how long?”

“Actually…it’s more a matter of changing your plans altogether. You see, my dear,…”

“Changing my plans altogether? What are you talking about, Father?”

“To make a long story somewhat shorter, economic conditions have caused a serious cash flow problem the last two years for my firm which was solved only when I was able to raise a substantial, a very substantial, loan that has seen us through a very rough patch. And I am happy to say that things are beginning to look up. All signs indicate that we should be in a healthy and profitable position in short order.”

“Well then, Father, what’s the problem?”

“It’s a matter of timing, Laura. You see, the loan I arranged was short term and I need to get it extended by about one year. The lender has no objection to that, but he wants something in return.”

“What does he want? Shares of the stock in the corporation or some other form of collateral?”

Mother spoke up again. “He wants something considerably more personal than collateral in that sense, Laura.. He already owns the controlling shares in a number of corporations. He is very successful and wealthy. He has, in fact, spent his life obtaining the position he holds. Now he is interested in obtaining what he doesn’t have.”

“What he doesn’t have? What’s that, Mother?”

“The mate he never had time for when he was building the corporate empire he now heads. Someone to serve as hostess for the social occasions he plans now that he has time to engage in them. A woman of breeding, beauty, and intelligence, that will provide him companionship, compatibility, and bear him children a man could take pride in…”

“You mean, he’s looking for a wife?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, good for him. I hope he finds someone he can love. But, Mother, I don’t see what any of this has to do with Father’s financial affairs, or why it should be of any interest to me?”

“I will try to make that clear to you, Laura,” my father said, rising and crossing to the wet bar built into the bookcase on the left wall of the room. Pouring himself a tall scotch, he added a splash of soda, and returned to his seat behind his desk, forgetting to offer Mother or me anything from the bar. He really was stressed out. “As you know, I am quite proud of all of you children and keep some photos and even a painting or two of all of you on the walls of my office.”

“Yes, I’ve seen them, Father. Of course, I’m glad that you are proud of us, even if none of us has really accomplished much, yet.”

“Well, Laura, you now have the opportunity to accomplish a great deal. You see, at one point in our negotiations, V. E. Mason, visited my office and he saw that wonderful portrait of you that I had painted by Coleman from your Sweet Sixteen birthday party photograph. He was absolutely enchanted by it…”

“That’s flattering, Father…”

“So enchanted that he immediately said that the loan extension was a done deal with only one proviso. He spent the rest of the meeting asking me about you…”

“About me? What did he want to know? And whatever for?”

“First he wanted to know when you had posed for the painting, and how old you were now? Did you have a steady boyfriend? If not, were you virgin and…”

“Was I what? The nerve of him…”

“…when could he meet you? Then he wanted to know all the things you particularly liked, or anything you especially disliked….”

“What does he want to know all that for?”

“…did you look forward to having children…”

“Father! Stop this right now! I’ve never heard anything so silly in my entire life…”

“Keep in mind, Dear, that you are only eighteen and have most of your life to hear things far more silly…”

“Oh, Mother! Just what does this freak want?”

For a moment my mother and father exchanged a long look, then Father socked it to me. “V. E. Mason will join us in about an hour to arrange a courtship before asking for your hand in marriage!”

I was actually shocked speechless. I could only sit there and gape at them — my parents, parents I thought loved me — as what my father had said slowly filtered its way into my brain and sliced its way into my heart.

Oh, my god! My parents were about to sell me to this freak, this monster! This indescribable weirdo, this old man!! A fifty year old man!!!

What on earth could they be thinking about? What could we possibly have in common? I could see it now: the old fart dragging his ass off to bed about the time I would be ready to go out dancing. Surely they didn’t think I wanted to be introduced to the joys of sex ( I was looking forward to it being a joy) by some pathetic creep with one foot in a coffin, who might die on me from a stroke or something the first time we had sex. It was obviously impossible!

I guess my opinion of the whole situation could be read from the expression on my face. Before I could drag in enough air to scream my objections, Father hastened to explain, “Now, Laura. It’s not a done deal as far as the wedding is concerned. The proviso V. E. required was simply to meet you and make his proposal. He realizes that you may not care to entertain his, ah, offer. But, I didn’t really feel that I could refuse him the opportunity to state his case”

“And if I say — because I’m most definitely going to say — no, no, no, not in a million years, absolutely NO!”

         “Then it will be no, my dear. I’m sure V. E. understands that.”

As it turned out, of course, what Father thought V. E. understood was quite different from what Mason, himself, thought.

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Part Two

“Mother Should Have Told Me!”

 

I won’t bore you with the pandemonium that ensued around the house during the next hour while we all waited with varying degrees of anxiety for the arrival of V. E. Mason. My parents tried their best to maintain a dignified demeanor although they had to be nearly as embarrassed as I was at the whole, incredible situation. My brothers tried to act like it was perfectly normal for their sister to be proposed to by a man old enough to be her grandfather, but couldn’t quite bring it off. Only Charlotte thought the whole thing to be incredibly romantic. She, being only fifteen, took the position that Mason was like some foreign prince, coming to make me his princess, and some day, queen of his kingdom.

