troubling tees

[Andrew Roller]

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troubling tees

Times change, as do the slogans people favor. In the 1960’s,
the term “baby killer” was tossed about, not only as a term of derision
but also as a kind of positive, macho image, reflected in the song,
“Napalm sticks to kids.” At a recent riot against globalization, a
t-shirt was seen bearing this slogan: “Baby fucker.”
Another t-shirt bore the words, “Certified molester”,
reminiscent, one would suppose, of the 1980’s anti-authority slogan
“Certified lunatic.”
And then there was a shirt which said, “I can fuck anyone I
want to fuck.” On the back of the shirt it read, “Including your
daughter.”
Disturbing slogans to be sure but, as the Chief of Police of
Washington D.C. said, of the rioters, “God bless ‘em.” -- The
Economist, April 22, 2000, pg. 24.

- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
A Martyr to Love

Chapter One

He felt the whip in his hand. It was solid, hard, like the
part of himself in his pants that felt as if it would burst. He drew
the whip back, enjoying the heaviness of it, the taut swing of the
leather as it reached its rearmost point. With a quick lifting of his
hand he let the whip fly. It struck his wife’s bottom. She screamed.
Her buttocks, already lifted high, reared higher. He saw with
satisfaction the red mark his whip made on her ass, making her shake it
rudely, belying the professional status she held in the ‘real world’,
the world of the everyday, where she was a doctor.
He was a lawyer. A tort lawyer, suing for “claims” made mostly
by people trying to increase the size of their purse. He sued for
adultery, for sexual harassment, for child molestation, whatever the fad
of the times paid most for. He broke people’s lives, he liked to say,
and his wife mended them.
Going to the bureau, he opened the top drawer. He rummaged for
a cigarette as his wife recovered. The movement of her bottom slowed,
the cheeks, formerly so white and delicious but now stridently pink,
relaxed. And then they tightened again, feeling the awfulness of the
sting renew itself in a kind of afterglow, a renewed memory of the
whip’s blow.
“Uhhhhnnn,” Georgina gasped. Lars found a cigarette and put it
to his lips. He scanned the open drawer for a lighter.
“You’re getting soft,” he said to his wife. “You used to hold
back on that first gut-wrenching scream until at least the twentieth
stroke.” He was not even hitting her particularly hard. She had a
meeting tomorrow and she had made him promise that she would be able to
sit down for it. He felt a sudden impulse to hit her harder, to make
her pay for her laziness in screaming so soon. They did not do this as
often anymore, him tying her up and whipping her before sex. Other
things had begun to intrude. He had made senior partner at the firm,
lengthening his hours (something everyone had always said would never
happen), she had been promoted to the head doctor in her office. He
stepped back to where he’d been standing, three feet behind her. He
drew back the whip, his cock straining in his pants. He let it fly once
more. She screamed marvelously, the stroke harder than she’d expected,
the danger of her not being able to sit tomorrow suddenly pregnant in
her mind. She was gorgeous as she arched before him, still just 27, a
full ten years younger than he. But he was restless, bored, despite her
butt-wrenching similarity to any man’s dream version of the Playmate of
the Month. Something about her being a doctor bothered him. A
professional, a person with outside obligations and commitments. He
wanted her all for himself, forever, with nothing to intrude between
them. But it couldn’t be. She was too valuable. Too many people
depended on her. Too many people expected her to show up for work in
the morning. Every morning. There were her monthly clients, her
bi-monthly clients, little old ladies and young men too, whose
“problems,” as far as Lars could see, were confined solely to a need to
re-charge their bedroom fantasies by spending a quarter hour or so face
to face with someone they usually saw just in a magazine.
When he was finished hitting her, they made love, her bottom
wonderfully tender as he entered her and left the best of his bodily
fluids in her. After that they lay in their bed. She laid on her belly
to keep her sore ass from rubbing the sheets. He laid on his back,
feeling the strength of himself slip away. Her face pressed to his
chest, kissing his chest hairs as if one by one. Her hand stroked
between his legs, encouraging him But he felt a sort of ennui, a kind
of casual disobedience in his loins. He might rise again to give her
seconds but then again he might simply smoke instead, denying her.
“Do you love me?” she asked in the darkness.
“Of course I love you,” he replied, lifting the cigarette from
his lips and exhaling. For the first time he realized he had fucked her
while he smoked, giving her all of himself but at the same time somehow
keeping a cigarette balanced in his mouth, as if he were not her husband
but a gigolo paid once too often for this sort of thing.
“I think you do,” she agreed. She kissed him again, more
slowly even than before, as if worshipping his chest hairs now, as if
supplicating a God. Her fingers snaked along his organ between his
legs. Obediently, indolently, it began to respond. He felt it rise.
She gripped it, feeling the growing largeness of it in her hand. He
stiffened more. She gasped appreciatively. “We must think up new
games,” she suggested. For some reason she sounded to him like a doctor
diagnosing a condition, recommending a prescription. He stood up
grandly, his back still pressed to the sheets but his cock stiff and
hard.
“Yes,” he agreed.

He walked along the hall. He admired the paintings on the
panelled walls. They had cost a lot, but they had their intended
effect. Clients, coming to his firm for the first time, saw the
paintings and assumed he and his staff must know the law very well if
they could afford such fine art. In fact, the paintings had been too
expensive for even his firm to buy outright. They had taken out a loan
whose payments were becoming a burden. But the clients didn’t know
that. They assumed the paintings were owned, outright, like the
paintings they had at home that they’d bought at Wallmart, or the local
gallery.
