I met Heather during my first week at Muller University. I first bumped into her on the stairwell of my dormitory, where her room was two floors above mine. I had been on my way downstairs, when I heard a terrified squeak from behind me, and something warm, soft, and heavy hit me in the back.
“Woah!” I shouted, grabbing the handrails to keep balanced, “watch it!”
Turning around, I saw a girl getting up off the ground. One of her shoes was untied; it looked like she had tripped on the laces. Did I mention she was klutzy?
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She said, picking herself up off the stairs. She looked sheepish and embarrassed.
“Its alright,” I said, chuckling a little, “are you okay there?”
“Yeah,” she said, “thanks.”
She was a short girl, maybe five foot three, and full bodied, just a pound or two shy of chubby. Her hair was short and glossy black, and her face was round and open.
“So much for making impressions,” she said as she got to her feet, “I thought I’d at least make it downstairs without almost killing someone.”
“Who me?” I said. “Oh, don’t worry. It takes way more than that to kill a badass like me.”
I puffed out my chest. She laughed. Hers was a deep, throaty laugh, one that you can tell is genuine. I liked making her laugh.
“What’s your name?” I asked, helping her up.
“Heather,” she said, “Heather DuCourcey.”
“Cool,” I said, “I’m Jake Ramone.”
As we continued down the stairs, she absentmindedly rubbed her bruised ass with one hand. It would have been hard not to be interested in it under the best of circumstances, but the rubbing made it near impossible. Heather was wide shouldered and wide hipped, with large, globe-shaped buttocks that rippled under her hand. I later learned that she, like most girls, was insecure about her body, and thought that big butts were always a sign of fatness. God do I hate women’s magazines.
We chatted until we got to the ground floor, at which point she went down to the basement laundry room and I left for my first class. We said hi again when we met in the lobby that evening, and discovered that we had Intro to Calculus together the next day. I had made my first new friend at school.
…
Intro to Calculus was taught by Professor Grodvikia, a middle aged Bulgarian woman with a short temper and a poor grasp of English. She stood in front of the whiteboard for an hour, saying things I could barely understand and getting frustrated when anyone asked a question. Being a math person, I was more or less able to follow by reading the book. Heather, who sat a few seats away from me, however, was not a math person. Just two weeks into the semester, I was already helping her with our homework. Not that I minded.
One Tuesday in mid October, I came to Calculus a minute or so late to discover that everyone else was present…except Professor Grodvikia. This was odd. She was usually the embodiment of punctuality, and got annoyed when students were even a few minutes late. I smiled a bit. Maybe she’d stop being so uptight about lateness after this.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and in walked a person who could hardly be less like Professor Grodvikia. A tall, olive-skinned (possibly Persian or Indian) woman, maybe twenty five years old, strode purposefully across the room. The shocking part was what she was wearing; she had a skintight, black leather top cut into a low V-collar at the front, held together at the sides by straps. On her lower body she wore matching black leather short shorts, polished so they sparkled, that looked almost too tight to move in. Finally, a pair of high heeled black boots adorned her petite ankles and feet.
“My name is Miss Flinn,” she said sternly, without a trace of emotion on her face, when she reached the professor’s desk, “I am a Teaching Assistant for Professor Grodvikia. Since the Professor was not able to make it today, I will be teaching this class in her place. You are to regard me as your instructor for this course for as long as I stand in.”
What the…? I hadn’t heard anything about a TA, and even if I had, there was no way in hell the school would let them show up to work dressed like that. I looked around at my classmates. All of them seemed to be in mute shock.
“Understood?”
Her hazel eyes flashed. “Understood,” everyone quickly echoed.
“Um…Miss Flinn?” Someone raised their hand.
“Yes?”
“Um…what’s with the dominatrix stuff?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What ‘dominatrix stuff‘ are you referring to?”
Her eyes bored into the kid dangerously. I was sitting across the room, but I could still tell I’d have trouble thinking straight under that piercing glare. He didn’t answer.
“Any other questions?”
She let her hands rest on her leather-clad hips. She had a slim figure, but an athletic one. Her face had soft features, but her expression and demeanor more than made up for it. Due to the deep V-shape of her black leather color, the inside cleft of her breasts was visible. They were a nice upper medium size, and pear shaped. I couldn’t decide whether this was titillating, or terrifying. Everyone else seemed shocked into silence.
“Excellent,” she said softly when more questions were asked, “now we can begin the class.”
She wrote some formulas on the board, and we began taking notes. She went quickly, and was only slightly more approachable than Professor Grodvikia, but at least her English was fluent. When her back was turned, I glanced over at Heather with a look of utter confusion on my face. She returned the expression.
I turned to the guy sitting next to me. “What the hell?” I whispered.
He shrugged. “Dunno, man,” he said, sounding strangely groggy, “weird shit’s gotta happen sometimes, I guess.”
I stared at him openmouthed for a second, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant. A moment later, I noticed something familiar about that slow tone of voice. I had twice been in that state myself.
I looked back at the lecturing Miss Flinn, wondering if I was truly losing my mind. Should I get up and leave right now? No, what if this is all just me hallucinating? I mean, this is public. Nothing sadomasochistic was going to happen here in a classroom full of students, was it? I grimaced. I sure hoped not. However mixed my feelings about the candy store and hitchhiking incidents were, I did NOT want something of that sort occurring in front of my classmates.
The class dragged on. I made a point of sitting quietly and doing exactly what she outlined on the board. Hopefully, this would all turn out to be paranoia. Or a daydream. Or both.
Half an hour into the class, she put down the marker and ruler she had been using for her diagrams and turned toward the class.
“So,” she said, “can anyone tell how to finish this equation?”
Dead silence. I had a fairly good understanding of how to do the problem, but I was not about to draw attention to myself.
“Hmmm,” she said disapprovingly, “it seems I must pick someone at random.
My heart sank as she started looking. I gritted my teeth, knowing what was about to happen…and was surprised when she never so much as glanced in my direction.
“Girl,” she addressed Heather, “what is your name?”
“Um…my name’s Heather,” she said nervously.
“Excuse me?”
Heather looked up at her, confused and somewhat intimidated.
“Heather,” she repeated.
Miss Flinn’s face darkened.
“Excuse me,” she said slowly, “but how did I say you were to address me?”
“Oh…Miss Flinn. Sorry.”
She paused for a moment. The TA kept glowering.
“I mean…sorry Miss Flinn.”
Miss Flinn’s eyebrows lifted only slightly.
“So,” she asked, “what is the final step in this equation, Heather?”
I wanted to blurt out the answer, but I knew I couldn’t risk that. I found myself wishing for a telepathic link between myself and Heather, so I could feed her the answer, but there was another part of me that was ghoulishly curious. What was going to happen? As I watched Heather stammer and look at her desk, trying her hardest to think, a selfish little creature inside of me wanted to see how this played out. It might have just been curiosity about whether this was connected to my earlier experiences, but in retrospect I think there was more than that.
“Heather, have you been paying attention to a single word I’ve spoken today?”
“Well…yeah…I just…don’t really understand it that well.”
Miss Flinn bit her lip, eyebrows narrowing again.
“Eek! I mean, I don’t understand it Miss Flinn.”
She said it, but it was too late.
“Girl, I am tired of your disrespect!”
Heather cowered in her seat.
“Come here.”
I had no doubts about what was going to happen now. Heather got up and walked bashfully toward the whiteboard. She was wearing blue jeans today, which made the contours of her big ass easy to see. I tried to stand up and do something, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. I felt myself growing hard in my pants. Goddamnit, was I just going to sit there and watch it happen?
Miss Flinn walked in front of the desk and pointed to it.
“Bend over.”
Heather’s eyes grew wide.
“What? Miss Flinn?”
“Bend over the desk, Heather,” she repeated, “you have repeatedly failed to address me properly, and there are consequences to be faced. Do it now.”
With a pleading look around the room for someone to help her (no one reacted), Heather moved very, very slowly toward the desk and lay across it. Her butt stretched under her jeans as she pointed her large backside into the air.
“I am going to spank you thirty times with this ruler,” said Miss Flinn, picking up the wooden ruler she had been using before, “after every stroke, you are to count up out loud. Failure to count a stroke will cause it to be repeated until you comply. When I am finished, you will stand up and thank me for disciplining you. And you will address me with respect.”
Heather cringed. She looked pleadingly back at the rest of the class, looking for someone to speak up and break this surreality. But everyone was paralyzed, in either mute shock or semi-consciousness.
“Yes, Miss Flinn,” she whispered weakly.
Miss Flinn stood to the right of Heather’s vulnerable backside. Lifting the ruler from the desk, she gently, surgically, pushed the wood against Heather’s jeans, positioning it right at the meatiest part of her ass. She stuck her other hand between Heather’s knees, forcing them apart.
She raised the ruler, and brought it whistling down exactly where she had been aiming.
“Ow!”
With a crack that made me wince, the ruler cut into Heather’s buttcheeks, making them bounce. I saw her legs tremble.
“I did not hear you counting!”
She swung it again, a little bit higher.
“Ow…one, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Ow, two, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
My cock was harder than it had been in months, and starting to get wet at the tip. I felt terrible for enjoying it, but my libido wasn’t listening. Each stroke sent vibrations across Heather’s lovely ass, as did her legs when she kicked in pain.
After ten strokes, Miss Flinn told Heather to get up.
“Take off your blue jeans,” she instructed, “the rest of this spanking is to be conducted in your panties.”
“In my…in my…Miss Flinn…?”
“Indeed,” said the TA, her icy demeanor broken by a smirk, “I want to see your bottom turn red as it is being punished. Take off the pants.”
Heather looked at the class in terror. Everyone in the room was still silent. Most of them almost looked half asleep (some of them were completely asleep).
“Hey,” I addressed the boy next to me again, “hey, shouldn’t we try to do something?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Why don‘t you do it?”
Heather unbuckled her jeans and bashfully pulled them down. When I saw her tiny, white thong and what it was trying unsuccessfully to cover, I almost drooled.
“Young Lady,” said Miss Flinn, “is that a thong?”
Heather’s face was burning bright red. She looked at the floor.
“Yes, Miss Flinn.”
Miss Flinn shook her head, another cruel smile on her harsh, Indian face.
“Such clothing is hardly appropriate for one your age,” said Miss Flinn.
It was all I could do to not burst out laughing. Look who was talking! I covered my mouth with one hand to suppress the chuckles. The other had, without my noticing, slid inside my pants.
“Tell me, would you wear such panties if you were in a skirt?”
“Um…maybe, Miss Flinn.”
“Maybe? And what if your skirt was lifted by the wind, or if you fell down?”
Heather did tend to fall down a lot. It was a valid concern. She didn’t answer.
“Very well,” said Miss Flinn, “the last ten strokes will be administered on the bare.”
Heather moaned and looked ready to tear up.
“Bend back over.”
Heather got back into position. The thong slid deeper between her cheeks as she bent over, covering even less of her butt than it did before. Her round, quivering cheeks were pinkish in the middle, with lines from the ruler visible.
Miss Flinn got back beside Heather, and swung the ruler again. Without the jeans in the way, I could see the wood bite into her flesh. Her ass cheeks clapped together as they bounced and jiggled.
Crack!
“Mmmmmhhh…ahhh…eleven, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Owww-twelve, Miss Flinn-oohh!”
Miss Flinn was like a machine, making each swing exactly like the one before it with perfect timing. As she disciplined Heather’s heaving flesh, new and brighter lines of red appeared across her helpless buns.
Crack!
“Thirteen, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Fourteen, Miss Flinn…eeeeh.”
Crack!
“Fifteen, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Owwwww!…Sixteen, Miss Flinn.”
Her voice got higher and more desperate with each stroke. She began bouncing on the balls of her feet in between spankings. When the ruler connected, she jumped an inch or so off the desk and kicked. Miss Flinn paid no heed. She was merciless.
When she got to twenty, Miss Flinn leaned forward and grabbed the waistband of Heather’s thong. Was it just me, or did the strap look kind of damp? Slowly, she worked the panties down over her butt and let it fall to her ankles with her jeans. Now totally naked from the waist down, Heather trembled in pain and humiliation. Her naked ass was just like I imagined it; full, wide, and chubby, but not at all sagging. The bright red lines across her rump crisscrossed each other, leaving darker intersections where they met. Below this, a tangle of black pubic hair was visible.
The switching resumed just as it had before. At twenty-three, Heather was sniffling. At twenty five, her entire butt was a mess of overlapping red marks, some almost as high as the waist, some just above the thighs, but most of them right on the sit spot, which was just a few shades away from purple. My hand was working frantically under my desk, more precum staining my underwear.
Crack!
“Ow! Ow! Twenty-six Miss Flinn-ow!”
As I looked, I saw something glisten between Heather’s thighs. She was definitely wet. Her short, dark pubic hair was practically dripping.
The last four strokes came without breaking pace. Miss Flinn showed no sign of tiring as she finished dominating Heather’s poor buttocks. Heather was sobbing. Her buns were covered with lines of pink, red, and dark crimson. Her legs continued to twitch a little. On the other hand, the entire insides of her thighs were now glistening wet.