Oh dear, at that moment, I desperately wished that I could be fifteen again but not so I could believe in fairy tales. (I don’t remember believing in them by the time I was five.) The fact is, if I was fifteen I wouldn’t have the problem I had at eighteen!

But horrible things rush down upon us with greater speed than those events we look forward to with some delight: V. E. Mason arrived promptly on time.

I had taken shelter in my room to await the appointed hour. I did not contemplate suicide simply because I had already made up my mind to dispatch Mr. Mason swiftly and permanently from my life. I would try to sever our relationship without severing his head from his body, but he had better not try to seriously contest my decision.

Shortly after the appointed hour, Molly knocked on my bedroom door to inform me that the great man was downstairs, and my presence was requested in the study. Molly was agog and atwitter over Mason, volunteering her opinion that he was quite handsome and distinguished. (She was three years older than my sister, but no more mature in judgement. I thought the fact that she would volunteer an opinion unasked for showed how difficult it is to train a domestic staff these days.)

And so, with head held high, I marched down the stairs to vanquish this most unsuitable of suitors. Little did I know that I was charging into an ambush that would leave me overwhelmed and captured by a greatly superior force. A six foot, eight inch, two hundred ninety-seven pound hunk of a force named Victor Edward Mason.

He was not only tall, he was obviously a fitness freak; I could see his muscles ripple with every movement, right through the short sleeve, open neck silk sport shirt he wore that also allowed the display of a gold medallion on a gold chain around his neck. His square, ruggedly handsome face was made even more striking by the black beard and moustache that adorned it. And though his hairline was rising and the hair on the crown of his head was definitely thinning, it was as black as his beard. But it was his eyes that totally disarmed me.His eyes were as blue as the Pacific Ocean off Hawaii, and sparkled with humor. I had expected a grumpy old man. What I got was a magnetic dynamo of charm, wit, grace, intelligence, and, remarkably, real fun.

Cliche that it is, he simply swept me off my feet and, one month later, deposited me on a canopied, king size, bed in the luxurious Honeymoon Suite at the Moonglow Resort Casino in San Diego County. It is one of several gaming facilities Victor’s special property management division runs for Native American tribes who own them. Victor had chosen to bed me there because we were scheduled to board one of his cruise ships in the San Diego harbor two days later on a six month honeymoon tour around the World!

It was at the Moonglow that I first begun to realize how little prepared I was for marriage. To actually be someone’s wife was swiftly revealed to be a great deal more complicated than I had ever imagined. Frankly, neither the schools I had attended, nor my parents, had been up to, or willing to undertake, the task of preparing me for what lay ahead. I quickly learned that marriage is another way to spell compromise, and several other less desirable words. I really think that my mother, especially, should have told me what I was in for. But, she hadn’t told me, and so I had stumbled into trouble almost as soon as we entered out suite, although it would be several hours later before I realized it.

After Victor had laid me on the bed, he tipped the bellboy and practically pushed him out the door. As I watched him coming back towards the bed, I realized what was on his mind. My god, I wasn’t ready for that, yet! Just as he threw himself down on the bed beside me, I rolled aside and scrambled to my feet. I excused myself and ran for the bathroom.

Behind the locked door, I tried to calm down and think what I was going to do next. Even I knew that I couldn’t expect to play hide and go seek all night. I mean, a bride has to assume that at some point the bridegroom is going to want to consummate their marriage. But, surely, that could wait awhile?

Let me see, how long had it been since we ate? Oh, at the reception, only three hours ago. And we had no family or friends to party with or play the slot machines. They had all been left deliberately at the reception. Victor had mentioned that he occasionally enjoyed wagering at the race track, or playing high-stakes poker. Maybe I could talk him into showing me the casino for ten or twelve hours?

The last thing in the world I expected of myself on my wedding day was to be scared to death of having sex with my husband. Good grief! It had to happen sometime — losing my virginity, I mean — didn’t it? Yes, unless I planned on being an old maid or a nun. And I suspected that I would find either of those alternatives even less attractive than I was finding marriage at the moment. I had, after all, dreamed often enough about how the first time would be. And that was for years before I ever met Victor. So what was wrong with me now?

Why should he terrify me just because he was this giant of a man who could easily pick me up and stuff me into his back pocket? I always knew that I would probably marry a man much larger than me. After all, I’m only five feet tall and weigh just one hundred pounds with my hair wet. Almost any man would be bigger than me. I knew Victor well enough by now to know that he would be considerate of my feelings, and physically gentle with me. Especially, the first time he took me. We had even talked about the fact that I was virgin. He had accepted that I wouldn’t know much about making love; that he would have to teach me what he wanted me to know, or what I asked to learn. He seemed to find the idea enchanting. So had I, then. Now, I found it goose bump, shivering cold, hot flash, fever sweating, mind-numbing, terrifying! My god! The beast was going to take my cherry! He was going to…he was going to…to…to …he was going to fuck me! Not yet! Not yet!! NOT YET!!!

