Red as an Apple
Red as an Apple
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   by David Nunes da Silva   . 
   
.
1980.    Sonoma, California. 
Una fantasia sulle fantasie.     This is an ADULT story. 



  I.   red MacIntosh. 
You don't see many spankings on the street these days.

But she looked like a rancher.   They're independent, those California ranchers - downright cussed, sometimes.  They don't take too kindly to people telling them what to do.   The light turned to WALK, the boy by her side jumped off the curb without looking, and she grabbed him by the collar as a big sedan thundered past, running the red.    Then she raised her blue-jeaned knee a little, draped him over it, and delivered about ten very hard swats to the seat of his thin cotton shorts.   He scampered off, seeming unrepentant, and not even looking both ways.   Ranchboys can be cussed too.

There were some in California who would have spat at that mother for spanking her child.  But on that day in Sonoma, at that intersection (the only one in the small town to have a traffic light) she was let be, except for a few disapproving stares.  It was all over before the light changed again.

But the sight was a gift to Susan.

As Susan re-ran it in her mind, of course it had to be a bare-bottom spanking.   The mother had to drag the boy to the nearest bench.   Holding him by the ear, she ordered: "pull 'em down."    But there happened to be (in Susan's fantasy) a number of his friends playing nearby.   Facing his mother, with his back to his friends, he shyly pulled his shorts and underpants down a few inches, so there was an inch of bare boy bottom below the hem of his T-shirt, but his penis was not exposed at all.  He looked up hopefully at his mother.   But she was relentless: the shorts at least must come all the way down.   But he was too embarrassed and could not bring himself to expose even his underpants to his friends, who had by now gathered around to stare and laugh.  His mother threatened him with dire punishment, with a severe extra spanking for disobedience, if he did not pull down his pants this instant--but he bent over her lap without pulling his shorts down.  Only then, with his penis hidden by her lap, he wriggled his shorts and underpants down a bit, offering up an inch or so more of bare skin.   She began to spank, ten very hard swats on the bare patch he offered.   But if she was expecting tears, she was disappointed.   When it seemed the spanking was over, he said "You can't spank like Pappa!" and lifted his butt higher.   He looked at his friends to see if they were impressed.  In frustration, his mother pulled down on his pants and when she did that he SQUEELED--shockingly loud.   The whole plaza turned to look; he fought back and squirmed and bit like a banshee.   Now that he was making a noise, the watching crowd started to murmer about child abuse, and seemed about ready to intervene.  But no one would take the first step.  She got his shorts down below his knees, and started to spank very hard indeed, all the way down his legs; spanking now a struggling tornado of flailing arms and legs.   The crowd watched, hissing with disapproval.

But his underpants were getting in the way of the spanking - they were still covering half of his bottom.   So she pulled them all the way down, exposing him bare naked to his friends.   He might have been able to hide his penis agaist her lap if he'd just stayed still, but he was flailing about and it was in full sight.  He shouted "NO!" and squirmed and fought her with desparate strength.   He tried to pull his underpants back up.  He tried to cover his dick with his hands.  He tried to cover himself with the front of his T-shirt, but when he did, the back of the shirt covered his bottom.   For a moment, he stayed still and settled back down to be spanked, and it seemed she would allow the T-shirt.   But then she lifted him up and held him between her knees, and pulled the T-shirt over his head and off.    His struggling made his shorts slide down even more, until they were off one foot altogether.   She held the struggling, howling boy by the wrists, stark naked, facing all his friends, with his underpants like a manacle between his ankles and his shorts balled up around one foot.    His penis was starting to rise.

She shouted over his wailing : "Why are you fighting me, Timmy?   You know it will just mean more spanks!"

But Timmy, if he was blushing already, was even more embarrassed to be asked.   He needed to hide his stiffy from his friends - that was the only reason he was fighting her.    He wasn't trying to be naughty, it was just that he couldn't let his friends see he had a stiffy, he would rather die - and he couldn't possibly explain that to his mother.    He opened his mouth to try to explain but nothing came out.

"Are you ready for your spanking to start, Timmy."

"Yes, Mom.   Please.   Now!"

She let go his wrists, and he stood for a moment, hands crossed in front of his stiff dick.  Then he bent across his mom's knee, happy to burry his face in her lap, and hide his stiffy against her leg.   But he hadn't placed his bottom well, so she yanked him forward by until he was stretched across her spread blue-jeaned knees, with his feet off the ground.   His little penis, now quite erect, was pointing straight down and was very visible.  He reached a hand back to try to cover it.  But he had given up squirming - he lay still.   His bottom was already a dark blotchy red.

"Your spanking only starts now, Timmy.   Everything so far didn't count because you fought me.  These ten spanks are for running into the road.   You will remember them for a long time."

She spanked very hard.   The spanks were with the fingers spread, across both cheeks, right smack on the center of his bottom - blow after blow landing in the exact same place   There would be bruises - the imprint of his mother's hand on Timmy's bottom for days.   The woman's arm was amazingly strong and smacks were so hard that sound of them echoed off buildings; Susan wouldn't have thought that a boy could take such a spanking without crying, but except for being on the bare, instead of on thin shorts, this part of Susan's fantasy spanking was exactly the spanking the real boy had gotten, and the real boy hadn't cried, or even seemed to mind very much.   And so Susan made her fantasy boy as tough as the real boy had been.

"Timmy, you've had the spanking for running into the road.   This one is just for not pulling your shorts down; you could have avoided this spanking if you had obeyed."

Susan fantasized a very different sort of spanking for that.   The spanks were not as hard, but very fast, and Mom's hand ranged widely.   Some blows were so far wrapped around him that they were on his side rather than his bottom.   When his backside was thoroughly spanked, she rolled him over and spanked his front, staying well away from his penis.    Then she took his underpants all the way off, and with him on his side, she made him hold one leg in the air, and she spanked the inside of his thigh, while with her other hand she protected his balls.   She spanked the thigh very hard, with her fingers together.   He found this excruciatingly painful, and let out shrieks of agony, as he hadn't done even for the savage bruising of his bottom.   The tears started, and flowed heavily.  He also got a full erection of his pencil-thin penis.

Then it was the turn of his other thigh, which his mother found awkward to do.  She tried protecting him with her right hand, while spanking with her left, but she couldn't hit hard enough that way.   So she made him protect his own balls.  Now she spanked his thighs alternately, left - right - left - right.   Timmy's hands were wrapped around his stiff dick, and his whole tiny body writhed and was shaken by the hard spanks, and that led to the predictable result - he had an obvious orgasm.  Nothing came out.   He had now been spanked dark red all over, front and back and between his legs - all except his penis.  That was red already. 

"This spanking is for biting me."

"Yes, Mom.   Where do you want me?"

She put his belly on her knees, with his legs on either side of her, and spanked the crack of his bottom, spanking even his asshole.  Face to face with his friends, he grinned sheepishly at them.

"Have you had enough, Timmy?"

"I don't CARE what you do!"

Susan's fantasy had taken a sudden lurch - again.  When she ran a fantasy in her mind, once she started it she didn't know how it would come out.   Her fantasy characters seemed real to her.   Timmy had been desperately embarrassed to be stripped bare in front of his friends, and he had fought his mother about it.  Susan hadn't chosen to make him do that - it was just that Timmy - well, that's what Timmy was like.   Susan wouldn't have thought that anyone, facing a severe spanking, would have cared about being seen bare by his friends, but when she ran the fantasy in her mind, that's how it came out--Timmy cared more about the embarrassent than the pain.  This wasn't something Susan could control--Timmy behaved the way Timmy behaved, and Susan just knew what he would do and what he wouldn't do.  She knew her fantasy characters better than any real person.

But that didn't mean he couldn't surprise her.   She had thought of Timmy as taking his punishment well.  She had thought he was a very brave boy.   But without Susan realizing it, he had come to the end of his braveness, inside.   The young man-to-be who was proud of being so tough, who was showing his friends he could take it, had become - what?   Frightened.  Susan thought: that's it exactly, he's frightened.  He's not sure any more that his mother loves him. 

Susan thought his misery would touch his mother's heart.    It was nearly breaking Susan's - Susan felt as if she had suffered more pain than she could bear; her heart ached with sympathy for a fantasy boy's grief.  But the boy's mother had no sympathy.

She huffed: "Ha.   Well if you don't care, you can have some more."

She put him in a normal spanking position over her knees, and gave him very hard swats on the backs of his legs.   She spanked only a dozen or so swats, but the places she was hitting were already very sore.

At last she set him on his feet, naked except for his shoes and socks.   His friends wanted to look close and touch him, including his dick - they had noticed the stiffy.    He was almost too miserable to care.   Almost too miserable to stand - his legs would barely hold him upright.   But only almost.   He managed to keep standing, and to put his dukes in front of his dick, to fight to keep the touching hands away.   A girl put her hand on his bottom instead, and then they all did, shouting about how hot it was.  They weren't making fun of him for being bare or for getting a spanking.  They were in awe.  Once he saw how they were looking at him, he stopped trying to hide his dick, and began to swagger a bit, showing off his red bottom, boasting that no mom spanked like his mom spanked.  His mother had stripped him and shamed him, but now he was no longer ashamed.  He spread his legs to point out the reddest marks on his thighs, without any embarrassment at all about his dick, and he described to his spellbound friends what it had been like, saying that it hurt "a bit," but if you were tough and could take it, a spanking was cool, and this spanking had been really neat because it was such a hard one.  His friends all believed that they could take it, and would show Timmy who the real tough guy was.

Timmy asked his mother if he could go play with his friends, and she had to call after him to come back for his shorts - he would have run across town bare.   He was now completely unashamed.   With his shorts in his hand, the young nudist ran off with his friends.   His mother picked up his T-shirt and underpants and put them into her big purse.

 The boys decided to start a club where you had to be spanked as initiation.   Randall, his best friend, asked Timmy to do his spanks.

"OK, Randy, I'll do you if you do me."

"How many spanks to get into the club?"  

"It should be a hundred on your bare bottom.   I'll go first."

"You mean now?   You want one hundred spanks on your bare bottom?  Right now?  On top of your spanking from your mom?"

"I'm not chicken!"

"Will you do my spanks, Timmy?"  That was little Suzy.  

Timmy said, "Sure, Suzy, I'll spank you, until you tell me to stop.    But I can't believe a girl can take a hundred spanks!"

Susan finished her lunch as she filled out the details of the imaginary spanking Timmy gave Suzy.  Susan had a good time with it; it always felt so deliciously wicked to sit on her usual bench in the Plaza, smiling at the people she saw every day, while vast oceans of disgusting fantasy fetish sex boiled inside of her.  Little Suzy was tough; or rather she was so submissive, that she didn't make a sound as Timmy gave her a hundred hand spanks to get into the club--and she also submitted when the boys held her down and kept on spanking her, and then whipped her with their little boy belts.  In Susan's fantasy those cute little boys did every cruel thing to poor little Suzy's bottom and she - Susan, not Suzy - enjoyed every minute of it.   Only one boy, nameless, refused to hurt Suzy; he couldn't stop the other boys, but his smile told her he would help her if he could.   He gave her his rabbit's foot, and promised if she stroked it during the spanking, it would help her to bear the pain.   He also promised to kiss the cheeks of her bottom, afterwards, to take the pain away.

The bench where Susan was sitting and eating her lunch, enjoying this fantasy, was the very one where in her fantasy, Timmy had been spanked.    Susan took the apple from her brown-bag lunch - a red MacIntosh from her own tree - and cut it in half.   She put the two halves of the apple side by side on the flattened brown paper bag, to make a picture of Timmy's little red bottom.   It had been as red, and as small, and as cute, as two halves of an apple.


       
 
  II.    Davenport russet. 
And that was by no means the last time that Susan ran through the spanking in her mind.

For the next run-through, walking back to work, little Suzy, the girl who had wanted to join the club, was the main character.  It was she, and not Timmy, who was spanked on her bare bottom, and stripped naked in front of all her friends, for running into the street.   But little Suzy didn't get an orgasm the way Timmy had, and she wasn't defiant but submissive.   Susan started the fantasy the same way, but little Suzy behaved differently than Timmy, and there was nothing Susan could do about it.   Susan wanted Suzy to be brave, but Suzy just wouldn't fight back the way Timmy had--it was not in her character.   Little Suzy begged her Daddy to stop, instead of fighting him; fighting him was just impossible for her.   As punishment for even asking him to stop, Daddy invited all the boys watching to give her more spanks, and  they all lined up to take turns.  Timmy gave her a hundred spanks as she howled in pain.   Only one boy refused to spank her, and he told Daddy to stop.    Daddy took off his belt, and tried to catch the boy to whip him, but the boy got away through a secret trap-door.

And then at four-thirty, when she should have been filing, Susan masturbated in the supply closet with her vibrator, to a fantasy of teenager "Suzie Rebel" whipped by her boyfriend's motorcycle gang.   Her boyfriend - "Big Daddy" - rented out her ass, to anyone who could pay in cash or drugs, and Captain Blood (it said "Timothy Bottoms" on his motorcycle licence) paid a hundred bucks to rent her for a weekend of sex and torture.  Suzie Rebel in the fantasy didn't get an orgasm from being whipped, but grown-up Susan Thomas got about a dozen in the supply closet.

Susan liked masturbating at work best of all; the risk of being caught added to the thrill.   She'd made up so many work fantasies, she couldn't keep track of them all; she liked to imagine being caught masturbating.  Her favorite one was set in the record store where she worked before college; her boss caught her and gave her the choice of a spanking or being fired; of course she agreed to the spanking, but her boss whipped her instead, and was about to rape her.   Just then a young customer rescued her, and she ran naked out into the street with her hero, also naked for no particular reason, by her side.

On the bus going home, Susan tried again; this time only dreaming about orgasm - she had her vibrator in her purse but she couldn't masturbate on the bus.   Her fantasies until now had always had a female as the spanked character, but she had really enjoyed it watching that boy get a spanking, and she had enjoyed the fantasy she had made from it, too.   It had been so cute, so endearing, to watch a little boy have a dry come.  She loved little Timmy now.  So now she made up a new fantasy with Timmy as the main character, but grown up.  It had to be a spanking that would really hurt.   She imagined him coming home late from a date, and then getting scolded by his dad, and then having the humiliation of pulling down his pants down to be spanked in the kitchen.   But that fantasy was no fun - she wanted her fantasy Timmy to be the hero.  So she had a better idea of what kind of spanking it should be - Timothy Bottoms, a pledge at Sigma Pi Kappa, is suffering through Hell Week, and during the week has earned 100 points--a frat record.  Timothy has to walk around Sonoma Plaza carrying a paddle that has "100" written on it, so everyone in town will know how many swats he'll get later that night.   He smirks, feeling superior to his fellow worms who have only 22, 19, amd 31 on their paddles.

But on the plaza, there were also some girls from Alpha Nu.   Susan now knew her fantasy was spinning out of her control, and sure enough freshman sorority pledge "Suze" Thomas was there, and when the old girls saw the paddle in a boy's hands, they decided it was too good an opportunity to miss.  Suze was told by her "big sisters" to walk up to the frat boy with the paddle, and flash him the seat of her panties, and ask for a swat - but they didn't know she didn't have any panties on.   When she flashed Timmy him her bare bottom and begged him to spank her, he spanked really hard - a hundred spanks, and then he jerked off and squirted his juice to cool her fiery cheeks.   A policeman came over to protect her, but since the 100 spanks were done by then and Timothy was done masturbating, he just smiled and said boys will be boys and didn't even write a ticket.    Not one of her better fantasies, Susan thought.   It needed some work; it was too unrealistic to think he'd spank her like that, naked and bent over the back of a bench in the plaza.   And this Timothy hadn't been mean enough. 

Older than her freshman year in college, Susan did not allow herself to get, in a fantasy.    But in real life, Susan was 34, and she needed a fantasy about how the real 34-year-old Susan Thomas finally, and whether she likes it or not, is subjected to actual corporal punishment and humiliation - in real life Susan had never been spanked, not even as a little girl.    Susan was determined that Susan Thomas, not little Suzy, not Teen Rebel Suzie, not Suze Thomas sorority sister, but the real Suzan Thomas, a 34-year-old paralegal aide, should get one hundred actual spanks.  She'd been fantasizing about those hundred spanks every time she masturbated since she was nine, and she wasn't turning 35 without them.

