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Cheryl From Payroll
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
September 24, 1988
Something happened to me this evening that is so mind-blowing
that I have to tell someone. For reasons that will be obvious, I
can't do that, so I'm writing it down instead.
It started with a phone call this morning from Cheryl, a
girl in the payroll department at the construction company where
I'm an estimator. I knew her by sight, but that's all, so I was a
little surprised when she said she had something personal to
discuss with me. She suggested that we have lunch away from the
office, so we could talk in private, and I agreed to meet her at
a little burger joint a couple of miles from where we work.
Cheryl was already there when I walked in a few minutes
after noon, sitting by herself at a table in the corner. I'd
never really noticed her before, but now I took a look as I
walked toward the table. She was about my age, maybe two or three
years older. Short light-brown hair. A white blouse with ruffles
down the front, primly buttoned to the collar, enclosed what
seemed to be a nice pair of boobs. With contacts, or maybe a less
librarian-ish pair of glasses, I decided, she wouldn't be bad
looking at all.
I said hello and sat down. We made small talk until the
waitress had taken our orders, and then I asked Cheryl what she
wanted to see me about. She said that she'd been working late the
night before, doing some month-end work, and her computer had
started to act up, so she had gone over to my desk to use mine.
Not wanting to damage any of my files, she had looked to see what
was stored on my computer's disk, and had noticed that some of
the file names didn't seem to have anything to do with the jobs I
was working on. In particular, she said, she'd been surprised to
find "these"; she pulled a manila envelope out of her purse,
opened it, and slid out half a dozen sets of pages stapled
together.
I didn't need to look at them to know what she had. When I
was younger I'd thought about becoming a writer. I've pretty much
given up on that idea, but lately I'd been working on a novel.
Nothing that Book-of-the-Month Club would be interested in - it
was pure, hard-core pornography, as raunchy as it gets. I hadn't
decided whether to try to sell it to one of the X-rated book
publishers or not; for now, it was just a private exploration of
some fantasies.
At least it had been private. But now, here was Miss Prim
sitting across from me, holding printed copies of the first six
chapters of my X-rated book. No doubt she'd copied the computer
files, too, so grabbing the hard copies wouldn't help.
I was dizzy with both anger and embarrassment, and my face
felt about ten degrees hotter than the rest of my body. "You had
no business looking at those files," I said through clenched
teeth, "let alone printing them out." Cheryl looked at me coolly
and replied "It's the company's computer, and I don't think Mr.
Moore would appreciate what you've been using it for."
Bob Moore is the founder of the company and still runs
everything with an iron hand. He hired me right out of college,
even though I didn't have any real experience, and has seemed to
be pretty happy with my work so far. He also happens to be the
father of Kathy Moore, who has been the principal love object in
my life for most of the last year, whenever she's home from
school on breaks or vacations. Besides that, he's a deacon in the
local Baptist church, president of the Rotary, and a major
contributor to the Republican Party and the Moral Majority.
I could see it now. If Bob Moore knew what I'd been writing,
he'd fire me, forbid his daughter to see me, have me publicly
branded as a pornographer, and do his damnedest to see that I
never got another job in his town, or anywhere else for that
matter.
"What do you want?" I asked weakly.
"Why don't you come over to my place this evening," Cheryl
said sweetly, "about seven, and we'll talk about it." She wrote
out her address on a napkin and handed it to me.
I stuffed the napkin in my pocket, dropped a five dollar
bill on the table and walked out. I wasn't hungry any more.
The afternoon was pretty much a waste. I didn't know what
Cheryl would demand, but I assumed that it would be money, and I
didn't have a lot to spare. Even if I paid her off, how could I
be sure that she wouldn't keep a copy of the incriminating files
and hit me for more later? I thought about going to Mr. Moore and
confessing everything, but I figured that even if he somehow
could be persuaded to let me keep my job, he'd put Kathy off
limits. That was an awfully high price to pay, and I decided that
I'd better find out how much Cheryl wanted before I took that
course.
I knocked on Cheryl's door at 7:00 sharp, and she invited me
in. She'd changed into slacks and a T-shirt, and I realized that
I'd been right about her boobs. She offered me a drink; I started
to refuse, and then decided that under the circumstances I needed
one and asked for a scotch and water.
We sat on opposite ends of the sofa in her living room,
sipping our drinks and waiting, each of us, for the other to say
something. Finally I decided to go first. "I gather that you're
planning to give those printouts to Mr. Moore, and tell him where
you got them, unless I give you some reason not to," I said. She
nodded.
"You know what I make," I said, "and I don't have any
savings. I don't see how you could expect me to give you enough
to make it worth your while to risk going to jail for blackmail."
"I don't want money," she said.
"What do you want, then?", I demanded.
"When I was growing up," she replied, "my parents were
pretty rough with us - with me and my brother, who's three years
younger than I am. Whenever one of us got out of line, there was
a spanking, a paddling, a caning or a real whipping with a belt
or a razor strap. If we got in trouble together, like if we were
fighting or something like that, my mom or my dad, or sometimes
both, would line us up and give it to the two of us together."
"I don't get it," I said. "What does your childhood have to
do with me?"
"Just shut up and listen," she said roughly. "A few times
one of us got a licking in the middle of the day, but usually
they waited till bedtime, when Jimmy was in his PJ's and I was in
my nightgown. It was awful, knowing sometimes for hours that it
was going to happen, taking a bath and getting ready for bed, and
then having one of my parents come in, make me take off my
nightgown and work my ass over with a hairbrush or the strap or
something like that."
I was listening but I couldn't help picturing Cheryl
stripping off a little nightgown and presenting her developing
young asscheeks to her mother or father. I could feel a definite
tightening in the crotch, and crossed my legs to hide the
situation.
"It was almost as bad when Jimmy was going to get it,"
Cheryl continued. "There was just as much tension in the air, and
when I said good night to Jimmy, I'd know that in a few minutes
I'd hear him crying and pleading, and then there would start
these terrible alternating sounds as something smacked into his
ass, followed by his shriek of pain, and then another smack and
another shriek."
"The only times I could say I looked forward to it was when
we were both going to get it. I'd get taken to Jimmy's room, or
he'd be brought to mine, and then we'd both have to strip. One of
us would watch while the other got it, and then the other would
watch while the first one got it. Once - I remember it very
clearly, because it was when I had my first orgasm - we both got
it at the same time; my mom had me across her lap and was
paddling me with a hairbrush, while my dad had Jimmy over the
edge of his bed, blistering his behind with a cane."
Cheryl paused and looked at me. Her eyes were shining, and I
could see little beads of sweat on her forehead. "I still don't
know where you're going," I said. "I'm sorry you had such rotten
parents, but I don't see what this has to do with my stories."
"It's very simple," she replied. "We're going to do some
play acting. You're going to be my little brother, and I'm going
to be my mother."