I am not a ninny! Think. Think, damn it! How does a girl stall when she doesn’t want a man to get in her panties? (At that moment, I realized for the first time what that phrase actually means. He wasn’t going to “get in my panties.” He was going to take my panties off of me.! Then, he was going to get in me!!!) I knew that I could not simply tell him I had a headache. I would have to do better than that. Oh god, I wish I had more practice at this!

Victor told me later that I had disappeared into the bathroom for a solid hour! He eventually knocked on the door, and said that our dinner reservations were coming up soon, after which we had tickets to the floor show in the main theatre. (What he didn’t say was that he had guessed what was wrong with me. He had made up his mind to keep the reins loose and let me set the pace for awhile.)

So, I spent the next seven hours gushing about this and that in an effort to maneuver him away from that humongous bed in our suite. I’m embarrassed now to think what a silly ass I must have sounded like to him as he waited for me to run out of excuses. Of course there came a time when I could think of no way to delay our return to the Honeymoon Suite.

I can’t say that I wasn’t excited at the thought of what was going to happen there. The truth is the main reason I gave up the struggle to stay away from that bed was simply that curiosity had grown to match my fear.

On the one hand, would Victor give me the thrills I had dreamed of for so long? ( In my case, since puberty. One day it seemed like I was playing with dolls, the next day I knew that what I wanted to play with was boys.) On the other hand, would I be a disappointment to Victor? I knew that he was used to getting what he wanted, and when it didn’t live up to his expectations, to cast it aside without hesitation. Would I be a castoff?

He had clearly shown me how complicated he was the night I met him. After the proper introductions were made and the socially polite chit-chat ran its course, my parents had withdrawn, leaving me alone with Victor in the study.

He came to the point quickly. Sitting beside me on the sofa, he removed the medallion from around his neck. It turned out to be a beautiful and unusual locket. He said it had been in his family for over two hundred years. He opened it to show me a miniature painting it contained. It was of a young girl, dressed in the clothing of the late 1700’s, but otherwise a twin to me!

“I have adored her since I was seven years old. As soon as I saw your portrait in your father’s office, I knew that I had to have you for my wife. Give me three weeks to show you what your life would be like as my wife. Give me three weeks to prove to you that I can provide you with everything you need or want. That you will have wealth and social position that could not be equaled with any one else. More importantly, I can provide you with the attention and devotion you need to blossom into the captivating woman, and loving mother, you will be in time. If you accept my proposal, I can be your guide into a wonderful world you can only have dreamed of.”

“And if, at the end of three weeks, my decision is to refuse to marry you?”

“One thing life has taught me is not to try crossing a bridge I haven’t reached yet. I am, however, certain that I can convince you to marry me if I have a chance to show you something of the life I can give you. I agreed to the loan extension your father wanted with only one proviso. That he introduce me to you so that I might have the chance to court and win you for my wife. I believe that I can do that in the next three weeks. Will you give me your company for that time?”

“Victor, I know almost nothing about you. And you don’t know much about me, other than I look like the girl in the locket. We are not only from different worlds but from different generations. How could we possibly be compatible, or have anything in common? I don’t want to be crude but you’re fifty years old and I’m five months away from my nineteenth birthday!”

I took a deep breath and plunged ahead with what I absolutely needed to say. “ I don’t want to hurt your feelings but you have to understand something. I’m actually a virgin and I have dreamed for years of how my wedding night would be. No where in those dreams did a fifty year old man figure. I want and need someone who can carry me to the moon and let me play among the stars…”

“Of course you need someone who can do that for you. But, because you’re so young and inexperienced, you think that only someone close, or at least closer, to your own age can do it. That simply isn’t true, Laura. Sexual satisfaction is a matter of both physical and emotional needs that are, at best, joined by true love between two people. It doesn’t matter how old they are, or how much difference there is in their ages. But, that is a matter that I can’t prove to you beyond doubt until after we are married.”

“Suppose, after we’re married neither one of us is satisfied? That we aren’t physically suited to each other at all? What could we do about it? I can only give my virginity to one man, Victor. Even if you were willing to give me my freedom, I wouldn’t be what I am now.”

“That’s true, Laura. But that is also true of any man you may marry, young or old. There are very few guarantees in life, my dear. Even fewer when it comes to relationships between men and women. Any of them can go bad if their love isn’t strong enough. All I am asking you for is three weeks to give us both a chance to fall in love. If we don’t, then I will withdraw and wish you all the best. But if we do, and both of us know beyond doubt that we are in love, then we will be married, and whatever physical problems we may have we can and will solve together.”