But how?  The obvious choice was her boyfriend.   Just ask him.   That was how grown-ups got spankings.   But she would die of shame.   And it was worse than that - her fantasy was worse than just the spanking.  In her fantasies little Suzy was spanked and abused very severely, for no reason.  It was part of her fantasy that the spanking had to be unfair.   In fantasies, she was made to strip bare in front of strangers.   She was made to thank her Daddy for letting other men spank her - men who paid Daddy for the privilege.  Men shot cum all over her face.  Sometimes they fucked her too, although that was never the main point of the fantasy.  Robin would despise her, if he ever found out that child molestation was a turn-on for her.   She despised herself.    But of course the main reason Susan wasn't going to ask Robin for a spanking, was that it would hurt.   She was terrified of the pain.

The best fantasy that day had been Timmy's spanking.   And the best thing of all had been the real spanking, quick as it had been - and the light-hearted way the boy had shrugged it off and dashed across the street.    But when she had tried to rerun the fantasy and make little Suzy be brave too, it wouldn't come out the way she wanted.   For the real Susan Thomas to be brave enough to ask Robin for a spanking?   That was a fantasy too; it would never happen.

When she got home, there was a boy sitting on the front steps of her neighbor's house.    Susan had met him last week at a block party; he was her neighbor's cousin, and he worked on a ranch.   This young ranch-hand could have been the big brother of little Timmy, the ranchboy who was spanked.  He had the same cut-offs and T-shirt.   He had that same look in his eye, that look of brash defiance.   The suburbanites at the block party had been talking politics, liberal politics, and the teenage ranchhand had politely held to his extreme right-wing views, not in the least intimidated by a patio full of very angry college professors and lawyers, all yelling at him.   Susan didn't agree with anything he said, but she'd admired him for sticking to his principles under fire.   He'd been the only actual poor person at the party, except for the band and the waiters, and he'd made the rich liberals - including Susan - seem arrogant in the way they talked about "the poor."   The liberals talked about poor Mexican migrant laborers, as if they thought the waiters couldn't speak English.   The ranchboy was more comfortable with the waiters and the band than he was with the guests - he borrowed a guitar and sang them a new corrido he'd heard on the radio.  Susan had liked him.  But she couldn't quite remember his name.   It was short.  What was it?   Bob?   Oh, of course - Tim.   His name was Tim.

Susan remembered now that she hadn't actually known the name of the boy who was spanked for running into the road - Timmy had just been the name in her fantasy.   And perhaps her fantasy had been based on this this Tim, as much as on the farm kid she'd seen spanked.   The way everybody had hammered at Tim at the pot-luck had been like a verbal spanking.   But he had gone skippingly on his way, un-chastened.   Nasty remarks, intended to crush him, to hurt worse than any physical blow, had been flung at him, and they did hurt him, dreadfully, but he remained self-possessed.  They argument had gotten personal, to shame him, to expose him naked, but he'd made it a source of strength.  He had quality - a firm core of self-reliance.   As if he'd been spanked often - spanked on his bottom, but also spanked verbally, like this, and had learned to handle it.  That was, fundamentally, what bothered Susan about her rich neighbors.  They were spoiled.  They hadn't been spanked enough.    And Susan knew she was more spoiled than any of them.  Even if he was slightly to the right of Ivan the Terrible, Susan wanted to talk to this boy some more.

"Do you want to come in for some coffee, Tim?   From my kitchen you'll be able to see when Mary Lou gets home.  No reason to sit out here in the cold."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am.   I won't take coffee, thank you, but I'd like to come in and sit, if I won't be in the way?"

"Oh I like to have a man in my kitchen, Tim.   I like to smell a man.   I like to look at a man.   I haven't had a man in my kitchen for a month, and I get a real craving to have one.  Just so I can look him up and down all over."

"Do you mean you want to look at me naked, ma'am?"

"Of course I want to look at you naked, young man.   But I do have a boyfriend.    So I don't think I should be looking at naked young men.   But I'll take a hug and a kiss, if you're offering."

"A kiss?"

"On the cheek."

He made the most of the hug.   Then he looked into her eyes, and moved, slowly and steadily, his lips not to her cheek, but to her mouth.   She didn't turn her head.    Her hands strayed down his body and rested on the seat of his Levis.   She broke from the long kiss, and stood for a while, looking into his blue eyes, inhaling his barnyard smell.   She undid his belt, and pulled down his zipper, and slid her hands inside his bvd's and grabbed his ass, feeling the incredible woodlike hardness she had felt, but could not believe, through his pants.

She said: "No."

"No?"

"I won't do it.    I won't do it.  I want to too much.  That was a wonderful kiss, but it just made my craving for a man even worse.   Would you have been willing?   You don't think I'm old and ugly?"

He pulled down his bvd's, and his erection snapped up.   "Ma'am, it seems I am quite willing.    And I don't believe you can even know what a craving is."

Susan could see a bit of his ass, and its beauty hypnotized her.  "There is one thing you can do, Tim, that will satisfy my craving, but I won't count as cheating on my boyfriend.    And that's to give me a spanking."

"Me spank you?"

"My boyfriend gives me slaps on the ass during sex.   It's very arousing.   And when we're horny but we don't have time, like most mornings before he goes to work, he gives me a good hard spanking.   And I have an absolute craving for one now."

"Ma'am, if I spank you, I'll get so horny I'll die.   Do you ever hear of boys dying from horniness?   Sometimes it hurts worse than falling off my horse."

"You can masturbate afterwards.   I'll be doing it too, with a vibrator.   In different rooms of course.   But you'll know that I'm in the next room doing it.  I'll leave the door open so we can hear each other, but not see.  Will that be enough for you?"

"Enough for me?   It will be torture for me!  Can I see the vibrator, and turn it on, and hold it against my body?   That will help me imagine it's you.   I mean, help me imagine it's me, fucking you."

"Are you going to imagine fucking me?   Not some girl your own age?   Who is pretty?  Who isn't wrinkled?   Who has breasts?"

"Of course I'm going to imagine it's you.   Ma'am, is there any way, any possible way, I can see you naked first?   There is no way I'm not going through with this - I couldn't turn this down in a million years! - but really, I mean it, this will be torture for me.  Can't I at least see your naked body before I try to jerk off just imagining it."

"I don't think that would be a good idea.  I have wrinkles all over.  It's bad enough you'll see my ugly fat bottom when you spank it."

"Ma'am, I wish you were sixty-five like my school principal, and I wish you were spanking me and not the other way around.   The girls my own age, the girls I have sex with, they aren't sexy, they're just dumb.   You're sexy.   A woman has to be a little scary to be sexy.  Can we get on with it?   This thing hurts when it's this hard, and it's driving me out of my mind."

Susan brushed the head of his cock, very softly, with her finger.   His eyes bulged.   He choked.   He gurgled and spluttered, trying to speak.   His cock swelled to an even more frightening size, and turned a dangerous-looking color.   His right hand grabbed for it.

Suzan fixed him with her camp-counselor stare, and slapped his hand.    But he didn't react like the girl Susan had caught masturbating and spanked at girl-scout camp.

He said: "Get across my lap, NOW, ma'am!   You're getting a spanking!"

"Good!  That's good!   I mean, um, Yes, sir! I um ... yes, all right, I will, but Tim, ... I want you to do it the way I want you to do it.   And if we do it my way, you can see me naked.   Here's what I want : I'll go in the living room and strip, and pretend to be sunbathing, and you come in and catch Daddy's little girl naked, and spank her for it.  OK?  Only don't just spank me - give a me a scolding first, like a real Daddy.  OK?   Because I like the way you yell at me; it makes me excited.   And don't let me sweet-talk my way out of it - if I say I want you to stop, that just means - spank me more!"

"OK.   But can I be a cop or a lifeguard or something, and not your dad?    When I jerk off afterwards I going to imagine I'm fucking the woman I gave a spanking to.    And gee, I can't pretend I'm fucking you if I'm pretending I'm your dad - hunh?"

Alone in the living room, Susan found it sexy stripping for Tim.   Her own fantasy would be Daddy spanking his little girl, and then masturbating afterwards, his cum spurting out on her face.   But Tim was not a filthy pervert like she was.    His fantasy evidently was to be a young cop catching an older woman skinny-dipping, and giving her a big grin and the offer of a spanking, instead of arrest for indecent exposure.  He was so clean and pure and wholesome that being spanked by him would be like taking a shower.

But he made her wait a long time, which she hadn't expected.    She thought about the pain.    It had been all lies, of course, that part about getting a spanking from her boyfriend when she was horny and he had to go to work.   She didn't get spanked in the mornings.  She didn't get spanked at all, ever.  In all her fantasies, spankings were punishments - something that hurt; not something you wanted.   Not something that was sexy and pleasurable.  Susan knew that some woman enjoyed being spanked, but she couldn't imagine it - her pleasure in fantasizing a spanking was in imagining the fear and the pain - not imagining any enjoyment by the spankee.    The girls she fantasized about, never, never ever, got an orgasm from a spanking - it was Susan, having the fantasy, who got that.   Even little Timmy spanked in the Plaza, in the fantasy, although he got a dry cum from his hands wrapped around his dick and jerked up and down, he didn't find the spanking itself to be a pleasure.   So this spanking she was about to get would hurt, and she didn't want something that would hurt.    Of course not.  She started to get dressed.   She would tell Tim she changed her mind.

He came in.   He was naked.    Susan's mind stopped working.   He was muscles all over, and he had a dark red blotchy patch on his thigh, as if he had been spanking himself with his belt, very hard, to get ready for spanking her.   It looked like a very severe spanking, but Susan hadn't heard a sound.

He tried to sound like a grown up daddy.  "What are you doing, Suzy?  What did I tell you about swimming here?   It's dangerous for little girls to go bare.   Some wicked man could see you, and hurt you.    I said you'd get a spanking next time you went swimming bare, and you're going to get one now."

"I don't want a spanking, Tim, I've changed my mind."

"Well you should have thought about that before, little lady.   You'll think twice before you swim bare from now on.   Don't make me come and get you now, you'll regret it.   Come here to Daddy for a spanking!"

Tim was playing Daddy, not the cop.  He had accommodated her fantasy, rather than following his own.   That was exciting.  But this Daddy with real hands was a lot scarier than the fantasy one.   And his voice, scolding and threatening.  Susan wasn't thinking about her fantasy now - she was in it.  She ran from him, but not as Susan.  As little Suzy.  She knew it was only going to get her more spanks, but she panicked.   She couldn't stop herself from running.   She couldn't overcome the terror long enough to be grown-up Susan and not litle girl Suzy.   Daddy came and got her -  cornering her, bending her across his knee.   It was just like the fantasy - and totally different.    The sheer solidness and sweat of his naked body, his muscles forcing her into position by his overwhelming strength, was nothing like a fantasy.   And this Daddy had an erection all the time.  And a look in his eye that said RAPE!  What Susan was feeling was nothing at all like what she felt when she fantasized about little Suzy being molested.  Fantasy characters were paper cutouts.   This was real - and it was terrifying.

In her fantasies, real pain was a whipping or a branding.   A spanking with the hand was small potatoes, even for a child.  But if it was, say, a hundred swats, that at least counted as a punishment.   Five swats was just a joke, so this ...  YAHHH-AHHH-AHHH-ah!

The first non-fantasy spank of Susan's life sent her lurching off his lap, hands clapping to her behind, as an ear-splitting wail wrenched the air.   She was stunned.  With rest and relaxation, she thought she might be able to return to work in a month.   A month at the spa in Calistoga, with hot mud-baths and twice-daily massage.  That's what it had taken her to recover from nervous prostration the time she ran her car into a tree.    But her bruises from her seat-belt hadn't hurt as much as this.   Suffering any more pain was simply out of the question.

"It'll be worse for you if you don't stay still, little girl."

There was nothing she could do.  Nothing at all.  She had tried to run, she had tried to fight, and she had tried to tell him that she had changed her mind.  He was too strong for her, he was too fast for her, and he wouldn't listen.  He was going to spank her; and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.   In a kind of hypnotic fascination, Susan moved her body from the floor onto his lap.    She was very aware of his erect naked male smell.   Of the maleness of his naked body from his feet to his chin.  His male lap she had to bend across.  His deep male voice.  His strong male hand that was going to slap her soft white bottom.  Not to mention his very male thing, rock hard and pressing into her side so much it hurt.  He moved male.  He sat male.  Daddy in her fantasy had been a white-shirted office worker, an androgynous body with a penis.  Daddy in her fantasy did not stink of male sweat, or have ground-in horse manure in the callouses of his right hand; the rock-hard hand that was going to beat her bottom.  Daddy was milky white and corn-fed; Tim was brown as dirt and hard as timber; all black hair and ocean-blue eyes.  There was a sense of excitement, going to get it, now she knew what "it" was, how much it hurt, how male he was.  How steel-hard his penis was. How hard and big and calloused and male his hands were, how much they hurt - she could get to like this.   She could get to like it a lot.

But it hurt too much!    The second blow made her kick and spasm.

"STAY STILL!"

Susan stayed still.   She tried to steel herself to take the third blow without jumping.   Again that intoxicating pleasure of waiting, steeled for it.   And she managed to stay still after that stroke.  It felt good.   The spanking was more than half over, and she started to think that she had, after all, done it.   She had gotten herself spanked.   Her vibrator sessions would be dynamite after this.  She would wear out her batteries in a week.  Spanks four and five passed in a haze of euphoria.   Horrible pain.  Each one hurt more than the last.   But that was good.   She savored the pain and wished for more.

She got it.   Six.  Uh-Oh.   What is he doing?  Spanking me more than we agreed!   Is he going to rape me too?   Susan was deep into panic before she remembered that she hadn't actually told him any particular number.   Five spanks was just the way it was in her fantasy - five was what little Suzy got in the skinny-dipping fantasy, and in her fantasy world you just knew that skinny-dipping was five spanks.   Susan really had sunbathed nude as a girl, and whenever she did, lying there risking getting caught and getting a scolding, she had imagined it would be five spanks if she was caught instead.  But of course Tim had no way to know that nude sunbathing equaled five spanks in Susan's fantasy world.

Spank seven was extra painful.    But then, each one hurt more than the last.   How could she bear them?

Eight was awful.    She was near her limit.   But when she reached it, what?   Tim wouldn't stop because little Suzy broke down and begged him to - begging Daddy to stop was part of the game.  Asking him to stop meant spank more; she'd said that herself.  And Susan didn't know how to be grown-up woman Susan Thomas, telling him she'd had enough, and not little brat Suzy, whose whining and wheedling was just a way of asking for more.

Nine pushed her over her limit, if she had one.   Desperate, she said "Tim, this has to stop," in her most grown-up voice.   He said, "Be quiet, little girl, if you know what's good for you.  You know the rule - two extra swats for that.  And two more every time you open your mouth."

She hoped he'd stop at ten.    He didn't.

But she had an idea.   She was getting this spanking for sexual pleasure - that's what she'd asked for.   As long as she didn't show any pleasure, naturally Tim thought she wasn't yet satisfied.    She began her best, well-practiced, fake orgasms.   Tim slid his right hand to her crotch, and began some inexpert groping.   If he thinks that's my clitoris, Susan thought, California schools really do need better teachers.   But faking orgasms made her think about sex, and that, combined with the crude poking at her cunt, and the hot stimulus to her bottom, brought her to a level of arousal.   Now the pain was easier to deal with.   Spanking was sexy, after all, even when she was in this much pain. Her arousal mounted and she reached a level where the hard smacks were almost a pleasure.    She felt happy.   She was finally getting her spanking from Daddy, that she'd planned for so long.

And then, just when she'd started to enjoy it, after about 15 smacks, he stopped.    He shifted her position, and he gently slid his cock into her.   Then he lifted her off it again.

"Ma'am, do you have any condoms?"

He hadn't exactly raped her.   She could have said no, or pulled away.    But her fantasy had kicked in, she was very aroused, and very obedient, and it had happened so fast.    She took some condoms from the drawer of the TV table, from a box labeled "THUM-TAKS," which guests looking for thumbtacks only occasionally opened.

But though he spanked much harder than fantasy Daddy, in fucking he wasn't as rough.   She was relieved - but then she was bored.   He fucked for a while, softly and gently, and then pulled out of her without cumming.

"Tim, I'm not a china doll."

"What do you mean?"

"As long as you don't bite any bits off, leaving toothmarks is quite normal!"

"You mean, me bite you?   You mean like on your nipples?   No!   I couldn't!"