It took a minute to sink in. "Wait a minute!" I almost
gasped. "You think I'm going to let you, UH, spank me? I'm
twenty-three years old!" The idea seemed so ludicrous that I
wanted to laugh, but Cheryl didn't seem to be joking.
"Would you rather I had a talk with Mr. Moore in the
morning?" she asked.
"Of course not," I blurted without thinking. "But I'm too
old, I mean, I'm not a little kid! This whole thing is too silly
for words!"
"Jimmy wasn't a little kid, either," she said hotly. "He was
fourteen the time I mentioned, when I - when we both got it at
the same time. And Mr. Moore would think that your little stories
were a lot worse than anything Jimmy or I ever did!"
"Anyway," Cheryl added defiantly, "that's the price you pay
- either that or I go to Mr. Moore in the morning. So which is it
going to be?"
My mind was whirling. If she went to Moore, it would be
practically the end of my whole world, and how bad could a
spanking be, anyway? I could handle pain; I'd broken bones as a
kid, and played football in high school, until I had knee surgery
and couldn't run any more. But on the other hand, how could I, a
grown man, stand the humiliation of letting a woman spank me?
Then again, was that really worse than the humiliation of being
fired from my first job and being denounced publicly as some kind
of moral degenerate?
Finally, I told her "If I say yes, I'll want every copy of
my stories back - including whatever copies you've made of the
computer files".
"When we're through," she answered, "I promise that you'll
have everything back, and you can watch me erase the computer
disks."
"All right," I said grimly, "let's get it over with."
Cheryl stood up. "Take your clothes off in here, and then
come back to my bedroom." She pointed to the door that led into a
hall at the end of the living room. "Through that door and turn
right."
"Just a minute," I said. "If I'm supposed to take my clothes
off, then you should too."
She laughed. "You don't give up, do you? You think I'll be
so impressed with your big manly body that I'll forget why you're
here and slip into the sack with you? Well forget that idea."
She started toward the hall, then stopped and turned back
toward me. "I'm not getting undressed, but I do think I'll change
into something else."
After Cheryl left the room, I pulled my shirt off and sat
down to untie my shoes. My socks came next, and then my pants. I
piled my clothes on the end of the sofa, but decided to keep my
jockey shorts on. I'm not ashamed of my body, but I wanted to
keep whatever dignity I could for as long as I could. Everything
that had happened since Cheryl had called this morning still
seemed unreal, but here I was, standing almost naked in a girl's
apartment, heading for her bedroom. It was a great scene, except
I wasn't going in to make love to her, but to let her spank my
ass.
I walked into Cheryl's bedroom and my eyes almost popped out
of my head. She was standing by the foot of her bed, and she had
indeed changed clothes - she was wearing one of the tiniest
string bikinis I'd ever seen! It was an aqua color, and it
covered only a few square inches of an absolutely luscious body.
Obviously, no one at the company knew much about the uptight
young lady who cut their checks. I stood there gaping at her, and
despite the absurdity of the situation, I could feel myself
getting hard almost instantly.
"I told you to leave your clothes in the other room," Cheryl
snapped. I started to reach for the waistband of my shorts, but
then she noticed my erection. "Keep them on," she said quickly.
"I'll take them off when I'm ready. But from now on, you do
exactly as I tell you."
She walked over to a dresser and picked up a wide,
flat-backed hairbrush. It was made out of some kind of dark wood,
and looked heavy. She went back and sat on the end of the bed,
her legs just dangling over the edge, knees about eight inches
apart and feet not quite touching the floor.
"All right," she said. "Get over here, across my lap, with
your head toward my left." I obeyed, clamoring over her until my
cock and balls settled into to the space between the middle of
her thighs and my head hung just over the side of the bed.
"I've never felt so ridiculous in my life," I complained.
"You'll feel a lot more than that, in just a minute," Cheryl
responded. "When was the last time you had a good hard spanking?"
"I've never been spanked, except by hand, and the last time
for that was probably when I was four or five," I answered.
"Well, so as not to shock your tender little ass too much
too soon," Cheryl said, "I'll give you some warm-ups with your
underpants on."
I held my breath as I felt Cheryl's balance shift while she
raised the hairbrush. It smacked down on one cheek of my ass, and
I grunted and jerked. It stung quite a bit, and the burning
feeling radiated out from where the blow had landed. Before I
really had time to think about the sensation, the hairbrush had
landed again, this time on the other side of my ass. I jerked
again, and again as the heavy brush smacked in a different spot
on the other cheek.
The blows went on until I'd received maybe twenty of them,
and I realized that each smack was a little harder than the last.
The pain wasn't unbearable by any means, but by the time Cheryl
had stopped my ass was really smarting and my breath was
whistling through my teeth with every stroke.
"That's enough," I said, starting to slide off her lap.
She grabbed me across the knees and pulled me back. "Oh, no,
it's not. Those were just the warm-ups! Now, before I take your
pants off and really get down to work, I'll give you just a taste
of how it's going to feel."
She caught the leg opening of my shorts and pulled the
fabric up until it cut painfully into the crack of my ass and my
right cheek was exposed. "Just so you remember, here's how it
feels with your pants on." She brought the hairbrush down hard on
the still-covered left cheek. "And here's how it will feel with
them off." The brush landed on my bare right cheek and felt like
a branding iron! I couldn't believe the difference one little
sixteenth of an inch of cotton could make. Before I could react,
the hairbrush had landed back on the left, then on the right
again.
"That's enough playing around - now it's time to get
serious," Cheryl exclaimed. She grabbed my shorts at the waist
and yanked them down in one motion to my knees. I swore as the
waistband ripped past my balls, and it dawned on me that the
erection I'd had just a few minutes before was gone.
"Such naughty language!," Cheryl giggled as she brought the
hairbrush down with a fierce "whack" in the middle of my butt. I
tried to squirm, but she had a firm grip and my legs were
pinioned with my shorts around my knees. I knew I could get away,
but what was the point of putting up a fight? Either I'd leave
and she would go to Moore in the morning, or else I'd wind up
back in the same position.
Again and again the back of the hairbrush burned into my
ass. I was determined not to yell or do anything else to let her
know how much it hurt, but I was beginning to wonder how much
more I could take when she finally stopped.
"Halftime," Cheryl said. She put the hairbrush down and
began to knead the burning flesh of my ass with her fingers;
under other circumstances it would have been a real turn-on, but
instead it just hurt. "Your ass gets numb," she commented, "and
you don't feel it as much. We don't want you to miss out on
anything, do we?"
"OK," she directed. "Stand up." My shorts dropped to my
ankles as I clambered to my feet. "Leave your underpants on the
floor, and kneel on the bed, facing the side." I did as I was
told. "Now cup your balls with your right hand, and hold your
cock in your left hand." I stared at her in amazement, but when
she said I'd be sorry if I didn't obey her, I decided not to take
any chances. "Keep your hands where they are, and lie down on
your stomach," she ordered. I flopped down, with both hands under
the weight of my body.