She pushed herself up from the desk, and turned her tearstained face to Miss Flinn.
“Th-thank you, Miss Flinn.”
She reached down, wincing, and gingerly pulled her pants and panties back up. I smiled to myself. I knew exactly what that felt like! I was sorry to see her (clearly open and damp) vagina disappear back under her clothes, but I had seen enough. My hand kept kneading my dripping hard penis, mere moments from climax.
“Class is dismissed,” said Miss Flinn.
Immediately, everyone came back to life and filed out of the room. I quickly pulled my hand out of my crotch.
No one said anything beyond the usual chatter. It was as if no one else remembered what they had just seen. Well…almost no one. Heather was the first to run out the door, both hands itching to rub her butt, but waiting until she was out of sight.
As I stood up, facing a corner to hide my enraged boner, I looked back at the front of the classroom. There was no one there. Miss Flinn was gone.
…
I didn’t see Heather around the campus the next day. I considered knocking on her door, but decided that would just be too awkward. I felt horribly guilty. I ran into another girl from Calculus, and tried desperately to confirm what the hell had happened that day.
“Tuesday’s calc? We did more of chapter three, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I was talking more about the…uh…TA?”
She shrugged. “Weird. I thought yesterday was when Grodvikia screamed at us about cosine equations?”
“No, that was last Thursday.”
She thought for a moment. “Not sure. Those classes all kind of run together.”
I tried the same line of questioning with three other of my classmates. No one had any specific memories about Tuesday’s class. Even Professor Grodvikia, next time I got to talk to her, seemed to have an uncharacteristically fuzzy memory.
The next time I ran into Heather was two days later, when I met her on the way to our Thursday Calculus.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up?” She returned brightly.
She seemed perfectly normal as we made our way to class, except I noticed her getting nervous as we got close. We entered the room to see Professor Grodvikia standing, as boring as ever, by the whiteboard, writing out today’s assignment. As far as I could tell, nothing strange had ever happened.
But when Heather sat down, she winced.
Showing posts with label vessels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vessels. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Vessels: Cab Fare (Jake 2)
I had been spending the last few weeks saying goodbye to everyone from high school. My three best friends were all spending a year abroad, and none of my pals from the swimming team were going to the same college. The most awkward part was saying goodbye to my ex-girlfriend. We had been on again/off again since our “official” breakup four months ago, and the end of summer would begin a permanent “off.” She was the only girlfriend I’d had in high school; I’ve been told I’m good looking, but I get shy around girls. My friends give me shit about it all the time.
I was still working at the candy store. Since that very confusing (and painful) day when I went for a job there, I’d pulled in a pretty good income for the summer. About a month ago, I had began to wonder if the incident with the beautiful redhead and her spatula had actually happened at all. No one had heard of anyone matching her description. Some people asked me where I knew her from, and why I was so curious, at which I blushed and changed the subject. As it was, I had no evidence that I didn’t imagine it all; my ass had been sore for a couple of days, but after it healed I had nothing. Had I just imagined it being red and stingy? Was I going insane?
I still fantasized about it sometimes. Whether it had really happened or not, it awakened a whole new animal in me. I’d thought about spanking occasionally before. It was something I daydreamed about, once in a while; having a girl draped over my lap, round, juicy ass in the air. It’s a fairly common male fantasy. I had never given my ex more than a couple of playful whacks, but had sometimes been tempted to ask her about going further. The idea of being spanked myself, however, had not occurred to me until the candy shop incident, and now that it was there, it stuck. Since then, I’d thought about it almost daily, and usually felt the urge to masturbate when I did.
That night, I had been at the bowling alley with the few of my friends who were still in town. We bowled from nine to eleven, at which point the alley closed. We would have stayed out longer, but I had work the next morning. My house is only fifteen minutes from the bowling alley, so I had walked there. The sun had set by now, and the air was getting cool. It was summer, so the night wasn’t that cold, but I still wished I had brought a long sleeved shirt.
As I started walking home, the wind picked up. It was blowing from the north that evening, so the air was colder than usual. Man, it almost felt like autumn already!
I turned the corner toward my neighborhood, and was assailed by another blast of wind; I was walking right into it. It was a clear night, but the breeze was frigid. I couldn’t remember a summer night ever having been this cold around my town. I was still at least ten minutes from my house, and already my toes were getting numb. As I trudged onward, the wind picked up, pushing against me like an icy wall. Where the hell was this weather coming from? Ruefully, I looked down at my sandals, which left most of my feet exposed. I was wearing blue jeans rather than shorts, but they provided little protection from the wind. My arms were getting covered in goosebumps.
After a couple more minutes of this, I hadn’t gotten very far, and I was actually starting to shiver. I considered running the rest of the way, but that would mean pushing even harder against the wind. It had been perfectly normal weather before, but now, in just the last few minutes, it had turned into winter.
As I stood there, shivering, a car pulled up beside me. The front seat window rolled down, and I could feel the warmth of the car’s interior. A girl in her early twenties leaned her head out.
“Hey,” she said, “you need a ride?”
She had a round, pale face, full lips, and shiny black hair tied in a bun. She was wearing a pair of little round glasses over her hazel eyes. I could hear music playing from the car radio in the background.
“Are you going near Hove Road?” I asked.
She consulted the person in the driver’s seat before turning back to me. When she moved her arm aside, I saw that her green, striped shirt was extremely tight, and that her breasts were hugely visible underneath. There was a small, rectangular slit cut about eight inches below the collar, through which a peek at the undersides of those enormous spheres could be had. I wondered who in god’s name designed shirts like that.
She looked back at me. I quickly raised my eyes back to her glasses.
“Yep, we’ll be passing it. Want to hop in?”
“Sure,” I said, shielding my face from an especially strong gust of wind, “thanks a lot.”
I opened the side door and climbed gratefully in. It was warm inside the car, and the music was okay. The girl with the glasses and cut shirt sat in front. In the driver’s seat was a black girl, the same age or younger, with a forest of dreadlocks hanging behind her smooth, sculpted face, wearing a dark pink sweatshirt. Both of them wore jeans.
“So,” I said, once we were moving, “I’m guessing you’re not from around here?”
The white girl shook her head, a soft smile on her full lips. “Nah, we just pass through every once in a while. Y’know, pop in and out.”
“I gotcha. What are your names?”
The white girl giggled a little, turning further around so that her expansive chest (with its little window) was in view. I tried to keep my eyes level with hers.
“I’m Brianna,” she said, pronouncing it the English way (bri-ah-nah), “this is my girlfriend, Genie.”
Genie smiled at me in the rearview mirror, revealing the most perfect set of white teeth.
I smiled back. “I’m Jake,” I said.
A minute passed in silence. The two ladies sat in place. I felt like they were waiting for something.
“Gee,” I said, feeling a need to make conversation, “I dunno why its so freezing tonight.”
Genie giggled mischievously. Brianna glared at her.
“Is something funny?” I asked nervously.
“Nah, nothing really,” said Genie. Her voice was heavy, and had a twangy, African American accent. “We just like to keep it really warm in here.”
Brianna shook her head. “Don’t mind her,” she told me, “she doesn‘t know when to shut up.”
Genie knocked her right hand gently against Brianna’s face, upsetting her glasses. Brianna squealed a little and straightened them. As she wiped the lenses, her goliath breasts bounced up and down inside their restraints. I know this is getting redundant, but they really were awe-inspiring.
We drove on in silence for a few more minutes. I was just thinking of trying to start another conversation, when I looked out the window. We weren’t anywhere near where I lived. In fact, I had never been to this part of town before.
“Um, sorry,” I said, “I think you forgot to let me out. I don’t recognize any of this.”
Genie chuckled. “Stop complaining, babe.”
“What? What do you mean stop complaining? I need to get home, where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere,” said Brianna, her eyes twinkling with mirth, a huge grin spreading across her soft face, “we don’t really go anywhere. Like I said, we just pop in and out.”
Not making any sense of that statement, I said “pull over. Just let me out here.”
Brianna kept leering at me, turning a little further so that the cutout part of her shirt was in view.
“You know,” she said, “I think he’s right, Regina. This looks like a good place.”
“Yeah,” said Genie, bobbing her head (which shook her dreadlocks) and chuckling, “I was thinking that too.”
Genie pulled into an abandoned alleyway. I tried to open the door. It was locked.
“What the fuck-” I grunted, pulling at the handle. I was cut off in the middle of my sentence by a feminine hand that pushed me back against the seat. Brianna had taken her seat belt off, and was looming over me, one foot on the floor, the other knee resting on the front seat. She was gazing straight into me, her glasses seeming to amplify the force. She was smirking like a mean little kid.
“Don’t use that kind of language,” she said, “or we might have to punish you.”
“What are you-”
I tried to protest, but was distracted by a metallic click, accompanied by a cold sensation around my wrists. Genie had turned around, and somehow slipped handcuffs over my wrists. She leered at me, as if she wanted to rub it in that I had been outmaneuvered.
“Why don’t you be quiet, now?” Said Brianna, leaning in very close. “The more you say, the harder it will be for you.”
Her hand was still on my chest, pushing me against the backrest. I marveled at how her hand was so forceful and commanding, but still so soft and feminine. Like metal covered in silk. She pushed her face right into mine, using the other hand to support herself.
“Tell me,” she said, her lips scarcely two inches from mine, “do you want to get home tonight?”
“I…”
I know I meant to shout or threaten or something (I‘m normally good under fire), but at her touch, my brain stopped working. She wasn’t noticeably muscular; under normal circumstances, I could probably outfight her without breaking a sweat, but that didn’t matter. She licked her lips, her tongue nearly touching mine. Her scent was pouring into my nostrils. It had the same effect as the smell in the candy shop. Despite myself, I felt my manhood harden.
“Well,” she said, “while you’re deciding, we’ll get busy.”
The side door opened, and Genie (who must have gotten out of her seat while Brianna was pushing me back) seized my shoulders. Now that I saw her upright, I realized what a gorgeous specimen she was as well. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, with thin, black eyebrows curved over her wide, bright eyes. Her smile was all the more alluring for its sadism. I also couldn’t help but notice how wide and curvy her hips were.
I shook my head, trying to remind myself that I had been kidnapped, and had no idea what these crazy bitches were on about. What the hell was I thinking, checking them out while they handcuffed me? I tried to lift my bound hands in defense, but Brianna grabbed them. She wasn’t as strong as I was, but the two of them were working in concert, and my muscles weren‘t coordinating right. Genie, who was the more muscular, grabbed my chin and forced me to lean to the side. As I struggled and gnashed my teeth to get free of her hand, I felt a warm, soft body squeeze past me, rubbing against my head in a rush of perfume and heat. As they wrestled me down, Brianna was seating herself next to my head, pushing me down over her legs and scooting further under me. At the same time, another set of handcuffs clicked shut around my flailing ankles.
“Look,” I said, comprehension finally dawning, “if this-”
SMACK!
A strong hand slapped against my ass. Genie was standing in the car door behind me, giving me an “I told you so” look. I tried to pull free again, but another spank, harder than the first, put a stop to that.
“Okay, Genie,” said Brianna, who had now positioned herself directly under my hips, with me lying across her lap, “pull ‘em down!”
As Brianna used both her hands and all of her weight to keep me pressed against her lap, I felt Regina stick her hands beneath, fumbling with the zipper of my jeans. Her groping hands pushed against my dick. In a single, brutal motion, she had pulled my pants and underwear down to my ankles. The sudden rush of cold air from the open door bit my naked skin like ice, making me gasp when it reached my balls. My penis, which was still semi-erect, was struck by both the cold air and the warmth of Brianna’s thigh, producing a mix of sensations that made me moan out loud.
“Damn, Brianna,” I heard Genie laugh, “it almost sounds like he’s enjoying this. We need to teach him to take us seriously.”
“I completely agree,” said Brianna, jabbing an elbow into my back to keep me over her lap, “this young man is about to receive a sorely needed lesson in respect.”
Soft, ticklish fingernails ran across my sensitive buttocks. I gasped again.
SMACK!
“Enough squeaking! This is serious business!”
The hand that assaulted my ass that time was smaller and softer, but was swung with just as much force. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Brianna’s right hand sliding back over my butt. Standing just outside the car door, Genie was pulling out a camera, beautiful, white grin still on her face.
“No!” I managed to croak. “You can’t film this! I’m-”
SMACK!
“We decide what gets filmed and who sees it,” said Brianna, “not you.”
“I’m ready,” Genie said from behind me, “go for it.”
Brianna began to spank.
Her fingers were thin and supple, but Brianna had surprising strength in her arms; her hand was like a strap, cracking against my ass cheeks each time it hit. She didn’t swing as hard or fast as the redhead in the candy store had, but it still didn’t take long to start stinging. Every second, her hand would strike a random cheek; I never knew which one it would be. About two minutes in, she took her elbow off my back and grabbed my left buttock with her free hand. She then delivered ten hard swats to the lower inside part of each cheek, which made me howl out loud and dance across her lap, arms and legs pulling against the cuffs as the pain darted down toward my anus. Then she put her elbow back on my spine, and kept spanking like before, laying more fire over my now-stinging crack. Between each blow, I felt the cold wind leap back over my skin, which only accentuated the burn when she smacked again. All the while, her pendulous, round breasts were so close to my back I could feel their warmth…but they never touched. The worst part was the knowledge that Regina was filming it the whole time, to show to whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
“Okay, slow down girl,” Genie said after several more minutes, “its someone else’s turn.”