The paintings had their desired effect on the help, too, Lars
mused, as he saw a figure dart across the hall. She was Elaine. The
new girl. Long brown hair, a quick, lithe body, sumptuous tits and an
ass that looked like it hadn’t put on an ounce of weight since eighth
grade. Oh, and she could type, too, although the firm had felt obliged
to buy her color paste-ons for her typewriter keyboard so she could
increase her speed. Red paste-ons for the primary letters, yellow
paste-ons for the secondary letters. Green for the numbers. New
clients mistook the girl for a high school student, a daughter of one of
the partners perhaps, but Lars didn’t mind.
“Oh Elaine,” Lars called out. The girl turned.
“Yes sir?” she asked. There was a kind of distance in her
gaze. She worked for another senior partner, not Lars. There were
definite rules in the firm regarding who worked for whom, especially at
the senior level. Her boss was an asshole. He didn’t want her working
on anything that wasn’t his. Lars could see in her gaze her fear, that
she would be given something to do by him that her own boss would later
scold her for taking on.
“Um, coffee. When you get the chance,” Lars said. The girl
nodded. She disappeared. Lars wanted to look into the office that
she’d disappeared into but it was Old Ironsides’ office, as Lars called
her boss. He would sit in there all day chain-smoking cigars and
belching out orders. Lars couldn’t imagine why the girl had ever signed
on with the man, but she said it was for the art they had in their firm,
on the walls, and he was grateful whatever the reason, for his own
secretary, while highly efficient, was going on her fortieth year in
law.
“Mr. James,” Lar’s secretary said as he passed into his own
office.
“Yes?” Lars asked.
“Just between you and I, sir, although your theory of this case
is highly proficient, it may perhaps not be in the best interest of your
client,” Lar’s secretary, one Magda Rene, told him. Lars stopped by her
desk. He peered down at her word processor screen.
“And?” Lars asked.
“I’ve made a few changes,” Magda replied.
“Yes. Of course,” Lars said. “Thank you.” He turned and went
beyond her desk into the secondary room that formed his office proper,
with the view of the bay and the ships. Another lawyer might have
frowned on Magda’s intrusion into his work but Lars never did. He was a
lawyer without any convictions, she was a one-time law student with a
felony conviction for drugs, back in the days when she was much
younger. To make up for fact that her conviction precluded her ever
being a lawyer, she worked twice as hard. And she’d been doing it for
40 years. Lars trusted her judgement. She had, in fact, as they both
privately knew, made him partner with her efforts. She did the bulk of
the work and he got the plaudits. It was a great arrangement, even for
her, because any other lawyer might well have stomped on her
independence, perhaps even firing her for it. Lars let her do what she
wanted. The only problem was, she would probably die at her desk, and
in the meantime the firm saw no reason to give him another secretary.
Old Ironsides got the sweet college girls, like Elaine, who would work
for the firm for a year or so before moving on with their lives. Lars
got Magda.
There was a knock on the door of his office. He looked up. He
hadn’t even noticed that he’d closed the door behind him.
“Come in,” he called, expecting Magda, with another of her
“suggested” changes. Instead, the figure that wafted into his office
was as light and young as the steam rising up from the coffee cup she
held in her hands. His cup. She held it with both her hands, as if it
might be some precious vessel, belonging to a God. He shook his head.
His thoughts, he told himself, were becoming clouded. The girl had been
nice enough, in recent days, to fetch him coffee, even though Old
Ironsides, if he’d found out, would have read her the riot act. She
stepped up to his desk. She held the coffee out to him, across his
desk, like some awkward child. He’d told her before to come around the
desk, to not seem so scared of him, but she’d replied that it wasn’t him
she was scared of, but Old Ironsides. She had to keep her distance.
She couldn’t stay long. He reached out for the coffee, re-enacting the
clumsy passing of the cup as in days past.
“Thank you, Miss Klass,” Lars said.
“You’re welcome,” Elaine answered. She blushed. He looked at
her, taking in the rosiness of her cheeks, her bright eyes, her
perfectly shaped rosebud lips and the way her eyelashes fluttered, first
letting her look at him, then blinking, avoiding him, only to boldly
open again and given him the fullness of her gaze. Their eyes had
stared at each other for longer than either of them realized when she
said, suddenly, “I’d better go.”
“Oh. Yes,” Lars agreed. He felt as if he were coming out of a
daze. For a moment he had seen her not in her conservative skirt and
blouse and cute little girl scout-style necktie, complete with white
nylons and office-appropriate heels, but naked, with a dog collar around
her neck. She blushed again. As she turned he remarked anew, as he had
many times before, to her similarity to the girls he saw every day
getting out of the high school, down below his window and across the
street. He still wondered sometimes if she weren’t in fact a college
freshman but a high school sophomore who’d somehow faked her school
records to get into his firm. She turned, just as he was calling
himself a pervert for imagining a whip hitting her ass.
“Oh Lars,” Elaine said in her soft, eager voice that she had
begun using whenever they were truly alone, as they were now with the
office door shut.
“Yes?” Lars asked. He looked at the door beyond her. When had
she started closing that? A day before, two? She had left it open
previously but now for the past several days she had closed it, giving
them a moment of their own, just the two of them, even though she still
refused to come around to his side of his desk.
“I’ll be leaving at the end of the week,” Elaine said.
“No!” Lars blurted. Now it was his turn to blush. He’d never
let on to his interest in her, not really, even scolding himself for the
odd erotic thought about her. But now, with the suddenness of her
revelation, his Id overpowered his better judgement. She smiled,
sheepishly.
“I have to,” she told him. Lars’ face fell.
“A boyfriend?” he asked.
“No, just a great offer,” Elaine answered. Lars imagined a
great offer he’d made to his wife once, a getaway weekend for two. That
was when they’d discovered the little shop in New Orleans, on Royal
street, selling whips.
“I... see,” Lars said. He cleared his throat. She put her
hand on the doorknob to his office door, as hesitant as ever to stay and
say more than a few words to him. Old Ironsides would be wanting her.