"Tim, aren't you too excited to mind the pain when I do this?   When I scratch you - like that! - or pinch you - there! - or slap you, or bite you - like that!  And that!   And that!  Bite you on your lip - hard?  On your nipple- hard?   Do you mind it?    Do you mind the pain?"

"Pain?   I can hardly talk that feels so good.   Don't stop.   Do my other tit."

"So why aren't you doing it to me?"

"But you're a woman!"

"We'll see who can take more, a woman or a little boy like you!"  

For a beginner, he was a good enough lover.   And Susan was no more experienced than he was - not in getting nipples bitten, anyway.    When she finally got him to do it, it hurt a lot more than she liked.   But if her hard bites were anything but pleasure to him, he didn't let on.   For each bite she gave, he bit her back - and pinches and scratches too.  And his scratches hurt so much they drove her mad, and in the sudden shock of pain she'd flail out with her nails, or bite him.   Back and forth, harder and harder.   They got into a scratching, biting, kicking, war; it was exhilirating.   And in her whole life, no man had ever had such a lust for what she could do to his body.  When she bit his nipple, he flinched from the pain so horribly that her own nipples hurt in sympathy, and yet, he had such lust for her, that he craved the sensation.

When she got furiously angry at him for a really hard pinch, she lashed out with her sharp nails across the areola of his nipple so hard it bled, and that made his cock shoot from limpness into hardness in an instant, and it was rammed into her, ferociously, hard enough to hurt and meant to hurt, a second later.  He had a condom on but it was a violent fuck, a punishment fuck.   In all her years as a patient, obedient, considerate lover, she had never felt anything like that.  Or seen anything like the way he looked when he came.   Then, not satisfied even with a violent fucking, he said "Revenge!" and  slowly and deliberately bit her areola hard enough to draw blood.    Susan just swallowed and clenched her fists and endured the pain.    It was horribly painful and not in any way a pleasure, and yet she endured it.  If it had been Robin, if it had been any other man, she would have stopped him.     But not Tim.   Not this cowboy.

Susan liked to say men didn't give enough foreplay - but she also hated that tiptoing around, trying not to feel too much, that men did when they were trying not to cum to soon.    Tim hadn't, and so the fucking had been, athough very good, also very, very quick.

But no one had ever told Tim he was supposed to stop when he came.   He didn't even slow down.

He did have one great advantage over Robin - he was sixteen.   They started having sex around six-thirty.   It was ten-fifteen by the living-room clock when he said: "That was nice, ma'am.   Can we do it again now?"

"Mary Lou!    She'll be calling hospitals.   You should go.   No, don't go - phone her."

"What should I say?"

"That you got picked up by an older woman, and will be spending the night in her bed."

"I can't say that!"

"You will say it - or you can get out now.   I can't stand men who lie about sex."

"But isn't that like, announcing our engagement?   Having sex and telling everyone?  It feels like I'm boasting about my sexual conquest or something."

"You don't have to say it was me, Tim.   She won't know, will she?   If she doesn't see you leave my house in the morning?"

"All right.   Here goes.  I'm going to tell her I'm spending the night with a lover.  Gee, spending the night!  I'm doing it now.   I'm dialing.   Or buttoning or whatever you call it with these fancy new phones." 

bip-bip-boop--boop-bup-bup-bahp.     click.    rhuhhhng.     rhuhhhng.     rhuhhhng.     rhuhhhng..     rhu-.

"- - Hello, Mary Lou, it's Tim. - -   No, I'm fine. - -   Sorry I made you worry. - -   No, I'm all right. - -   No. I'm fine, really. - -   I called a woman I know, and she invited me to supper. - -  No, that's fine. - -  We just got talking. - -   No that's all right, I'll spend the night on her couch. - -   I didn't ask. - -  She's a single woman, and I'm sleeping over at her house, and you know what people are like. - -  That's what I'm saying, I'm not going to tell people who I spent the night with. - -   It does include you, Mary Lou. - -  You are more than welcome to talk to my mother about it. - -  Mary Lou, I can't ... - -  O.K, but why do you need to know this woman's name? - -  Yes - - No, I'm not going to tell you, I'm not ... I don't care what you do. - - Sometime tomorrow. - -  See you then.  And I am sorry I didn't call earlier.   Bye."    click.

"So I didn't tell her I had sex with the woman I'm staying with.   Is that lying about sex?   Do I have to go?"

"No.    I was wrong.   You were right.  It would have been wrong if you had told her we had sex."

"Did you really mean what you said?   That I'm going to spend the night in your bed?   Do you really mean it?"

"I suppose we could use the bed.   Not that the coffee table wasn't nice.  And the couch, and the rug, and the stairs.   But Tim -  Men always say they'll call.    And then they don't.   If this was just one night for you, it would be kinder if you say so now."

"You want me?   You really want me?    But I was so ...  Are you telling me you love me?"

"Tim, you are very sweet.  But no.   I do have a boyfriend.   I'm not offering to give him up.   This would be an affair - a fling.   But I really liked having sex with you, and I want to do it again - and again and again.   Not love.   If you don't want me that way, I totally understand.   But please tell me honestly."

"How long would this fling last?"

"As long as we can make it."

"No.   It will last three days and four nights, including tonight.   I have a ranch to run.   That is, Mr. McGurdie has it, I just have to run it for him.  You can't spend the night, ever, in my trailer at the ranch, as my fling.   So when I go back to the ranch, it's over forever.   Until then I get every minute of those four nights."

"OK."

"OK.    OK?   Really?   You can be free all four nights?"

"I will be."

"Great.   That's - that's - uh, great.  Do you want another spanking?   You didn't sound as ... I guess those were female orgasms, hunh?   When I fucked you, you didn't have 'em loud as when I spanked you.   So I guess my love-making wasn't very good.   It wasn't hard enough.   Next time I'll spank you while we're doing it.   Would you like twenty hard swats right now?"

"Do you want twenty hard swats right now, Tim?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Tim bent over the couch arm, and Susan smacked his bottom with her palm.   Tim said, "That doesn't hurt.   Well maybe it does hurt, really.   It's just that I spend all day with a leather saddle pounding my bottom, and I've kind of gotten used to it.   You had tears running down your face.   You were hardly able to bear the pain, I could tell.   But that was what you wanted.   That's what I want too.   It was great when you bit my dick, but I want to try something that really hurts."

Susan's hand hardly made an impression on his tanned rump.   It had the color and appearance of a russet apple.

"Tim, why is your bottom so tan?   There is no sort of tan line."

"If I take a dip in a stock pond, I don't bother with swimming trunks, it's pretty remote.   And then it's just nicer not to put my sweaty clothes back on.  The cows don't care."

"It's not nicer, it's sexier.  You do it because you're so horny.   You strip naked, and pound your bare bottom on the leather saddle until you get saddle sores."

"Not saddle sores.   But yes, until it hurts.   Sometimes I ride bareback, and that hurts even more, 'cause Maryanne's kind of bony back there, but with the saddle my hard cock rubs on the saddle horn.   I had my first cum that way."

"What if your sixty-five year old high school principal caught you naked."

"She'd ball me out, I guess."

"I think she'd take you across her knee in her office."

"Not across her knee; she wouldn't treat me as a child.   She's a cowgirl.   It would be me bent over my saddle.   With her whip."

But even his own belt, whipped on his ass, didn't hurt enough for him.

They went to the garage to look for some sort of strap.   Naked.   Out the front door and across the lawn.  It was dark, but there was a street lamp.  It was risky and exciting, if not quite the equal of riding the range in the nude, hoping to be caught by a sixty-five year old cowgirl with a horsewhip.   Then the garage light went on automatically when the door came up, shining on two sweaty naked bodies, and a car passing at that very moment stopped, and then went on.  It parked down the block and a man got out - her neighbor Professor Melman.   Oh, well.   So what?   Suzan hoped the good professor got a charge out of it.   She hoped he had noticed Tim's erection, and her red bottom.    She only wished Melman had seen her getting spanked.

There was no car in the garage - Susan had driven since her accident, but only in a rented car with her therapist in the passenger seat, and although her therapist said she was cured, she had still not bought a new car.   The big empty garage made Susan think of being taken to the woodshed - it was a fit place for a punishment, and she'd often been spanked there in her fantasies.   But they were here to spank Tim, not her; she was the Daddy now, taking son to the woodshed to learn to be a man.  Tim closed the garage door - Susan wanted it open, but she didn't dream of saying so to Tim - she couldn't admit even to him that she had fantasies about a public spanking.  They didn't find any kind of strap in the garage, but there was an extension cord and a coil of rope, and they tried them both.   Tim said the rope really hurt.

"You don't sound excited."

"I imagined a whipstroke as something that really stung.   Thwap!   Yee-Owe!   Thwap!   Yee-Owe!   The rope hurts but it doesn't have that sting.  I still want to go through with it though.   A hundred strokes with the coil of rope.   That should have me in tears."

Five had him in tears, or close to it.   He was a very sorry little boy, at that point.       He gritted his teeth for it and said - "you took your punishment.   I have to take this.  I have to..."    He was frightened, not of the pain, but of not being able to bear the pain.  This was the first real pain for him so far, much more serious than a bite on his nipple.  The coil was heavy and the rope fibers were like needles.  Not being able to take it, after inflicting so much on her, made him disgusted with himself.    But he was in such pain after just five that he just didn't think he could take a hundred.

He would not have to find out.  She said: "I can't any more, Tim; my arm is tired.  I'm trying, but this coil is just too heavy for me."

"Try the buckle end of my belt."

"Ha ha.   We want to punish you, not send you to the emergency room."

"It will not break my thick skin.   It will just hurt like the dickens."

His buckle was a Navajo silver sandcasting, all jags and knobs.   She found it terrifying.   By an effort of will, she hit him with it, but he just laughed.   He looked around and found a burlap bag, put it folded on the workbench, and whipped it a stroke with the belt buckle, much harder than she had.   Then he got back into position over the sawhorse.   She managed to swing the belt with real force.  Tim sobbed.   It did not bleed, but it made an ugly mark, with indentations from the jags of the buckle, which she thought would turn into blood-blisters.

"Huhh.   Uhh.   Ten.  Please."

Susan spread nine more copies of the buckle pattern across Tim's bottom and legs.   Then it was over.   That was it.   It seemed utterly pointless and stupid.    Tim had tears in the corners of his eyes.  It was not arousing for Susan at all, and not for Tim either; he didn't get an erection.   And this was the same Tim who got a  hard-on from the word "condom."

But he didn't care about getting a hard-on: that wasn't what he was interested in, now.   He was no longer ogling her, his eyes swept across her, looking only at the hand holding the belt, as if he didn't even see she was naked.   He said: "Ten more."

In desperation, she picked up and used instead a three-foot bit of scrap lumber, about three inches wide

"Yee-Owe!   Ooo!   That's perfect.   That's exactly what a spanking should feel like."

But he wanted to make it hurt even more, so he cut some grooves in the board with a chisel, making it into a kind of long hand, with ridges like fingers to dig into his flesh.  At Susan's suggestion, he drilled small holes through it.   He complemented Susan on her tools; which had been Susan's grandfather's.  Twenty years of workbench clutter evaporated, without Tim saying a thing, or spending any time on it.   But every time his hand passed over the bench, to put down a chisel or to reach for some sandpaper, another tool was put on its proper hook, another nut or bolt into its proper jar.   It took a great many test smackings before he was satisfied; he wanted the handle comfortable in Susan's hand, and the blade painful on his own bottom.  Ten hard smacks with the front side of the paddle, ten more with the back, and then he would make the bumps pointier or the holes deeper, and take another twenty.  He gritted his teeth before each swat, and groaned when it hit.   He was having a good time though--his eyes danced.  And he grimaced and laughed as he rubbed his bottom.  Susan felt good too, although she felt a bit like a Mom, watching this naked whistling teenager sharpen her grandfather's chisels, and sweep up every shaving and speck of sawdust.   He had such a nice smile, and he smiled a lot - he seemed grateful even for such a little thing as when she held the dustpan for him. 

Gazing at her naked boy, Susan noticed that the red patch on his thigh, which she had thought was from him spanking himself, had not faded, as it surely should have done after several hours.  And when she looked at it more closely, she could tell it was a strawberry birthmark.   How cool : Tim had been born spanked.

When the paddle was done at last to his satisfaction, he wanted to go back in the house, and get a hundred smacks on what he called the "marriage bed."  His face had just the rueful look of a teenage boy about to get a spanking from his mom.

But on the way through the kitchen, he started to yawn.   Practical Susan - Mom Susan - thought about growing boys and their bedtimes, about his early hours on the ranch, about the danger of missing meals.   And anyway she was hungry.  Lust would have to wait.    She got out crackers and cheese, and made him some cocoa, the kind that comes in a packet.    When they got to the bed he hugged her, kissed her; kissed her nose, her eyebrow, her neck - and fell asleep.    His mug of cocoa was steaming on the bedside table.

She was wakened by being fucked.

It was five o'clock in the morning and he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed beyond belief.   He was so enormously self-satisfied about his penis.    She was on her back, with no covers, and he had managed to spread her legs without waking her, and was stroking her cunt with the tip of his condomed cock.   The look in his eye said "ramming speed!"  He had balanced the wooden paddle across her breast, ready for use.  She groaned sleepily; she couldn't take this so early in the morning.   He looked at her face, and his face fell, and then he rolled off the bed and began quietly masturbating on the floor.   Susan felt miserable about the whole thing, and she couldn't properly get back to sleep.

But she must have slept or dozed because when the alarm went off at seven thirty, it woke her up.    She smelled coffee.    Wooly-headed, sour-tummied, she was dimly aware that he'd set out warmed towels for her in the bathroom, tidied up the condoms and wrappers in the living room, and mopped the kitchen floor.   And he had made her a fantastic breakfast.   After breakfast he asked her how many spanks she wanted.   The paddle was on the kitchen counter.

She said there was time for a quickie instead.   But he was fully dressed and had no erection, and under the sudden pressure, couldn't get one.  It was getting late.   Stuck, she asked for ten spanks.   Perhaps she was getting used to it, because the paddle ones were easier to take than his hand ones had been.  Still, they hurt horribly and she couldn't summon up enough sex feeling even to fake an orgasm.   She was a spanked little girl, bawling her head off, as she stumbled out the door.   She was given a hug and a handkerchief at the bus stop, by a complete stranger.

On the bus, she realized she hadn't told him how wonderful last night had been.   Or how deeply touched she was (now) by his kindness and attentiveness in the morning.  She got to talking with the woman she'd met at the bus-stop, whose name was Charlene, called Charlie;  Charlie has just moved to Sonoma but would be catching the same bus as Susan from now on.  Susan made a note to herself to arrange for another block party, and they chatted about the neighborhood, and somehow Susan ended up talking about Tim - lying about Tim, actually.  Talking, Susan came to some decisions.   Charlie's calm, sensible advice was undoubtedly correct.

When she phoned her house from work, there was no answer.    Well, of course - he couldn't very well answer the phone.  After all, for all he knew it might be Susan's boyfriend calling.    And anyway, probably he'd gone back to Mary Lou's already.   But wherever he was, he must have been hurt by her behavior this morning.    She was going to break it off with him, but first, when she somehow did get to talk to him, she would have to apologize for her behavior - and tell him how wonderful last night had been.   How could she describe what was wonderful about it?   What was wonderful about it?    The spanking.   Last night was the sexiest memory of her life.   Sex with Robin didn't come close, even though Robin always did exactly what she asked.  Well, so much for Charlie's sensible advice; so much for her sensible resolution - she was going to get fucked until Tim's cock wore out!   Tonight ...  Little Suzy cried as she heard the footsteps approaching her door.  "Little Suzy's been a bad girl," came Daddy's voice.   "Come downstairs in your pretty PJs.  You can show your bottom to Daddy's friends.  Won't you like that, doing your strip tease?   And then the bad girl will get her spanking, and Daddy's friends will help him spank her.  Nice men who will help you to be a good girl."

Why had she drifted into that fantasy?   A real spanking, tonight.   She didn't need fantasy any more.   Ooo.   She was hot already.   It would hurt so much!    And she would hate it so much!   But she would hate it.   She didn't actually liked being spanked.  Her fantasies were all about spanking, so of course it was very sexy to think about them.   A night of spankless sex - not something to look forward to.    But the spanking had been no fun at the time.   She was aroused by it, but there were less painful ways to do that.   And the spanking HURT!   So, no spanking.   NO!   That was too sad to even think about!    She had to get a spanking!    But right now, she had to get some work done.   She needed to stop fantasizing and concentrate!  She had just filed the Carlos Manzini estate documents under C.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi.  Have I reached ..."