"Spread your legs out - wider," she commanded. "I want to be
able to see your fingers around your balls. If either one of your
hands comes out from under you, I'll flatten your balls with the
hairbrush. Understand?"
I muttered that I understood. The new position didn't make
much sense to me, until I realized that with me across her lap
Cheryl could only lift the hairbrush about a foot, but now, with
her standing up, she could swing it three feet or more!
I lay there, clutching my cock and balls, feeling ridiculous
and more than a little apprehensive about what the hairbrush
would feel like the next time it landed. I didn't have long to
wait.
Cheryl put her left hand in the small of my back, supporting
most of her weight with it, raised the hairbrush high with her
right hand and swung it down ferociously. It landed with a crack
like a gunshot on the left cheek of my ass, and despite my
earlier resolve, I couldn't help crying out. The pain was more
intense than anything I'd ever experienced before.
I steeled myself for the next blow, which landed just as
hard on the right cheek. That time I managed to limit the sound I
made to a gasping groan. I was still marveling at that when the
hairbrush landed again. After suffering through about six more, I
decided that I couldn't take it any longer.
"Stop it, please, Cheryl," I begged. She stopped in
mid-swing. "Sure, I'll stop whenever you say," she said calmly.
"Of course, if you make me stop before I'm ready, then you won't
have kept your part of the bargain, and I won't have to keep
mine, will I?"
She let that thought linger for a bit. "Well, what do you
say?" she asked. "Shall I stop now?"
I groaned and said "No, go ahead."
"Go ahead and do what?", she demanded.
"Go ahead and spank me some more."
"A little more, or a lot more?"
"A lot more!" I shouted.
I had barely answered when the hairbrush began its drumming
on my ass again. It was coming down so hard that my whole body
was bouncing off the bed, almost as though Cheryl were dribbling
a basketball. After thirty or forty of those, she stopped again
and asked if I were ready for her to quit. "Not until you're
ready to stop," I replied, and so she started up again.
Finally she stopped, panting, and took the hairbrush back to
the dresser. I lay on the bed, still clutching my cock and my
balls, my ass throbbing in time with my pulse, and watched her
walk across the room. Her whole body was damp with sweat, her
bikini bottom dark at the crotch and along the crack of her ass.
I was still alert enough to reflect on how incredibly sexy she
looked, but I couldn't have gotten it up if my life depended on
it.
Cheryl looked down at me. "Get up and get dressed," she
snapped. "I'll see you in the kitchen."
I staggered to my feet and went to pick up my shorts,
glancing in the full-length mirror as I crossed the room. My ass
looked just the way it felt, an ugly purple from top to bottom
and side to side. A good thing I had no hot dates scheduled this
week, I thought to myself. I eased my shorts on and went out to
the living room where I'd left the rest of my clothes. Dressing
was agony, but at last I finished getting everything back on,
even tying my shoes.
Cheryl was sitting on a stool in the breakfast nook in her
kitchen. "Have a seat," she smirked as I shuffled in.
"No thanks," I said. "I'll just take my stories and all of
the computer disks and go." I wondered whether I'd be able to sit
in my car to drive home.
"I promised you could have them when we were through, didn't
I?" Cheryl said thoughtfully.
"You're damn right you did!"
"Well, I'll keep my promise, but this was just so much fun
that I don't think we're through yet."
"What the hell do you mean?" I demanded. "You've had your
fun, now give me those files and those papers!"
Cheryl was opening the front door as I spoke. She smiled at
me and said "Why don't you come over Friday evening, and we'll
talk about it then?" She nudged me onto the porch and closed the
door behind me.
I was tempted to kick the door in, beat the shit out of
Cheryl, if necessary, and demand my papers and computer files
back. As I stood there in the cool night air, though, I realized
that I couldn't be sure she hadn't kept copies somewhere else -
and besides, if she went to the police and gave them my name, I
didn't really want to tell them my side of the story. There was
no way to keep it quiet in a town the size of ours.
Cursing under my breath, I limped back to my car and eased
myself in. Sitting down wasn't pleasant, and I wondered how much
better it would feel tomorrow.
Well, that's the story for now. Somehow, between now and
Friday (this is still Tuesday, for another few minutes) I've got
to decide what to do. Whatever it is, I won't be able to tell
anyone, so I'll just have to continue to confide in this journal.
September 27, 1988
I'm writing this Friday evening, after coming back from
Cheryl's again. Emotionally, but not physically, I feel a lot
better than I did Tuesday night. The story is, if anything, more
incredible than the first part was.
My work suffered all week as I stewed about what to do, but
I finally decided there really wasn't much choice. I'd have to
confront Cheryl again if I were ever to be sure of getting all of
the incriminating evidence back. I worked late Wednesday night,
and managed to check Cheryl's computer and her desk to make sure
she hadn't kept any copies at work.
I found nothing, and hadn't really expected to. Cheryl's
power over me depended on no one else knowing what she knew, so
she wouldn't take a chance on leaving anything at the office.
That probably meant that everything was in her apartment, though
she might have put copies in a safe deposit box or someplace like
that; I'd just have to judge how sincere she seemed to be Friday
evening, because there was no way I was going back for a third
session!
Cheryl walked by my desk this afternoon and murmured "See
you at 7." I just nodded. I didn't want anyone else to get the
idea there was something going on between us.
I knocked on Cheryl's door a few minutes after seven. She
opened the door, stepping aside as I walked in.
"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," she
said. "I wouldn't have minded talking to Mr. Moore on Monday,"
she went on, "but it sure would have spoiled my plans for this
evening."
I said nothing. She looked at me for a few seconds, and then
went to fix drinks. "How're the buns?" she asked in a
conversational tone. "Bruises all gone?"
I nodded as she handed me my drink. "Well, we'll remedy that
in a few minutes," she smirked.
"No more dirty tricks," I said. "This has to be the last
time."
"Okay," Cheryl said - too quickly, I thought.
"I mean it," I insisted. "I want to see all of the hard
copies, and all of the computer disks, out here right now."
"No way!" she snapped. "I want you cooperating, and you
won't be if you know that all you have to do is come out here,
grab the stuff and leave."
"How do I know you won't pull the same stunt as last time?"
I demanded.
"You'll just have to trust me," she replied, "when I say
that tonight is it."
What's not good enough, I thought to myself, but I'll just
have to find another way to deal with it.
Cheryl glanced at my empty glass. "All through?" she asked.
"Good. You can leave your clothes in here - all of them, this
time - and meet me in the bedroom."
She strode out of the room, and I was left to repeat the
bizarre experience of last Tuesday, stripping off my clothes to
meet a beautiful and sexy woman, for an experience that was going
to be anything but erotic, at least for me!