“But what kind of offer?” Lars said. He realized there was a pleading
note in his voice. And, at the same time, a sense of desperation, and
longing not to hear the answer he was sure she would give, if only she
had the courage.
“My brother is going horseback riding, out West, and he said I
could come,” Elaine said.
“Oh,” Lars replied. He frowned. He tried to find a boyfriend
angle in her statement somewhere, but Elaine’s words were full of their
usual innocence, an artless child babbling about ponies. “And who else
will be going?” Lars asked. Now it was Elaine’s turn to frown. “Just
him,” she said. “He didn’t want me to come but when I heard he was
going to be riding horses, I begged him. I really like horses!” Elaine
said.
“You do,” Lars said. It was a kind of leaden statement. He
didn’t own any horses but he imagined perhaps he could get some, if the
girl were really into them.
“Well, and elephants too,” Elaine added. “Someday I’d like to
ride those big elephants in India, way up there like I’m royalty!”
“Yes,” Lars said, becoming confused now, his daydreams mingling
with her youthful aspirations in a kind of surrealistic erotic
nightmare, Elaine floating before him, a coffee cup in her hand, a dog
collar on her neck and a big elephant suddenly rising, taking her with
him, leading her off where he might never meet her again. And whipping
the elephant, driving it, was her brother, Oedipedal longings written
all over his face. “Yes of course,” Lars said, the woodenness of his
voice providing finality to his fears, for when he looked up again he
was gone, and his door was closed, and there was nothing for him to
stare at but a slab of expensive wood.
That night he lay in bed with his wife, as they had before, she
with a burning ass and he with a cigarette in his mouth. They had
actually bothered to go downstairs, down to their cellar, to their
makeshift dungeon, for a formal whipping there before coming up to the
bed. He had tied her to a whipping post as if she were some Medieval
penitent, and he the inquisitor charged with beating heresies out of
her. She had screamed even earlier this time, but he had hit her
harder, not caring this time if she wouldn’t be able to sit the next
morning.
“You were awful,” she told him, kissing his chest now, as he
lay smoking.
“I am to displease,” he replied.
“I’ll have to stand tomorrow and they’ll all wonder what’s
wrong with me,” she chided.
“Yes,” he replied. And then she asked him the question again,
the question she’d asked on the previous night.
“Do you love me?” she whispered, between kisses.
“Of course,” he answered.
“We must think up new games,” she said. She kissed his chest
and then licked it.

He kept the magazines in his office. He kept them locked in a
safe, behind a painting on his office wall. He did not know that the
girl had found the key to the safe, under the ashtray on his desk, when
she had stepped in one afternoon after he was gone, and lovingly
straightened the papers on his desk. He didn’t know that she had lifted
up the painting one afternoon, curious, wondering if she could learn
more about it, and seeing the safe behind it. He hadn’t been there
when, with trembling hands, she had taken the painting down off the wall
and tried the key in the safe. She had wondered if there might be more
art in there, that she could write about for a college paper she had
due. Instead she found the magazines.
They shocked her, at first. They were porn magazines, of
people doing things she’d never heard of before, or only vaguely
imagined, in the way children sometimes imagine things when they become
excited. She stared, she became heated. She put the magazines back in
the safe and hurried out of his office only to return the next day, when
he was gone, and look at them once more. In addition to the magazine
were letters, love letters, from his wife. At first she had told
herself they might be letters about the art on the office walls, letters
from curators perhaps, but when she found out they were from his wife,
whom she’d never met, she read them anyway. It was too tempting to read
a married woman’s thoughts not to. Especially a woman’s thoughts about
a man she was becoming more and more infatuated with. She wondered, as
she read the letters, what Lars wrote back, or if he wrote anything at
all. In her letters Georgina reproved Lars for punishing her bottom.
Her bottom! And then, seemingly in the next breath, she complimented
him for it, telling him how awful it had been, but also how it had made
her feel special too, being the only woman in her office with such a
well-loved ass.
So it was not in complete ignorance that next afternoon when
Elaine met Lars’ wife, for the first time, in his office, when she
brought in his after-lunch coffee. The girl said nothing of her
discovery of the magazines or the letters, of course. And Georgina,
taking an immediate liking to her, saw only artless innocence. Lars did
too, as he admired the way Elaine and his wife seemed to ‘click’ with
each other. Elaine, forgetting Old Ironsides for the first time in her
visits, sat down. Georgina sat also, wincing a little, bringing a
secretive smile to Elaine’s lips.
The two talked. “So how long have you been married?” Elaine
asked. Georgina, for her part, asked about Elaine’s trip. Lars coffee
grew cold in his hands. He said only a little. The girls seemed, for
the moment, entirely interested in each other, as if sizing each other
up, but in a friendly way. At last Old Ironsides called for Elaine.
The girl leaped up. She blushed and apologized. She hurried out of the
office, leaving Lars alone with his wife.
“She’s sweet,” Georgina said, turning to Lars.
“Yes,” Lars agreed. He lifted his coffee. He took a swallow.
He made a face as he found it cold.
“We could include her,” Georgina said.
“What?” Lars asked.
“In our games,” Georgina told him.
“No,” Lars said. “She’s only a high school girl. Well,
college actually.”
“Then she’ll do just fine,” Georgina told him.

The following Monday evening, Elaine knocked on their door.
She’d been invited to dinner. She was no longer working for the firm
and Lars felt a sense of relief as he went to the door and let her
inside.
“Hello,” Lars said. It was raining outside. The girl looked
up at him from under a the hood of a yellow rain slicker.
“Hi!” Elaine answered cheerily. She stepped in. Immediately
Lars took her yellow slicker, drawing it off her as he kicked closed the
door. There was an eagerness in his touch.