"Tim, I love you."

"Are you ...?"

"I can't talk.    Meet me at noon, in the Plaza.   One of the benches by the flagpole.   See you there."    Click.

Why had she said that?     OK, she was hot for him.   Poor Robin.   Kind, worthy, deserving Robin.  Sensitive Robin.   Robin who didn't spank her.   Because that was it.   She was going to get the spankings.   She had to.  For all she knew, Robin would have spanked her too, if she'd ever just asked him.  Perhaps he fantasized about spanking her, but was too embarrassed to tell her his fantasies, just as she'd been to tell him hers.   She tried to remember if Robin had ever hinted that he wanted to spank her.  She had hinted to him, hinted hard - she had done everything short of sending him a notarized request - but he had been blindly oblivious: he just would not pick up on her hints that she wanted to be spanked.    But what if, all along, he had wanted to spank her, and had been sending hints to her?   Perhaps she had been the oblivious one.

And then she remembered.    Robin had not hinted, he had asked.   Asked plain.   And she had laughed and said no, and had forgotten the whole incident.   She had considered it a joke.   Because what Robin had asked for, wasn't that he should spank her.    It was that she should spank him.

Poor Robin.  But it didn't matter now.   She was hot for Tim now, because he spanked her, and she wasn't hot for Robin any more.   She had never ever been hot for Robin, not like this.  She had never been hot for any man like this.  She hadn't known a woman could be hot for a man like this.   Animal lust was something men had - only no man ever had it for her.   She had to be spanked tonight.   Not twenty, but one hundred spanks.   The fact that she didn't like being spanked was unfortunate, but it would make no difference.   Sometimes it hurt but you had to do it anyway.   Like the dentist.

When Tim was gone back to his ranch, she would ask Robin if he would spank her - or if they could spank each other.  But Robin would say: "Are you sure you really want a spanking tonight, Susan?"   And she would say no, she wasn't sure, and the spanking would not happen.   She'd had the greatest sex of her life, a memory she'd treasure forever even if she was never spanked again, because Tim had gone ahead with the spanking, even though she'd asked him to stop.   The spanking had happened because Tim had believed her the first time, when she said "if I say stop, that means spank me harder," and had ignored it when she said: "Please stop, I've changed my mind."   Robin would have stopped.

But even spankless sex with Robin was a fantasy.    Tim was gone in four days, and then she was, not back to Robin, but alone and unloved.    Because there was no way Robin wasn't going to know about this.   Strangers on the street knew about it.  Charlie at the bus-stop had known she had man-trouble - just by looking.   When Charlie had handed Susan her handkerchief, the first thing she said was: "He's not worth it, dear."

And Tim?   Could she drive to his ranch, for the weekends?   Wherever that was, exactly.  North somewhere, in the mountains.  There would be bad weekend traffic on Friday evenings, both getting out of Sonoma and on I-80, and then in the north; no traffic, but mountain roads, driving through the night.    Six hours?    Eight, because of the traffic?   Get there at, say, 1 a.m Saturday morning.   Perhaps ten weekends, perhaps twenty, before she fell asleep at the wheel (as she had done once before) and drove off the side of the mountain.   And in the winter!  Black ice!   Susan was a Californian; she didn't know how to drive on ice.   Could she get a job in a town nearer him - waitress, perhaps?   

There was a problem.    Susan's mother's will was being contested by a cousin in San Francisco, and while the case wound its endless way through the California courts, Susan was able to live in her own house, and get money from her own trust fund, only by filing what was called a "hardship application" with the probate court judge.    In spite of the name, she was not suffering any hardship - her house was a mansion in the best neighborhood in Sonoma, and the judge had allowed her an ample income from the trust fund, more money than she earned from her job.  She wasn't sure, but she suspected that what she was doing with Tim was a felony - statutory rape.  No one ever spoke of teenage boys as "San Quentin quail," and she was pretty sure that no older woman in California had ever been prosecuted for having sex with a sixteen-year-old boy, unless perhaps it was a teacher.    But telling the judge that she needed to rent out her house, and use the money to pay rent in another town, so she could commit statutory rape, was not going to happen.

Tim had said: "You can't spend the night in my trailer, ever, as my fling."   So did that mean she could, if she was his - what?    His official girlfriend?   His fiancé?   His wife?    But how could she be his official girlfriend, his take-home-and-meet-mother girlfriend?   She was a cradle-robber.   She was a statutory rapist.   She couldn't live in Tim's trailer as anything

She knew a bit about Tim's life.    At the block party, the combined forces of liberal Sonoma, including Susan, besides being unfair, had gotten personal, and had asked him a lot of questions.  It had been a verbal stripping naked.  Tim's parents had been divorced, and he was passed back and forth all his life.   He seemed ashamed of that, as if the divorce had been his fault, and the way Professor Melman had kept asking him about it when he was obviously ashamed, had made Susan squirm.   When he was with his dad, Tim had earned some money after school as a ranch-hand on the ranch where his dad was the foreman.    Professor Melman had called this a violation of child-labor laws.  But then Tim's dad had stumbled out of a bar at 2 in the morning, and been run over by a truck.   Tim kept on sleeping in his dad's trailer, and the vaqueros every morning would knock politely on the door, and they asked Tim what to do, just as they had done all along, whenever his dad was incapacitated (as Tim put it) in the mornings.  Then Professor Melman had said something about the plight of "poor Mexican migrant labor" and its exploitation by California agribusiness.

"I wouldn't know about that, sir.   I suppose the men I hire are 'migrant' since they work cattle from Jalisco to British Columbia.    You have an accent. sir--aren't you 'migrant labor' too, professor?  Do you want people to talk about you like that?  The way you talk about 'poor Mexican migrant labor'?   I don't believe the men I work with, would take welfare any more than I would."

"Welfare's not for men with jobs.   But not everyone can get a job.  Just because you have ability and talent don't assume everyone does."

"I don't have any talent.   Some of the wranglers can control bulls with only their voices; that's talent.   But I will hire you, professor, if you can ride a horse.   Hablo español?  I mean, professor, I will hire you if you don't get drunk and if you don't beat your wife.   It's very hard work and the pay's not much, the food's not great but it's free, and board's free too - sleeping on the ground.  But if you can work hard from sun-up to sun-down, dangerous work, I will be glad to hire you: I'm never not glad to find a reliable man; he doesn't need to have talent.  Of course there are a few men no one will hire - they start fights, or they steal.   They may have talent and ability, just not character.  Are they the ones you mean, sir, when you say that not everyone can get a job?"

It was obvious that Tim was carrying the responsibility of ranch foreman, while being paid as part-time ranch hand, and still going to school.  It was also obvious he was too young to have lived through a time in California when even the best men couldn't find work.  But a sixteen-year-old wasn't going to get hired as a ranch foreman, however mature and responsible he was.   Probably, he was entitled to welfare, but he wouldn't take it.   Or perhaps his mother collected it, under the Aid to Families program, and Tim never saw a nickel.   Tim's options for bringing in an income were very limited.

Could he live with her?  He could go to school in Sonoma, hang out with friends after school like any other Sonoma teenager?   No.  Her Tim would never be anyone's kept lover.

Or live with her, go to school, work at McDonalds enough to pay his share?    But he had a life!    He loved riding, loved the mountains, loved the stock ponds where he skinny-dipped and the pastures he rode across, wind in his hair and his naked bottom pounding itself sore on the saddle.    She loved him because he was that man.   She didn't want to turn him into a Sonoma teenager.

She would just have to wait for two years.   He would be 18, her estate lawsuit would be over (she hoped), and she would have access to her own trust fund again.  She would be, in a modest way, a rich woman.   He could get a job on a ranch somewhere, and Susan could live with him in a trailer.  She could buy a horse, learn to ride.  But this was the biggest fantasy of all, because he did not love her.   Say it again -  He.  Does.  Not.  Love.  Me.

Well it wouldn't help if she was fired, and there was still all the filing to do she should have done yesterday.    Let's see: the Estate of Carlos Manzini .   Goes under E.  Next?

She wiped away a tear.

And she was late for lunch.

"Do you want to eat at this place?   La Fonda de Sonoma?"

"I don't have time to eat, Tim, I have to be back by one."

"They don't give you time to eat?"

"I lost track of the time, and all of a sudden it was 12:30.   Sorry."

"But if you kept working until 12:30, can't you get back from lunch at 1:30?"

"No.  I have to clock in and clock out.    I just want to tell you how wonderful last night was.   And this morning."

"Was it?   I thought you didn't - that you didn't get any orgasms from it.   I thought maybe it wasn't hard enough, this morning."

"Hard enough?      No, Tim, it was hard enough.    Did you like it last night, when I gave you those hard swats with the paddle in the garage?"

"That was cool.   But it wasn't like what I thought it would be.    When I used to jerk off and think about Miss Heatherton whipping me - I used to shout 'Whap - oh that feels good - Whap - oh that feels good.'   You know, I'd shout it while I was pretending, while I was jerking off.   And when you were jerking me off me last night, - you know that slow teasing with your hand? - I was thinking about you whipping me, and how good it was going to feel when you did.     How each stroke was going to be intense pleasure.   But it hurt a lot and it wasn't pleasure in a luxurious way like I thought."

"So you don't like it. That's OK.  We don't both have to like spanking."

"Don't like it?   But that's why I like it--don't you see what I mean?   Look, you said last night you would give me one hundred on the marriage bed.   That's all I've been thinking about all day, that hundred you promised.    Listen!    When I've masturbated, up to now, I've always pretended I was being whipped.    By a woman.   Then I'd whip my bottom with my belt a few strokes, and then jerk off, pretending I was getting the rest of one hundred strokes.   And I was so brave about it - Oh I'm really brave about whipping when it's just pretend whipping.   But the real paddling wasn't like that.   It hurt.   I didn't have an erection, and I didn't feel any sexual pleasure, from being paddled, just intense pain.   And I  But that makes it--oh I don't know what it makes it.   Um.  I just don't know how to describe it.  More real is all I can say.   I get an erection now from just remembering the paddling, and when I think about getting a hundred on the bed, my dick gets so hard, and I get so excited, I can't stand it.  I don't like the spanking--but the anticipation!    I wouldn't give that up for anything!

"So you like to think about it more than you like getting it."

If the paddling had been pleasure, instead of pain, it wouldn't have been as good because I wouldn't think about it so much--when I think about getting a paddling, my heart pounds; like, how can I think about anything else when I know I'm due for a paddling?   And I'm sorry, but a kiss isn't like that; I like kissing, of course I like kissing better than anything, but dreading the paddle is more intense than looking forward to a kiss.   It's what I've always dreamed about--a woman to whip me.   And the real is so, so much more than the dream.  So much better than the dream.   I hope I can - I will  - I will absolutely, that is, I hope I can - I will go through with it, to the end, one hundred swats.   I swear it."

"Do you really want it so hard it makes you cry?"

"I do want it hard, yes.    Don't you?    When I spanked you, that was incredible -  I was scared of how good it felt to do it.   To make you cry.   I didn't like that.  I mean I did like it - I liked it a lot - but I didn't like myself for liking it.  So I wanted it to be mutual.   I needed to be punished.   Punished for hurting you and for liking it so much."

"You don't need to be punished; I asked you to spank me."

"But I want to be.  I want to say : a hundred spanks, and then not stop until it is a hundred - I can't stop at fifty, can't stop at seventy-five, I have to go all the way.   Don't you understand?   Saying I'll do it, and then having to go through with it?    Because I'm a boy being punished, and so I don't get to choose when it stops.    Those swats in the garage were so cool.  I want to put my ass on the line - to see if I am man enough to do it.      What am I saying? - man enough.   I just hope I can do half as good as you."

"So that's what it is for you?   A test?" 

"No.   I'm not making any sense, I know.  But look, on the range, camping, all alone, I used to sentence myself to something that hurt and then make myself endure it.   Touching my bottom with hot coals, things like that.  But I never actually did anything that hurt a lot - nothing that really hurt for a long time like a belting from Dad.   I couldn't make myself.  But when it's from you, I don't even want to stop.   I didn't count, but we did a lot swats in the garage.  I bet it was a hundred.  And they were hard.   I don't feel ashamed of that.   Not like the times I said to myself: one hundred with the belt, but actually gave myself about five.  It felt good, asking for more and more and more; because they hurt so much."

"Tim, That's exactly what if feels like!  It is very hard for me to bear the pain, too.    It hurts but you want it - that's it exactly.  You're a good spanker.  But it's very sexy for me to be spanked.    I'm not hearing it's so sexy for you.   So if it's not sexy, why do you need to endure it?"

"If you'll let me, I want to masturbate while you spank me, next time.   I'm not sure, but I think it will be really good.  Have you ever been spanked when you had the vibrator going in and out of you."

"Vibrators don't work like fucking machines, Tim.    They don't do in and out; they vibrate.  You can use it on your cock."

"Say it again."

"Cock?"

Tim unzipped his jeans.   Right there on the bench in the Plaza.  

Susan tossed her scarf into his lap as his pink tip emerged thtough his fly, although she didn't think that would help much if he was going to jerk off in a public square.  Everyone would be able to see what he was doing, scarf or no scarf.  But after reaching in to let his erection out, he kept his hands off it.   But you could see there was something lifting the scarf.    Just the way he sat was so suggestive people did a double-take when they saw him.    And he wasn't speaking in a whisper, either.

"Ma'am, I can't stop thinking about your bottom.   It was like a sunset as it got redder and darker."

Susan's face was also getting redder and darker.  "Tim, do you like spanking or getting spanked best?   I think you just earned one."

"Ooo.  I need getting spanked.   But I really enjoy spanking you.   I didn't know I would.   I've never thought about spanking a woman before.   I mean I've thought about it, but it wasn't something I used to think about while I was jerking off.   I only thought about being spanked, not spanking.  But this morning I've come about six times thinking about it.  Thinking about spanking you every time, not about you spanking me.  I want to be spanked, but spanking you is sexier.   You get those really strong orgasms from it.    I really, really hope you enjoy spanking me.   But I was kind of afraid you didn't.   I think I could be spanked forever if I knew it was a turn-on for you.  Do you think about my bottom as much as I think about yours?"

He asked that question in a particularly loud voice.   It echoed across the Plaza.

"I'm thinking about your bottom right now, Tim.   I'm thinking about flogging it.  I'm thinking about you riding, slapping your bottom on the saddle for hours. I'm thinking about you naked, getting a spanking over my lap on this bench.  Not a spanking - a whipping.  My big fat sloppy bottom is a tub of jelly.   Spanking me must be disgusting.   But your bottom!   Imagine a russet apple cut in half - that's how hard and firm you are.    That's what I get to spank."


          
 
  III.    Gravenstein.   
Not love, not living together.  Not practical arrangements.  Not even money.   Bottoms.

That was all they talked about.   For an hour.  He said he adored hers, and she said she worshiped his.  It made her late for work and she got a very severe scolding from her boss - all for the sake of a conversation about buttocks.   They hadn't even made an arrangement about that night.   

But all the same, Susan was expecting to find him sitting on her steps.  He wasn't there.  All eveneing she waited.   She played all her Beatles records.  Finally, after Johnny Carson, she went upstairs to bed.    Tim was on her bed, trying to balance a red apple on the tip of his cock.

He said: "I climbed out of my window.   Mary Lou thinks I'm asleep.   I have to get back early tomorrow before she comes into my room to wake me up."

"Where'd you get the apple?"

"There was just one left - not hanging; wedged in a fork - on the tree I climbed down.   There are still lots on your tree.   You should lock your upstairs bathroom window."

"Gravensteins are early.  I doubt that one's any good since it's been in the tree for a month.   You should have picked a McIntosh from my tree when you climbed in."

"Have you been naughty?"

"Naughty enough.   But you're the one that's getting a sore bottom, for leaving me alone all evening."

"Mary Lou thinks I'm sleeping.   I couldn't have come any earlier.  I couldn't claim that I met an old friend, two nights in a row.   Of course if you want to spank me for it ... - but I have something better than that for you to spank me for - Susan."

"What?"

"I told you.  For Susan."