“Oh, Victor, you seem like you know all the answers…”

“Darling, no one knows all the answers. Most of us haven’t heard the majority of the questions. We simply have to do the best we can with what we do know. Will you at least give us the chance to hear some of those questions and share some of those answers? Will you let me show you my world?”

If I felt like I had been run over by a steamroller that first night it was nothing compared to what Victor dazzled me with over the next three weeks. Dinners, dancing, the opera, the ballet, the theatre, sport events, the races, charity balls, and private parties. And every where, interesting, fascinating people. Most important of all, hour after hour of the most amazing conversations. We confided things to each other like we had been joined at the hip since birth. I had never been one to share my secrets with others; not my parents, my siblings, or the girls I went to school with — I had never had a best friend. Yet, there was nothing I did not want to tell Victor. I was eager to share with him all my dreams, my fears, my most secret desires.

By the end of the second week, I knew that I wanted to be his wife. I didn’t know why at the time, but the thing that decided me was a talk we had after spending the evening at a private party where a woman guest had behaved really badly.

She had obviously had several drinks too many, and made a number of embarrassing, cutting remarks about her husband. He was forced to make excuses to our hosts and take his wife home. She made a real spectacle of herself before he could get her out the door. Everyone felt badly about it, but it was obvious from comments I overheard, that people tended to blame the husband.

I asked Victor why they seemed to feel it was the husband’s fault? He said it was because the man had failed to control his wife’s behavior, or for that matter, his own. Victor pointed out that the couple had apparently been drinking for some time before showing up at the party. He said it showed disrespect to our hosts and to the other guests to arrive at the party already plastered. Then the husband lost control completely, when he failed to silence his wife when she first became loud and profanely mouthy.

“But what could he do, Victor? She was so drunk, I don’t think she would have listened to anybody.”

“No, my dear. By the time he tried to take control of the situation, the matter was quite beyond his capability to handle it. But he let her get that drunk, then brought her to the party, knowing that she would behave like a drunken slut. Which is exactly what she did.”

“But why would he want people to see her like that?”

“Probably a bid for sympathy. It’s well known to all of us who know them that they are heading for a divorce. A divorce, I might add, that never needed to happen if he had shown any spine the first time she disgraced him in such a manner.”

“You mean, she has a habit of it?”

“Oh, yes. They’ve been trying to humiliate each other for the last two years.”

“Why don’t they just get a divorce?”

“Money. Property. Children. The remains of what once was great attraction to each other. In one order or another.”

“But, what could he do to save his marriage?”

“The point is that he can’t seem to do anything about it. He simply isn’t man enough to take the only action that might have saved his marriage. Action he needed to take at least two years ago, when she first started going off the rails.”

“What action?”

“The first time she pulled that stunt, he should have given her clear warning what would happen the next time she chose to behave like a loud mouth slut. When she did it again, wherever they were and whoever was present, he should have put her over his knee, pulled her panties down, and spanked her bare ass ‘til she begged for mercy. And spanked her each and every time she misbehaved from then on.”

‘Victor! She’s a grown woman. She can’t be spanked like some little kid! I bet there’s even a law against it. Especially in public.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me. There are a good many stupid laws on the books. In this particular case, her attorney might claim that she was a battered wife. And, in fact, fear of what might happen to him legally may be the reason Dotson has never taken any action to save her from herself. In which case he is a greater fool and bigger coward than I’ve suspected.”

“What do you mean, save her from herself?”

“Darling, the woman is approaching forty years of age, and has a very unpleasant reputation. Who do you think will want her when they split? He is letting her destroy herself, perhaps thinking that he will get some measure of revenge for the humiliation he has suffered but he has a shock coming. In letting this drag on, he is showing just what kind of man he is. It hasn’t occurred to him, yet, that he isn’t displaying a character any reasonably sane woman would want to have anything to do with.”

“Well, she may be a slut, and maybe he is a coward, but a grown woman should not be treated like a bratty child.”

“I disagree, Darling. If a woman behaves like a brat, then she should be treated like a brat. If it takes a spanking to drive the point home that she needs to behave like a grown woman to be treated like one, so be it.”

“Oh, Victor. Surely you don’t mean that if I did something you didn’t like, that you would give me a spanking?”

“That would depend on what you had done, and whether or not I had warned you about it. But, yes, if you willfully disobeyed me when I asked you not to do something, then I would spank you.”

“Well, I never…”

Suddenly, Victor’s voice took on an edge I had not heard before. “Listen to me carefully, Laura. Our future depends on your understanding and acceptance of what I am going to say. You know, by now, how much I love you and want you to be my wife. And you know that I will do everything in my power to make you happy…”

“…Then you certainly won’t spank me, because I would hate you for it…”

“Laura, I believe that in every relationship, there is a dominant partner and a submissive partner. I believe that for a marriage to succeed, the man must be the dominant partner. That he must assume responsibility for his partner. He must take her in hand and guide her to the place she will hold in their life together…”

“And you think that means he’s supposed to guide her face down over his knee?”