“I know,” said Brianna, stopping the spanking to gently run her fingernails over my ass cheeks again (making me jump a little), “you don’t have to be impatient.”
Both of Brianna’s forearms went onto my back. She leaned forward, making it so I had to put effort into breathing. Now that she was leaning over more, I thought I could feel just a soft trace of breast grazing my back.
Genie whistled as she set down the camera and stepped up to the car door.
“Here,” she climbed halfway in, so that she was literally standing over my naked ass and legs, “hold him tight.”
Genie swung her arm back, and connected hard with the underside of my butt cheeks.
POW!
Genie was way stronger than Brianna (or even the redhead), and the angle she was at meant her hand was colliding with the most sensitive part of my lower rear. The feeling went deeper, running down through my buttocks and into the base of my crotch.
POW!
She struck again, driving my body forward a centimeter or so over Brianna’s jeans.
I clenched my teeth to prepare for the next blow, but it didn’t come.
“Brianna,” I heard Genie twang, “I can’t keep going at this angle. You want to do the camerawork?”
Being reminded about the camera made my face blush as pink as my ass.
“Alright,” said Brianna. She straightened up. I missed the presence of her glorious breasts over my back.
“Jake,” said Brianna, resting a hand on the inside of my right buttock, fingertips nearly touching my asshole, “if you try anything while we‘re switching places, you will be the sorriest little boy in the history of the planet. Got that?”
She rubbed me a little bit, sending a tiny, tantalizing bit of stimulation through my crack.
“Yes, I got it.”
Brianna lifted my torso up and scooted out from under me. My dick throbbed in protest as the heat of her body disappeared. Leaving me lying on my belly on the car seat, she squeezed past me and out the door. Looking up, I saw a perfect, bubble-shaped butt jiggle under her tight jeans as she got out of the car. I was sorely tempted to touch it, but was too terrified of the consequences.
Genie handed the camera to Brianna, before getting into the car herself. Her perfume was stronger, smelling of citrus. She lifted my bound feet, and sat down on the seat under them, scooting over until her lap was under my crotch. My waist was elevated much higher than it had been on Brianna’s lap, and her legs felt much tighter in their jeans. I realized how thick and luscious those thighs must be, but also shivered in fear at how strong she was. Genie was an athletic, muscular girl, no two ways about it. The cold air kept pouring through the door and chilling my buns and thighs, making the skin tighten.
POW!
Regina’s hand was like a sledgehammer, pressing my left buttock hard against the bone.
POW!
Genie followed no pattern at all. She waited longer between smacks than Brianna had, but hers were also a lot harder. I could hear her hum to herself inquiringly between smacks, as if considering where the next one should go. I could tell she was enjoying her work. She gyrated her body ever so slightly with each stroke, putting her back into it. Just before each smack, her thighs shifted under my penis. The minute, incremental friction was causing a slow, powerful force to build. I realized that these girls could make me orgasm even if I didn’t want to.
Genie leaned far over, so that her breasts were mashed against my back. She whispered in my ear “you like that, don’t you bitch?”
I panted.
She grabbed my testicles, and tightened her fingers just enough for it to be felt.
“Don’t you?”
Feeling horribly exposed with my nutsack in this sadistic stranger’s hand (and in the view of the camera Brianna was now holding), I tried to shake my head, but was persuaded to stop when she started to squeeze.
"Don't you?" She repeated.
No was not an acceptable answer. Burning with humiliation and indignance, I slowly, reluctantly nodded my head yes.
“Ohhh, he likes it!” Crowed Genie, letting go of my scrotum.
“Let’s see how long he can say that for,” laughed Brianna.
“Yeah,” Genie agreed, rubbing her strong, warm hand against my roasted cheeks, “he’ll see what happens when we get ahold of a piece of ass this fine!”
Strangely, I felt just a little flattered. The raunchiness and vulgarity of the term she used made me feel sexy and masculine. Delivered in that saucy black accent, it was enough to make my flesh crawl with more than just the outdoors chill.
I felt something cold, hard, and smooth run across my rear. I looked over my shoulder, and my eyes widened in horror. Regina was holding a small, wooden paddle and sliding it back and forth over my bright, reddish pink flanks. The girl was grinning beatifically as she held me down. Outside of the car, Brianna refocused the camera, making sure she got it all on tape.
“N-no!” I shouted, struggling and kicking against the handcuffs with a renewed burst of energy, “please, don’t use that! I’ll do whatever you want! Just please, don’t-”
“Stop being such a baby!”
Genie grabbed one of my stinging buttocks and squeezed it with her fingernails. I yelped and shuddered. She quickly dug her left elbow hard into my back, and pressed down on my ass with the cold paddle.
“I was only going to give you fifteen,” Genie said, “but since you’re being like this, I’m gonna’ make it twenty.”
I tried, weakly, to get up, but she easily held me down. My willpower had turned to water. All I could do was shut my eyes and grit my teeth.
CRACK!!!
“Ahhh!”
The paddle went far beyond Genie’s hand, or even the spatula that the redhead had used. Rather than the sting that had been inflicted before, this was a deep, penetrating thud. A dull, pulsing sensation, mostly pain but part stimulation, welled up deep in my ass cheek, like a tangle of fireweed.
CRACK!!!
The other cheek was pounded as well. Each paddle lick was like a shock. Stars danced in front of my eyes.
CRACK!!!
“You still liking it, bitch?”
I was about to deny it, but I felt her fingers creeping over my balls again. Whimpering in dismay, I closed my eyes and did the only thing I was allowed to do. Of course, I'm not sure I can honestly say I didn't get something out of the paddling, but right then I just wanted to go home...I think.
“That’s impressive,” said Brianna as I nodded yes, “I’d say make it twenty-five, then.”
“Good idea,” said Genie.
She resumed. Every time it connected, I kicked my cuffed legs and shouted. By fifteen strokes, the tears were beginning. By twenty, I could no longer keep count. The last five blows were a blur, the liquid fire in my ass mixed with the pleasure and pain in my dick. All I heard was the sound of the paddle connecting with bare flesh.
“Check out the paint job!” Said Genie.
My ass was burning so hot, I could no longer feel the cold air from outside. I had no doubt that it was a much darker red than it had been after the candy store incident. Genie touched my right cheek tenderly, her finger tracing a line over my seared and bruising flesh.
“Mmmm,” I heard Brianna murmur, “don’t tell me twice.”
Her voice had developed a purr that made me more aware of my erection; it had gone down somewhat toward the end of the paddling, but was still a little hard.
Regina slid out from under me, standing in the door beside Brianna to admire her handiwork. As she turned around, I (looking over my shoulder, squinting through the tears) was able to make out the shape of the biggest, roundest, most perfect ghetto booty I had ever seen. The instant I laid eyes on Regina’s enormous, jiggling cheeks, my erection sprang right back.
“Jake,” ordered Brianna, “turn over on your back.”
Powerless to disobey, I rolled slowly over, grimacing as my stinging, throbbing ass made contact with the carseat. The cold seemed to have died down a bit, so my nut sack wasn’t freezing, but now my erection was in plain view. I had never felt so exposed.
“Mmmmm,” she licked her lips again.
Crawling forward into the car, Brianna climbed on top of my legs, her face moving over my erect penis. Slowly, she took off her glasses, and lowered her head until her mouth was just an inch from my tip. She pushed her weight against my waist, putting more pressure on my tortured butt. I winced.
Genie snorted and rolled her eyes.
“You’re such a whore, Brianna. Come get me when you’re done with business.”
Genie walked out of sight, allowing me to catch another, brief glimpse of that enormous, bulging bum.
For a torturous moment, Brianna studied my penis, smiling with carnivorous delight. There was an unbearable craving in my shaft, but she kept on teasing. Finally, she went down, and I felt her warm, wet lips close around the head of my cock.
She worked her mouth up and down my shaft, her tongue tickling it around the base of the head. As she worked, she swiveled her head, moving the tickling sensations all the way around. My breathing was picking up.
I tried to say something at one point, but she glared at me menacingly, and I lay still. She opened her mouth and lifted her head. Immediately, her saliva turned icy cold as my penis was exposed, making me grit my teeth. She looked annoyed at having her attention pulled away from my dick, as if she didn’t realize that I was attached to it.
“Jake,” she said, “if you let out so much as a moan before I’m finished, you’re going right back across my lap.”
I nodded hard, desperate to make sure she knew I understood. After a few moments, she put her mouth back around it and continued to suck. She used her tongue like a living creature on its own, her lips pressing in against all the right spots as the heat of her mouth encouraged my blood to flow faster in that area. I wanted more than anything to move, or gasp, but I could not let myself do that. It was torture, but I managed to hold still and keep my mouth clenched shut. Finally, the ball of sensation in my hips exploded, spilling a wave of pleasure up through my penis and into her mouth. I clenched my mouth shut, strangling my cry of release and crunching it into a quiet hiss. Brianna murmured, contentedly, as she tasted my semen. Drawing back her tongue, she sucked harder, licking up every last drop. She swallowed it before straightening up, wiping her lips with her hand. I realized, incredulously, that I had just been raped.
“Good,” she said hoarsely, putting her glasses back on and pulling a bottle of water from under the seat, “looks like you’ve learned the way things work in this car.”
As she gulped down some water, Genie walked back into view.
“Hey, BJ Queen,” she said, “I want to try something.”
She looked smug, as if she had won a contest. I took a break from wiping my dick with my cuffed hands to watch her face.
“I read somewhere,” she went on, “that spankings hurt guys more right after they cum. I’ve got to test this out.”
She raised her hand, which held a straight, wooden switch. She must have cut it from a nearby tree while Brianna was going down on me.
“No!” I shouted, pulling back away from the door. “No way, not any more!”
I raised my handcuffed hands to protect myself as well as I could.
“Well,” said Brianna, “I guess maybe you could try it.”
My heart sank into my gut.
“…but only,” she said, touching the switch and looking over at me, “if I get a turn after you.”
It sank further.
“Kiddo,” said Brianna gleefully, “come outside, or you’ll have to hop home in handcuffs, without your pants and undies.”
Feeling like I was in a nightmare, I stepped outside of the car. We were in a dark, poorly-maintained alley. I didn’t recognize it, and was not sure how long it would take me to find my way home.
Erection gone, face still blotchy and damp, I crawled gingerly out of the car. As I stepped outside, wincing with every movement of my gluts, I noticed that it had gotten much warmer. It was just a normal, summer night. Brianna and Genie stood on either side of me.
“Awww,” said Brianna, “his cock isn’t pretty anymore.”
Regina laughed. “We’ll know if what I read is right, then; if he likes it, we’ll notice. If he doesn‘t…he’ll scream.”
Genie put her left foot on the bumper, making the top of her thigh flat. She stood there, knee up, switch in hand.
“Over my knee.”
I walked awkwardly forward, pants around my handcuffed ankles, until I was standing just before her leg. If anyone happened to look down the alleyway, they would see me, naked from the waist down, butt the color of ripe strawberries.
I bent over, leaning across Genie’s knee. As my head passed near her crotch, I smelled female scent. The knowledge that Regina was turned on by all this made me feel better about it. Crushing my (mostly flaccid) penis against her jeans for the second time, I felt a little extra blood pour back into that part of me.
WHAP!
The switch whistled through the air before cutting into my swollen flesh like a knife. This was a whole new kind of pain; all the force of the paddle concentrated into a thin, brutal line across both cheeks. The pain shot into my prostate, where it bloomed in the wake of my orgasm.
WHAP!
I’m glad they were expecting me to shout this time, because I did. I heard my voice echo across the alley. I was amazed and grateful that no one seemed to hear, but was still afraid that someone would.
WHAP!
“AAAAAHHHH!!!”
WHAP!
“GGHHHA!!”
WHAP!
I was almost hyperventilating after the fifth stroke. When Genie pushed me back up, my handcuffed hands immediately darted to my butt. I could feel raised, welted lines crisscross across my swollen cheeks from the switch. Stars were dancing in front of my eyes. I bounced on my heels, hissing and gasping.
Genie looked at me from the front and the back.
“He was yelping like a dog,” she said, “but I don’t think it really hurt him that much.”
I looked down. My erection was back. I silently cursed at my dick for getting me into more trouble.
“Maybe,” said Brianna, “or maybe he likes the pain.”
Genie laughed. “He likes pain? What a pervert.”
Brianna walked over to where Genie had been. Her green, cut shirt was incredibly tight on her figure. Combined with the streetlights shining off her glasses and the strict sensuality of her raised hair, I wanted nothing more, even in my anguished state, than to tear her shirt off and squeeze those enormous, grapefruit-sized orbs in my hands, to rip her jeans apart and impale her on myself until I passed out. I realized a second later that she was still holding the camera.
“Either way,” she said, “he’s my bitch now. Bend over the hood, bitch!”