"Tim, you are this close to a thrashing you won't forget in a hurry."

"Ooo.   But let me tell you why I'm getting it.  Last night I didn't know your name."

"That's not possible."

"It's true, Susan.   Of course I should have asked.   But I kept putting it off and the longer I did the harder it got.   This morning I peeked in your mailbox.   All day I've been saying to myself, 'you deserve a hundred stripes for fucking a woman without knowing her name.'   Then I jerk off, saying 'Susan, Susan, Susan'."

"But you must have heard my name at the party."

"That barbecue at Mary Lou's?  You were there?"

Susan had thought they had formed a bond of sympathy and trust at the party.   She was outraged that he didn't remember her.

"Oh, yeah, I guess I do remember you.   In a little white jacket-like thing.  I wasn't paying too much attention.  I made such a fool of myself at that party - I cried about it afterwards."

"I think you made fools of us."    The little white jacket-like thing was Yves St. Laurent, and it had cost Susan a bit more than a week's pay.

"I was still thinking about it yesterday, when I was on the steps.   I was trying not to cry.   I think that's what made me so ornery."

"I thought I was the aggressive one last night."

"Spanking you.     Playing Dad when I spanked you.   And liking it.   I'm not like that, really I'm not."

"You played Daddy very well.   And I'm very glad you like it."

"Back when was a little boy, just starting to masturbate, I'd think about fucking Rosalia Lopez - she was a girl at school who had tits in sixth grade - and I thought about seeing her naked, and about pushing my cock into her.   I didn't know about all that other stuff - biting nipples and hard massage and scratching and cunt-licking and slapping my cock.  And tickling.  I didn't know tickling had anything to do with sex.   I didn't know men and women touched when they had sex.   I don't think Mom and Dad ever touched - and there wasn't any privacy in our shack, so I watched what they did.    So it was easier to cum if I thought about getting the belt.   That was the only kind of touching I knew about, Dad belting Mom and usually pushing it into her afterwards. "

"I think that's terrrible."

"My memories of Mom and Dad fucking are from before I was eight, before the divorce and the restraining order, long before I started to masturbate.  Dad didn't live at home but he would come in to our place drunk and belt me and then belt Mom and then fuck her with me watching.   If they ever had any other kind of sex, they didn't do it when I was there. I knew about kissing, of course, but Dad never kissed Mom.   I sure didn't know about having an hour of kissing and stroking and pinches and slaps and biting - an hour of it! - before fucking and it never occurred to me you could keep on kissing and cuddling afterwards, until you were ready to fuck again.   I only knew about belting; but when I pretended I was giving Rosalia a belting, making her cry, I didn't cum.   Her crying upset me too much - it made me think of Mom, that she was - the times she was - well, raped.  I only came when I imagined I was getting a whipping - but not from Rosalia, it had to be from Miss Heatherton.  Then I fucked her, I mean fucked Miss Heatherton my high school principal, a wrinked old woman; just quickly pushing in and out, and then I would come.  I mean, I imagined fucking her, but I really came, in my hand.   Even in my imagination that was as good as I thought sex could be; in and out of Miss Heatherton.   It got a little better if I spanked myself with my belt first, but I never could spank myself hard enough or long enough.    I was only good at imaginary beltings."

"So you don't really like wrinked women, Tim, I mean, how could you?   But you don't have to be ashamed of it, Tim.  I was the same, when I masturbated at your age.    Boys scared me, because I wasn't pretty.  It was easier to cum thinking about being spanked.   I always thought about being spanked when I masturbated, too.     I thought about sex with much older men when I masturbated.  You don't have to be beautiful for men to want you for a spanking. "

Susan held her breath, thinking : if he says "You are beautiful to me," I'll kill him.   I hate men who lie to get sex.    But Tim wasn't finished talking about himself.

"But Dad did get better after the divorce - he'd go months without a drink.  He raised me - not Mom.  I was supposed to live with Mom but she, um, well ...  And last year I um, ... well let's just say I needed the discipline; I was doing some bad stuff.  Dad had to trust me I wouldn't tell - it was a violation of his restraining order for him to lay a hand on me, and I could have sent him to prison for it, but he gave me a belting.   My first real punishment in six years.  Mom knew I was running with a gang who sold drugs and ripped off car radios, but she didn't do anything about it, she didn't care.   That belting hurt.  I won't say it hurt more than he hurt me when he was drunk, when I was a kid, but his sober belting went on a lot longer.  It just went on and on.  On and off all day.  Much longer than the beltings I used to get when he was drunk.  After that I started masturbating every day, really intense cums, every time.  And not long after that, Dad slipped up, just once, and took a drink.   Just one was all it took; he went on a bender, and later that weekend he passed out in the road in front of Harvey's Bar and a milk tanker squashed him flat the next morning.  I could have been at the door of the bar when they kicked him out, to bring him home, but he would have belted me--belted me right there in front of the bar at two in the morning, with my pants down.   I wasn't just playing a daddy when I spanked you, I was playing my Dad.   I was playing my Dad belting my Mom, and raping her.   And I fucking liked it.   Susan, I fucking liked it."

"Tim - you're a virgin, aren't you."

"Not any more, obviously.   But yes - until last night, I was.   I lied about having sex with girls my own age.   None of them will go all the way with me."

"You must want to, though, with a girl.   You can't really want a wrinkled ugly old woman."

"Is your boyfriend like a college professor or a doctor or something?    If he - well I'm not saying I'd do it or anything, but if he just happened to get his throat cut crossing the campus some dark night, would I have a chance?"

Susan wasn't going to say "I love you" twice.   She was miffed.   She didn't expect "I love you too, Susan," like in a movie; she knew he didn't love her.   But did he think it didn't matter, that she'd been the one to say "I love you"?  Why was he talking like she'd never said it?   Wasn't a boy at least supposed to say "thanks," even if he couldn't say "I love you too" back again?     And not noticing her at the party.   "Little white jacket-like thing!"   What an asshole! 

Tim was watching her face and he knew he'd said something that made her angry.  

And it made him grin from ear to ear.   He changed from being, in his mind, his dad raping his mom, and became again the boy, getting a whipping from his wrinkled cowgirl, with a yee-haw and git-along dogies - and you could see it in his face.  He looked younger.  He looked as if a weight had been lifted from him, to be the one whipped, instead of the whipper.  He turned over, lifting his butt high.  Lost in his fantasy, it was easy to tell when the  imaginary lashes struck his bottom - his body jerked from the pain.   And after each one an imaginary build to orgasm, climbing peak after peak, higher and higher to an explosive climax - which was not of course a real one.  He jerked his arm making imaginary whip-strokes.  But after five imaginary strokes with the belt, he moved his hand - not to rub his hard cock but to slap it hard, while his other hand held it in position to be beaten.   He arched his back and writhed.   The imaginary whipping had been hot and heavy, and so was the real slapping and pounding he was giving to his dick.  That was when Susan noticed the whip.   He had been lying on top of it.

"What kind of whip is that?   Is it for spanking a chihuahua?   Or for whipping your own cock?"

"This?  It's a riding crop.   I bought it at that - that place - well, I don't know what to call it.  That place on Spain Street.   It's like a boutique with pictures of horses on the walls.   They sell cowboy hats too, great big ones because the women have these really big fluffy hair-dos.   No other horse tackle though, besides the whips.  But it's mostly those real short skirts, and they pose the dummies bending over so you can see their butts and they all have these rope panties with a big knot that must be kind of uncomfortable.  You sure wouldn't want to ride wearing something like that, I can tell you that much.  Is that where you bought your jacket?"

"You're kidding.   This is a horse whip?  But a horse has a thick coat of hair - how could it feel something like that?"

Susan had indeed bought her white bolero at Texas Bravo on Spain street.   The bolero was Yves St. Laurent, from their new and very chic see-through collection.    It had been very, very expensive and she was furious at him for not remembering her in it at the party.

He said: "This kind of whip is what Miss Heatherton carries.   It's what they use on horses.    Horses are very afraid of it. "

"They use on horses?    Why do you say 'they'?  What about you?  Don't you lash your horse like any other cowboy?"    Susan was steaming--how dare he not remember a woman who had gone to a party in a see-through jacket with her bare tits under it.

"I would never hit Maryanne with something like that."

"But you want me to whip you with it?" 

Susan was mad at him enough to whip him - with a cat-o'-nine-tails!   She wouldn't bother with a tiny thing like this so-called riding crop.    If her tits were bigger he would have noticed her.  What a fucking chauvinist pig.  

"If we did that, if you whipped me with it, you'd think I was just pretending it hurt.  But really, it does hurt."

"I guess you'll just have to show me that your chihuahua spanker really hurts, then.   Twenty strokes.   Hard."    She'd show him.   She pulled her robe aside and placed her bottom where he could reach it.

"It does hurt, Susan.   You should try one stroke before you say you want twenty."

"That's for cowards.  Play Daddy again, and if the Little Lady tries to talk her way out of it, give her fifty." 

Susan was angry.   She wanted some bottom whipped, some little girl to cry.   It took her a moment realize that the whipped little girl's bottom was going to be her own.

She moved away from the bed.  "Let's just forget about it, Tim.    You wanted a spanking with your wooden paddle, didn't you?   We could do that now."   

And she would really blast him.   The rope bra that went under the see-through bolero was designed to lift, pinch, and push out her breasts.  It was supposed to catch men's eyes by making it look - dimly through the gauze fabric - as if her breasts were being tortured.   Because her breasts were so small, Susan had tightened the rope bra until it really was torture, trying to make her tits poke out more, squeezing them until they turned purple.  She still had the marks.  There were nipple clips too - they covered the nipples under the see-through fabric so you wouldn't show your bare nipples in public and get arrested, but they also hurt like fun by the end of the evening.   The nipple clamps had gold chains attatched to them, and Susan had looped them through the bra so that an arm motion, such as lifting a glass for a toast, tugged on her  nipples, and when she put her arm down again, her breasts bobbed up and down, which looked really sexy in the mirror, but by the end of the evening every slight motion of her arms felt like she was being hung by her tits.  She kept expecting to see blood.  Dancing had been pure torture - and Tim, the bastard, hadn't even asked her to dance, when she'd been flashing her tits at him all evening.   She had broken down and cried, dancing with Professor Melman, because her tits hurt so much.  And now Tim hadn't even remembered she'd been at the party.

Tim swished the riding crop through the air, and looked at her.   He wasn't going to let her change her mind - he was going to give her the twenty strokes she'd asked for, and nothing she could say or do now was going to stop him.  And nothing short of a Colt 45 was going to stop him from fucking her afterwards; he had that look in his eye.  But she was angry and she wasn't in the mood.   Last night, when she asked him to spank her, she was wild with lust from a day of fantasy about the spanking she'd seen on the street.   An hour of expert foreplay couldn't have gotten her any higher than she'd been, when she asked Tim for a spanking.   But tonight, after an evening of waiting for the doorbell, she couldn't seem to get sexy.   It's true she'd asked him for 20 strokes with the crop, and she'd told him to go ahead with spanking even if she said she changed her mind.  But he didn't have to believe her; it was all his fault.  She was standing near the bedroom door, and he was lying on the bed.   She would make a run for it - downstairs and out the door.    If she reached the street, and screamed 'HELP, RAPE!' he wouldn't dare do a thing.

He launched himself from the bed suddenly, with the grace of a man who is accustomed to jumping naked from the ground to the bare back of his horse.    He grabbed the edge of her bathrobe, as it swirled wide as she turned to run downstairs.    Her shoulder hit hard on the brass bedknobs as he jerked her toward the bed.   She ended up bruised and pinned, face crushed into the mattress but most of her on the floor, and he was kneeling on the bed, leaning over her with his crotch on the back of her head, leaning over to reach ... Yeow!

It was only his hand, and not as hard as he'd spanked her before, but he spanked fast.   Susan got very aroused, very fast.   Her moment of fear now seemed silly; of course she wanted to be spanked.   At all times she wanted it, before, during, and after, except for that one tiny moment just before the spanking started, when she didn't want it.  His hard cock was now pushing into her forehead, and she tried to bring her mouth to it, but she couldn't move her head.    She wanted his cock and she wanted his cum.   He'd had so many ejaculations last night she'd lost count, but only the first had shot much cum, and that had been into a condom.   She had tied off that first condom and put it in her purse, but she wanted cum on her face, tonight.    She managed to free a hand, and grabbed his cock, using her fingernails.   And then he stopped spanking her and rolled off her, pulling his penis from her hand.  He said the same thing Robin did : "Don't! you'll make me cum."     The difference was, that Robin saved himself to serve her - Tim was saving himself to fuck her punishingly hard.   And he was going to fuck her whether she said yes or no.

Now the spanking had stopped, Susan felt it had been a pleasure.   The lingering warmth and soreness of her bottom felt good, and she wanted more.   It was like waking up, coming back to earth, when it stopped.    She wanted his cum very badly.

"Get on the bed, Susan.  Face down."   He was swishing the whip through the air.   So far it had just been a spanking; now the serious riding-crop whipping would begin.   Twenty strokes.

She obeyed, still wearing her bathrobe.   She was willing, but glad she was being forced.   As much as she wanted it, she knew she didn't have the courage to go through with it if she had any choice.   That was why she kept her robe on -  offering her bare bottom would have been too much like asking for it.

"I've changed my mind, Susan.    Get on the floor, on your hands and knees."

Susan obeyed again, but this time she made sure her robe hung to the side, baring her bottom.   Her bottom was itching for it now.    She moved a bit so he would have space to take a really good swing.

But that was not what he had in mind.   He sat on her.

"Gie! Aw!"

She began to crawl, but was facing a wall so she had to turn around to go forward.   She had plenty of time to think about the riding crop before she heard the swish.   It hurt like a red-hot poker touching her bottom.  She wasn't surprised the little whip hurt so much; Tim had said it would hurt, and he would know about that sort of thing.   She didn't jump, and didn't scream.    The prospect of nineteen more jabs with a red-hot poker on her buttocks didn't frighten her.  But his hand spankings were nicer. She crawled over to the door and out into the hall.   By the time she got there, four of her promised twenty had landed, and she was very sore.   Like burns with a red-hot poker, they didn't stop hurting once the poker was taken away.

"Tim, I need to take my robe off - I keep crawling on it.   And I'm not sure I can take twenty - I'm very sore already.  You were right about how much it hurts."

"Do you want to do this on the lawn?   You could go faster."

"Not the front lawn.   We could do it in the back yard."

"Anyone might see us on the lawn, Susan, but Mary Lou will see us in your back yard.   Her bedroom window overlooks it.  I'm supposed to be asleep in bed, remember?"

"How about the living room?"

"Not room for a gallop, but it's better than here.  Remember the number sixteen.   That's how many you have left.   No, eighteen.   You did say you changed your mind."

They went downstairs.   Susan dropped her robe, and turned up the thermostat.   Tim handed her the whip.

"Eighteen."

"No Susan, I can't take any more waiting.   Give me five now.   Then I'll give you eighteen."  

And he got down on his hands and knees.   He seemed to expect her to ride, but she couldn't quite see herself reaching back to swing the whip blind - she was afraid she would injure him - maybe even castrate his low-hanging testicles.   She'd never been on a horse.  And she wanted to see it when the riding crop hit, to see the marks.   So she just stood over him and whipped.   He sobbed.  She paid no attention to the fact he had only asked for five - she liked hearing him sob, because she hadn't sobbed from the same whipping.   She hit him some more, trying to do it even harder.   Looking at the marks, she saw there were welts from the shaft of the whip, hitting like a cane, that were worse than the marks of the flap of leather.   So it was really a caning he was getting from the shaft of the riding crop.    She changed her stance, and hit him very hard, but taking care that only the leather flap hit his skin.   He didn't sob from that stroke.   So it was the cane the brought the pain.

She tried to feel and remember the four strokes she had gotten.   Were they canings, or did he just use the flap?   She wanted  to know what her bottom looked like - did it have cane welts?   She wanted to see her bottom in a mirror.

"Tim, I can't stand it that I'm having sex with you, but my hair is in curlers and I have night-time beauty cream on my face.   You have to let me make myself pretty."

"Last night you had lipstick.   It came off on me when you kissed me on my cock.    Put on some lipstick.   Put on all your makeup.   I like fucking you with all your makeup on."

"Damn it, Tim, stand up!  Kiss me!"