“It means that sometimes he will have to correct her behavior if she becomes confused about, or forgets, what is expected of her. When we marry, Laura, you will vow to ‘love, honor, and obey’ me ‘til death do us part. We will, of course, discuss all important issues, and usually find a compromise we both can live with happily…”

“What happens when we can’t find a compromise we both can live with?”

“If we can’t reach agreement on an issue, and I have to make a final decision that you don’t agree with, I expect you to respect my decision and follow my orders regarding it…”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a compromise to me. It sound like your way or no way…”

“Laura, rules exist for a reason. Generally, if we know what the rules are and observe them, they make it easier for us to succeed in our pursuit of happiness. Keep in mind, however, that rules are not set in stone. When there is good reason to change them, they can and will be changed…”

“Then you can change the rule about spanking right now, because I’m not going to put up with it…”

“After we’re married, until a rule is changed, I will expect you to obey it. If you make a habit of ignoring my wishes and disobeying the rules we make together, then I will take the corrective action I believe to be necessary. I will not let you bring discredit on me or disgrace on yourself, and hence, on me, by improper behavior any more than I will allow our children to do so…”

“…You would spank our children?”

“Of course, Laura. If you are subject to disciplinary spankings it would be idiotic not to apply the same rules to our children, should they require such correction.”

“What kind of a monster are you?”

“Darling, you are beginning to be silly. You know perfectly well that I am not a monster. Deep in your heart you know that a relationship can flourish only when there is total honesty between the partners, unlimited affection and respect for each other, and respect for the rules by which they live. Moreover, for a house to be a home, the man must be the head of the household. It is from this position, and only from this position, that he gains and uses the authority he needs to maintain a loving home for his wife and children.”

“So, if we get married, you intend to spank me whenever you think I deserve it?”

“Yes. I will warn you once when you are behaving poorly about something. The second time you repeat that particular behavior, I will spank you. I will deliver the punishment called for by hand, paddle, brush, switch, belt, or cane as I see fit until I’m convinced that you have learned your lesson and your behavior shows it.”

“I suppose you intend to keep me bare foot and pregnant, too?”

Victor responded with a chuckle that nearly caused me to explode, “Well, I certainly intend to keep you bare foot and bare ass a great deal of the time. However, I feel that it’s very harmful for a woman’s overall health to conceive more than once every two and a half to three years. I also feel that, generally speaking, a woman should not be expected to have more than two children. That should allow her to devote much more time and care to each of the children. Of course, in our case you’ll have the help of a suburb domestic staff to aid you in managing our home. This should leave you with the essential reserve of energy you need to meet your primary responsibility of providing me the loving companionship I, as your husband, have a right to expect.”

Suddenly, Victor rose to his feet, towering over me, and said, “I’m so glad that we’ve finally had this talk, Laura. It is obvious that you need to think carefully about what we’ve discussed. For make no mistake about it, my darling, if we marry, I will be, both in name and in fact, the head or master of the household and will exercise whatever authority I need to over you. Moreover, you will have, by the wedding vow you pledge, agreed to submit yourself to that authority. As much as I want and need you in my life, Laura, you must willingly submit to my authority in order for us to build our future together. Consult with anyone you feel can give your whatever advice you may require. I suggest you may wish to start with your parents. In any case, I will call you in three days time for your answer to one simple, yet complicated question: will you marry me?”

And with that he reached down, swept me up in his arms, kissed me passionately, put me back on the sofa, and left the room and the house before I could catch my breath.

All words and no pictures makes for a dull blog.

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Part Three

“Mother Should Have Told Me!”

I slept badly that night, tossing and turning fitfully, and waking several times, troubled by dreams that disturbed me. Images came and went of Victor punishing me with whips or canes while I was tied to a post or bench. But what disturbed me most of all were the images of being face down over his knee as he hand spanked me to tears, yet I did not hate him for it: I loved him more than ever! How could that be?

Unable to really sleep, I got up early the next morning and joined my family for breakfast for the first time in two weeks. It took them little time to realize that I was distracted and bothered by something. Charlotte piped up that I looked like I’d had a fight with Victor. That opened the flood gates and even Father threw a question or two at me. Mother put a stop to it by saying that she and I would have a talk after breakfast. In the meantime any problem between Victor and I was of no concern to anyone other than he and I.

She and I had that talk; not that it helped me much. After she heard me tearfully relate what Victor had told me the night before, she sat and thought about it for maybe fifteen minutes, a strange far away look in her eyes.