I pulled my shorts off, leaving them on the sofa on top of
all of my other clothes. My stomach felt hollow as I walked
resolutely toward Cheryl's bedroom, my limp cock swinging in
front of me and my scrotum tight with nervous anticipation. I
wondered if Cheryl would be wearing the aqua bikini again; it
didn't really matter, but somehow I hoped she would be.
When I rounded the corner and could see into the bedroom, I
was glad Cheryl wasn't wearing the aqua bikini. Instead she was
wearing a red one, even smaller - if that were possible - than
the other. The bottom covered less than half of each tawny cheek
of her ass, and when she turned to face me I could see her
nipples standing out sharply through the filmy material and the
lips of her pussy pressing tightly against the crotch of her
bikini bottom. Despite my nervousness, my cock began to salute
the vision in front of me.
"You like it, I see," Cheryl said. "I don't get to wear it
as often as I'd like to," she added almost wistfully. Then she
turned all business.
"I have a little surprise for you tonight," she said. "I
want you on the bed from the start this time."
I clutched my cock in one hand and my balls in the other,
and lay down across the end of her bed, as I had last Tuesday.
"Not like that - up in the middle, with your arms out in
front of you," she instructed.
I obeyed, releasing my genitals and stretching my arms out
as I sidled away from the foot of the bed. Cheryl bent down in
front of me, giving me a magnificent view of her delectable tits
as she reached under the bed. She sat back on her haunches,
holding an elastic cord about three feet long - the kind some
people use to strap luggage on the racks on the back of sports
car trunk lids - with metal hooks on each end, and began to wrap
it around my wrists.
"What's that for?" I protested. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Just a little extra precaution," Cheryl answered grimly.
She stretched the cord as she wrapped it four or five times
around my wrists, clamping them together, and then fastened the
hook on the other end of the cord to some part of the bed frame.
Cheryl stood up and walked around the foot of the bed. I
thought she was going after the hairbrush until I suddenly felt
her wrapping another cord around my left ankle. That worried me,
and I started to kick and struggle, but she was too fast and too
strong. Slowly she dragged me backward across the bed, stretching
the cord that held my wrists as she pulled my left ankle down
against the cold metal of the bed frame.
I tried to kick at her with my right foot, but she quickly
seized it, repeated the wrapping process, pulled my right ankle
down toward the head of the bed and hooked the end of the cord to
the bed frame at that corner. Then she gripped me just above the
hips and dragged me back another inch until I felt my balls slide
free of the edge of the mattress.
There was no way I could have been more helpless, or more
vulnerable. My feet spanned almost the full length of the bed, my
ass just off the side of the mattress, cheeks spread wide apart,
my balls hanging free. I swore furiously at Cheryl, squirming in
my makeshift bonds.
She ignored me for a while, then told me to shut up; I did,
but only after she'd reached down and given my balls a sharp
squeeze. That really took the wind out of me, and I watched
silently as she walked over to the dresser and picked up the
all-too-familiar hairbrush.
"I told you I have a surprise for you," Cheryl said smugly,
"but I'm going to save it for a few minutes. I think your little
bummy needs some spanks with this to warm it up." She brandished
the hairbrush as she walked toward the foot of the bed and
stopped behind my painfully twisted left knee. "You don't have
your underpants to protect you, so I'll be very gentle," she
added mockingly.
I craned my neck to look over my shoulder as Cheryl brought
the hairbrush back and began to swing its lacquered face toward
my immobilized buttocks. I lost sight of it before it completed
its swing, but my sense of touch told me exactly where the swing
ended. The hairbrush landed squarely in the middle of my right
asscheek. I gasped in pain but, remembering how annoyed I'd been
with myself on Tuesday, I managed not to cry out.
The next blow smacked into the left cheek, and I bit my
tongue to keep quiet. As Cheryl continued to paddle my helpless
ass, I turned my head away and closed my eyes. I squirmed and
wriggled, but nothing I did could deflect the hairbrush from
whatever part of the target Cheryl selected.
After about the fifth "SMACK" I'd started counting, mostly
as a distraction from the pain. Thirty blows later, she stopped.
"There, now," she asked innocently, "weren't those nice and
easy?"
"You know they weren't, goddamn you," I spat. "Now unhook me
and let me get out of here!"
"But we've hardly started," Cheryl protested. "And I'm hurt
that you don't give me credit for being gentle. Maybe you need a
real spanking to help you appreciate the difference."
"NO!" I yelled, but it was too late. The hairbrush landed
low on my right buttock, and even as I bellowed in pain I had to
admit that Cheryl had been right - the first batch had been
gentle in comparison. She settled into a slow rhythm, burning the
hairbrush into my ass every two or three seconds. I rocked from
side to side, trying to break the cords that bound my ankles to
the bed frame, and cried out shamelessly with every blow.
After thirty or forty of those - I stopped trying to count -
she paused and asked if I wanted a gentle one.
"Yes, please," I begged, and she obliged.
"What kind was that?" she demanded.
"An easy one," I gasped.
The next one wasn't. I screamed again, and Cheryl asked,
"What was that one?"
"A hard one!" I groaned.
"Tell me what this one is," she commanded as the hairbrush
slapped again.
"An easy one."
"So you do know the difference," Cheryl said sarcastically.
Do you want some more easy ones?"
"No, please, Cheryl, no more," I pleaded.
"Ten more," she said. "Hard ones or easy ones?"
"Easy ones, please," I answered.
"I thought you'd say that," she snorted. "I'll compromise
with you," she said. "Half and half - do you want the easy ones
first or last?"
I couldn't answer her. I didn't want any at all, hard or
easy.
"Hurry up," she demanded, "or there won't be any easy ones!"
"Last," I answered quickly.
The next five were the worst so far, and the final five
weren't much gentler, at least from my perspective, but Cheryl
kept her word and stopped after ten. I looked over my shoulder at
her, and saw that her bikini was almost transparent with
perspiration. My cock didn't respond at all; 99 percent of my
attention was focused on the pulsating pain in my butt, and the
other one percent on my aching knees and hip joints.
"That's enough, Cheryl, let me go," I pleaded.
"We'll take a break for a few minutes," she answered, "but
you haven't had your surprise yet."
I wondered what on earth she could be planning to top the
horrendous paddling she'd already administered, but I was sure I
didn't want to find out.
Cheryl walked over to her dresser and picked up a leather
thong that looked like a boot lace from a hiking boot. She tied a
slip knot near one end of it, passed the end through the knot to
form a circle about two inches in diameter, and walked back over
to the bed. I could sense her directly behind me and was
mystified until I felt her cup my balls in one hand and slip the
leather loop over them.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. For the first
time I was really frightened. A man tends to be really protective
of his testes, and not just to avoid the pain that comes from
mistreating them - probably some instinct provided by nature to
ensure perpetuation of the species.