“Is that her?” Georgina called from their kitchen.
“Yes,” Lars said.
“I’m here!” Elaine said, as if to confirm her physical
presence.
“You certainly are,” Lars gasped. Gone were the girl’s
conservative office clothes. Instead she wore a cropped blouse, showing
her midriff, and a skirt that most certainly could be called ‘mini’.
The girl’s long legs were bare, stretching down to stiletto heels. Lars
studied her back and behind and sensed the presence beneath not of a bra
or panties, but of swimwear, very diminutive swimwear, the kind made not
for the beach but for bedroom play. Lars opened a closet. He hung up
the girl’s yellow slicker. Rain dripped off it onto the closet’s
carpet, but Lars’ barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, on the girl.
She had summarily cancelled her trip, upon being invited to his place
for dinner. But, curiously, she had still quit her job at his firm,
with no explanation save that she was tired of studying art. Well, Lars
mused. Perhaps it was for the best. He might know her more intimately,
now that she was no longer on his firm’s payroll. Old Ironsides
wouldn’t look kindly on him fucking the help.
Elaine turned to Lars as he closed the door of the closet. She
beamed at him. He wondered if she sensed a new freedom between them,
now that they no longer worked at the same place. For the first time
Elaine’s hair was loose. Instead of being pulled back, to show all of
her face, it hung suggestively close to her eyes, as if in a kind of
veil. A sexy veil, the kind used to beckon, to make a girl look more
mysterious, and yet at the same time to lure a man in. Elaine’s hair
was brown, not blonde like his wife’s. But it had a youthful appeal
that his wife’s, with her years of professional work, was allowing to
slip away. Lars walked to the girl. The next thing he knew, they were
holding hands. Lars wasn’t sure if he had taken her hand or if she had
taken his. He walked her from the foyer into the living room, her eyes
still studying him, her stride matching his, though her height was much
less.
“I need to tell you a secret,” Elaine said to Lars. Her voice
was soft.
“Yes?” Lars asked.
“I wouldn’t ever have told you but now that I no longer work
for the firm, I guess I can,” Elaine said. She blushed, fiercely. Her
eyes darted away. She covered her face with her hand.
Lars put his hands on her shoulders. She felt small in his
hands, like a butterfly trying to take to the wind. He gripped her
tight.
“Are you alright?” Lars asked. The girl nodded.
“Just... embarrassed,” Elaine confessed.
“Go ahead. Tell me,” Lars said encouragingly. His voice was
gentle. Elaine lifted her chin. With tears in her eyes, holding back a
temptation to sniffle, she blurted,
“I looked at your magazines. And your wife’s letters too!”
“Ohhh...” Lars said. The word came out like a gasp, like a
deflating balloon. Then, realizing suddenly the full implication of
what she’d said, and the fact that he was holding her even at this
moment, he said, “Well, don’t worry about it.”
“I’ve never done anything like that,” Elaine told him frankly.
“Looked at magazines?” Lars asked.
“No. I mean, yes, I mean-- what was IN the magazines,” Elaine
said. “And I wouldn’t want to either,” she added, hastily, but she did
not look at Lars as she spoke the last bit, as if caught in a lie of her
own making and knowing it.
“Well, here you are!” Georgina said brightly, coming from the
kitchen. Lars’ wife was dressed in a long skirt and blouse. The blouse
had a high collar, making her look vaguely like a school marm. She wore
pearls around her neck. They sloped down over her bosom. The sparkling
baubles drew attention to her wonderfully prominent breasts, catching
Lars’ eye and Elaine’s. Georgina looked at the girl and smiled. Then,
drawing her close, she bent down and kissed her. Elaine was about 5’
4”, but slender, except for her magnificent tits. Georgina was 5’ 9”, a
model’s height, her breasts pushing hard into Elaine’s as she held the
girl and kissed her, slightly lifting the smaller girl off of the floor,
making Elaine stand on her tip toes. Lars admired the two of them
touching lips and felt himself grow turgid.
Their embrace ended. They separated. “Well!” Georgina said,
slightly flustered, as was Elaine, for their kiss had lasted longer than
either of them expected, not just a peck on the lips but a full kiss,
like lovers might make.
“Yes!” Elaine agreed, recovering her footing on the floor.
Lars, seeing the brightness in Elaine’s eyes, wondered if she had
acceded to something. His wife looked at the girl, holding her by her
arms.
“You are dressed more casually than at the office,” Georgina
said.
“Yes, not so stuffily, like a librarian,” Elaine said. “Though
I used to wish I could be a librarian.”
“Of course, and a ballerina too, I suppose,” Georgina chimed.
“How did you know?” Elaine asked.
“I know everything,” Georgina said. “And I know that you’re
wearing a bikini under all that. Did you think we had a pool?”
“No,” Elaine said. Then, blushing suddenly, she said “Yes,”
but didn’t look at Elaine as she corrected herself.
“I’m sure you did,” Georgina said. “And in honor of your
wearing your swimsuit, even though we don’t actually have a pool, I’m
going to enforce our dinner time rule for new guests,” Georgina told
Elaine.
“A rule?” the girl asked. Her eyes were wide and artless but
Lars sensed complicity in her gaze.
“You must eat in your swimsuit,” Georgina told her. “So we may
admire you. It’s nice and warm. You won’t have to worry about getting
cold.” She turned to Lars. “Turn up the heat, dear,” she told her
husband.
“I... of course,” Lars said, as bewildered now as Elaine was,
and walking awkwardly as he turned and went to the closest thermostat.
“Oh but I don’t think,” Elaine protested.
“I don’t care what you think,” Georgina said in a loving tone.
“You’ll eat in your swimsuit. Now take off these clothes. I’ll give
you hangers for them.”