But she didn't wait for him.   As he was standing up, she was bending down to grab him, and they ended up rolling over and over on the carpet, lips pressed together.   Then she began to work his upper lip with her teeth and tongue.   She had a leg between his, and his cock was pressing into her kidney.  She moved into position so he could shove it where it belonged, without letting go of his face with her mouth.  She didn't even think about a condom.  But he pulled away sharply, shouting: "condom!" resisting her as she pulled him into home.  She though: well, one of us is a grown-up.   He managed to avoided coming, but then he just lay there.  He didn't go to the THUM-TAKS box for a condom.

"Susan.   I need to tell you how good that feels when you do my lip.   But don't forget the lower lip, too.   I think I like it even better on the lower lip - right in the middle.   And then I want you to bite my teats.  I really like that.  I'm ready for an hour of you pleasuring me before fucking this time."

Susan couldn't remember that Robin had ever given her instructions on how to pleasure him.   Robin only talked about her pleasure.   The only thing Robin ever said about his pleasure was "don't, don't, you'll make me come."    Robin always apologized when he had an orgasm - and he never had more than one a night.   He apologized since it was his job to keep hard for her pleasure.   If she did go back to him - and she had loved him - she did love him - there would have to be some changes.

Tim was pouting.    He could tell, somehow, that her thoughts were not on him, and he didn't like it.   She left him to his childish sulk and went into the bathroom.   The room was a luxury remodel that the judge had allowed her to have done in the "hardship application," and it had a mirror that went from behind the counter up to the ceiling.    She turned around and looked over her shoulder, and then bent over, trying to see the marks on her bottom where he had whipped her during the pony-ride.   But the sink counter was in the way, and she could only see the top half of her bottom; all his whip strokes had struck lower.   The door opened with no knock, and he came in - about seven inches behind the tip of his penis.

"Ah.   I don't blame you for wanting a look.   It is beautiful.   Today, when you said it was flabby - can I show you what I mean?   Wait a sec."   And he ran upstairs, then down and into the kitchen.   When he came back into the bathroom he had two apples, a knife, and pair of chopsticks.   He peeled the apples, cut them in half, and put them on the counter.   The half-apples, placed side by side, were like little white buttocks.

"This is a good macintosh - hard as a rock.  That's my bottom.   But this is the gravenstein I found in Mary Lou's tree - exposed to wind and sun for a month, it's gone soft and mealy.  That's your bottom.   You called it an ugly tub of lard.    But let's see which one is more fun to hit."

He began to whip the macintosh and the gravenstein, with the chopsticks.    The blows bounced of the macintosh.   But the gravenstein was gradually transformed into applesauce.    Susan could see, that if you wanted to smash and hurt, that smashing a soft thing could be more fun than bouncing blows off a hard thing.    But she was surprised by the violence Tim showed, beating poor inoffensive fruit.

Then he said: "but why show it with apples?    Stand on the tub edge and look at your bottom in the mirror."

Susan stood on the tub edge, and Tim whipped her a stroke with the riding crop.    The stroke cut into her tub-of-lard butt like whipping a water balloon.  When the jelly-like wobbling died down, there was a perfect dark red imprint of the whip, including the shaft.  It was totally different from whipping Tim's rock hard muscle.

"Don't stop."

More smacks on the tub of jelly.   Susan found it very satisfying to watch.  So she agreed that whipping a woman or a flabby man, like her neighbor Professor Melman, would be a lot of fun.   She felt an urge to see the bottom she was watching, her bottom, Melman's bottom, any fat bottom, criss-crossed by the dark red welts.    Watching the way the jelly bounced gave her an intense desire to smash and thrash and hurt - she felt as if she was doing the whipping.   The pain that came with each stroke just made it more satisfying.    She wanted to see the criss-cross pattern finished.

"Don't stop.   Don't stop. You have to finish the pattern."

"I can't.   Susan, this is the moment I think I'm going to remember forever.  Watching you watch your bottom as I whip it.   The amount of pleasure you get from sex is ... it's like a hundred times more pleasure than I knew sex was.   You're much sexier than I am.   When I tongue your clit it's - you have so much pleasure that it's like some of it leaks into me.   I feel more pleasure licking your clit than from having you suck my cock.   Really.  Your body is the place where my pleasure is, more than my own body.   You have so much more capacity for pleasure than me that you soak up caresses and kisses and tickles and whippings, forever.   But I'm worn out.   I can't hurt you any more.    Let me suck on your clit or fuck you - something that doesn't hurt."

'Don't you just mean that you want your turn being whipped?"

"I'll submit to whatever punishment you choose."

"Any time?"

"Forever."

Susan picked up the crop and swished it.   He looked frightened but determined - and surprised.   He hadn't expected her to really do it.   And she didn't really want to.

"Your punishment will be on your cock."   She kept swishing the whip.    His hands instinctively grabbed for his cock - shocked and horrified.   Not believing this could really be happening.   He was scared she would actually injure him.  But he was excited, too.   He would submit.

"I won't whip your cock unless you disobey, Timmy.    On your knees!"

He knelt.  "Why did you call me that?"

"Tim?"

"Timmy.   It's how my Dad punished me.   All those years when he couldn't spank me because of the court order.   He'd say, 'Baby Timmy'."

"That was a punishment?"

"It was ten times worse than a spanking to hear him say it.  It was so bad a punishment, that when he threatened me with it, he had to use the initials: B.T.  He'd say, 'If you don't shape up and get better grades, it'll be B.T. for a week.'    He never did do B.T for a week though - he tried sometimes, but he usually decided I'd been punished enough about Tuesday."

"Very well, you will be Baby Timmy when you are being punished by me.    Baby Timmy, your punishment tonight is - to be pleasured.   You can't do anything to pleasure me, until your punishment is over.   For the rest of the evening I will do all the touching.  Tell me where you want it."

"Yes, sir - I mean ma'am.     Um.   I like it when you rasp my lips with your tongue.   And you could use your clit to massage my ... um ... nose?"

She gave him a savage cut down his thigh - not hitting his cock, but definitely scaring him.   "You are trying to cheat, Baby Timmy.   I mean it, you'll be punished.   Now pout your lips out, Baby Timmy."

She rasped his lips with her tongue.   He was not yet at the level of arousal that makes even a lick explosively, unbearably sexy.   She knew how to get him to that point if she wanted to, but for now she gave him only exactly what he asked for.

"Did you enjoy that, Baby Timmy?"

"It was great."

"LIAR - then why is your cock drooping?   Close your eyes, Baby Timmy."

He clenched his fists in fear, but she hit him nowhere near his cock, but on his ass - striking from above since he was kneeling. She struck vertically down his ass crack, with the flap of the crop flicking the sensitive area between his asshole and balls.   He moaned with pleasure and his cock shot up - as did not happen from a whipstroke on the meat of his ass.    Susan had found a new spot.    His cock saluted her for it.

"What do you want next, Baby Timmy?"

"My ears - anything on my ears."

She knew he really wanted nibbling bites on the earlobe.   He hadn't asked for that though, so she used her tongue, and kept away from the lobe, teasing him by only nibbling the top of his ear.   She had to kneel in front of him to reach his ears, and she had her arms around him.   His stiff penis, which had no condom, was touching her crotch.   He stank with sweat.   She told him to turn his head so she could lick his other ear.

Halfway through the turn, he found her lips near his mouth, and he kissed her.

"Timmy!   You have disobeyed.  You must have the punishment."

"Will it really be on my cock?"

"If you want."

"I don't want.    Isn't it dangerous?"

"Perhaps.   Put your cock on the edge of the bathtub."

Timmy walked on his knees to the tub.   His cock was just level with the edge of the tub, and he lay it on the coral-color porcelain like a sausage on a plate.    Susan struck one blow near him, to scare him, and then one across his meat.   He screamed.  His eyes took on a new look, haunted, and they darted back and forth between the whip and its target.   He seemed surprised his cock hadn't been cut in half, it had hurt so much.

"Your punishment is over, Tim."

"I gave you the twenty strokes with that whip.   Let me have another one on my cock."

"I just can't do any more right now."

"I want to feel it."

"It's late, Tim.    Hadn't we better fuck if we're going to?"

"I like the way you talk your way out of things.    Maybe we could put off my cock-spanking for just a quick one."

Susan's cunt longed for it, but the condoms in the living room seemed miles away.   She bent down and kissed his hurt cock, and licked forward toward the circumcised tip.  He grabbed her cunt, not doing it like she'd shown him, working her clit, but just finger-fucking her hole, as if he just needed to know he had a woman in his hand.   His spams of pleasure from her tongue around the head of his penis, translated to jerks of his fingers inside of her.   The cold hard tile floor made rolling hard, but they rolled, and Susan was underneath when the racking jerking flailing that was Tim's orgasm began its unstoppable climb.

Susan's face was in the right place under him, but only a drop came out.

"Baby Timmy, you've been masturbating, haven't you?    You jerked off at Mary Lou's before you even came over here!  Timmy!  That cum should have been mine!"

"Not at Mary Lou's.  I can't do it there any more.    Upstairs.   On our bed.   There's about a quart.   We'll need to change the sheets."

"Tim!   Why didn't you come downstairs and get me?   Don't I do it as well as you can?"

"I'm sorry.   Of course you do it better.   It's just - the bed."

"The bed?"

"When you said ... when I ... uh ... when you kissed me, uh, um - you know, um, last night?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When you kissed me last night and I fell asleep in your arms.   In your bed.  But you called it ... you said it was, you said: our bed."

Little Timmy was crying.

So that was it for sex, or for thrashings, for that night.   Susan took the side with the wet spot.   It was only as she drifted off to dreams, listening to his breathing, smelling his cum, cradling his freckled head in her arms, that she realized that on this, the sexiest night of her life, she hadn't actually been fucked.


          
 
  IV.    Jonatán mester álma  
There were two huge tits in her kitchen the next morning.

Susan hated them on on sight, and the girl attached to them, and the horse they all three rode in on. Struggling to think, or even to focus her eyes, she realized that this must be Tim's girlfriend, and the whole business had been some sort of joke.  Or worse. Blackmail.   The words "felony statutory rape" echoed in her ears, as if she was hearing them said by the judge.   "Guilty," answered the jury.

"Susan, this is Anna Kulcsár.    I met her yesterday morning.   She's been sleeping with Professor Melman.  She brought us these kolbász."

"Why you tell her this, my sexing with Matolcsi have?"

"Tim, what is she saying?   Who is this bimbo?  Who is Matolcsi?"

"Is name Professor Melman in Magyar ... Hungary."

"Susan, Anna has to sneak out of Professor Melman's house every morning before dawn, and then she walks across to her dorm room on the other side of the campus.    I didn't think that was safe.   I said she could stay here, and go into town with me.   The sausages are ready."

Tim carried the pan to the table, which he had set with three plates.   He was naked.    At dawn, he had slipped from Susan's bed, and she had mumbled to him she wanted to be fucked this morning and not spanked, so he should be sure his erection was there when she needed it - and not to dare to get dressed.   And then she had drifted back to sleep, purring contentedly.   A smell of frying sausages waked her.   She came down, un-showered and un-toothbrushed, to find him at the stove, letting out little yelps from the splattering grease.   He was massaging his penis with his left hand - it was half up, half down.    Susan was enjoying the scene, and feeling more than half up herself - she couldn't decide which sausage she wanted to eat first.    But maybe, just maybe, she would start with the one in his hand.  And then she had turned toward the table and seen those horrid swollen balloons. 

"I'm sure you will enjoy walking her to her dorm room, Tim."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I can see her huge bazookas."

"Can you really think I will ever stop wanting you?   For those?    I'd have to be crazy"

"I know you like breasts, Tim."

"It wouldn't make the slightest difference to me if she was naked."

Tim was putting sausages on plates, and Anna was behind him, so he didn't see her drop her dress to the floor.   Susan did the same with her bathrobe, and she grabbed Tim by the hair.

'Careful!"

Some grease spilled, and splattered her.   Susan pulled Tim's face down into her tits.

"Are you telling me, that if you were doing this to Anna's bare tits, your cock wouldn't rise?"

"It wouldn't even twitch."

"Liar!"  Susan pulled his head up and pointed his face toward Anna's tits - "Do it, then."

Tim let out a choked gasp when he saw that Anna's tits really were naked.  As he bent his head to the giant melons, his lips began to move.   For a moment, Susan thought he was praying; she thought the words were: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want" - but then he began to speak a bit louder, and she could make out the words: - "...indivisible with liberty and justice for all I pledge allegiance to the flag and to the republic for which  ..."   He was earnestly reciting the pledge of allegiance, over and over again, with his eyes closed, as he moved his lips to the giant nipple of the giant breast.   He suckled for a while.   The he opened his eyes and looked down to check the level of his cock.

Susan had never realized before that men couldn't tell how stiff their cocks were without looking at them.   He seemed satisfied that the angle wasn't too high, and he moved to the other nipple, no longer reciting, and with his eyes open.   This proved a mistake.   A shiver passed through his body, and his cock jerked up.

"ANNJA - VWAT ARE YOU DOING VIT DAT NAZI?"

Professor Melman - called Matolcsi in Budapest - had joined the party.    If he wanted breakfast there weren't enough kolbász.

"Tim Russell is just deciding what sort of breast he likes best, Professor.  Big or little.  But I think he has decided on big."

"Dhen he is fool, Miss Thomasz.   But I see you have right vay play vit your sex toy."   Melman ran his fingers across Tim's ass, tracing the fading welts left by the riding crop last night.   His excitement was obvious.  Tim bent over, with his elbows on the table, and waggled his ass back and forth.    He had set the table with a cloth, flowers, and folded napkins, and there, in the middle of the table, along with the  salt and pepper and the syrup for the pancakes, was the riding crop, ready for use.    Tim pointed to the whip with his chin, and then looked up at Susan's face, smiling.   Tim might not have wanted a whipping from a man if it was just two men alone, but to be whipped by a man while Susan watched was something he was quite excited about.

But Melman didn't take the hint, so Tim had to ask him: "Whip me if you want to, professor.  Susan will enjoy--" but then Tim broke off.     He looked at Susan's face, then the professor's.  

"It's him!    I knew it was a professor or a lawyer or something.   I am just a sex toy then.   What else could I be?  Of course it's him!  Walking into your kitchen without knocking!   He's your boyfriend!   A professor.  I'm just a kid.   A cowboy.   I don't have a chance."

Susan couldn't believe that Tim would suspect her of having Professor Melman for a boyfriend - the man was an antique.  Everyone knew the story - he had slipped out of Hungary as a teenager, after the Russians killed his father in the '56 invasion.  Crossing the border with guards shooting at him.   That made him - Susan did the math - well not all that old, really - maybe only about seven years older than she was, if he was, say, fourteen when he escaped Hungary.  But he looked so old and fat that he didn't even seem like a sexual being to Susan.   Not a sexual being except that he slept with this bimbo student.   That didn't surprise her.

Professor Melman still had his hand on Tim's ass.   He was starting to spank it lightly.

He asked Tim: "Vill you allow me?"

"I'm asking you to - if Susan wishes it.   Do you want one from me, after?"

"Iff Miss Thomasz vishes it, ov course!  I like on my breasts ze whipping, vhat you say, ze nipples.   Zo, ve are both her slavvs, ordered to vhip each other for her pleasure.   Is fery gute.   You are my fellow slavv of the sex, so ve shall be friends."

Melman started to unbutton his shirt, after taking off his jacket.  Even Tim could see it was a more fashionable suit than most professors wore.  The dapper professor loosened his tie, and slipped the shirt collar out from under it.  It seemed he wanted to be whipped wearing his tie, but nothing else.  He pinched his own nipples hard, using his fingernails.

"So it is you.   You are her lover.   I knew it."

"I?"

"I know she has one; she told me she has one.   And I figure it has to be a professor.   I mean, can you imagine her with a carpenter or a plumber?   Her living room is wall to wall books!  So I think it's you."

"I assure you iss not I.   Although she iss fery attractif  fery charrming - quite charming."

"I hate you.   But I know I'm not what she wants.   Of course not.   But can you pass the test any more than I could?"

"Vass is test?"

"Lick her tits, and Anna's, and get a boner when you do hers, and not when you do Anna's."

"Vass is boner?"