She tightened the noose without replying, and I could feel
my balls squeezed tight against the bottom of my scrotum. I tried
frantically to rock forward and backward, to loosen or break at
least one of the cords that held me, until Cheryl yanked downward
sharply on the leather thong. I screamed in pain, and Cheryl said
calmly "Hold still, or you're going to hurt yourself."
"You're the one who's hurting me, you fucking bitch," I
yelled at her. "And why? You've already got my legs tied up."
"I'm going to take the cords off your ankles," she answered,
"but I don't want you going anyplace." She tugged hard at the
thong again as she tied the lower end tightly to the frame of the
bed. I groaned and tried to push myself backward to ease the
pressure on my balls, but the cord holding my wrists had already
been stretched to its limit.
Then I felt first one ankle and then the other come free as
Cheryl unhooked the cords and unwrapped them. I gave a small sigh
of relief as I pulled my legs closer together and took some of
the strain off my knees and hip joints. My legs were free, but
the rest of my body was even more tightly restrained than before;
the cord binding my wrists kept me from moving backward, and even
the thought of trying to move forward added to the constant ache
in my testicles.
Cheryl stood up from her labors behind me and walked over to
the closet at the far side of the room. "Now for the surprise
I've been promising you," she said over her shoulder.
She reached into the closet and came out with a thin rod
about three feet long. "I took this with me when I left home,"
she announced. "A family heirloom, as it were, used on several
generations of naughty bare bottoms - mostly younger than yours,
but none more in need of it," she added.
As she came closer I could see that it was made of wood, a
little bigger around than the diameter of a pencil. "It's a birch
cane," Cheryl explained, "and I can tell you from personal
experience that its effects are really, UM, exquisite."
She walked around the end of the bed and I felt the muscles
in my ass shudder as she rested the cane across both cheeks.
"Listen," she ordered. She lifted the cane, brought it back and
then swung it sharply toward me; it made a whistling kind of
"swish" as it sped through the air, stopping just as it tapped
me. I jumped at the contact, and Cheryl giggled at my reaction.
"That sound really turns me on," she exclaimed. The cane whistled
again, and again it stopped with only the lightest touch on my
expectant asscheeks.
My buttocks clenched and my legs twitched involuntarily, and
she laughed again. "You'll know when its the real thing," she
said.
"Listen, Cheryl," I said, "this game has gone on long
enough. Put away the cane and let me go."
"Oh, no," she responded. "This is the best part, and I don't
care how much you beg, I'm not going to quit now."
Her voice distracted me enough that I didn't hear the
swishing of the cane. In fact, the next sound I heard was the
echo of my own surprised bellow of pain as the cane cut into both
cheeks of my ass. The cane whistled again, slashing diagonally
across my right asscheek and forcing another scream from my
lungs.
The pain was beyond description. Each time the hairbrush had
landed, pain had radiated out in all directions from the spot
where it hit. With the cane, it felt as though all that pain, and
more, was concentrated in the tiny strip of bruised flesh right
under the cane.
In the time it takes to tell about it the cane had cut into
the helpless cheeks of my ass a dozen times or more. I was
totally out of control, screaming at the top of my lungs with
every stroke, kicking my legs and struggling against my bonds,
oblivious to the pain in my balls.
Cheryl paused until I quieted down. "I don't care how much
noise you make," she told me. "My apartment's at the end, and the
one next door is vacant. But you ought to take it easy with that
kicking - if you're thinking of ever having a family, that is."
And with that she resumed the caning.
I screamed. I begged her to go back to using the hairbrush.
I pleaded with her to stop. I told her to go ahead and tell Mr.
Moore about my stories. But nothing even slowed her merciless
slashing at my ass.
Between yells I looked back at her, and realized that
Cheryl's left hand was deep inside her bikini bottom. From the
movement of her hand I could tell that at least one finger was
plunging rapidly in and out her pussy. She had a rapturous look
on her face, but even that didn't interfere with the rhythm of
the whistling cane.
Suddenly the caning stopped, and I was dimly aware that the
telephone was ringing in the other room. Cheryl dropped the cane
on the bed beside me and said "Don't go away, there's more to
come."
"Saved by the bell," I thought to myself absurdly. Then I
realized that the interruption only made things worse. If Cheryl
were planning to beat my ass and frig herself until she came,
she'd be a lot more strokes away from cumming when she came back
from answering the phone than she had been before it rang.
There was no way I could endure more caning - I would
literally go insane if Cheryl came back and started in again, I
thought. Somehow I had to get free.
Breaking the thong that tied my balls to the bed frame
seemed out of the question; I would castrate myself before the
thong broke. That left only the cord pulling my wrists toward the
far side of the bed. I strained against it, which merely
increased the tension on the thong encircling my scrotum, until I
almost screamed with pain and frustration.
But the alternative of lying there quietly until Cheryl came
back and picked up the cane seemed even worse. I braced my thighs
against the side of the mattress, in the hope that would keep me
from sliding forward, and tugged with all my strength. The
mattress squeezed in some, letting me move forward until the pain
in my balls was almost unendurable.
Just as I was deciding to give up, the hook that held the
cord to the far side of the bed frame broke off and my arms were
free! The cord was still wrapped several times around my wrists,
but I gnawed at one of the coils with my teeth until it slipped
loose, and then I had my hands free as well. I picked for a few
seconds at the slip knot that was sunk deep into the skin of my
scrotum, and then realized that it would be easier to undo the
knot at the other end of the thong.
I had just finished untying the thong from the bed frame
when I heard Cheryl saying good bye to whoever had called. I
snatched the ankle cords from the floor and the wrist cord from
the bed and hobbled stiffly to a spot behind the half-closed
door, trailing the leather thong from my ballooning testicles.
Cheryl gasped in surprise when she saw the empty bed. I
should have been too stiff and sore to move, but my desperation
overcame that. I knew suddenly what I had to do to prevent any
further extortion. In the half-second while Cheryl was looking
around the room in confusion, I knocked her down with a tackle my
high school football coach would have been proud of.
Before Cheryl could catch her breath I had one of the ankle
cords wrapped neatly around her knees and hooked in place, and
was whipping the wrist cord around her wrists. Then she started
thrashing at me with elbows and knees, and it was all I could do
to drag her over to the bed.
By the time I had the wrist cord - with its one good hook -
fastened securely to the bed frame, Cheryl had managed to throw
her legs off the end of the bed and was almost on her feet.
I shoved her back onto the bed, dodged her flying feet,
seized her ankles and dragged her into the position - lying
across the bed - that I'd occupied three minutes earlier. I made
sure the remaining ankle cord was fastened securely around her
right ankle before loosening the cord with which I'd bound her
knees. Cheryl cursed, screamed and kicked at me as I dragged her
backward across the bed and hooked the right ankle cord to the
bed frame, but her resistance only fueled the fury that had been
gradually building up in me.