Tearing my eyes away from Brianna, I turned and bent over, lying across the warm hood of the car. My ass burned harder as I stretched it, but the warmth of the engine brought some relief to my tired penis.
Brianna’s high heels clicked against the pavement as she stepped closer. I heard the switch whistle through the air, and
WHAP!
Brianna wasn’t as strong as Genie, but at this point that was little relief. I writhed and thrashed against the car, squealing and sobbing, all pride forgotten.
“Hold still!” Brianna ordered, grabbing the small of my back to hold my bottom in position. “If I miss because you’re squirming around, I‘ll make you touch your toes!”
I held as still as my short-circuiting nerves would let me.
Four more times, the switch slashed at my tender, mistreated butt, before Brianna stopped. Blinded by pain, an aching, crushing sensation having replaced the afterglow of the blowjob, I tried to straighten up. This was cut short by another crack of the switch, which caught me so badly by surprise that I screamed like a girl.
“Aren’t you done?” I heard Genie ask.
“You got to use the paddle,” Brianna explained, “I’m doing ten with the switch to make up for it.”
“Huh. If you say so.”
The switch came back down every ten to fifteen seconds. In between strokes, she rubbed and kneaded my ass with her other hand, as if trying to soften it for the switch. This was much slower than the rest of the spankings had been, but I was still barely finished recovering before it struck each time. When the tenth finally landed, Brianna pulled me back to my feet.
“Well what did you expect?" She asked, "no one rides for free.”
I tried to say something, but my lungs wouldn’t obey me. My face was covered with tears, and I was still sniffling. The world was in a reddish, spinning haze. Oblivious to my state, Brianna grabbed my pants and underwear and pulled them back into place, cherishing my yelp when they squeezed my buttocks.
And then, she kissed me. It wasn't a deep kiss, just a fast-but sensuous-peck on the lips. It was over before I could even react to it. I started to say something through my sniffling, but she was already getting back into the front seat.
"We'll take you home now. For reals."
I spent the ride home in silence. I lay, fully clothed but still handcuffed, on my stomach in the back, clutching my thoroughly punished rear in both hands. Genie and Brianna chatted idly as they drove, occasionally looking at me over their shoulders or smirking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Here we go,” Genie said after a few minutes, pushing a stray dreadlock out of her face as she stopped the car, “you’re a free man, baby.”
Brianna reached back and unlocked both pairs of handcuffs. She noticed me staring down her chest; she smiled reassuringly. The proximity of her lips-which had not long ago brought me to orgasm-sent weird sensations down my spine, where they mixed with the pain signals coming from the other direction.
I fumbled the door open, and lurched out onto the street, both hands on my ass. My wrists and ankles had red circles from the handcuffs. I was right in front of my house.
“Nice meeting you, toots,” said Brianna through the window, “keep it real.”
The engine roared, and my rapists sped away into the night. Giddy, I grabbed the doorknob and walked inside, wondering what I would tell my parents about why I had been out so late.
When I entered the living room, the first thing I did was look at the clock…which said it was eleven twenty-five. Exactly the time I had said I’d be home.
Hang on. I left the bowling alley just after eleven. I walked through the cold (which was now completely gone) for at least five minutes. It was probably another ten minutes in the car when the girls drove me to my fate, and god knows how long for me to get spanked, paddled, sucked, and switched. The ride back had felt like fifteen minutes or so.
So how the hell could it only be eleven twenty-five?
I checked every clock in the house, and asked my father (who was in the kitchen) how long it had been. They all gave me the same answer. As far as time was concerned, tonight’s misadventures could never have happened.
I went into the bathroom, and looked at my butt in the mirror. Every inch of it was a dark red, like undercooked ham, with lines of swelling crisscrossing it from the switch. I gently touched it, and felt the appropriate burn.
My parents and friends were concerned and curious about why I was sitting so uncomfortably for the rest of the week, and I had to think fast to deflect the attention. It was healed by the time I got on the plane for college four days later, but the memory sent a psychosomatic sting through certain parts of me. As I looked out the window, my freshman year about to begin, I thought about the three women who had spanked me and mysteriously vanished that summer. I wondered if that was the end.
I was still working at the candy store. Since that very confusing (and painful) day when I went for a job there, I’d pulled in a pretty good income for the summer. About a month ago, I had began to wonder if the incident with the beautiful redhead and her spatula had actually happened at all. No one had heard of anyone matching her description. Some people asked me where I knew her from, and why I was so curious, at which I blushed and changed the subject. As it was, I had no evidence that I didn’t imagine it all; my ass had been sore for a couple of days, but after it healed I had nothing. Had I just imagined it being red and stingy? Was I going insane?
I still fantasized about it sometimes. Whether it had really happened or not, it awakened a whole new animal in me. I’d thought about spanking occasionally before. It was something I daydreamed about, once in a while; having a girl draped over my lap, round, juicy ass in the air. It’s a fairly common male fantasy. I had never given my ex more than a couple of playful whacks, but had sometimes been tempted to ask her about going further. The idea of being spanked myself, however, had not occurred to me until the candy shop incident, and now that it was there, it stuck. Since then, I’d thought about it almost daily, and usually felt the urge to masturbate when I did.
That night, I had been at the bowling alley with the few of my friends who were still in town. We bowled from nine to eleven, at which point the alley closed. We would have stayed out longer, but I had work the next morning. My house is only fifteen minutes from the bowling alley, so I had walked there. The sun had set by now, and the air was getting cool. It was summer, so the night wasn’t that cold, but I still wished I had brought a long sleeved shirt.
As I started walking home, the wind picked up. It was blowing from the north that evening, so the air was colder than usual. Man, it almost felt like autumn already!
I turned the corner toward my neighborhood, and was assailed by another blast of wind; I was walking right into it. It was a clear night, but the breeze was frigid. I couldn’t remember a summer night ever having been this cold around my town. I was still at least ten minutes from my house, and already my toes were getting numb. As I trudged onward, the wind picked up, pushing against me like an icy wall. Where the hell was this weather coming from? Ruefully, I looked down at my sandals, which left most of my feet exposed. I was wearing blue jeans rather than shorts, but they provided little protection from the wind. My arms were getting covered in goosebumps.
After a couple more minutes of this, I hadn’t gotten very far, and I was actually starting to shiver. I considered running the rest of the way, but that would mean pushing even harder against the wind. It had been perfectly normal weather before, but now, in just the last few minutes, it had turned into winter.
As I stood there, shivering, a car pulled up beside me. The front seat window rolled down, and I could feel the warmth of the car’s interior. A girl in her early twenties leaned her head out.
“Hey,” she said, “you need a ride?”
She had a round, pale face, full lips, and shiny black hair tied in a bun. She was wearing a pair of little round glasses over her hazel eyes. I could hear music playing from the car radio in the background.
“Are you going near Hove Road?” I asked.
She consulted the person in the driver’s seat before turning back to me. When she moved her arm aside, I saw that her green, striped shirt was extremely tight, and that her breasts were hugely visible underneath. There was a small, rectangular slit cut about eight inches below the collar, through which a peek at the undersides of those enormous spheres could be had. I wondered who in god’s name designed shirts like that.
She looked back at me. I quickly raised my eyes back to her glasses.
“Yep, we’ll be passing it. Want to hop in?”
“Sure,” I said, shielding my face from an especially strong gust of wind, “thanks a lot.”
I opened the side door and climbed gratefully in. It was warm inside the car, and the music was okay. The girl with the glasses and cut shirt sat in front. In the driver’s seat was a black girl, the same age or younger, with a forest of dreadlocks hanging behind her smooth, sculpted face, wearing a dark pink sweatshirt. Both of them wore jeans.
“So,” I said, once we were moving, “I’m guessing you’re not from around here?”
The white girl shook her head, a soft smile on her full lips. “Nah, we just pass through every once in a while. Y’know, pop in and out.”
“I gotcha. What are your names?”
The white girl giggled a little, turning further around so that her expansive chest (with its little window) was in view. I tried to keep my eyes level with hers.
“I’m Brianna,” she said, pronouncing it the English way (bri-ah-nah), “this is my girlfriend, Genie.”
Genie smiled at me in the rearview mirror, revealing the most perfect set of white teeth.
I smiled back. “I’m Jake,” I said.
A minute passed in silence. The two ladies sat in place. I felt like they were waiting for something.
“Gee,” I said, feeling a need to make conversation, “I dunno why its so freezing tonight.”
Genie giggled mischievously. Brianna glared at her.
“Is something funny?” I asked nervously.
“Nah, nothing really,” said Genie. Her voice was heavy, and had a twangy, African American accent. “We just like to keep it really warm in here.”
Brianna shook her head. “Don’t mind her,” she told me, “she doesn‘t know when to shut up.”
Genie knocked her right hand gently against Brianna’s face, upsetting her glasses. Brianna squealed a little and straightened them. As she wiped the lenses, her goliath breasts bounced up and down inside their restraints. I know this is getting redundant, but they really were awe-inspiring.
We drove on in silence for a few more minutes. I was just thinking of trying to start another conversation, when I looked out the window. We weren’t anywhere near where I lived. In fact, I had never been to this part of town before.
“Um, sorry,” I said, “I think you forgot to let me out. I don’t recognize any of this.”
Genie chuckled. “Stop complaining, babe.”
“What? What do you mean stop complaining? I need to get home, where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere,” said Brianna, her eyes twinkling with mirth, a huge grin spreading across her soft face, “we don’t really go anywhere. Like I said, we just pop in and out.”
Not making any sense of that statement, I said “pull over. Just let me out here.”
Brianna kept leering at me, turning a little further so that the cutout part of her shirt was in view.
“You know,” she said, “I think he’s right, Regina. This looks like a good place.”
“Yeah,” said Genie, bobbing her head (which shook her dreadlocks) and chuckling, “I was thinking that too.”
Genie pulled into an abandoned alleyway. I tried to open the door. It was locked.
“What the fuck-” I grunted, pulling at the handle. I was cut off in the middle of my sentence by a feminine hand that pushed me back against the seat. Brianna had taken her seat belt off, and was looming over me, one foot on the floor, the other knee resting on the front seat. She was gazing straight into me, her glasses seeming to amplify the force. She was smirking like a mean little kid.
“Don’t use that kind of language,” she said, “or we might have to punish you.”
“What are you-”
I tried to protest, but was distracted by a metallic click, accompanied by a cold sensation around my wrists. Genie had turned around, and somehow slipped handcuffs over my wrists. She leered at me, as if she wanted to rub it in that I had been outmaneuvered.
“Why don’t you be quiet, now?” Said Brianna, leaning in very close. “The more you say, the harder it will be for you.”
Her hand was still on my chest, pushing me against the backrest. I marveled at how her hand was so forceful and commanding, but still so soft and feminine. Like metal covered in silk. She pushed her face right into mine, using the other hand to support herself.
“Tell me,” she said, her lips scarcely two inches from mine, “do you want to get home tonight?”
“I…”
I know I meant to shout or threaten or something (I‘m normally good under fire), but at her touch, my brain stopped working. She wasn’t noticeably muscular; under normal circumstances, I could probably outfight her without breaking a sweat, but that didn’t matter. She licked her lips, her tongue nearly touching mine. Her scent was pouring into my nostrils. It had the same effect as the smell in the candy shop. Despite myself, I felt my manhood harden.
“Well,” she said, “while you’re deciding, we’ll get busy.”
The side door opened, and Genie (who must have gotten out of her seat while Brianna was pushing me back) seized my shoulders. Now that I saw her upright, I realized what a gorgeous specimen she was as well. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, with thin, black eyebrows curved over her wide, bright eyes. Her smile was all the more alluring for its sadism. I also couldn’t help but notice how wide and curvy her hips were.
I shook my head, trying to remind myself that I had been kidnapped, and had no idea what these crazy bitches were on about. What the hell was I thinking, checking them out while they handcuffed me? I tried to lift my bound hands in defense, but Brianna grabbed them. She wasn’t as strong as I was, but the two of them were working in concert, and my muscles weren‘t coordinating right. Genie, who was the more muscular, grabbed my chin and forced me to lean to the side. As I struggled and gnashed my teeth to get free of her hand, I felt a warm, soft body squeeze past me, rubbing against my head in a rush of perfume and heat. As they wrestled me down, Brianna was seating herself next to my head, pushing me down over her legs and scooting further under me. At the same time, another set of handcuffs clicked shut around my flailing ankles.
“Look,” I said, comprehension finally dawning, “if this-”
SMACK!
A strong hand slapped against my ass. Genie was standing in the car door behind me, giving me an “I told you so” look. I tried to pull free again, but another spank, harder than the first, put a stop to that.
“Okay, Genie,” said Brianna, who had now positioned herself directly under my hips, with me lying across her lap, “pull ‘em down!”
As Brianna used both her hands and all of her weight to keep me pressed against her lap, I felt Regina stick her hands beneath, fumbling with the zipper of my jeans. Her groping hands pushed against my dick. In a single, brutal motion, she had pulled my pants and underwear down to my ankles. The sudden rush of cold air from the open door bit my naked skin like ice, making me gasp when it reached my balls. My penis, which was still semi-erect, was struck by both the cold air and the warmth of Brianna’s thigh, producing a mix of sensations that made me moan out loud.