Then she sighed and said, “Laura, my darling daughter, you don’t realize how lucky you are. You have a difficult decision to make. But, you have a foundation of truth to make it on. Victor was absolutely honest with you, even though he knew it might cost him what he wants most: you. Very few men could, or would, be that honest with you. Although your decision is a difficult one to make, it is not complicated. It is, in fact, quite simple. Do you love him enough to live by his rules? That is all you need to decide. If the answer is no, then don’t marry him. If the answer is yes, then marry him and submit to his authority over you. Because if you agree to marry him, under the rules he has made clear to you, you will have to unconditionally surrender, in complete submission, to his authority over you. Think about it, Laura, and be certain that you can, will, and want to, live by your answer to Victor when he calls.”

I didn’t sleep any better that night than I had the night before. Again my dreams were filled with images that frightened me, when they didn’t sexually arouse me. And I could easily remember every image that did arouse me, more than I could recall clearly the ones that frightened or made me angry. One phrase kept repeating itself in my mind like a half-remembered melody:..”love, honor, and obey.”

The hours passed with agonizing slowness. As the time of decision came closer and closer, my mind swinging from uncertain no to equally uncertain yes, I was actually growing physically ill with the stress I found myself under. I had to make a decision. I had to. I had to.

Love, honor, obey…love, honor, obey…love… obey…obey…obey.

When Victor called me on my cell phone instead of my home number I was in my bedroom still, I thought, wrestling with the decision. Yet, when I heard his voice, all doubt vanished. I did not hesitate, or attempt to negotiate. I simply surrendered, willingly, lovingly, and completely.

“Yes, Victor. I love you. I need you. I want to be your wife. I will ‘love, honor, and obey” you for as long as we both shall live.”

We were married three weeks later in a lovely Church ceremony, followed by the reception I mentioned before.

Which is how, for the second time that day, I came to be standing in the Honeymoon Suite, staring at the largest bed I had ever seen up to that time. (Victor would tell me, several days later, in our cruise ship stateroom, which had a bed of equal size, that he had special beds installed wherever he might be sleeping.)

Victor had excused himself and gone into the bathroom as soon as we had come into the suite. Maybe to be sure that I wouldn’t lock myself away in it for an hour like I had earlier. Certainly, he didn’t spend an hour there. Still, when he came out, it was obvious that he had showered and freshly shaved. And he was wearing a handsome robe and slippers. He walked over to me, kissed me sweetly, and said, indicating the bathroom, “All yours now.”

This time I didn’t hide out for an hour. It took me only thirty minutes to prepare myself for whatever was to come. I, too, showered, and on my mother’s advice, removed my “go out” make up in favor of my lighter “go to bed” makeup, shaved everything I thought needed shaving again ( Underarms,legs and pubic area), brushed my hair, and perfumed everything I thought needed perfume. I put on a pair of white, silk bikini panties, a white, low cut, very transparent, very short night gown that ended about five inches above my knees, and a pair of white, five inch high open heel platform shoes. The entire outfit was a wedding present from Mother. Then, I checked to make sure that I had taken my birth control pill that morning. I had. So, I felt I was as ready as I could hope to be.

As soon as I came out I could see that Victor had been busy while I was in the bathroom. In the first place there was a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket near the bed that hadn’t been there before. Victor had obviously ordered it from room service. In the second place, he had set up special lights and several cameras, including two video cameras, all of which were focused on the general area of the bed.

Before I could ask him what the cameras were all about, he popped the cork on the champagne and poured us each a class. Raising his class, he offered a toast to our happiness. After a symbolic sip of the bubbly, we kissed , and then we kissed, and then we kissed until we finally took a break to drink more of the champagne. Then I found out what the cameras were for. I also found out that Victor didn’t intend to ignore the game I had played for a good many hours.

Victor reminded me that our professionally photographed wedding pictures would be forwarded to us in Hawaii. He then added, “Of course there are some important wedding pictures we wouldn’t want others to take for us or of us.”

“What do you mean, Victor?”

“I mean the ones I’m going to take in the next few hours…”

“You mean…of us…in the bed?”

“Yes. Of us in, on, and around the bed.”

“Of us…of us…having sex?”

“That’s right. Of us having sex. After we take care of the other matter…”

“Oh, Victor! You must be joking. Why, why, you’re talking about pornography! Suppose someone saw them? My god, I would be humiliated beyond words…And what do you mean ‘the other matter?’”

“There’s the matter of the game you played for hours this evening, stalling and delaying the moment when you would surrender to me…”

“Victor, I thought you understood. I was just terribly nervous, actually afraid, of having sex for the first time. I just needed some time to adjust, Darling. I’m alright now.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me for the time, Laura? I would have gladly granted it. Instead of telling me truthfully that you were having a problem, you decided to play a silly game of trying to avoid what you must have known you could not long delay. Darling, you must learn that when I want and need you physically, you must willingly come to me unless you are ill or injured. Whenever, wherever, and however, I want you, you must submit to me willingly and with all the love you can give me. Even more important than that is the need for truth between us. You must never lie or try to deceive me about anything. To help you remember these things, I am going to spank you now before we consummate our marriage…”

“No, Victor!”