I caught her flailing left foot, wrapped the last cord
around that ankle, and pulled her left leg inexorably backward
and downward until I could anchor it to the bed frame as well.
Panting, I stood up to survey the scene.
Cheryl's position wasn't quite right, I decided; her ass,
even her crotch, were still on the bed, because I'd started with
her wrists in the same position mine had been in, while her arms
and torso were shorter than mine. I loosened the wrist cord a few
inches, then dragged her backward and took up the slack by
tightening the ankle bonds.
This time the position looked perfect. I debated a second or
two about whether to leave her bikini top on, but concluded that
since I'd been totally naked, she should be too. I untied the
knot in the middle of her back and jerked the top out from under
her boobs, provoking a yelp of pain in the midst of the ongoing
stream of imprecations.
There was no question that the bottom of her bikini had to
go - Cheryl's ass was going to be as unprotected as mine had
been. I undid the tie strings at each side and pulled the bikini
between her legs like a diaper.
Now I had a pretty good idea of how I'd looked to Cheryl an
hour earlier. The crack of her ass yawned wide, with its darker
pigmentation spreading to encircle her puckered brown asshole.
Below that, the exterior lips of her pussy, glistening with the
products of her earlier self-stimulation, gaped where my balls
had hung.
The thought of my balls reminded me that I was still
dangling the leather thong. Gingerly, I loosened the slip knot,
wincing as the thong pulled at stray pubic hairs that had been
caught in it, and eased my aching testicles out of the leather
noose.
I walked around to the other side of the bed and tossed the
thong down where Cheryl could see it. "I'm afraid your ankles
will have to stay put," I told her. "You seem to be lacking the
appendages to make this useful."
"You son of bitch!" she snarled. "You won't get away with
this. I'll go to the police, I'll go to the newspaper, I'll - "
"I don't think so, Cheryl," I interrupted her. "I don't
think you'll ever want to tell anyone about what you did to me,
or about what I'm going to do to you."
"What - what are you going to do?" she asked. The
belligerence was gone from her voice.
"To begin with," I answered, picking up the cane, "I'm going
to let you decide whether this feels as 'exquisite' as you
remembered."
"Please," she whimpered, "not too hard. I didn't use it hard
on you."
"Right," I said as I walked around the end of the bed. "So I
won't use it any harder than you did." I laid the cane across her
ass and adjusted my stance so I could land the cane in any spot
on either cheek without moving. Cheryl started to sob quietly,
every muscle from her waist down quivering with dread.
I decided not to tease Cheryl the way she'd teased me. I
lifted the cane off her ass, brought it back, and swished it
forward onto the left cheek. Cheryl shrieked and wiggled her ass
helplessly as a dark red welt rose where the cane had landed. I
swung the cane and gave her a matching welt on the other cheek.
Again she screamed and struggled against her bonds.
It wasn't until the fifth stroke of the cane that she
started pleading with me to stop, and it wasn't until the
twentieth that I did. By that time, Cheryl's beautiful bottom was
crossed with a network of red stripes, and her whole body was
trembling uncontrollably.
I laid the cane gently across her ass again. "Now," I said,
"I'm going to ask you a question. If I like your answer, I'll ask
another question; if I don't, your little tush will get ten more
reunions with the cane. And we'll go on that way until I have all
the answers I want. Got it?"
"Yes," she wept. "What's the question?"
"That should be obvious - where are my stories?" I demanded.
"In a safe place, where you'll never find them," she said
defiantly.
I was amazed; I'd thought she was ready to do almost
anything to stop the caning. My earlier rage had been largely
transferred into the welts that now stood out on her ass, and I
had no particular desire to keep punishing her - but she wasn't
leaving me much choice.
"I don't like that answer," I told her. She stiffened as I
lifted the cane from her ass and raised it. I selected a
relatively unmarked spot on her left asscheek and whipped the
cane down hard. Cheryl shrieked in real agony, the lips of her
pussy opening and closing as she flexed her muscles against the
cords. Nine more quick hard strokes of the cane, with the same
reaction to each.
Again I asked her the same question, and again she refused
to tell me. By the time I'd given her ten more strokes with the
cane, there was hardly a spot on Cheryl's ass that wasn't part of
one welt or another.
I rested the cane on her trembling ass again. "This time," I
warned her, "if I don't like your answer it'll be twenty strokes,
not ten. Are you ready to tell me where they are?"
"All right," she sighed. "I can't take any more. The stuff
is all in my old briefcase in the closet."
I put the cane down on the bed and went to the closet. The
briefcase was in the back, between two stacks of shoe boxes. I
pulled it out and backed into the bedroom, no longer conscious of
my total nudity. I put the briefcase on the floor in front of
Cheryl and tried to open it. Neither latch would open; both had
little combination locks.
"What are the combinations, Cheryl?", I asked wearily. She
looked at me speculatively until I got to my feet and picked up
the cane.
"OK, OK," she said quickly. "I was going to tell you." She
gave me the combinations and I set the numbers on the little
wheels. This time both latches released. I opened the briefcase
and found the manila envelope that Cheryl had been carrying at
our first lunch "date". Inside the envelope were the same
printouts of my six chapters and two computer diskettes.
"How do I know what's on these disks?" I demanded
suspiciously.
"My god, you ought to trust me by this time," Cheryl cried.
"I know when I've been beaten!" It took a few seconds, and then
she gave a hysterical little giggle as she realized what she'd
said. "You can check them on my computer - it's set up where the
pantry is supposed to be." Her voice sounded defeated but there
was a glint of triumph in her eyes that bothered me.
I made sure each of the elastic cords was holding well
before went out in search of Cheryl's computer. I checked the
disks one at a time and they seemed to be right. The file names
were correct and a quick scan of the contents looked familiar.
I'd shut down the computer and was heading back to the bedroom
when it dawned on me - the diskettes were a different brand than
we used at work! When Cheryl first copied my files she would have
used disks from the office. She could have copied them onto her
own diskettes and then conscientiously returned the original
diskettes to the office - but the glint I'd seen in her eyes told
me she still had the originals hidden somewhere.
Tiptoeing back to the bedroom, I glanced through the door.
Cheryl was still on the bed, straining against each of her bonds.
I'd expected that, but I was pretty sure she wasn't strong enough
to break any of the hooks the way I had.
She stopped struggling as soon as she saw me. Her tentative
smile of relief changed to a look of alarm as I strode to the bed
and picked up the cane. I took up my position behind her and
rested the cane on her ass.
"What's the matter? Those are the right diskettes," she
babbled. "Did you have trouble with the computer? Let me go, I'll
show you how...."
"These disks are just fine, Cheryl," I interrupted. "Now I
want to know where the originals are. And before you answer,
remember the stakes are up to twenty now."
Five seconds passed in silence. "Those are the only copies I
have," she said carefully. "I erased the originals and took them
back to the office, I swear."