“Damn, Brianna,” I heard Genie laugh, “it almost sounds like he’s enjoying this. We need to teach him to take us seriously.”
“I completely agree,” said Brianna, jabbing an elbow into my back to keep me over her lap, “this young man is about to receive a sorely needed lesson in respect.”
Soft, ticklish fingernails ran across my sensitive buttocks. I gasped again.
SMACK!
“Enough squeaking! This is serious business!”
The hand that assaulted my ass that time was smaller and softer, but was swung with just as much force. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Brianna’s right hand sliding back over my butt. Standing just outside the car door, Genie was pulling out a camera, beautiful, white grin still on her face.
“No!” I managed to croak. “You can’t film this! I’m-”
SMACK!
“We decide what gets filmed and who sees it,” said Brianna, “not you.”
“I’m ready,” Genie said from behind me, “go for it.”
Brianna began to spank.
Her fingers were thin and supple, but Brianna had surprising strength in her arms; her hand was like a strap, cracking against my ass cheeks each time it hit. She didn’t swing as hard or fast as the redhead in the candy store had, but it still didn’t take long to start stinging. Every second, her hand would strike a random cheek; I never knew which one it would be. About two minutes in, she took her elbow off my back and grabbed my left buttock with her free hand. She then delivered ten hard swats to the lower inside part of each cheek, which made me howl out loud and dance across her lap, arms and legs pulling against the cuffs as the pain darted down toward my anus. Then she put her elbow back on my spine, and kept spanking like before, laying more fire over my now-stinging crack. Between each blow, I felt the cold wind leap back over my skin, which only accentuated the burn when she smacked again. All the while, her pendulous, round breasts were so close to my back I could feel their warmth…but they never touched. The worst part was the knowledge that Regina was filming it the whole time, to show to whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
“Okay, slow down girl,” Genie said after several more minutes, “its someone else’s turn.”
“I know,” said Brianna, stopping the spanking to gently run her fingernails over my ass cheeks again (making me jump a little), “you don’t have to be impatient.”
Both of Brianna’s forearms went onto my back. She leaned forward, making it so I had to put effort into breathing. Now that she was leaning over more, I thought I could feel just a soft trace of breast grazing my back.
Genie whistled as she set down the camera and stepped up to the car door.
“Here,” she climbed halfway in, so that she was literally standing over my naked ass and legs, “hold him tight.”
Genie swung her arm back, and connected hard with the underside of my butt cheeks.
POW!
Genie was way stronger than Brianna (or even the redhead), and the angle she was at meant her hand was colliding with the most sensitive part of my lower rear. The feeling went deeper, running down through my buttocks and into the base of my crotch.
POW!
She struck again, driving my body forward a centimeter or so over Brianna’s jeans.
I clenched my teeth to prepare for the next blow, but it didn’t come.
“Brianna,” I heard Genie twang, “I can’t keep going at this angle. You want to do the camerawork?”
Being reminded about the camera made my face blush as pink as my ass.
“Alright,” said Brianna. She straightened up. I missed the presence of her glorious breasts over my back.
“Jake,” said Brianna, resting a hand on the inside of my right buttock, fingertips nearly touching my asshole, “if you try anything while we‘re switching places, you will be the sorriest little boy in the history of the planet. Got that?”
She rubbed me a little bit, sending a tiny, tantalizing bit of stimulation through my crack.
“Yes, I got it.”
Brianna lifted my torso up and scooted out from under me. My dick throbbed in protest as the heat of her body disappeared. Leaving me lying on my belly on the car seat, she squeezed past me and out the door. Looking up, I saw a perfect, bubble-shaped butt jiggle under her tight jeans as she got out of the car. I was sorely tempted to touch it, but was too terrified of the consequences.
Genie handed the camera to Brianna, before getting into the car herself. Her perfume was stronger, smelling of citrus. She lifted my bound feet, and sat down on the seat under them, scooting over until her lap was under my crotch. My waist was elevated much higher than it had been on Brianna’s lap, and her legs felt much tighter in their jeans. I realized how thick and luscious those thighs must be, but also shivered in fear at how strong she was. Genie was an athletic, muscular girl, no two ways about it. The cold air kept pouring through the door and chilling my buns and thighs, making the skin tighten.
POW!
Regina’s hand was like a sledgehammer, pressing my left buttock hard against the bone.
POW!
Genie followed no pattern at all. She waited longer between smacks than Brianna had, but hers were also a lot harder. I could hear her hum to herself inquiringly between smacks, as if considering where the next one should go. I could tell she was enjoying her work. She gyrated her body ever so slightly with each stroke, putting her back into it. Just before each smack, her thighs shifted under my penis. The minute, incremental friction was causing a slow, powerful force to build. I realized that these girls could make me orgasm even if I didn’t want to.
Genie leaned far over, so that her breasts were mashed against my back. She whispered in my ear “you like that, don’t you bitch?”
I panted.
She grabbed my testicles, and tightened her fingers just enough for it to be felt.
“Don’t you?”
Feeling horribly exposed with my nutsack in this sadistic stranger’s hand (and in the view of the camera Brianna was now holding), I tried to shake my head, but was persuaded to stop when she started to squeeze.
"Don't you?" She repeated.
No was not an acceptable answer. Burning with humiliation and indignance, I slowly, reluctantly nodded my head yes.
“Ohhh, he likes it!” Crowed Genie, letting go of my scrotum.
“Let’s see how long he can say that for,” laughed Brianna.
“Yeah,” Genie agreed, rubbing her strong, warm hand against my roasted cheeks, “he’ll see what happens when we get ahold of a piece of ass this fine!”
Strangely, I felt just a little flattered. The raunchiness and vulgarity of the term she used made me feel sexy and masculine. Delivered in that saucy black accent, it was enough to make my flesh crawl with more than just the outdoors chill.
I felt something cold, hard, and smooth run across my rear. I looked over my shoulder, and my eyes widened in horror. Regina was holding a small, wooden paddle and sliding it back and forth over my bright, reddish pink flanks. The girl was grinning beatifically as she held me down. Outside of the car, Brianna refocused the camera, making sure she got it all on tape.
“N-no!” I shouted, struggling and kicking against the handcuffs with a renewed burst of energy, “please, don’t use that! I’ll do whatever you want! Just please, don’t-”
“Stop being such a baby!”
Genie grabbed one of my stinging buttocks and squeezed it with her fingernails. I yelped and shuddered. She quickly dug her left elbow hard into my back, and pressed down on my ass with the cold paddle.
“I was only going to give you fifteen,” Genie said, “but since you’re being like this, I’m gonna’ make it twenty.”
I tried, weakly, to get up, but she easily held me down. My willpower had turned to water. All I could do was shut my eyes and grit my teeth.
CRACK!!!
“Ahhh!”
The paddle went far beyond Genie’s hand, or even the spatula that the redhead had used. Rather than the sting that had been inflicted before, this was a deep, penetrating thud. A dull, pulsing sensation, mostly pain but part stimulation, welled up deep in my ass cheek, like a tangle of fireweed.
CRACK!!!
The other cheek was pounded as well. Each paddle lick was like a shock. Stars danced in front of my eyes.
CRACK!!!
“You still liking it, bitch?”
I was about to deny it, but I felt her fingers creeping over my balls again. Whimpering in dismay, I closed my eyes and did the only thing I was allowed to do. Of course, I'm not sure I can honestly say I didn't get something out of the paddling, but right then I just wanted to go home...I think.
“That’s impressive,” said Brianna as I nodded yes, “I’d say make it twenty-five, then.”
“Good idea,” said Genie.
She resumed. Every time it connected, I kicked my cuffed legs and shouted. By fifteen strokes, the tears were beginning. By twenty, I could no longer keep count. The last five blows were a blur, the liquid fire in my ass mixed with the pleasure and pain in my dick. All I heard was the sound of the paddle connecting with bare flesh.
“Check out the paint job!” Said Genie.
My ass was burning so hot, I could no longer feel the cold air from outside. I had no doubt that it was a much darker red than it had been after the candy store incident. Genie touched my right cheek tenderly, her finger tracing a line over my seared and bruising flesh.
“Mmmm,” I heard Brianna murmur, “don’t tell me twice.”
Her voice had developed a purr that made me more aware of my erection; it had gone down somewhat toward the end of the paddling, but was still a little hard.
Regina slid out from under me, standing in the door beside Brianna to admire her handiwork. As she turned around, I (looking over my shoulder, squinting through the tears) was able to make out the shape of the biggest, roundest, most perfect ghetto booty I had ever seen. The instant I laid eyes on Regina’s enormous, jiggling cheeks, my erection sprang right back.
“Jake,” ordered Brianna, “turn over on your back.”
Powerless to disobey, I rolled slowly over, grimacing as my stinging, throbbing ass made contact with the carseat. The cold seemed to have died down a bit, so my nut sack wasn’t freezing, but now my erection was in plain view. I had never felt so exposed.
“Mmmmm,” she licked her lips again.
Crawling forward into the car, Brianna climbed on top of my legs, her face moving over my erect penis. Slowly, she took off her glasses, and lowered her head until her mouth was just an inch from my tip. She pushed her weight against my waist, putting more pressure on my tortured butt. I winced.
Genie snorted and rolled her eyes.
“You’re such a whore, Brianna. Come get me when you’re done with business.”
Genie walked out of sight, allowing me to catch another, brief glimpse of that enormous, bulging bum.
For a torturous moment, Brianna studied my penis, smiling with carnivorous delight. There was an unbearable craving in my shaft, but she kept on teasing. Finally, she went down, and I felt her warm, wet lips close around the head of my cock.
She worked her mouth up and down my shaft, her tongue tickling it around the base of the head. As she worked, she swiveled her head, moving the tickling sensations all the way around. My breathing was picking up.
I tried to say something at one point, but she glared at me menacingly, and I lay still. She opened her mouth and lifted her head. Immediately, her saliva turned icy cold as my penis was exposed, making me grit my teeth. She looked annoyed at having her attention pulled away from my dick, as if she didn’t realize that I was attached to it.
“Jake,” she said, “if you let out so much as a moan before I’m finished, you’re going right back across my lap.”
I nodded hard, desperate to make sure she knew I understood. After a few moments, she put her mouth back around it and continued to suck. She used her tongue like a living creature on its own, her lips pressing in against all the right spots as the heat of her mouth encouraged my blood to flow faster in that area. I wanted more than anything to move, or gasp, but I could not let myself do that. It was torture, but I managed to hold still and keep my mouth clenched shut. Finally, the ball of sensation in my hips exploded, spilling a wave of pleasure up through my penis and into her mouth. I clenched my mouth shut, strangling my cry of release and crunching it into a quiet hiss. Brianna murmured, contentedly, as she tasted my semen. Drawing back her tongue, she sucked harder, licking up every last drop. She swallowed it before straightening up, wiping her lips with her hand. I realized, incredulously, that I had just been raped.
“Good,” she said hoarsely, putting her glasses back on and pulling a bottle of water from under the seat, “looks like you’ve learned the way things work in this car.”
As she gulped down some water, Genie walked back into view.
“Hey, BJ Queen,” she said, “I want to try something.”
She looked smug, as if she had won a contest. I took a break from wiping my dick with my cuffed hands to watch her face.
“I read somewhere,” she went on, “that spankings hurt guys more right after they cum. I’ve got to test this out.”
She raised her hand, which held a straight, wooden switch. She must have cut it from a nearby tree while Brianna was going down on me.
“No!” I shouted, pulling back away from the door. “No way, not any more!”
I raised my handcuffed hands to protect myself as well as I could.
“Well,” said Brianna, “I guess maybe you could try it.”
My heart sank into my gut.
“…but only,” she said, touching the switch and looking over at me, “if I get a turn after you.”
It sank further.
“Kiddo,” said Brianna gleefully, “come outside, or you’ll have to hop home in handcuffs, without your pants and undies.”
Feeling like I was in a nightmare, I stepped outside of the car. We were in a dark, poorly-maintained alley. I didn’t recognize it, and was not sure how long it would take me to find my way home.
Erection gone, face still blotchy and damp, I crawled gingerly out of the car. As I stepped outside, wincing with every movement of my gluts, I noticed that it had gotten much warmer. It was just a normal, summer night. Brianna and Genie stood on either side of me.
“Awww,” said Brianna, “his cock isn’t pretty anymore.”
Regina laughed. “We’ll know if what I read is right, then; if he likes it, we’ll notice. If he doesn‘t…he’ll scream.”
Genie put her left foot on the bumper, making the top of her thigh flat. She stood there, knee up, switch in hand.
“Over my knee.”
I walked awkwardly forward, pants around my handcuffed ankles, until I was standing just before her leg. If anyone happened to look down the alleyway, they would see me, naked from the waist down, butt the color of ripe strawberries.
I bent over, leaning across Genie’s knee. As my head passed near her crotch, I smelled female scent. The knowledge that Regina was turned on by all this made me feel better about it. Crushing my (mostly flaccid) penis against her jeans for the second time, I felt a little extra blood pour back into that part of me.
WHAP!