To Lars’ surprise, with only a quick glance at him, the girl
began disrobing. He sensed an eagerness in her movements, as of a taut
string finally allowed to ease, each piece of clothing, of which there
were very few, representing some repressed part of herself that she was
now finally giving herself permission to jettison. In no time her
cropped blouse, her miniskirt and a chiffon neckerchief, the color of
the slicker she’d been wearing, were folded neatly on a chair. Georgina
brought some hangers. Together they put the clothes on the hanger and
Georgina took them to the hall closet where Lars had hung the girl’s
rain slicker. Meanwhile, Lars was spellbound. He watched steadily,
forgetting all about the thermostat, gazing raptly at the girl as she
exposed her underthings. The bikini she wore was unfit for any beach.
It barely contained her breasts, the tiny cups being either designed for
a woman with no tits or, in Elaine’s case, to cover only her nipples.
These were hard, sticking out in seeking perfection, like twin cherry
stems looking for babes to feed. As a result the little cups, already
straining to cover the tips of her breasts, were pushed into points,
further reducing the amount of flesh they covered. Meanwhile, some
distance from her twin breasts, down below her flat soft child’s belly,
her pubic hair was contained by a small transverse of cloth. To say
that it cupped her pussy was to exaggerate; it covered part of her pubic
bush, not all. Beneath the triangle of her bush it narrowed to
pencil-thinness, disappearing up between the lips of her cunt. Georgina
gazed with approval at the girl. She gathered her things.
Unselfconsciously Elaine helped Georgina take her clothes to the
closet. The new view Elaine presented, when she turned with her clothes
in her arms and showed Lars her ass, was astounding. There was only a
small panty portion, cupping her bottom as if after a thousand trips
through some drier. Most of her bottom crack showed, as did her cheeks,
with only the lowermost portion, where her bottom curved under and met
her legs, feeling the embrace of her panties. Together Georgina and
Elaine put her things in the closet. Then they regarded each other
again and then, turning, they both looked at Lars.
“Hi,” Elaine said, blushing anew. Lars wondered where such an
innocent looking girl could find such a sexy swimsuit.
“Hi,” Lars stammered. He reached for the wall thermostat.
Georgina smiled.
“I think Elaine has something she’d like to tell you,” Georgina
said. “She told me over the phone, this weekend, and that’s why we
decided on her wearing a swimsuit.”
“Oh, so you’re in on this too?” Lars asked. He adjusted the
thermostat, blindly, not looking at it, just feeling the notches and
adjusting the dial to match.
“Yes,” Elaine said. There was an odd exuberance in her voice.
She grinned, blushed. “I’m a virgin,” Elaine said. “And I’ve chosen
tonight to lose it.”

Lars had trouble eating. Elaine ate with gusto mixed with a
kind of anxiousness, like a child eager to go the fair but at the same
time worried the roller coaster might make her lose her dinner. Lars
marvelled at the girl’s demeanor. As she explained at dinner to him,
and had over the phone to his wife, she had saved herself for just the
right man. And, for whatever reason, she’d chosen Lars. When she’d
learned that Georgina wouldn’t object, her enthusiasm to ‘do it’
doubled. And so now here she was, confident in her little bikini, proud
of the way her every move entranced Lars and grateful to Georgina for
letting her plan go through.
“I liked you the first day I met you,” Elaine told Lars,
between mouthfuls of spaghetti. Lars liked watching the way she twirled
the spaghetti on her fork, and sucked it up. “But I was sure you were
married, since you were older,” Elaine said. “So I hid my feelings,
even from myself. I tried not to like you. But the more I tried, the
worse it got. Then my dumb brother asked me to go riding and I thought,
perfect! I told myself I loved horses, even though I only really liked
them. But it would give me a chance to try to put you out of my mind.
I even quit the firm, which I’m still doing, since I’m going to major in
communications now instead of art.” She smiled at Lars. Her smile
turned to a renewed blush and she dropped her fork. “Oh, what am I
doing?” she said. “I know you’ll hate me tomorrow if I give myself to
you but I want you Lars, I really do!” She made to get up from the
table.
“Elaine,” Georgina said in a stern voice. “I didn’t give you
permission to get up from the table.” Elaine sank back down in her
chair.
“Yes ma’am,” Elaine answered.
“And don’t feel embarrassed about your bikini,” Georgina
added. “I insisted you wear it.”
“Yes, but only after I told you how much I loved your husband,”
Elaine countered.
Georgina, not missing a beat, twirling her own spaghetti on her
plate, replied, “In fact, as I recall, I ordered you to wear it, did I
not?” Georgina said. “You sewed it a year ago yourself for the man of
your dreams, and I told you that you absolutely must wear it. So
there. And there is something else we must settle, young lady. As for
your confession over the phone to me this weekend, reading my letters,
and looking at my husband’s magazines. This is conduct that I cannot
permit to go unrewarded, as they say in places of penal correction.”
“Oh but I--” Elaine interjected.
“I was a young curious girl once too,” Georgina said. “We play
at being coy and prim and proper but we do have our wild side, don’t
we? In your case you waited until you were an intern at a prestigious
law firm to explore the darker side, the side found in men’s magazines
and such. Most girls find out about such things at 12, don’cha know.
It’s called going to the 7/11 and looking at Leonardo and then noticing
all the girlie magazines stacked on the high shelf above Leo and all his
buddies.” Elaine blushed.
“I never grabbed any of those,” Elaine said. There was a
clearness in her gaze, a frankness. “I-- I was a little spoiled Bible
girl... until last year when I met a guy and he taught me about New Age
things,” Elaine said.
“And you didn’t?” Lars asked. Elaine blushed fiercely.
“NO, I didn’t,” Elaine said. “I may be small but I decide
things for myself. He was a great kisser but not someone I wanted in my
panties.”