I looked down at her ass. The welts had sort of run
together, so both cheeks were a nearly uniform reddish purple. "I
don't like it when you lie to me, Cheryl," I said sadly.
"I'm not lying!", she protested frantically. "I'm telling
you the truth, I era - " She interrupted herself with a howl of
pain as I lashed down with the cane. I left a dozen fresh welts
on Cheryl's discolored rump, and eight more on the backs of her
unblemished thighs. Between screams Cheryl begged me to stop,
assuring me that she'd erased the original diskettes.
I finished the twenty and waited for her sobbing to subside.
"Look," she finally gasped, "you can fuck me. You can do anything
you want to me. Just stop caning me, because there's nothing more
I can tell you."
"We can talk about fucking after I get those original disks
back," I told her. "Now where are they?"
Again she pleaded that she didn't have them, and again I cut
her protests off with the cane. This time I worked on the insides
of her thighs, moving upward in a steady pattern until, after
fifteen strokes, she could have no doubt that the next one would
cut squarely across her convulsing pussy.
I paused. "Five more, Cheryl," I reminded her. "You know
where they're going to be - or you can have them on your ass
instead, if you tell me where those diskettes are. It's your
choice."
"No, please don't, I beg you," she shrieked. "I erased
them."
I wanted to believe her, wanted to stop hurting her, but I
was convinced she was still lying. I shrugged mentally as I drew
back the cane. Cheryl had made her choice, and now she would
suffer the consequences. The muscles bulged in her thighs as she
tried futilely to close her legs, to shield the most sensitive
part of her body, but the cane whistled cleanly onto its target,
leaving a furrow that cut diagonally across both lips of her
pussy.
The scream that tore its way out of the depths of Cheryl's
soul was clearly more sincere than anything else that had come
out of her mouth all week, but it took another stroke of the cane
in almost the same spot before she finally gurgled "All right,
I'll tell you." I'd promised her twenty, so I gave her three more
across the ass.
"I'm waiting," I said, laying the cane down. Cheryl was
shaking all over as she tried to speak, but I finally understood
that she was saying "in the freezer".
Sure enough, there were two diskettes, the brand we use at
work, sealed in a ziploc baggie, hidden between two diet dinners
in the freezer compartment of her refrigerator. A very clever
hiding place, I had to admit - not where anyone would look for
computer diskettes. I didn't bother to check them on Cheryl's
computer; I was sure she wouldn't have held out on these for so
long if they weren't real, and the last real ones at that.
I walked back into the bedroom. This time Cheryl wasn't
struggling. "Will you please let me go now?" she begged.
"Well, I've been thinking," I said. "We're about even on the
caning, but you're a couple of hundred little love pats ahead of
me with that hairbrush. Maybe we need to even the score before I
let you loose."
"No," she wailed. "My ass couldn't stand anything more."
"You didn't seem very worried about what my ass could
stand," I pointed out.
"I know. I'm sorry, but please, don't spank me any more."
"All right," I agreed, "no more tonight. "I'll come back in
the morning and we'll see how the situation looks then. Just to
be sure you're waiting for me, though, I'm going to leave you
right where you are now."
Cheryl pleaded with me to undo her bonds, but I ignored her.
I found an extra blanket on the shelf in her closet and spread it
over her shoulders and back - leaving her bottom exposed - said
"Good night, Cheryl," gathered up all of the computer disks and
printouts, and turned out the light.
I dressed in the living room, pocketed Cheryl's keys, found
the thermostat and turned it up to 85 to keep the derriere next
door from getting too chilled, turned out the rest of the lights
and locked the door behind me. As I got in my car and started the
drive home, I realized that I was leaving with a lighter heart -
and a sorer ass - than I'd had since Tuesday morning.
Now that this is almost finished, I'm planning to sleep in
tomorrow. Oh, I'll make it over to Cheryl's, all right, but a
couple of extra hours won't make that much difference. And I
don't have any intention of using the hairbrush on her, because I
don't get any special thrill out of seeing someone else in pain.
On the other hand, the idea of her spending ten or twelve hours,
realizing how helpless and vulnerable she is - and worrying about
how her own hairbrush is going to feel on that already-bruised
bare ass - doesn't make me feel bad at all.
Good night, Cheryl, and pleasant dreams.
September 28, 1988
The story continues. I woke up around nine this morning and
took my time shaving and getting dressed - for obvious reasons.
My butt is still the color of raw meat, and aches like hell at
the slightest pressure. By ten I decided that Cheryl was probably
getting pretty anxious to see me.
I stopped by a fast food restaurant and picked up a couple
of scrambled egg and sausage breakfasts to go, and drove over to
Cheryl's apartment. She was begging by the time I got the door
unlocked.
"God, I thought you were never going to come," she
complained as I walked into her bedroom. She was still in the
same position as she'd been when I left the night before, though
she had apparently managed to squirm enough to make the blanket
slide off her back and onto the floor. "Please, let me go - I've
got to go to the bathroom so bad I can taste it."
I put the breakfast boxes down on the dresser and walked
around behind her. Cheryl's ass looked about the way mine had,
shading from dark red on the cheeks themselves to a series of
pinkish stripes on the backs and insides of her upper thighs. The
lips of her pussy, already darker than the rest of her skin, were
crossed with two black-looking welts where the cane had done its
work.
Cheryl groaned as I released the cords that bound her
ankles, and stretched her legs out behind her while I loosened
her wrists. She crawled off the bed and headed stiffly toward the
bathroom. I went with her, but once I'd glanced at the window and
confirmed that it was too high and too small for her to escape, I
left the bathroom and let her close the door.
She emerged about five minutes later, having done at least
some minimal washing and combing. "I brought some stuff to eat,"
I said, gesturing toward the dresser.
"That's terrific!" Cheryl exclaimed. "Let me get a robe on."
"Uh-uh," I responded. "We've got some unfinished business,
and I don't want you skipping out the front door before that's
taken care of. You look just fine the way you are."
Indeed she did, especially from the front. I hadn't had a
really good view of her boobs before, but the sight was worth the
wait. They were round and full without sagging, and her trim
waist and hips were perfectly proportioned. Perhaps because of
the caning I'd given her thighs, she walked and stood with her
legs well apart, providing a delightful view of her snatch.
The smile died on Cheryl's face. "You're really serious
about the hairbrush, I mean, about getting even?"
"Can you give me any reason why I shouldn't be?" I demanded.
I hadn't changed my mind about spanking her, but I enjoyed the
anxiety in her voice and saw no reason to relieve her worries
yet.
"I guess not," she sighed. "I suppose I really do have it
coming."
"Let's eat first," I suggested, handing her one of the
boxes. She took it and started to sit on the edge of the bed, but
immediately winced and jumped to her feet again. "I can't sit
down," she cried.