The switch whistled through the air before cutting into my swollen flesh like a knife. This was a whole new kind of pain; all the force of the paddle concentrated into a thin, brutal line across both cheeks. The pain shot into my prostate, where it bloomed in the wake of my orgasm.
WHAP!
I’m glad they were expecting me to shout this time, because I did. I heard my voice echo across the alley. I was amazed and grateful that no one seemed to hear, but was still afraid that someone would.
WHAP!
“AAAAAHHHH!!!”
WHAP!
“GGHHHA!!”
WHAP!
I was almost hyperventilating after the fifth stroke. When Genie pushed me back up, my handcuffed hands immediately darted to my butt. I could feel raised, welted lines crisscross across my swollen cheeks from the switch. Stars were dancing in front of my eyes. I bounced on my heels, hissing and gasping.
Genie looked at me from the front and the back.
“He was yelping like a dog,” she said, “but I don’t think it really hurt him that much.”
I looked down. My erection was back. I silently cursed at my dick for getting me into more trouble.
“Maybe,” said Brianna, “or maybe he likes the pain.”
Genie laughed. “He likes pain? What a pervert.”
Brianna walked over to where Genie had been. Her green, cut shirt was incredibly tight on her figure. Combined with the streetlights shining off her glasses and the strict sensuality of her raised hair, I wanted nothing more, even in my anguished state, than to tear her shirt off and squeeze those enormous, grapefruit-sized orbs in my hands, to rip her jeans apart and impale her on myself until I passed out. I realized a second later that she was still holding the camera.
“Either way,” she said, “he’s my bitch now. Bend over the hood, bitch!”
Tearing my eyes away from Brianna, I turned and bent over, lying across the warm hood of the car. My ass burned harder as I stretched it, but the warmth of the engine brought some relief to my tired penis.
Brianna’s high heels clicked against the pavement as she stepped closer. I heard the switch whistle through the air, and
WHAP!
Brianna wasn’t as strong as Genie, but at this point that was little relief. I writhed and thrashed against the car, squealing and sobbing, all pride forgotten.
“Hold still!” Brianna ordered, grabbing the small of my back to hold my bottom in position. “If I miss because you’re squirming around, I‘ll make you touch your toes!”
I held as still as my short-circuiting nerves would let me.
Four more times, the switch slashed at my tender, mistreated butt, before Brianna stopped. Blinded by pain, an aching, crushing sensation having replaced the afterglow of the blowjob, I tried to straighten up. This was cut short by another crack of the switch, which caught me so badly by surprise that I screamed like a girl.
“Aren’t you done?” I heard Genie ask.
“You got to use the paddle,” Brianna explained, “I’m doing ten with the switch to make up for it.”
“Huh. If you say so.”
The switch came back down every ten to fifteen seconds. In between strokes, she rubbed and kneaded my ass with her other hand, as if trying to soften it for the switch. This was much slower than the rest of the spankings had been, but I was still barely finished recovering before it struck each time. When the tenth finally landed, Brianna pulled me back to my feet.
“Well what did you expect?" She asked, "no one rides for free.”
I tried to say something, but my lungs wouldn’t obey me. My face was covered with tears, and I was still sniffling. The world was in a reddish, spinning haze. Oblivious to my state, Brianna grabbed my pants and underwear and pulled them back into place, cherishing my yelp when they squeezed my buttocks.
And then, she kissed me. It wasn't a deep kiss, just a fast-but sensuous-peck on the lips. It was over before I could even react to it. I started to say something through my sniffling, but she was already getting back into the front seat.
"We'll take you home now. For reals."
I spent the ride home in silence. I lay, fully clothed but still handcuffed, on my stomach in the back, clutching my thoroughly punished rear in both hands. Genie and Brianna chatted idly as they drove, occasionally looking at me over their shoulders or smirking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Here we go,” Genie said after a few minutes, pushing a stray dreadlock out of her face as she stopped the car, “you’re a free man, baby.”
Brianna reached back and unlocked both pairs of handcuffs. She noticed me staring down her chest; she smiled reassuringly. The proximity of her lips-which had not long ago brought me to orgasm-sent weird sensations down my spine, where they mixed with the pain signals coming from the other direction.
I fumbled the door open, and lurched out onto the street, both hands on my ass. My wrists and ankles had red circles from the handcuffs. I was right in front of my house.
“Nice meeting you, toots,” said Brianna through the window, “keep it real.”
The engine roared, and my rapists sped away into the night. Giddy, I grabbed the doorknob and walked inside, wondering what I would tell my parents about why I had been out so late.
When I entered the living room, the first thing I did was look at the clock…which said it was eleven twenty-five. Exactly the time I had said I’d be home.
Hang on. I left the bowling alley just after eleven. I walked through the cold (which was now completely gone) for at least five minutes. It was probably another ten minutes in the car when the girls drove me to my fate, and god knows how long for me to get spanked, paddled, sucked, and switched. The ride back had felt like fifteen minutes or so.
So how the hell could it only be eleven twenty-five?
I checked every clock in the house, and asked my father (who was in the kitchen) how long it had been. They all gave me the same answer. As far as time was concerned, tonight’s misadventures could never have happened.
I went into the bathroom, and looked at my butt in the mirror. Every inch of it was a dark red, like undercooked ham, with lines of swelling crisscrossing it from the switch. I gently touched it, and felt the appropriate burn.
My parents and friends were concerned and curious about why I was sitting so uncomfortably for the rest of the week, and I had to think fast to deflect the attention. It was healed by the time I got on the plane for college four days later, but the memory sent a psychosomatic sting through certain parts of me. As I looked out the window, my freshman year about to begin, I thought about the three women who had spanked me and mysteriously vanished that summer. I wondered if that was the end.
Vessels: Candy Store (Jake 1)
I never would have thought of working at a candy store. Generally speaking, candy shops are operated by sixteen year old girls with baby-like faces and cute hairstyles. Being eighteen and male, it didn’t seem like an appropriate place for me to work. However, as July wore on and I still didn’t have a job, I decided I’d just have to take what I could get; I really didn’t want to start my freshman year of college penniless.
I'm Jake, by the way. Jake Ramone.
I hadn’t been to that store since I was in elementary school; as I approached, I couldn’t help but notice how much smaller it seemed. I remembered the last time I had been in there in fifth grade, when my friends had dared me to steal a handful of candy canes. I thought I had gotten away with it, but when I got home-hands and face covered with stickiness-it turned out the cashier had seen and recognized me, and called my mom. I sure got thrashed for that one.
Snapping myself back to the present, I stood on the sidewalk and looked in through the windows. Man, I had forgotten how much stuff they had in there! Just through one window, I could see saltwater toffee, fresh caramel, boxes of mint fudge. Breathing in, I could pick up the faint smell of chocolate even from outside. I don’t eat much junk food (being on the high school swimming team means you need to keep in shape), but I have always had a sweet tooth that I frequently have to repress. Right now, it was practically begging to come out. I sighed, looking wistfully at the boxes of fudge. Maybe working here would be more complicated than I thought.
I tore my eyes away from the window and entered. As soon as I was inside, the smell of a thousand types of candy hit me like a sugarcoated meteorite. The fudge smelled so rich and thick, and the cinnamon drops so hot. The shop was packed with jumbled heaps of cases and jars full of bright, colorful merchandise that was almost dizzying to the eye. Damn, this place made me feel like a little kid again. I reminded myself that I was here to work, not shop; I didn’t have the spare change to waste on junk food. All the same, as I made my way toward the register, I hoped that they offered freebies to their employees. Even a state swimming champ needs to cave in once in a while.
I walked to the back of the shop, and immediately my eyes were seized by something else.
Behind the register was the kind of woman I only thought existed in gossip magazines and on TV. She was wearing a bright red top of some kind, cut just low enough to let the world know what it was missing. Coral-red hair spilled down to her shoulders, framing her bright green eyes. She wasn't sixteen years old, or baby-like. If I had to guess, I'd say late twenties to early thirties, and in full womanly bloom.
For a moment, I was at a loss for words. She looked at me inquiringly, one fiery red eyebrow raised.
“Can I help you?”
Her voice was sharp, but extremely feminine. I thought I heard some kind of accent.
Embarrassed, I managed to say “Oh…um, sorry, I was coming here to see if I could pick up a job application?”
She smirked a little as I stumbled at the beginning of the sentence. She must have known why I was distracted.
“Okay,” she said.
Damn, there was just something in that woman’s voice.
She pushed some crimson bangs out of her face. She looked vaguely condescending, as if she was privy to some embarrassing secret of mine.
“I’ll take it you’re looking for a summer job?”
Scottish or Irish, I decided.
“Yeah,” I said, “just until the end of August.”
She smirked a little wider, letting a hint of her ivory-white teeth see the light.
“Wait here, lad,” she said, “I’ll see if I can find them. Don’t touch the sweets while I’m away.”
I was a little indignant at being called “lad," but my annoyance dissipated as soon as she turned around. However thin and elflike her face was, her ass was anything but. She wore a short, tight skirt, the back of which bulged out behind her, making her heart shaped butt apparent with each step. I felt the moisture drain from my mouth as I watched her walk into the door marked “employees only.”
She turned the corner, abruptly ending the display. I scolded myself for gawking at her like an idiot; what was I, a seventh grader?
I tapped my toes, checking my watch every few moments. My mouth, which had gone dry at the sight of her bouncing skirt, was already full of saliva again from the candy smells.
Two minutes, and still no sign of her. The store was utterly silent. The vibrant colors were like laser beams now, shooting into my eyes. My thoughts were spiraling around. Every tick of my watch seemed to take longer than the one before. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but it was like being drugged. I don’t think I’ve ever craved anything as much as I wanted to grab a candy at that moment.
Four minutes. The jellybeans mounted in clear tubes on the wall were swimming, like fish packed into an aquarium, little nodes of dazzling color squirming all over the walls. Was the room actually spinning? My mind was not doing what it was supposed to do, but I couldn’t snap out of it. Five minutes. My muscles were starting to tense. The smell of candy was burning in my nose and mouth.
My eyes settled on a jar of caramel toffees that sat on the counter, right by the register. The jar stood there, taunting me like the cashier’s ass. I clenched my teeth against the impulse.
Six minutes. My mind was wailing for her to come back and fix reality. It was such a perfect, smooth, rounded jar, almost oval shaped. I just wanted to run my finger over it, even if I knew I couldn’t eat anything. I told myself not to; if I extended my hand, I might be tempted to grab one.
Eight minutes. Where the hell was she?
This was complete torture. The watch was banging in my ears like an extra heart. Finally, I decided that I had waited long enough. She couldn’t blame me for taking a small piece after leaving me waiting for this long. Hell, they probably gave out free samples all the time. Reaching out, I grabbed a handful of caramels (even though I only meant to take one), and started unwrapping them.
The smell became even stronger when I opened it. Squeezing the little candy between my finger, delighting in its squishy, yielding texture, I brought it toward my watering mouth…
“What did I tell you?”
Gasping in surprise, I dropped the toffees, which scattered across the tile floor. Blood pounding in my face, I looked up. She was standing in the doorway behind the counter, hands on her hips. Her eyes were narrowed.
“Oh…sorry…I…”
She was grinning now, the way a cat grins before it jumps on a mouse (cats don‘t have lips, but you know they would if they had them), and her green eyes were smug.
“…its just…I was waiting for so long…I was going to pay for them as soon as you got back.”
She shook her head, unappeased. I remembered what happened last time I stole from this store. I was much too old to be spanked now, but my mind still made the connection.
She stepped out from behind the counter, walking past me toward the front door. She locked the door and flipped the sign that said “closed.” Then she turned back to me, disapprovingly, but with a hint of that impish grin lingering at the corners of her mouth.
“Do you ever want to work in this neighborhood again?”
I nodded.
“If I tell the owner what I just saw, you won’t be able to. He knows all the other shopkeepers. They tell each other things.”
My heart raced. Could I really get in that much trouble just over a couple of toffees? Normally, I’d know that was ridiculous, but the scents and colors had put me in a slow, suggestible state of mind. I found myself believing her, and growing proportionately anxious.
“Why shouldn’t I do just that?”
“I…please, it won’t happen again. You don’t have to give me an application, just please don’t tell him.”
“Alright, then,” she said, marching past me back behind the counter, “this way.”
I paused for a moment, but then decided to follow her. Whatever she had in mind, it couldn’t possibly be as severe as what she had threatened. Groggily, still mysteriously stoned, I followed her through the door into the back room.
This room was darker than the main part of the store, and cluttered with cooking equipment. Vats of molten fudge and sugar were stacked by the walls, with saucepans of the same simmering over a stove. From beside the sink, she pulled up an armless, wooden chair and sat down on it.
“Take off your pants.”
For the first time in nearly ten minutes, I had a rational thought.
“What?”
“I know you heard me,” she taunted, patting her thigh, “take ‘em off or I’ll phone the owner right now.”
My willpower dissolved again, consumed by the fog that was clouding my brain. To my surprise, I found myself unbuckling my belt and letting my jeans drop to the floor. I realized that my underpants were bulging in front, and hastily tried to cover it with my hands.