Melman - Matolcsi - naked except for his tie, turned away from them and bent over the counter, in position to be thrashed.    His professorial buttocks were not marked by a recent whipping, but there were scars across them from some long-ago torture.   And there were no love bites, either, and no signs he had been whipped on his nipples as he said he liked.   There were no love bites or whip marks on Anna, either.    Susan luxuriated in the bites, scratches, and red spanking patches that decorated her body.   Especially the pattern of bite marks she had asked Tim to make on her breasts.   With them, she felt she could rule the world.    She was even prouder of the criss-cross pattern of whip marks on her bottom, but for now she was sitting on that.    She would pick her moment to show Melman.

Tim inflated with hope when he saw Susan glance at the marks on her own body, and on his, and at the professor's and Anna's unmarked skins.   But Matolcsi had just turned his ass to them as if unaware of any sort of competition, as if there could be no competition.   To Susan, Tim seemed to have all the advantages, if there was any rivalry.  Tim had exotic dark good looks; handsome enough to look at; but when he moved naked he was stunningly beautiful - with all the grace and style of a dancer or a gymnast.  Running horses were not more beautiful.  And in any sort of physical competition, in any contest of strength or agility or physical skill, there could be no competition - Tim was overwhelmingly the winner.  The two men had met in debate already, to Tim's crushing victory, and it seemed his intelligence and spirit would defeat the professor as much in any mental competition, as in any physical one.   The young ranch-hand even seemed to know more than the professor, Matolcsi really didn't know much outside his own field of sociology, and it seemed Tim had devoured his small-town library, perhaps reading even in the saddle.  But Tim had no sense of his own worth, in comparison with a professor, while Matolcsi was condescending to Tim, like the lord of the schloss to a herd-boy who guarded cattle on the vast Hungarian plain.

Susan wanted to see that sorry Hungarian ass thrashed.    And the professor seemed to be willing.    But Tim reached in front, and grabbed the professor's dick, and pulled it straight out.    He said: "a boner."   And he made thrusting motions with his hips.

"Ahh I ssee,  a boner.   Vit a bone in it.   In Magyar ve say pénisz vit gristle ist merev - stiff.   A man has gristle we say - that means he acts, it means he is ready.   I have gristle to have whipping, it means I have courage to do it, how you say ze guts to do it."   Tim's pull on the Hungarian's cock had been a hard yank, and now the professor was thrusting it out and boasting.

Tim said : "We say, 'the balls to do it.'  Can you lick Anna's tits, and not get a boner, and then get one licking Susan's?"

"And ze forfeit iss?"

"A licking - I mean a whipping, not a licking with the tongue.  Licking's just what we call it."

"You are good professor of American of me.  Ve mus do licking to get ze licking, is goot.  Sso I haff vin get thiss lick-king?"

"I meant the winner whips the loser."

"That iss gute, alsso.  Ve do it.   I have ballss to do it so."

"How many strokes?"

"Ve do it Hungarian, no?    Ze vinner can doo vhat he likes."

"I agree.  And I won't go easy on you."

"You haff vin, first!"

Matolcsi's rooster crest was now as erect as Tim's, and his voice was cock-crow, as the two naked males strutted and tried to intimidate each other - Matolcsi rather impeded by the fact that his trousers were around his ankles.   The college tie gave him some status - although Susan suspected it wasn't Oxford or Cambridge but some not-quite-top place like Reading University.   Tim had the body of a sex god, but he himself thought nothing of that.   Victory in the strutting contest went to the Magyar.

"Tim, you don't have to do this.    Melman will beat you bloody if he wins - not just some light smacking like we do when we have sex.   A real beating."

"I have to go through with it now, Sue.   Whatever he wants to do to me.   It will be all right; I've had a real beating before.   I'll survive this one too."

It seemed Tim was conceding defeat before the contest even started.    Tim had his head bowed, and his whole body seemed to shrink.   Susan decided that when Tim bent to take his beating from Melman, she would lay her naked body on top of his, and make the professor beat her first to get to Tim.     Tim's cock was shrunk and pulled into his body.   Susan glanced at Matolcsi's cock.   It was a small one compared to Tim's, but it was rising.

With a feeling of misery, as if she, along with Tim, had already lost, she backed up to the sink - leaving Anna front and center facing the two naked men.   Tim bent to lick the large brown nipples.   No eyes closed this time, and no reciting the pledge.   And no glancing down to check his cock either - it was down and he knew it.    He did not spend a lot of time on the first nipple, and even less on the second.    When he pulled away to show the level of his cock to his rival, it was as down as a cock can be.

"That wass not time enough long," Matolcsi complained.

Tim ignored him, and switched to Susan's breasts, looking confident.  His eyes lingered over the pattern of bite marks.  He bit her nipples, he didn't lick them.   She shuddered and moaned with pleasure - she was play-acting.   In fact, she was too frightened of Tim getting a severe whipping to be aroused, but she pretended to be aroused to help to arouse him.    He did the other nipple, and pulled away.   He turned to show his cock to the professor before checking it himself - and then he was surprised.  It was only up a little.

So then it was Matolcsi's turn, and he moved in to take his taste of Anna's balloons of pleasure.   He spent longer at it than Tim had.   After a long time of diligent licking, he pulled away, to show a cock about halfway risen.    Then he moved into place to do Susan's nipples, without gazing at them reverently the way Tim had done.

But it was fantastically sexy, because he enjoyed it so much - he licked for his pleasure, not hers; to win the contest he needed to be aroused, and his quest to get an erection from her was fantastically sexy for her.

Tim would lose, and get a beating, because he couldn't help being more aroused by Anna than by Susan - and here was Susan feeling more aroused by Melman than by her own beautiful Tim.   She tried to think of something not at all sexy.   She thought of - Robin.    She didn't mean to, but she couldn't help it - she thought of Robin licking her tits, about the least sexy thing she could think of.   Robin got his technique out of books, and he paid too much attention to her pleasure, instead of spontaneously doing what he enjoyed.    Poor Robin.    She understood him better now, she thought.  The man who in bed had existed only to serve, had needed a woman who knew how to command.   When Robin came too soon, which he often did, he always asked to be punished for it.   And then Susan would assure him it was all right, not to worry, it wasn't a problem, it did not matter.   Did not matter!   What a fool she'd been, to say that to him - if his coming too soon did not matter to her, then his love-making did not matter to her.    If she had instead spent ten minutes on Robin's bottom with his own belt, pretending to be really angry at the pleasure he'd cost her, things might have turned out differently between them.

If she got back to Robin, that's how it would be - a severe whipping, every time, for not pleasuring her enough.   And as the slave, forced to pleasure and beaten for not pleasuring, he would at last be getting what he needed, and his excitement would have to be enough.   He wasn't a wild man; he wasn't a cowboy, he wasn't out of control --but, well, still, he was considerate, and he had learned a good trick or two from The Joy of Sex.

Her thoughts of Robin, her thoughts of making do with Robin, put Matolcsi off his stride.   When he pulled away from her, his cock was barely higher than when he started.

There was no clear winner in the contest so far.   Tim moved in to start the second round on Anna's tits; he did well, spending longer than he had the first time, and ending with a cock almost limp.    Then Matolcsi took a turn with Anna.

Anna said "This contest it isz - to not get merev boner vhen you lihck my cikik?   How you zay, my apples?"

"Your tits, Anna."

"Fasz kivan!   I think you lose!"    And then Anna started what seemed to Susan to be blatantly obvious fake orgasms - really awful ones.    But they did the trick - Matolcsi got a tight hard erection - the first in the game, so far.

The professor was happy.   He said: "I tink I have loosing game.   I shall get licking"

Anna said "I don't think so," somewhat mysteriously.    But then Susan and Matolcsi turned to look in the direction she was looking.    Tim, besides having a spearlike erection, was staring at Anna's tits with his eyes glazed and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.   He didn't even hear it when Susan called his name.

"It iss what you say - even.    Tie.   Ve bot gets vipping, no?"

Susan said: "No, I think Tim wins, I mean, loses.   I mean, he's the one who gets whipped.   But afterwards, I'll whip you if you want, Professor Melman.   We could do it next week."

Anna said : "Oh no you shall not ze Matolcsi vipp!   He is great man - ze Matolcsi boy!"

"What is she talking about, Professor Melman?   I can't make out her accent."

"It iss nothink - a messtake only.   They in Magyar say vhen I was tortured of Russians, it was to say ze vhereabouts my father hiding, and they ssay I fantastic torture endured and did nat tell - but isz all mistake as I haff said.   The Russians did not the Magyar speak, so how could they ask me of thiss?   Say me that?"

Tim said: "Perhaps you both spoke some German?   And you must have had at least some Russian in school in Hungary."

How did Tim know what subjects were taught in schools in Hungary in the 40's?    Susan had never even heard of schools in Hungary, and she had been an A student.

The professor blushed.  He was facing Tim, and Susan got her first chance to look carefully at the scars on his buttocks.   The scars were long healed, but it had been a terrible whipping - a whipping that cut the skin with every stroke, like a whipping with barbed wire, and from the looks of it, the wounds had been left to fester, and that was why they had  left scars.    Susan had always supposed that torture whipping was on the back, but Matolcsi had been whipped only on his buttocks.   Did the Russians have a sexual sadist to do their torturing?   The scars ran up and down as well as across, and the up-and-down ones ran deep into his buttcrack; he had been whipped on his asshole with his cheeks spread--whipped to draw blood.   There were other scars around his asshole.   When Susan lightly touched the buttcrack scars with her finger, to feel the jaggedness, he flinched as if from a jolt of electricity.

"They raped you, didn't they, Professor Melman?    Every Russian soldier in the outfit that was torturing you, raped you, until you were bleeding from all around your rectum.   This wasn't just one penis."

Tim said: "Those god-damn commie bastards!"

"They vere in a foreign country - it iss same vit any army."

"Not the American Army."

"It is same.   I havv done ze sociology study ov thiss, in Viet Nam ze army.   When soldiers in Nam they are bored, they play game - a soldier stands naked, and ze others they throw ze stones at him - to hit his pénisz.   It is very much hurt, iff they hit.  I try it vit platoon I study.   They vere such ferry gute shots."

"That's not what the Russians did to you.   Did the Americans rape all the Viet Cong boys when they took a village?"

"It was not like that.   It was like game of rocks and pénisz, at start.   In Russia new cadet is victim - he iss made naked to run, and through woods chased - is happen all time in Russia army school  - and with wooden spoons and birch sticks is he is whipped when he is caught.  They did so vit us, but vit young Russian soldiers also.   And if young boy vit no beard is vwirgin, his is on his pénisz also, to see if he is man and will merez get, from slapping ovf pénisz by boys.  Is verry popular and to every cadet in Russian army it happens all time but government says iss not allowed and iss not happenings."

"But what does an initiation for cadets have to do with you, a prisoner?"

"Russians say they are in Hungary velcome army of liberation, not invasion.   Is privilege - troublemake boys goes to happy youth camp, not to prison.  I was not prisoner, I was cadet."

"So you were arrested and they let you off easy, letting you go to the Hungarian army summer camp instead of to prison?  But it was really a prison camp run by Russians?"

"Russian soldier boys, they were bored.   For week I am in camp and effry day I am chased, and vit ze birch vhipped.   Russian boys they same in Russia had, everyday birching for one week as new cadet in army, it is ze dedovshchina called.   They think us Magyar boys are city boys and should more tough be; and some Russian boys volunteer be chased, zhat zhey are tougher than ze Magyar boys, to show.   But I cry - I alone of Magyar boys cry, cry as baby.   They say to me that after sauna they are in Russia with twigs and spoons for pleasure vhip, more than this vipping that make me cry, and so they make with rods and cables to beat me, to give me good reason for cry.   And for six month I am to be cadet and I am told I by sergeant I will for evfry day haff vipping, for all six month and not one week, so I shall be tough.   But after two weeks I make plan -  I agree on sergeant's pénisz to suck, so I should not haff birching.   But then his pénisz in my anus he vould put, and I agree to this but say I vill suck it first, and then I his pénisz bit.   For that I am for some time rape, for many days rape, and for many times in one day rape.    And for five months more and a half I must haff same, for I am still for that time to be cadet at camp."

Anna was shivering, and she put back on her dress, and when she heard this latest revelation she put the heels of her hands in her ears, and sank moaning to the floor.

"No, no, no - you are Matolcsi boy!   You are hero!    These is all lies!   The hero of Magyar people cannot have be raped!"

"Iss vhat happen, Anna.    They did not ask me - where my father is.   I would have told them, I think.   They told me - they told us all, that men my father and like him were tools of ze British and American imperialists only.   And all we cadets thought they were ze enemies of Magyar people.   I was of my father ashamed.    But they did not ask me vhere he vass."

Tim said : "But you escaped?   You crossed the border with Russians shooting at you?   That part is true?"

"My father from the camp escaped me, and then I was not of him ashamed.   But father ssent me avay, for I vass no use to him in Magyar.   The heroes of the Magyar people verr the ones who stayed, Anna.  Who were killed.   My father.   Your grandfather."

Tim said: "You sound like a hero to me.    But I don't think I'll go into the Army.   I don't like the sound of stones thrown at my penis."

"You like better ze running from ze 'granddads' vit ze birch rods?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on joining the Russian Army.   But it does sound like more fun to run than to just stand there.   You still like being whipped, even though you were tortured so badly by the Russians?"

"It vass not torture, but ze vhipping only.  I haff not been vhipped vell at any time since.  I think of this all time, naked through the woods, and in my dreams, the running, but I haff not in real happening that I am run and vhipped.   It is for sex most arousing, to think this of running and catching."

"I think I shall dream of it, too, now.  But how can you say you weren't tortured?  You were raped."

"Sergeant who has rape me, that is crime to Russians - he face to be punish, to Army penal camp of Siberia, vhere it is serious, the punishment.   Only I escape and sso, no vitness, and he not to go Siberia, I think.   And I did his pénisz bit."

"He still shouldn't have raped you.    And the beatings they gave you were torture, I think."

"They vere for me fery hard, isz trouw.    But for boys of farm of Russia, it is beating like of otemi they get - most beloved father.   They vere homesick boys.  They haff to disciplines me in vays they knew."

"What did you do, to need to be disciplined?"

"Not vhat I do, vhat I vass.    I vass Budapesht.  I vass of educated classes - my father is not of farrm, he iss ..."

Anna said: "Tim, Kalman Matolcsi was leader of ze reform.    He was politician.  He wass of reform ze greatest man in our government."

"No Anna, my father vass not in the government.    He was újságíró only, Anna, journalist, essay in newspaper to write, and for money, a few to be the tutor he takes, students.   But all people my father knew - all people in Budapesht he knew.  He meets of foreigners, and I in Deutch can talk better than him.   Once at party I am little boy, and talk to Imry Nagy!   And Anna, my atya was not most strongly of reform, that iss not trouw.   He vass in middle, or more to Russia tending   He vas communist, he vas collectivist, and only reform from within he wants.  It vass from men such as my father iss, that Russians hope for velcome.   But no one in Hungary vill velcom - they are Russian, they are in Hungary, and so we hate zhem for that, whatever politics.   In street, ve boys make joke of Russian soldiers - we carry bricks wrapped in cloth, and ve talk - like ze soldiers vit radios, vit 'valky-talkies.'   But Russian soldier boys can't tell - is it boys playing? -  is it Hungarian boys give location tanks?   For rumor is, there vill be NATO bombing.  And so ze Russians shoot at pavement, to make us boys vit ze radios to dance.   Then an old dédanya came running to tank - waving her arms and in Hungarian she yells her grandson is shot, in foot - and so they shoot her.   Then tank close top, and it isz rolling - all ze tanks, roll over her bones until she is no more than grease on ze pavement.  And so we boys know it is serious and throw away our bricks.  And yet ze Russians think it is only ze writers like my atya who haff made ze Magyar people to hate zhem."

"And they beat you for that?   For your father's writing?"

"They beat me for being city boy, who thinks he is a fery wonder - for that he haszt a few books seen, he thinks he is so smart, for that he has sat and with Imry Nagy he drank coffee, he thinks he is statesman!  And I wasz only a boy, only 14; and after ze vhiping I feel grateful."    

"Grateful!   For being whipped for that?"

"If you haff not had beating, you do not know houw it is."

"I did get a real beating, Professor.   Just one in my life.   I was 14, the same age you were.    From my father.   And of course I felt grateful; he was risking prison to help me.  I was a conceited little brat and I needed to have the tar beaten out of me.  But the Russians were all wrong about your father.    Weren't they, Anna?"

"Kalman Matolcsi isz hero of the Magyar people."