“Actually you take your panties off for--” Lars began.
“We’ve talked,” Georgina told her husband. “She learned a lot
this weekend, over the phone, didn’t you dear?”
“Yes,” Elaine said, her face becoming now a perpetual blush.
“I still don’t like those magazines,” Elaine told Lars. “All the other
parts of you I like but your magazines are DIS-gusting!” She began
eating her spaghetti again. Lars marvelled at her childish nature and
wondered if, in fact, she really knew what she was getting herself into,
even at 19. He began to wonder if she somehow thought that sitting
there in a very skimpy bikini was intercourse, the way she seemed so
breezy and at the same time so abashed. What a great tragedy it would
be if, after eating all her dinner, the girl got up and thanked him for
deflowering her and left!
“Elaine,” Georgina said, after a few minutes of blushing
silence had passed.
“Yes?” the girl asked meekly. Her plate was almost empty now
and she seemed to be eating more slowly.
“As for your punishment,” Georgina said.
“My--?” Elaine asked.
“For reading my letters and my husband’s magazines,” Georgina
said.
“Yessss?” Elaine asked anxiously, her breath escaping her lips
in a gasp.
“It will be over my husband’s knee.”
“A SPANKING?!” Elaine asked. Alarm showed in her face.
“Yes,” Georgina said.
“But-- I’ve NEVER been spanked!” Elaine insisted.
“Your parents were too lenient,” Georgina said. And suddenly
it all came together for Lars, what the girl had in mind, what she
intended. She’d dreamed of a spanking and never gotten it, and he was
supposed to give her one. God knows, perhaps the spanking itself was
what she regarded, in some strange little girl way, as intercourse. Or
perhaps she had no idea what ‘losing it’ meant, and expected him to do
something like turn a secret knob in her body, or push a secret lever.
Lars sighed. Somehow this girl, this naive innocent child, had gotten
mixed up with himself and his wife, ‘denizens of the dungeon’ as they
liked to call themselves, in their nightly trysts. It was not the most
appropriate match. She needed a phallic version of Barney, and she was
getting something much worse. For Lars knew, once their little game
began, in earnest and not just as conversation at the table, that he
wouldn’t be able to stop with a spanking. He’d want to see her whipped,
collared, defiled, down in the cellar where he played with his wife.
And she’d even, in her foolish eagerness to find out about her body
(albeit a few years later than she should have) cancelled her job with
his firm. Given a little leeway, depending on her living arrangements,
he might be able to keep her for days. Perhaps no one would miss her.
Hadn’t she said she lived in a dorm, with friends? They might be too
busy to notice the shy little girl who had slipped off on a Monday
night. Surely with the body she had boys would be longing for her, but
given that she’d never let them have her, they wouldn’t hold out much
hope. Lars sighed. Her friends, to the extent that they didn’t just
regard her as a prim little (well-stacked) wallflower, might think she’d
gone off to a convent. Instead she was with him.
“I really would prefer not to be spanked,” Elaine said. “I
mean, perhaps I might need my wrist slapped or something, but to show my
BOTTOM? Can’t your husband just ‘do me’ and slap my wrist, and then
we’ll say we’re even? I’m sorry I read your letters. It’s just...
you’re married to him, and I really do have a major crush on him. The
letters and the magazines were an irresistible 411. I just couldn’t
help myself!”
“Well I am going to help myself,” Georgina said. “To your
bottom. But first we must have dessert. Would you like cherry or apple
pie?”
“Cherry,” Elaine said. Then she frowned and said, “No, apple.”
“Whichever,” Georgina said. “And you, Lars?”
“Uh, cherry’s fine,” Lars answered. Georgina smiled.
“I’m sure it is,” she said. She got up from the table.
Elaine, perhaps due to good training from her mother, got up from the
table also. Lars watched the girl’s breasts as she leaped up. They
wiggled, nearly spilling from her small brassiere, the tiny cups somehow
miraculously holding her nipples under the fabric. “Where are you
going?” Georgina asked the girl.
“I’m going to help you take the dishes to the kitchen,” Elaine
said.
“Alright,” Georgina answered. Lars’ eyes followed the girl’s
every move as she picked up the plates. Her titties jiggled, her ass
moved like a greased ball. Proudly Elaine carried the plates, the
confident jut of her bosom rising and falling above the dishes she
carried. Her ass had an easy sway to it. With each movement of her
bottom Lars prayed that the pantied triangle half-covering her behind
would slip into her ass crack. But, like the bra holding her bosoms,
the panties were tied with a nun’s tightness. The fabric was simply
pulled too taut for her breasts to escape, or for her ass to show more
of itself than it already was. Despite her eagerness to ‘lose it’, as
Elaine proclaimed, she seemed unnervingly chaste. Lars sighed. The
girl was a sight to behold but she was, at the same time, a painful
tease. He could feel himself swelling in his pants and yet he wondered
if he would get what he wanted this evening. And what did he want? an
inner voice asked. Lars fought back the voice of his conscience. He
wanted to fuck this girl, this tender flower, and much more. Yet it
would not happen without the consent of his wife. At least not tonight
it wouldn’t. And Lars’ wife was being a flirt in her own right,
prolonging their dinner with mindless chatter, insisting upon dessert.
Lars wondered, with a sinking feeling, if Georgina might not be using
the girl simply to make him hot. Then, when she had him mindlessly
stiff, she might put Elaine back into her clothes and her yellow rain
slicker, and dismiss her into the night.