She chuckled. Her laugh was musical, but menacing. Like a heartless nymph’s.
“Don’t think I didn‘t see that. Let’s have a closer look. Take your drawers down.”
My jaw dropped. I became briefly lucid again.
“What the? You’re fucking insane! You can’t actually think-”
“Drop them!”
She glared at me in a way that made me obey. Confounded by her power over me, I reluctantly slid my fingers under my briefs and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor on top of my jeans. My boner bounced upward, pointing almost directly at her.
“Beautiful," I couldn't tell if that was sarcastic or not, "Now, step out of them and come here.”
She slapped her thigh, sending the smack of flesh against flesh through the kitchen. Gritting my teeth, I stepped out of my pants and underwear (my sandals being pulled off in the process) and walked up to her, stomach writhing. My dick was still rock hard and sticking straight out; I tried to put my hands in front of it, but it wasn't a very effective cover.
"Did I say you could cover yourself?"
What the hell was going on? I reluctantly brought my hands back to my sides, blushing in embarrasment as my manhood was left pointed straight at her. She pointed at it accusingly.
"That's very rude."
I blushed even hotter.
“Sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’re about to be. Bend over.”
I bent my knees and placed my body over her thighs. Her skirt only covered about eight inches of her legs; I could feel her warm flesh on my right hip. My penis was pressed against her, only a thin layer of cloth separating it from her skin. I could smell her; it mixed with the chocolate to wreak havoc on my nerves.
“Good.”
I felt her hand push the back of my head, forcing it downward. I was now lying across her lap, legs hanging down on one side, head and arms hanging from the other. I felt her eyes rove over me, outside of my sight.
One of her arms went around my torso, holding me in place; I could feel her breasts rub against my back as she leaned forward to get a better hold. I then felt a warm hand slide across my rear. A lock of red hair fell in front of my eyes.
“Such a pretty arse, you’ve got,” she tickled it a little, making me grimace, “a shame what’s going to happen to it.”
She patted my left butt cheek. I felt an involuntary throb in my manhood. My face flushed even redder.
The first smack came before I realized she had started.
She wasn’t an especially big girl, but her hand was stronger than I would have thought. The slap echoed around the room, and her palm left a burning sting behind.
Another smack landed, hitting the same spot on the opposite cheek. This one was a little louder, and stung more as well. I think I might have yelped a little.
“Look ma’am, it was just a candy, I-”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She slapped my ass five times in quick succession, hitting both cheeks with each smack. I gasped, legs kicking reflexively. A red, tingling burn rode the wake of the impacts.
Realizing that talking would only make things worse, I let my head fall limp again and lay still, exposed before her emerald eyes. I was thoroughly humiliated, being made to lie there without being able to protect my stinging butt, but that just made my dick press harder and stronger against my belly.
After a few seconds, she started again, letting out another smack at least once per second, each building on the sting left by the others. Sometimes she alternated cheeks. Sometimes she tortured one until I could have sworn it was splitting open, before suddenly attacking the other when I wasn‘t expecting it. Whenever she made a sudden change like that, I gasped.
I was approaching the limits of my pain tolerance; my hips began squirming, trying to avoid the onslaught. She just laughed, and moved her other arm further down my body, holding my waist in place. The smacks kept getting harder.
After fifty slaps, I was gasping with each impact. At one hundred, I was on the brink of tears. I tried to remind myself why I was allowing this to happen, but the hellfire that was roaring in my ass was the only thing I could concentrate on. As she smacked, my dick was chafed a little against her thighs, making it harder and harder.
She smacked me another thirty or forty times before, finally, the spanking stopped. Fire ants were swarming across my posterior. My cheeks were damp with sweat and a couple of tears. My breathing was heavy.
“Get up.”
Wincing, I climbed off of her and straightened up. My rump was covered in acid. Gingerly, I put my hands on it, gasping as they made contact. I couldn’t believe how hot it felt!
“Stop rubbing!” she commanded, “we’re far from over yet.”
I looked back at her. She was smiling serenely, rubbing her tired right hand. Her skirt had been pushed back a bit by my body, and I could see the beginnings of her white cotton panties. Groaning, tortured by both pain and desire, I pulled my hands away from my cheeks.
She pointed across the kitchen. “Fetch that.”
My eyes grew wide as I looked where she was pointing. A heavy, Teflon spatula hung from a rack beside a collection of other kitchen utensils. It gleamed dully in the dim light, as if impatient to taste my flesh.
“Go on!”
She slapped my butt hard.
“Ow!”
Quickly, I strode to the rack and, hesitating only for a second, retrieved the spatula and brought it back. She turned it over in her hands, examining it with her green eyes.
“This should do. Back across my knees.”
I was much more hesitant this time, but another slap got me moving. I was soon in the exact same position I was in before. The only difference was that her skirt was pushed mostly away, and my hips and penis were lying directly on her thighs. Her skin was smooth and delicate, and the flesh beneath it was soft.
With a crack like a whip, the spatula bounced off my ass.
“AAH!”
I immediately tried to straighten up, but she pushed her full weight against my back, pinning me
to her lap. I should have been stronger than her, but my muscles weren’t obeying. As I grunted and struggled, I heard the spatula whoosh through the air again.
“GAAH!”
The tears were coming. I lay back down, quivering, across her legs. The pleasurable jolts in my penis were no longer enough to protect me from the pain.
Snap! Snap! Snap! Three more firecrackers exploded on my cheeks. She was doing it faster now, not as fast as her hand had been, but she was putting a big arc into each swing. She picked up the same pattern she had used with her hand, only with more force and less speed. Every time that spatula bit me, I squirmed to get away from it. Whenever my wriggling became too much, she pushed her elbow into my back and gave me a volley of blisteringly hard ones, all in the same spot, which made me howl. My erection, which had been winding down, pumped itself back to full hardness, grinding itself against her thighbones. I barely noticed it through the agony.
I got at least fifty with the spatula before she put it down. I was breathing frantically, tears running down my face. To this day, I am proud that I avoided sobbing out loud. She pushed me off of her lap, letting me stand up beside the chair. Immediately, I began to feverishly rub my bright, crimson ass.
I turned around, still sniffling. She was smiling as impishly as ever.
“Scrub your face,” she said, pointing to a clean washcloth that lay on the counter.
Muttering an incoherent thanks (why the hell was I thanking her?), I took one hand off my swollen, tortured ass and used it to wipe my face. I looked down at my throbbing penis, and saw a droplet of precum at the tip.
“Your bum’s a brilliant red,” she commented, standing a few feet behind me. “Like rose petals. Well, you’ve been standing there long enough. Go on, before your belt starts giving me ideas.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I picked up my underwear and pulled it gingerly over my flaming backside, hissing in pain as the tight briefs squeezed my ravaged cheeks. She giggled as she watched me struggle with my clothes. I made extra sure to get my belt back on as soon as possible.
“Here,” she said as I managed to get my sandals back on, “don’t forget this.”
She handed me a blank application.
“Bring that back soon, and I’m sure we’ll hire you…so long as you keep your hands out of the merchandise. Off you go.”
She slapped me across the butt one last time, grinding my rough jeans into the enflamed skin. I ran home as fast as my blazing ass and rigid dick would allow me to move. Stumbling, still coughing on tears, perfume, and chocolate fumes, I barreled my way home.
The first thing I did when I got there was dash to my room and knead my manhood until I came. As I sprayed my seed across the bed sheets, I felt the fumes and drowsiness leeching out of me. Lying in the aftermath of the orgasm, buttocks still full of red hot needles, I found that I could think normally again. It was like waking up from a dream.
That night, I laid down on my bed (stomach down, of course) and filled out the application. I wasn’t quite able to believe what had happened that day, but my smoldering, angry red butt was more than proof enough. I wondered if I had the courage to show myself in that store after that. How would I be able to work alongside that sadistic, beautiful redheaded bitch after this?
Before I went to sleep (still on my stomach) I found myself thinking about the exposed thighs and hidden breasts of the Scottish girl, and heard her sultry giggle in my ears. I had to masturbate again before I could sleep.
…
Two days later, I walked-slowly and timidly-back to the candy store. My butt was still smarting a little, but I couldn’t afford to put everything off for this long. I went in, both dreading and hoping to see the girl again, but she wasn’t there. Instead, a portly man in his fifties was standing behind the counter.
“Hey there,” he said, “is that an application you‘ve got?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, handing him the completed form.
“Alright,” he said, “we always need a new cashier at this time of the year. I’ll be calling you back within a week or so.”
He folded up the application and put it away somewhere.
“Um, excuse me,” I said, “but I have a question. About one of your employees.”
“Go on.”
“When I was here to pick up the application, there was a woman working here. Tall, red hair, Scottish or maybe Irish. What’s her name?”
He looked confused.
“Scottish girl? Red hair? I don’t think I’ve ever hired anyone like that. Are you sure you’re not thinking of a different store?”
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing the jar of caramels sitting by the register, “I’m pretty positive it was this store.”
“Huh,” he seemed genuinely perplexed, “well that’s pretty darned strange.”
He noticed me eyeing the caramel toffees. I quickly looked away, blood starting to rush to my face.
“Here,” he said, “try a couple of these.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Those?”
“Sure, its not like we sell them. Those are just for whoever’s on duty to snack on. We give them out as free samples every once in a while; helps business a lot.”
“Uh, thanks but no thanks,” I said, “I was just curious.”
He shrugged. I could tell he thought I was a little weird.
“Alright,” he said, “you’ll hear from me soon.”
…
I got the job, as it turned out, and made a decent amount of money before school started. I asked all my coworkers about the redhead. No one had the faintest idea of who I was talking about.
I'm Jake, by the way. Jake Ramone.
I hadn’t been to that store since I was in elementary school; as I approached, I couldn’t help but notice how much smaller it seemed. I remembered the last time I had been in there in fifth grade, when my friends had dared me to steal a handful of candy canes. I thought I had gotten away with it, but when I got home-hands and face covered with stickiness-it turned out the cashier had seen and recognized me, and called my mom. I sure got thrashed for that one.
Snapping myself back to the present, I stood on the sidewalk and looked in through the windows. Man, I had forgotten how much stuff they had in there! Just through one window, I could see saltwater toffee, fresh caramel, boxes of mint fudge. Breathing in, I could pick up the faint smell of chocolate even from outside. I don’t eat much junk food (being on the high school swimming team means you need to keep in shape), but I have always had a sweet tooth that I frequently have to repress. Right now, it was practically begging to come out. I sighed, looking wistfully at the boxes of fudge. Maybe working here would be more complicated than I thought.
I tore my eyes away from the window and entered. As soon as I was inside, the smell of a thousand types of candy hit me like a sugarcoated meteorite. The fudge smelled so rich and thick, and the cinnamon drops so hot. The shop was packed with jumbled heaps of cases and jars full of bright, colorful merchandise that was almost dizzying to the eye. Damn, this place made me feel like a little kid again. I reminded myself that I was here to work, not shop; I didn’t have the spare change to waste on junk food. All the same, as I made my way toward the register, I hoped that they offered freebies to their employees. Even a state swimming champ needs to cave in once in a while.
I walked to the back of the shop, and immediately my eyes were seized by something else.
Behind the register was the kind of woman I only thought existed in gossip magazines and on TV. She was wearing a bright red top of some kind, cut just low enough to let the world know what it was missing. Coral-red hair spilled down to her shoulders, framing her bright green eyes. She wasn't sixteen years old, or baby-like. If I had to guess, I'd say late twenties to early thirties, and in full womanly bloom.
For a moment, I was at a loss for words. She looked at me inquiringly, one fiery red eyebrow raised.
“Can I help you?”
Her voice was sharp, but extremely feminine. I thought I heard some kind of accent.
Embarrassed, I managed to say “Oh…um, sorry, I was coming here to see if I could pick up a job application?”
She smirked a little as I stumbled at the beginning of the sentence. She must have known why I was distracted.
“Okay,” she said.
Damn, there was just something in that woman’s voice.
She pushed some crimson bangs out of her face. She looked vaguely condescending, as if she was privy to some embarrassing secret of mine.
“I’ll take it you’re looking for a summer job?”
Scottish or Irish, I decided.
“Yeah,” I said, “just until the end of August.”
She smirked a little wider, letting a hint of her ivory-white teeth see the light.
“Wait here, lad,” she said, “I’ll see if I can find them. Don’t touch the sweets while I’m away.”
I was a little indignant at being called “lad," but my annoyance dissipated as soon as she turned around. However thin and elflike her face was, her ass was anything but. She wore a short, tight skirt, the back of which bulged out behind her, making her heart shaped butt apparent with each step. I felt the moisture drain from my mouth as I watched her walk into the door marked “employees only.”
She turned the corner, abruptly ending the display. I scolded myself for gawking at her like an idiot; what was I, a seventh grader?
I tapped my toes, checking my watch every few moments. My mouth, which had gone dry at the sight of her bouncing skirt, was already full of saliva again from the candy smells.
Two minutes, and still no sign of her. The store was utterly silent. The vibrant colors were like laser beams now, shooting into my eyes. My thoughts were spiraling around. Every tick of my watch seemed to take longer than the one before. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but it was like being drugged. I don’t think I’ve ever craved anything as much as I wanted to grab a candy at that moment.