"You can do what I do," I suggested, sliding onto the bed
and lying on my left side, propped up on one elbow with the
breakfast box in front of me. Cheryl matched my position, lying
on her right side. The top of the Styrofoam box grazed her right
tit as she opened it.
We ate the greasy lukewarm food eagerly without saying
anything more. When we were both finished, Cheryl gathered up the
boxes, plastic forks and knives, and napkins and carried them
into the kitchen. Again I followed her; my cock stiffened as I
watched her ass muscles ripple, her wide-legged gait exaggerating
the transfer of weight from one leg to the other.
Cheryl dumped the breakfast debris and headed resolutely
back to the bedroom. "Thanks for breakfast," she said. "Let's get
this over with."
She picked up the hairbrush from the dresser and handed it
to me. "You're not going to tie me up again, are you?"
"Not right now," I answered. "We'll see how it goes." I sat
down on the foot of the bed, but scooted well back from the edge,
so both legs were straight out in front of me. My ass throbbed,
but there was no other way to get Cheryl into the position I'd
decided I wanted her to be in.
I didn't have to tell her to lie across my lap. She crawled
over my legs until her battered rump was over my right thigh, and
then eased herself down until her boobs flattened against the
bedspread. "Not too much, OK?" she pleaded. "I already can't sit
down, and I don't know how I'm going to make it to work on
Monday."
Her ass twitched as I rested my arm across it. "I don't feel
too sorry for you," I said. "This whole business was your idea,
remember?" Then I lifted her left leg at the knee and swung it
suddenly over my head, pulling Cheryl closer to me at the same
time. She gave a startled yell and tried to pull her legs closer
together, but they were separated by my body. "Put your head down
on my legs," I ordered.
Cheryl moved to comply. "But why?", she wailed. I waited for
those grapefruit-sized boobs to settle onto my shins, just below
the kneecaps, before I answered her.
"I liked the view last night," I said, "but this is more,
well, personal." It was, in fact, extremely personal. With
Cheryl's thighs on either side of my waist, her legs were spread
almost as far apart as they had been when she was tied to the
bed. I could have bent down and bitten - or kissed - either
blazing asscheek, and her bruised cuntlips were only inches ahead
of the growing bulge in the front of my pants.
I stroked her ass and said "I have some questions for you."
"Oh, Jesus, not this again!" she sighed.
"Not that kind of questions," I soothed. "If I hadn't gotten
loose last night, would you have given me the disks back?
"Probably not," Cheryl admitted.
"Just how long were you planning to play the game?" I wanted
to know.
"I don't know, as long as you went along with it, I guess,"
she replied.
"Would you really have gone to Mr. Moore if I'd refused to
play?" I continued to massage both of Cheryl's asscheeks as I
spoke.
"I hadn't really decided yet," she responded. "I was pretty
sure you'd go along, at least for a while."
"But why me?" I insisted.
"You were in a bad spot - you were vulnerable," Cheryl
explained. She was beginning to squirm under my probing hands,
and I could see her pussy lips beginning to swell and darken.
"I suppose a shrink would say I was getting back at my
father," she continued unexpectedly. "I wanted to please him, get
him to care about me, but nothing I did was ever good enough for
him - and when I did something wrong, he really made me pay for
it."
"Am I the first guy you ever spanked?" I asked, running my
thumbs along the inside of her widely spread thighs.
"The second," she replied. "I lived with a guy for six
months or so, and I used to work him over pretty good."
"What kind of hold did you have on him?" Cheryl was
beginning to push herself backward against my hands, and her
cuntlips glistened as the pressure of my thumbs at the base of
her ass spread them apart.
"I didn't need a hold - he liked it," Cheryl said
contemptuously.
"How on earth did you find that out?" I was astonished. "I
mean, did he just tell you he liked it?"
"Sort of," Cheryl was breathing faster as I ran my
fingertips down the crack of her ass, across her asshole,
stopping just short of her pussy. "We were sitting in bed one
Saturday morning. I was trying to read a magazine, and he kept
reaching over and tweaking my tit. It really irritated me, and
finally I told him that if he didn't leave me alone I was going
to paddle his ass. He kept it up, so finally I grabbed my
hairbrush off the night table, pulled him over my lap, and gave
him ten or twelve good ones. That made him really horny, and we
had a steamy fuck, and the next day he went out and bought me the
hairbrush I have now - the one I used on you."
"This one here," I said, picking up the hairbrush from the
bed and resting its cool, hard face against one of her hot ass
mounds. Cheryl's legs squeezed my waist as she clenched the
muscles in her ass.
"Please," she begged, "not too hard. I'm so sore from the
caning you gave me last night!"
"Not yet," I said, putting the hairbrush back on the bed
beside me. "So, he bought you the hairbrush and told you he liked
the way it felt," I prompted as I resumed massaging the bunched
muscles in her asscheeks.
Cheryl's ass relaxed and she said "Yeah, it got to the place
where nothing else turned him on. I used a belt on him, then the
cane, even tied his balls up the way I did yours, and he loved it
all."
"Sounds like a perfect match," I commented. "Why didn't you
stick together?"
Cheryl moaned as I slid my thumb along the slippery length
of her cuntlips. "I hated it," she answered. "I needed him to
hurt, the way I had, but all I was doing was giving him what he
wanted. It got so I never wanted to see his ass again."
My thumb slid into her heated pussy and she gasped. "Don't!"
she exclaimed. "I'm getting so hot I can't stand it. Hurry up and
paddle me with the hairbrush."
I slid my thumb in all the way as I picked the hairbrush up
with my other hand and laid it atop her ass. "Are you sure you
want me to do this?" I asked.
"I deserve it," she insisted. "I used it on you!"
"I have a better idea," I said. My thumb was still buried in
her cunt as I laid the hairbrush back on the bed and lifted
Cheryl's right leg over my head, rolling her onto her back. I
fumbled one-handed with my belt and fly and dragged my pants down
over my throbbing erection.
"I never cum this way," Cheryl protested, but her pussy
sucked eagerly as my rigid cock offered itself in place of my
thumb. Her erect nipples were the size of gumdrops as I sucked at
them, feeling the walls of her pussy clenching at my thrusting
penis.
Cheryl screamed and clawed at my back, arching her hips as
her orgasm started, and mine was only a few seconds behind.
Despite the fog in my brain I heard a "thunk" as the hairbrush
fell onto the floor.
Gradually our bodies relaxed. "My God," Cheryl gasped, "I
never felt anything like that before!"
I kissed her mouth for the first time and slid off her. I
pulled my clothes off, dropping them over the edge of the bed,
and then slid off the bed myself. Naked, I fumbled around on the
floor until I found the hairbrush. I picked it up and walked
toward Cheryl's dresser.
"Let's leave this over here where it belongs," I suggested.
Cheryl nodded mutely and stretched a hand toward me as I came
back to bed.
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