“Here’s your pie, sir,” Elaine called out to Lars. Lars
turned. The girl was returning from the kitchen. Above a warm slice of
pie, carried on a fine china plate, the girl’s breasts hovered. Her bra
still clasped her, denying Lars a view of her nipples, teasing him with
the fullness of her naked tit flesh and yet keeping from his view her
lovely red tips. The girl placed the pie before Lars. He smelled
cherries. As he looked at the pie he considered ripping her bra off,
Elaine was so deliciously and unnervingly close. But then he heard his
wife coming out from the kitchen.
“Elaine, would you like whipped cream on your pie?” Georgina
called.
“Yes, please,” Elaine answered.
“Alright,” Georgina said. She approached the table, deftly
balancing both her pie and Elaine’s in her hands, a can of Redi-Wip
under her arm. Elaine went to her own place at the table. She slipped
her hands across her behind, as if to smooth her skirt before sitting
down. Then she blushed, realizing she wasn’t wearing a skirt, but only
a pair of very brief swim panties. She sat down. Georgina placed her
pie before her. Elaine smiled. Her eyes widened as Georgina shook the
whipped cream and aimed it and squirted it all over Elaine’s slice of
pie. Lars, watching, felt an urgent need in his pants. If only he
could squirt himself like the can did. He swallowed, hard. Elaine,
taking a fork primly in her hand, began to eat.
“Yum! It’s good!” Elaine declared, chewing and swallowing her
pie.
“That’s nice,” Georgina said. She sat down at her own place
and, after applying the Redi-Wip to her pie, she began to eat. She
looked at her husband. “Lars,” she said. “You haven’t touched yours.”
Lars cleared his throat. He had been staring at Elaine,
watching the bounce and sway of her breasts as she brought forkfuls of
pie, dripping with whipped cream, to her mouth.
“Oh. Yeah,” Lars said. He began to eat. His erection was
killing him. More and more he began to suspect that this whole thing
was a charade, something designed by his wife. Perhaps the
ever-virginal Elaine had never looked at his magazines, but had only
been told to say that, by his wife. Perhaps she had no intention of
‘losing it’, as she said, but was only being asked by his wife to say
it, in order to incite Lars. Well, he was incited all right. He was
about to tear the clothes off both women and fuck out their brains. But
he couldn’t, not with his wife being a doctor. He would never sleep
peacefully if he truly pissed off his wife. She knew surgery. He’d
risk waking up without his balls if he made her angry.
And so Lars sweated, there at the dinner table, sensing his
wife was secretly laughing at him as he squirmed uncomfortably in his
chair. As for Elaine, she was childishly oblivious to the effect she
was having on him. She even asked for seconds, and Georgina,
infuriatingly for Lars, brought the girl more pie, squirting it again
with whipped cream and making Lars nearly sperm in his pants.
Desperately he watched little Elaine, eating her pie, make her mouth all
ringed with white gooey cream.

“Well, that was a pleasant dessert,” Georgina announced when
they had finished. Elaine smiled. Then her face, as she wiped her
mouth, took on a worried look.
“Must I be spanked now?” Elaine asked Georgina.
“Yes,” Lars wife answered. “But first we must decide where it
will be done. Will it be here, at the dinner table, or upstairs in our
bedroom? Or downstairs in the basement?” She cast Lars a knowing
glance.
“Whatever will get it over with quickest,” Elaine said.
“Oh, are you in a hurry?” Georgina said to the girl.
“No-- I mean, yes, I--” Elaine looked confused.
Georgina brushed back her blonde hair. It was pinned in a bun
but several loose strands had fallen close to her eyes as she ate her
pie. She looked at the girl. Concern showed on her face. “Well, you
have never been spanked,” Georgina said to Elaine. “So I must tell you
a little about it. A quick spanking would be very hard on your bottom,
especially for a novice. But a long, slow spanking, with the spanks
spaced out over several hours, would be easier to bear, although it
would take longer. Your behind would have time to recover between the
blows, you see? It is early yet. You could have a long spanking and it
would not matter, you would still get home at a decent hour.”
“Oh.” Elaine said. She put a finger to her long brown hair,
her hair that she wore loose and free, and twirled it, much as she had
twirled the spaghetti around her fork.
“But if she is to ‘lose it’?” Lars asked. His voice was
strained, hesitant yet urgent, his dick killing him in his pants.
“If she is to lose it she must stay the night,” Georgina
agreed.
“Oh!” Elaine said again, this exclamation bursting from her
with a child’s distress, as if being told for the first time that Santa
was just her father, not a real man at the North Pole.” Gently Georgina
asked,
“Can you spend the night?” Elaine’s eyes grew wide.
“I- I suppose so, if it is absolutely necessary,” she said.
Georgina smiled.
“Then we have plenty of time for your spanking,” Georgina
said. “Come here. I want to see how pretty you look in your little
panties before we have to take them off.”
With a nervous step, Elaine walked round the front of the
dinner table, past Lars at the head of the table, to Georgina. The
woman pushed back her chair. Lars did also, and watched as Georgina
took hold of the girl round her hips. She seemed to weigh the girl,
grasping her naked hips and judging her, then she slipped her hands
lower to where Elaine’s swim panties rode. Slowly she undid the ties of
the girl’s panties. Elaine, staring down over her breasts, watched.
The ties came undone. From behind, Lars saw the swim panties sag. The
small triangle of nylon covering the lowest part of Elaine’s bottom gave
way. The taut flesh was exposed. It was smooth and round like a ball.
Like twin balls, jammed together as Elaine’s bottom tensed.
“Yes,” Georgina said, revealing the lowermost part of the
girl’s neat bush in front.
“You can see my pussy,” Elaine commented.
“It is a very sweet little delta,” Georgina agreed.
“I never showed myself like this before,” Elaine sighed. Her
breath was hot against Georgina’s face. The woman looked up.
Simultaneously she drew Elaine’s panties out from between her thighs.
She folded them. She slipped them into her blouse, tucking them into
her bra.