Four minutes. The jellybeans mounted in clear tubes on the wall were swimming, like fish packed into an aquarium, little nodes of dazzling color squirming all over the walls. Was the room actually spinning? My mind was not doing what it was supposed to do, but I couldn’t snap out of it. Five minutes. My muscles were starting to tense. The smell of candy was burning in my nose and mouth.
My eyes settled on a jar of caramel toffees that sat on the counter, right by the register. The jar stood there, taunting me like the cashier’s ass. I clenched my teeth against the impulse.
Six minutes. My mind was wailing for her to come back and fix reality. It was such a perfect, smooth, rounded jar, almost oval shaped. I just wanted to run my finger over it, even if I knew I couldn’t eat anything. I told myself not to; if I extended my hand, I might be tempted to grab one.
Eight minutes. Where the hell was she?
This was complete torture. The watch was banging in my ears like an extra heart. Finally, I decided that I had waited long enough. She couldn’t blame me for taking a small piece after leaving me waiting for this long. Hell, they probably gave out free samples all the time. Reaching out, I grabbed a handful of caramels (even though I only meant to take one), and started unwrapping them.
The smell became even stronger when I opened it. Squeezing the little candy between my finger, delighting in its squishy, yielding texture, I brought it toward my watering mouth…
“What did I tell you?”
Gasping in surprise, I dropped the toffees, which scattered across the tile floor. Blood pounding in my face, I looked up. She was standing in the doorway behind the counter, hands on her hips. Her eyes were narrowed.
“Oh…sorry…I…”
She was grinning now, the way a cat grins before it jumps on a mouse (cats don‘t have lips, but you know they would if they had them), and her green eyes were smug.
“…its just…I was waiting for so long…I was going to pay for them as soon as you got back.”
She shook her head, unappeased. I remembered what happened last time I stole from this store. I was much too old to be spanked now, but my mind still made the connection.
She stepped out from behind the counter, walking past me toward the front door. She locked the door and flipped the sign that said “closed.” Then she turned back to me, disapprovingly, but with a hint of that impish grin lingering at the corners of her mouth.
“Do you ever want to work in this neighborhood again?”
I nodded.
“If I tell the owner what I just saw, you won’t be able to. He knows all the other shopkeepers. They tell each other things.”
My heart raced. Could I really get in that much trouble just over a couple of toffees? Normally, I’d know that was ridiculous, but the scents and colors had put me in a slow, suggestible state of mind. I found myself believing her, and growing proportionately anxious.
“Why shouldn’t I do just that?”
“I…please, it won’t happen again. You don’t have to give me an application, just please don’t tell him.”
“Alright, then,” she said, marching past me back behind the counter, “this way.”
I paused for a moment, but then decided to follow her. Whatever she had in mind, it couldn’t possibly be as severe as what she had threatened. Groggily, still mysteriously stoned, I followed her through the door into the back room.
This room was darker than the main part of the store, and cluttered with cooking equipment. Vats of molten fudge and sugar were stacked by the walls, with saucepans of the same simmering over a stove. From beside the sink, she pulled up an armless, wooden chair and sat down on it.
“Take off your pants.”
For the first time in nearly ten minutes, I had a rational thought.
“What?”
“I know you heard me,” she taunted, patting her thigh, “take ‘em off or I’ll phone the owner right now.”
My willpower dissolved again, consumed by the fog that was clouding my brain. To my surprise, I found myself unbuckling my belt and letting my jeans drop to the floor. I realized that my underpants were bulging in front, and hastily tried to cover it with my hands.
She chuckled. Her laugh was musical, but menacing. Like a heartless nymph’s.
“Don’t think I didn‘t see that. Let’s have a closer look. Take your drawers down.”
My jaw dropped. I became briefly lucid again.
“What the? You’re fucking insane! You can’t actually think-”
“Drop them!”
She glared at me in a way that made me obey. Confounded by her power over me, I reluctantly slid my fingers under my briefs and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor on top of my jeans. My boner bounced upward, pointing almost directly at her.
“Beautiful," I couldn't tell if that was sarcastic or not, "Now, step out of them and come here.”
She slapped her thigh, sending the smack of flesh against flesh through the kitchen. Gritting my teeth, I stepped out of my pants and underwear (my sandals being pulled off in the process) and walked up to her, stomach writhing. My dick was still rock hard and sticking straight out; I tried to put my hands in front of it, but it wasn't a very effective cover.
"Did I say you could cover yourself?"
What the hell was going on? I reluctantly brought my hands back to my sides, blushing in embarrasment as my manhood was left pointed straight at her. She pointed at it accusingly.
"That's very rude."
I blushed even hotter.
“Sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’re about to be. Bend over.”
I bent my knees and placed my body over her thighs. Her skirt only covered about eight inches of her legs; I could feel her warm flesh on my right hip. My penis was pressed against her, only a thin layer of cloth separating it from her skin. I could smell her; it mixed with the chocolate to wreak havoc on my nerves.
“Good.”
I felt her hand push the back of my head, forcing it downward. I was now lying across her lap, legs hanging down on one side, head and arms hanging from the other. I felt her eyes rove over me, outside of my sight.
One of her arms went around my torso, holding me in place; I could feel her breasts rub against my back as she leaned forward to get a better hold. I then felt a warm hand slide across my rear. A lock of red hair fell in front of my eyes.
“Such a pretty arse, you’ve got,” she tickled it a little, making me grimace, “a shame what’s going to happen to it.”
She patted my left butt cheek. I felt an involuntary throb in my manhood. My face flushed even redder.
The first smack came before I realized she had started.
She wasn’t an especially big girl, but her hand was stronger than I would have thought. The slap echoed around the room, and her palm left a burning sting behind.
Another smack landed, hitting the same spot on the opposite cheek. This one was a little louder, and stung more as well. I think I might have yelped a little.
“Look ma’am, it was just a candy, I-”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She slapped my ass five times in quick succession, hitting both cheeks with each smack. I gasped, legs kicking reflexively. A red, tingling burn rode the wake of the impacts.
Realizing that talking would only make things worse, I let my head fall limp again and lay still, exposed before her emerald eyes. I was thoroughly humiliated, being made to lie there without being able to protect my stinging butt, but that just made my dick press harder and stronger against my belly.
After a few seconds, she started again, letting out another smack at least once per second, each building on the sting left by the others. Sometimes she alternated cheeks. Sometimes she tortured one until I could have sworn it was splitting open, before suddenly attacking the other when I wasn‘t expecting it. Whenever she made a sudden change like that, I gasped.
I was approaching the limits of my pain tolerance; my hips began squirming, trying to avoid the onslaught. She just laughed, and moved her other arm further down my body, holding my waist in place. The smacks kept getting harder.
After fifty slaps, I was gasping with each impact. At one hundred, I was on the brink of tears. I tried to remind myself why I was allowing this to happen, but the hellfire that was roaring in my ass was the only thing I could concentrate on. As she smacked, my dick was chafed a little against her thighs, making it harder and harder.
She smacked me another thirty or forty times before, finally, the spanking stopped. Fire ants were swarming across my posterior. My cheeks were damp with sweat and a couple of tears. My breathing was heavy.
“Get up.”
Wincing, I climbed off of her and straightened up. My rump was covered in acid. Gingerly, I put my hands on it, gasping as they made contact. I couldn’t believe how hot it felt!
“Stop rubbing!” she commanded, “we’re far from over yet.”
I looked back at her. She was smiling serenely, rubbing her tired right hand. Her skirt had been pushed back a bit by my body, and I could see the beginnings of her white cotton panties. Groaning, tortured by both pain and desire, I pulled my hands away from my cheeks.
She pointed across the kitchen. “Fetch that.”
My eyes grew wide as I looked where she was pointing. A heavy, Teflon spatula hung from a rack beside a collection of other kitchen utensils. It gleamed dully in the dim light, as if impatient to taste my flesh.
“Go on!”
She slapped my butt hard.
“Ow!”
Quickly, I strode to the rack and, hesitating only for a second, retrieved the spatula and brought it back. She turned it over in her hands, examining it with her green eyes.
“This should do. Back across my knees.”
I was much more hesitant this time, but another slap got me moving. I was soon in the exact same position I was in before. The only difference was that her skirt was pushed mostly away, and my hips and penis were lying directly on her thighs. Her skin was smooth and delicate, and the flesh beneath it was soft.
With a crack like a whip, the spatula bounced off my ass.
“AAH!”
I immediately tried to straighten up, but she pushed her full weight against my back, pinning me
to her lap. I should have been stronger than her, but my muscles weren’t obeying. As I grunted and struggled, I heard the spatula whoosh through the air again.
“GAAH!”
The tears were coming. I lay back down, quivering, across her legs. The pleasurable jolts in my penis were no longer enough to protect me from the pain.
Snap! Snap! Snap! Three more firecrackers exploded on my cheeks. She was doing it faster now, not as fast as her hand had been, but she was putting a big arc into each swing. She picked up the same pattern she had used with her hand, only with more force and less speed. Every time that spatula bit me, I squirmed to get away from it. Whenever my wriggling became too much, she pushed her elbow into my back and gave me a volley of blisteringly hard ones, all in the same spot, which made me howl. My erection, which had been winding down, pumped itself back to full hardness, grinding itself against her thighbones. I barely noticed it through the agony.
I got at least fifty with the spatula before she put it down. I was breathing frantically, tears running down my face. To this day, I am proud that I avoided sobbing out loud. She pushed me off of her lap, letting me stand up beside the chair. Immediately, I began to feverishly rub my bright, crimson ass.
I turned around, still sniffling. She was smiling as impishly as ever.
“Scrub your face,” she said, pointing to a clean washcloth that lay on the counter.
Muttering an incoherent thanks (why the hell was I thanking her?), I took one hand off my swollen, tortured ass and used it to wipe my face. I looked down at my throbbing penis, and saw a droplet of precum at the tip.
“Your bum’s a brilliant red,” she commented, standing a few feet behind me. “Like rose petals. Well, you’ve been standing there long enough. Go on, before your belt starts giving me ideas.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I picked up my underwear and pulled it gingerly over my flaming backside, hissing in pain as the tight briefs squeezed my ravaged cheeks. She giggled as she watched me struggle with my clothes. I made extra sure to get my belt back on as soon as possible.
“Here,” she said as I managed to get my sandals back on, “don’t forget this.”
She handed me a blank application.
“Bring that back soon, and I’m sure we’ll hire you…so long as you keep your hands out of the merchandise. Off you go.”
She slapped me across the butt one last time, grinding my rough jeans into the enflamed skin. I ran home as fast as my blazing ass and rigid dick would allow me to move. Stumbling, still coughing on tears, perfume, and chocolate fumes, I barreled my way home.
The first thing I did when I got there was dash to my room and knead my manhood until I came. As I sprayed my seed across the bed sheets, I felt the fumes and drowsiness leeching out of me. Lying in the aftermath of the orgasm, buttocks still full of red hot needles, I found that I could think normally again. It was like waking up from a dream.
That night, I laid down on my bed (stomach down, of course) and filled out the application. I wasn’t quite able to believe what had happened that day, but my smoldering, angry red butt was more than proof enough. I wondered if I had the courage to show myself in that store after that. How would I be able to work alongside that sadistic, beautiful redheaded bitch after this?
Before I went to sleep (still on my stomach) I found myself thinking about the exposed thighs and hidden breasts of the Scottish girl, and heard her sultry giggle in my ears. I had to masturbate again before I could sleep.
…
Two days later, I walked-slowly and timidly-back to the candy store. My butt was still smarting a little, but I couldn’t afford to put everything off for this long. I went in, both dreading and hoping to see the girl again, but she wasn’t there. Instead, a portly man in his fifties was standing behind the counter.
“Hey there,” he said, “is that an application you‘ve got?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, handing him the completed form.
“Alright,” he said, “we always need a new cashier at this time of the year. I’ll be calling you back within a week or so.”
He folded up the application and put it away somewhere.
“Um, excuse me,” I said, “but I have a question. About one of your employees.”
“Go on.”
“When I was here to pick up the application, there was a woman working here. Tall, red hair, Scottish or maybe Irish. What’s her name?”
He looked confused.
“Scottish girl? Red hair? I don’t think I’ve ever hired anyone like that. Are you sure you’re not thinking of a different store?”
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing the jar of caramels sitting by the register, “I’m pretty positive it was this store.”
“Huh,” he seemed genuinely perplexed, “well that’s pretty darned strange.”
He noticed me eyeing the caramel toffees. I quickly looked away, blood starting to rush to my face.
“Here,” he said, “try a couple of these.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Those?”
“Sure, its not like we sell them. Those are just for whoever’s on duty to snack on. We give them out as free samples every once in a while; helps business a lot.”
“Uh, thanks but no thanks,” I said, “I was just curious.”
He shrugged. I could tell he thought I was a little weird.
“Alright,” he said, “you’ll hear from me soon.”
…
I got the job, as it turned out, and made a decent amount of money before school started. I asked all my coworkers about the redhead. No one had the faintest idea of who I was talking about.
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