“Yes, Laura.” He sat on the foot of the bed and held his hand out to me. “Take my hand and come here, Laura!”

I stared into his eyes and saw that as much as he loved me he was determined to prevail over me. Hours earlier, I had pledged to love, honor, and obey him. That vow pounded in my head now as I stood there, trembling, before my husband. I had known this time would come. I had known it since the decision I made to marry Victor. A decision I knew I would have to live with for the rest of my life, or, at least, the rest of his life. For until death do us part, I would be his wife, and would have to obey him.

I took Victor’s hand and he drew me close to him. “Are you ready now, Laura?”

“Yes, Darling. I am ready to obey.”

He guided me gently into position over his knee. He made sure that I was well braced and balanced across his lap. Then he raised my nightie to my waist, and lifting me enough to pull them down, he lowered my panties to below my knees. Feeling the cool air on my bare skin I gasped even as I saw the cables running from the control panel by his foot to the cameras he had set up around the room.

He was going to spank me. And he was going to photograph me being spanked. I wondered if he would photograph any spanking he had to give me in the future?

He started very slowly and gently, using his huge right hand to smack my bare bottom about every five or six seconds apart. He alternated his target between my left and right buttock, and rubbed the area struck with his palm. The third or fourth blow, flash bulbs went off as he triggered the pre-focused cameras to capture my reaction to the spanking. He gave me ten more spanks at the slow speed he had elected to use to warm me up.

“Laura, I’m going to spank you fifty times. I want you to count the spanks as I give them to you. If you fail to count one, I’ll start over from the beginning. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m to count aloud each of the fifty spanks you are going to give me. If I miss a spank, you’ll start over from the beginning.”

Knowing that I was warmed up, he increased the speed and the force of his blows. Still alternating his target, he began to smack me every second or two. But he still paused to rub my bare cheeks. I concentrated on keeping the count accurate.

SMACK (“One, Sir!) SMACK (“Two, Sir!) SMACK (“Three, Sir!”)

Without breaking the rhythm of the spanking he was giving me, he toggled different light stands on and off from the switch panel on the floor by the bed as he increased the speed and force of the spanking. I was beginning to feel the pain of it a lot. I had begun to kick and wiggle around in an effort to avoid the blows, losing my shoes and panties in the process.. That was stupid. Victor simply pinned my legs by putting his right leg over both of mine and began to blister my ass with greater intensity.

SMACK! (“Eighteen, Sir!”) SMACK! (“Nineteen, Sir!”)

I was sniffling when he began to aim for my sit spot. Several smacks later, I was bawling for real, but I didn’t lose the count.

SMACK! (“Twenty-six, Sir!) SMACK!! (“Owwww! Twenty-seven, Sir!) SMACK!! (“Yikes! Owwww! Twenty-eight, Sir!)

It was all I could do to shout out the count as he began to rain blows on my throbbing butt as fast, though (as I would learn in coming months) not as hard as he could. Oh god, it hurt. It burned and stung, and I was crying so hard by now that I was close to choking. And Victor was still stopping now and then to rub my cheeks. Each time he did, it sent fire raging through me like I was wired to a twelve volt battery. I couldn’t ignore how wet I was getting between my legs. And I couldn’t ignore the effect the spanking was having on Victor. I could feel his enormous erection pressing against my thigh.

I lost all control and heard myself begging him. “Oh, Darling, please, don’t spank me anymore! I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’ll tell you the truth from now on! Please, Darling, please, take me! I need you in me! I need you in me now!”

Victor stood me up, kissed me, and took my nightie off.. Then he put me on the bed, removed his robe, revealing that he wore nothing under it. The sight of his erection nearly gave me a heart attack, but I knew I wanted him to make me take it all.

I spread my legs willingly as he positioned himself between them. I don’t know if it was just the camera lights going off or what as stars seemed to surround me, but for the next eternity — I really don’t know how long — my only reality was the feel of him as he slowly penetrated me. I squealed when he broke my hymen, taking my cherry and making a woman of me. He gently but insistently make me take all of his huge cock inside me. He paused and let me adjust to his size, then he began to slide that rigid pole out and back into me, over and over, slowly; never pulling out of me completely before making me take its length all the way into me again. I moaned each time he made me take it, but begged for him to give it to me again and again, driving me to two orgasms.

He finally withdrew, but only to make me get on my hands and knees. Then he entered me from behind, whispering that he was going to “doggy fuck” me so that I could feel his cock even more. He was right. I screamed in pleasure as he fucked me harder and faster sending me into another orgasm. I knew that he was approaching his own climax, when he reached under me to take hold of my right arm and, bringing it across my body, turned me over on my right side, while pumping from behind me into my pussy harder and faster.