“Why did you do that?” Elaine asked.
“Because I don’t want you wearing them any more tonight,”
Georgina said. “Now let me turn you around, so i can see your ass.”
Primly, Elaine turned. Georgina’s eyes fell to the girl’s ass
while Lars, for the first time, was able to view her mons.
“Oh it is so nice and white. And dimpled!” Georgina remarked.
Elaine tensed as the woman put a finger to the cheeks of her ass,
feeling the dimples. Meanwhile Lars had a mouth-watering view of the
girl’s bush. He wanted to jam himself in there, splitting her legs and
her nether lips, forcing himself up her and making her take him all the
way to the root of himself. Georgina’s eyes looked past the girl at her
husband. They exchanged glances. Lars felt a sudden sense of relief,
combined with a newfound tension, as he realized his wife would let him
have the girl after all. In fact, she wanted her downstairs, the same
as he did. “Elaine,” Georgina said, stroking the girl’s bottom now,
feeling its rondure, making Elaine quiver and tense herself more, “My
husband and I have some things in the basement. Like you saw in the
magazines. We would like to show them to you but we don’t wish to
frighten you. Would you like to come downstairs?”
Elaine shivered. She felt the woman’s hands cup her cheeks.
To her heartbeating surprise, she felt Lar’s wife pull her behind open,
as if gently splitting a peach.
“Oh! But what about my spanking?” Elaine asked. Then, a
moment later, she blurted, “You are making me feel air in my ass crack!”
“Yes, you have a very lovely ass,” Lars’ wife replied. She
fought the squeezing of the girl’s hinds as Elaine tried to draw herself
back together. “Relax, dear,” Georgina said. “Have you ever had
anything put up you back here?”
“In my BOTTOM?” Elaine gasped. “No!” she shouted. Her voice
was anxiously high in pitch, like a little girl slipping and falling
down on her ass.
“Yes, in your little fanny,” Georgina laughed. She released
the girl’s cheeks. They sprang together, the twin halves pressing
close, like lovers kissing. “Well, we shall discuss such things later,”
Georgina said. “Come downstairs with myself and my husband. And please
don’t be scared. We only wish to show you some things, that’s all.”
Georgina rose from her chair. She took Elaine’s hand. The
brunette looked up at her with large, wide eyes, still wearing her
teensy bra, her pubis bared to Lars’ view. Together they walked past
the man. He jumped up and followed. Elaine looked over her shoulder.
She saw Lars and where he was looking. Not at his wife, or even into
Elaine’s eyes, but right at her naked behind, wiggling and swaying and
shaking tensely as she walked.
“Oh! Your husband is looking at me!” Elaine told Georgina.
“He will be spanking you soon,” Georgina replied. She squeezed
the girl’s hand, as if fearing she might escape.
“Oh but I thought you would do it!” Elaine quailed.
“Here’s the door, just around this corner,” Georgina replied,
drawing Elaine out of the dining room and into the hall. Lars followed,
Elaine giving him another look, a rabbit fleeing the fox.
Georgina opened the door to the basement. She drew Elaine with
her onto the topmost step. She turned on a light. With exaggerated
curiosity, Elaine craned her neck and looked down the stairs.
“Oh. So you do wish to see,” Georgina said to the girl.
“No! I just--” Elaine answered. Georgina pulled her down the
stairs, the girl following in her stiletto heels, taking the stairs
carefully but with a spring to her step, a kind of watchful eagerness.
Georgina wore modest heels, reminiscent of the common-sense heels that
women wear to work.
Together, with Lars coming down the stairs behind them, the two
women reached the cellar. A gasp arose from Elaine’s lips. She gazed
at a panoply of dark-covered objects. She could not make out what the
things were, but the blackness of the sheets covering them were ominous.
“Shall we have a look?” Georgina asked the girl. She held her
hand tightly.
“Oh. Alright,” Elaine said. Lars reached the base of the
stairs. The two women regarded him.
“And shall you have a look too, sir?” Georgina said to her
husband.
“I suppose so,” Lars answered. He tried not to grin too hard.
“Oh my!” Elaine breathed, when Georgina, walking up to the
first object, pulled off its shroud. Beneath was a cage. It was too
small to stand up in, rising just to Elaine’s waist. It had a bowl in
it, and a blanket covered its floor.
“Is this a dog cage?” Elaine asked.
“It could be used that way,” Georgina smiled. “Would you care
to try it?”
“Try it?” Elaine gasped. “But I’m not a doggie.”
Georgina bent down and pulled open the latch on the cage. A
lock hung nearby, on a cross-beam stretching across the bars.
“Get in,” Georgina said to Elaine.
“But I--” Elaine cried.
“IN!” Georgina said. She took hold of the girl by her
shoulders. She forced her down to her knees. Elaine resisted, but only
with half her strength. When she was on her knees, her lovely ass
sticking up in the air, she looked into the cage.
“Oooo, it’s almost like a small cage that dogs sit in to ride
on an airplane,” Elaine remarked. “But a little bigger. Just big
enough for me, I think.” She crawled forward. She went into the cage,
like a mouse exploring. Georgina closed the cage door behind her. She
took the lock off the cross-bar and put it into the latch on the door.
She turned to her husband.
“You have a key for this?” she asked.
“Sure,” Lars answered. “I keep it on my key ring, with all my
other keys. Car, house, office...”
“Good,” Georgina said. She snapped shut the lock.
“Oooooh! Don’t lock me in!” Elaine walked. She turned around
in the small crawl-space of the cage. She put her face to the bars.
She gripped them with her hands.
“You will remain there until it’s time for your spanking,”
Georgina informed the girl. “And, in the meantime, you’ll learn from
watching my husband and I.” She turned to Lars. “Your penis, sir.
Take it out. I have need of it.”

30

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