When he came, it was like a dam had broke, as he flooded my pussy with his cum. As he ejaculated into me, I squealed each time he shot more of his load into me and spasm into a final orgasm as he emptied completely into me. And I was terribly glad that I had remembered to take my birth control pill, because I knew that if I got careless about that, and Victor took me, he would knock me up.

I lay wrapped in his arms, exhausted, yet so wonderfully alive, that I couldn’t help but cry with joy. Victor whispered into my ear, “Are you alright, Darling? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

“No, Victor, you didn’t really hurt me at all. I’m not crying from pain, but from joy. You made me feel so wonderful, and so loved, that I can’t begin to describe it. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for spanking me. Thank you for taking me in hand and teaching me my place. Thank you, thank you for loving me!”

I turned in his arms and kissed him. We fell asleep for a while. Woke and made love again. Took a shower together, went back to bed, slept ‘til close to noon. Made love again before finally getting out of bed and getting ourselves ready to go get something to eat, besides each other.

As I was brushing my hair, a thought struck me. I wondered why my Mother had had that far away look on her face when she had told me that the decision I needed to make was difficult but simple. I wondered if she had known more about submitting to a man than she thought it necessary to explain to me at the time. Then I had to giggle because I thought she had elected to let me find out some things for myself. Still, I really think Mother should have told me that a girl could get to where she would look forward to at least some of the spankings her husband would give her. That is, any spanking he gave her, using only his hand, to warm her bottom to just the right temperature, before making passionate love to her.

Yes, definitely. Mother should have told me!

THE END

AND NOW MY COMMERCIAL MESSAGES:

Okay. Now that we have had our beauty fix for today, plus a bit of erotic spanking,  let me recommend a new service that I have joined as an affilitate.  Get all kinds of FREE adult only DVDs and Downloads that will satisfy your special desires.  Vist my affiliate web site, “HOT BOTTOMS UP!”

My site has something for everyone, courtesy of X ASSOCIATION.  If your interest in adult only entertainment is simply as a viewer, you will find tons of the best sexually explicit photos, videos, and stories on the site, all free to download or have delivered on DVDs.  But the really exciting thing is that if you have been looking for an outstanding, very profitable business you can manage from your home computer, XAssociation can provide it for you!  Get the full, FREE details, without obligation, at “HOT BOTTOMS UP!”
Did you know that the adult only entertainment industry attracts one out of every seven visitors to the Internet? It generates more than 100 Billion Dollars in revenue every year.  So you might want to get your share of this economic stimulus by simply giving away FREE DVDs and Downloads of high quality, sexually explicit, material to an audience of adult only folks who are eager to enjoy it.  Check out the FREE information at “HOT BOTTOMS UP!”

For those of you who may not need any of the products, programs, and services that I promote on this blog, but like the blog itself, and would like to help me keep it on line, you might consider donating a small amount ( $3.00 would be great!) every 12 months or so to my PayPal account.  I will treat it as a subscription and send you a email receipt for it, showing a twelve month time period.  For your convenience,I have included a donation button to my PayPal account just above my signature.

TOM SPANK(aka Thomas W. Amacker)

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Filed by tomamacker at October 14th, 2009 under domestic discipline, erotic spanking, fiction
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April 24, 2009

Some New Things For You

HELLO FRIENDS,

Just a short note to let you know about my new web site.  But before we get to that, lets start this edition out with a little beauty to enjoy.  CLICK HERE! Remember to use your PC back button to return to this blog.

Okay. Now that we have had our beauty fix for today, let me recommend a new service that I have joined as an affilitate.  Get all kinds of FREE adult only DVDs and Downloads that will satisfy your special desires.  Vist my affiliate web site, “HOT BOTTOMS UP!”

My site has something for everyone, courtesy of X ASSOCIATION.  If your interest in adult only entertainment is simply as a viewer, you will find tons of the best sexually explicit photos, videos, and stories on the site, all free to download or have delivered on DVDs.  If you have been looking for an outstanding, very profitable business you can manage from your home computer, XAssociation can provide it for you.  Get the full, FREE details, without obligation, at “HOT BOTTOMS UP!”

Did you know that the adult only entertainment industry attracts one out of every seven visitors to the Internet? It generates more than 100 Billion Dollars in revenue every year.  So you might want to get your share of this economic stimulus by simply giving away FREE DVDs and Downloads of high quality, sexually explicit, material to the audience of adults only who are eager to enjoy it.  Check out the FREE information at “HOT BOTTOMS UP!”

I should have another tale of love, lust, and spanking ready to upload in a day or two.  Its called “Once Upon A Midnight.”  Hope you will drop by to enjoy it.  (And don’t hesitate to leave your comments about it, pro or con.  Your feedback helps me to write better stories.)

And now lets end this brief blog entry by enjoying another beauty.  CLICK HERE!

TOM AMACKER

Filed by tomamacker at April 24th, 2009 under Uncategorized
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