"Yes, he vass, Anna, my atya a trouw hero wasz.    Fery much sso he hero wasz, Anna - but this at ze time I did not know, and I vass brat and needed tar beaten out me - more tar I zink than you, friend Tim, for more conceited I vass, certainly.    And I vass very grateful, and I believe what the Russians say of my atya, my father.    And so I end up vit more tar than vhen I started.    And to my atya vhen I see him I say this, that I haff been stupid.  I say I haff learned I am boy and not yet man, and I vish him to be atya to me and not friend and fellow-journalist as he hass called me to zhat time.    He says if I have need of a father, he hass greater need of friend and colleague, and he vill not beat me.   But soon he says it iss not safe in Hungary for me, and I must go vit other refugees to England.   And so I neffer saw him again.   It vas not safe either for him.   His body vas never been found."

"I'm sorry you lost your father, sir.    My father could not teach me either; he was killed too, killed before we could get started on the amount of teaching I needed. That I still need.   I am glad to have met you, Professor.   I will think of my father - of both of our fathers.  This will be an honor - where would you like me to bend over?   I'd like to think an American cowboy can take what a Russian farmboy can, from his beloved father.     Beat the tar out of me, Atya."

The two men shook hands.   Matolcsi said, "It is Magyar fashion and I to vhip you as I vant.   And vhat I vant is to vhip notting."

"Not whip me?    But I lost the game, and I can take it.   Am I not worth your time?"

"You are upset?    But I as honor meant - for fine young American."

"Then, I accept.    But is it really that you wanted to be the one whipped?"

"No I haff not liking the whipping.   It is to think about it only, that I like."

"Do you go fishing?"

Matolcsi looked blank, so Tim explained :  "Catching fish - you know?"   Tim made motions of casting with a fly rod, and reeling in a trout.

"Ahh.   Fizsh-ing    Why you ask me of ze fizshing?"

"We could go fishing.   And we could do a sweatlodge - it's like a sauna, it's what my people do.    And in the intense heat and darkness you can take a whipping with branches - anyone can, it's enjoyable.   I'd like to show you.    Those Russian soldiers weren't so tough as you think, to take a birching in the sauna.  The intense heat stops you from feeling it as pain."

"Your people?   Are you Finnish?   You a bit look Lapplander."

"My mother is one quarter Maidu Indian.    According to the U.S. government, which thinks it knows who is an Indian and who isn't, that means I'm not an Indian."

"But you think you are?"  - that was Susan, fascinated by this new revelation.

"No, I am not an Indian.   But they are my mother's people.   And I've done sweats since I was a little kid, and I go to the dances.   I never thought of the scrubbing with sage branches as whipping, but actually the 'Uncles' do it pretty hard.  It would hurt if we kids weren't so excited, and if it wasn't so hot.  It's a teaching sweat - sort of an initiation for boys."

"So I might into your tribe be taken?   Are you chief?"

"I told you.  I'm not even an Indian.   And there isn't a ceremony for making people Maidu.   It's not even really a tribe - in the old days it was just villages that spoke Maidu, there wasn't any tribe. I mean there wasn't a tribal council over all Maidu in the old days: that's just something the government set up - a lot of guys who like to be "Big Chiefs."   But you don't have to be Maidu to come to a sweatlodge or a dance - not the public dances."

"And me you ask to go fizshing with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I say yes, ve vill go fizshing.   My name ..."

"Is Pelegrin.    I asked at the party."

Tim had remembered Professor Melman's first name from the party, when he hadn't even quite remembered that Susan had been there.    And as far as Susan had known up to now, Professor Melman's first name was Paul; Pelegrin must be his Hungarian name, like Matolcsi instead of Melman.  Tim must have been really interested, to ask enough to find out Melman's Hungarian names; names the professor didn't ordinarily use.    Why was Tim doing this male-bonding fishing trip with Melman of all people?   Melman had been horrible to Tim at the party, while Susan had been nice.   It wasn't fair.   But Susan had a way to put a crowbar into the gears of in this all-male fishing and sauna trip.

"If you want to take a sauna, I have one."

"What?"

"In the back yard - next to the hot tub."

"But Susan,  after a sweat, we run out and jump into a creek, that comes down from the mountain snow.   And it doesn't even seem cold, you're so hot from the sweat.   You wouldn't want to go from a sauna to a hot-tub."

"So take a cold shower or run through the lawn sprinkler.   I'm sorry I didn't have a mountain stream put in for you."

"There is a pond in the yard behind this one - I've seen it.      Of course we'd be tresspassing - and we'd be naked, coming out of the sweat-lodge."

"I vill tresspass and into ze pond, nuda jump."

"I will too, Pelegrin, if you do."

Susan's plan to stop the two men from having their bonding ritual without her, had backfired.    Because there was no way she was going to climb the fence with them into Conchita Karlsberg's yard, to jump into her frog-pond.    Not nude and not even in a swim suit.    Señora Karlsberg (and she had been Señor Karlsberg's widow even then) had been the terror of Susan's childhood, and Susan was still afraid of her.

Once, when Susan was nine, Señora Karlsberg had come in all her black-lace glory, followed by a retinue of servants, and knocked on the Thomas's front door.   The youngest of her servants, just a boy, was carrying Susan's dog, and Señora Karlsberg demanded that Susan be whipped, because the dog had dug under the fence and pooped in a flowerbed.    And it must be with skirt lifted, the Señora insisted.   With the grand Señora bearing down on him, Dad had caved : "Yes, Señora, it will not happen again.   Susan will be punished as you say."     Susan had expected she would be whipped, "with skirt lifted," as Dad had promised.    For weeks she thought the whipping would happen soon - Dad had promised and Dad never broke a promise.  The phrase "with skirt lifted' tormented her, because she didn't know if it meant panties or bare.   But her Dad had answered "as you say" to the Señora, so Susan knew she would be whipped with her skirt lifted.  Every day of those weeks of waiting, she imagined the whipping - horrible, and yet, if it was bare, horribly wonderful.  She dreamed of having Dad see her bare bottom striped and sore and red; of hugs and kisses and cold cream on her bottom afterwards.   At last she had asked Dad to whip her and get it over with.   He told her to pull her panties up - he said he didn't remember promising the Señora to whip her.  

 But Susan was sure he did remember.   Dad had lied, and he broke his promise; for her sake.     And it was those imaginary whippings, in which Dad kept his promise by whipping her soundly, on her bare bottom, which had evolved into the fantasies she now enjoyed.   In those fantasies - but she couldn't help it - she made her Dad into a horrible monster.    The servant boy, who had grimaced with sympathetic pain when her Dad had promised to whip her, came to her rescue in her fantasies, and he fought her evil, lying father with his Super-Boy powers.  Little Susan was glad that Super-Boy got to see her striped bare bottom - he kissed it and licked it after the whipping and that made the pain go away.  Of course now she was grown up, Susan understood that her father had been tempted, when his daughter had marched into his den and lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties and demended a severe belt-whipping.   She knew now it was because of his weakness, that moment of sexual temptation, that he had never spanked her.  After that episode, he also hadn't hugged or kissed or cuddled or tussled any more.   And he didn't scold her so hard it made her cry any more either - it had seemed to Susan he didn't care any more.   All because of an attraction he had felt for her bottom but had never for an instant acted on.   Not even when she sunbathed nude, week after week.   Not even when she waggled her bottom at him, and said "if I'm being bad you should spank me five spanks," each time he asked her politely to stop sunbathing naked.  And it was this father she had made into a monster in her fantasies.    

Tim showed Pelegrin the secret Cub-Scout handshake.   Pelegrin showed Tim a game that Magyar boys played with each other's testicles.

"Tim, don't you have to get back to Mary Lou's?    You said last night you'd have to sneak back into your bed, before dawn."

"I did sneak back, Susan, while you were asleep.    Then I pretended to wake up, had some corn flakes, told Mary Lou I was going out, and left.     She scolded me and told me I was not to go without telling her where, but I went anyway.    And then I went around the block and got here by sneaking in through the back, through the yard with the pond.   It's got frogs in it."

"Well you can't use the sauna then, or the hot tub.     Mary Lou's bedroom window overlooks my hot tub - we've often joked about it.  I told her I would get all my male guests to use my hot-tub - so she would never need to buy a copy of Cosmopolitan.   And I don't mind if she does see naked men in my hot-tub, but she'll recognize you."

"Ve must do it then, iff you haff promised your ffriend Frau Marie Lou Bingams.    Ve must to give her ze nuda anderen showing, and  make ourselves of the pénisz show.    In ze masks ve vear."

"Yee-haw!"   Tim slapped his bottom as if he was slapping his horse, and his strawberry birthmark did make his haunch look like an Ol' Paint.    Then he galloped across the room to get his bandanna from his pants pocket, and tied it across his face.    The two naked boys were frolicking and doing a kind of dance; Tim pressed his side against Pelegrin, and he put his arm across his back - grabbing a cheek of his bottom.   Pelegrin leaned into Tim too.  It was affectionate, but they looked away from each other as they did it, so it wouldn't be embarrassing.   Pelegrin, who was shy and reserved in social gatherings, seemed relaxed and natural with Tim.  Hungarians are born in the saddle, and there was some hint of a rider's grace in Pelegrin's movements too - he was not at all the formal professor, standing stiff and awkward in his hand-tailored suit, now the he was wearing only his tie, wrapped twice around his face to make a mask.  In making a gesture, as if accidentally, the masked Magyar horseman struck the American cowboy's penis with the back of his hand.   Tim pretended he did not notice it, but he began to breath heavily.

"I am brave without ze mask to do it!"

"I am too!"

"We haff not any birch."

"I was going to say, we don't have any sage.   But we can cut switches from the apple."

"You about ze vhipping vit apple know?   But this is Magyar, to vhip with branch of apple.   You people vit apple, you vhip too?"

"I don't know anything about it.   I've never heard of anyone using apple switches, it's just that the only tree in Susan's back yard, not counting the redwoods, is an apple tree, and it has long shoots that will make good switches.   My people wouldn't use apple switches - we use traditional things like sage, or brooms of braided basket rushes, or bow-strings if it's for a hunting society.   That's what my 'Uncles' used for teaching sweats for boys, anyway."

"My uncle used álma - apple - for my punishments, and I had to climb álma to cut zem myself.    In ze Magyar plains where my uncle live it is most common tree, and ze master álma is Jonatán Mester - you say ze Mister Jonathan - apple.   My cousins and I wass vhipped  vith it - vith ze switches of Jonatán Mester álma. 


          
 
  V.    English Strawberry  
She should have just told them not to do it.  After all, it was her sauna.

But it was the frog-pond she was most scared of.     Señora Karlsberg would call the police, for certain, if two naked men climbed over her fence.   And she would prosecute.   A court case, any court case, even if the charge was only indecent exposure, was dangerous for Susan.   In a moment of panic Susan heard the judge, the judge she carried around in her head, say :

"Felony statutory rape.    He's only sixteen so it's statutory rape.  The prisoner will stand for sentencing."

So she needed most of all to keep them out of her neighbor's yard.    If they needed to do their male bonding ritual, with switches from her apple tree, that should be safe enough, if they wore masks.  And Susan did want them to do it, today, in her yard, with her, and not to wait for the fishing trip - because Susan knew that for the fishing trip, she would not be invited.   On the fishing trip they would swim together naked, and ride naked together, and do sweats together just as hot as they could stand them, and chase each other through the woods with switches of California birch, and she knew they wouldn't want a woman there for any of that.  This would be a boy's trip.  Perhaps they would even fish if they had time.    Perhaps they would masturbate each other, side by side under the stars, while they talked about women.   Susan didn't know if men did that on fishing trips, but she thought so.   What she knew for sure was that on fishing trips, men didn't want her.   Certainly Tim and Pelegrin wouldn't want one woman, who would just come between them, and perhaps not even two.   And in any case Susan hated Anna Kulcsár and wouldn't go on a fishing trip with her.  

"Don't you have classes to go to, Miss Kulcsár?"

"I have class yes, soon.    I am wait that Mr. Russell should walk me."

Susan almost felt sympathy : Anna was being excluded by this boys' game, too.    It was so unfair, that Tim and Pelegrin, who had nothing in common, and were a generation apart, and who were even competing for the same two women, should be instant friends, while she and Anna hissed at each other like cats.    They were not even rivals, she and Anna.  There was plenty of pie for each to have a slice - Susan only wanted Tim, and Anna only wanted - well probably Anna only wanted an A in sociology.

"I think Mr. Russell may be busy for a while.   And Sonoma is very safe, or you could catch the bus, if you leave now."

"I stay."

Susan too, would be late ; late for work when she was already in trouble from yesterday - she ought to be catching that bus herself.    But there was no way she was leaving the two boys with Anna - not with those big apples of hers to eat up.    The boys were acting giddy - out of control.  Tim laughed whenever Pelegrin used a Magyar word, as if it was funny, and they were starting to dance like Sioux Indians in a movie.

"I will go cut the switches, old 'Legrin,  - you are too old to climb trees."

"It iss yes the little baby who is sent up the álma for a korbács - a korbács for his own fenék!    Yes you should go, baby Timmy!"

"Then why do you insist on going outside with me?   Just wait in here while I cut the switches.   Ze korbács - yee haw!"

"If you can to your cousin make pénisz show, I can to my neighbor do it same.   Ve both show our pénisz to Maria Louw Bingams."

"But do you dare do it with an erection?  A murv penis?"

"Vhat is this?   You mean vit merev pénisz?   You are wild Indian!"

"Too wild for you!   But do you dare, Hungkary?"

"I dare!  Injun!"

"First one hard gets whipped first!"

The younger man was the winner of the masturbation race, and as soon has he was hard, he ran naked out the back door.     Susan ran after him, with his bandana, but he was up the tree before she caught up with him.     Susan climbed after him - until her robe caught on a branch.   With a twist, she slipped free, and she tossed down the green silk, sending it fluttering down.   Anna caught it before it hit the ground.    Susan had been climbing that apple tree since she was a child, and in any case it turned out that Tim, whatever else physical he could do so well, was not much good at climbing trees.     She soon swarmed past him, and handed him the bandana.

"Susan?"

"Yes, Tim?"

"I forgot to bring a knife."

"Well I hope you don't expect me to fetch one for you."    Susan did an acrobatic move, and hung from a branch over his head, by her heels.   He was gripping the trunk in fear.

He said: "Um.    No.   Don't bother.   I'll go get it."

Tim was embarrassed to be frightened, but he was too frightened even to act brave, and so he climbed down even more slowly than he had climbed up.   He panted once he reached the firm ground; he was exhausted by being so scared.    As he slunk into the house, head and penis hanging, he passed an erect Hungarian coming out.   "I forgot my knife." he mumbled.

The night before, Tim had climbed down one tree, and up another, to reach her, in the dark; Susan felt flattered now she knew how hard it had been for him.   Tim came out of the house again with his large folding Buck knife, wearing his bandit-mask bandanna.    Pelegrin began to climb the tree.

But Susan remembered that there was something she should do, so she dropped from a branch - it was a little too high  - and she went over to preheat the sauna, and to take the lid off the hot-tub.  Then she decided to check the chlorine and pH levels.   The hot-tub chlorine was much too low and the water was greenish, so she set the temperature to maximum, and added twice the recommended chlorine, hoping to kill whatever was in the tub, and she skimmed it.   Then she had to recheck the chlorine level and correct the pH.   Just to be on the safe side if there were any germs, she set the sauna temperature to maximum too, and mopped the sauna walls with diluted bleach.  By the time she finished acting as pool-man, she looked around for the others - and could see only Anna.

.. Whack - "Nine,"    Whack - "Ten." ... the sound was coming from high in the tree: and the counting voice was Tim's. ...  Whack - "Eleven."  ... Whack - "Twelve.   OK, I'll try it.   You don't have hit me any more."    From what she could see from the ground, Tim was clinging to the truck, high in the tree, while Pelegrin had been beating his ass with a switch of apple.    Tim let go of the trunk and turned around, and tried to walk out along a branch, balancing twenty feet above the ground, on a thin branch that swayed under his weight.    But he was too frightened.  He went back to the trunk, and turned around for more beating, grabbing onto the trunk for dear life.    Pelegrin said something, but his voice did not carry.     But Tim's answer rang out - "To Run, Pelegrin.   I'm going to make you run.    I'm going to make you run through the woods like the Russians did."

The two naked men came down the tree, Tim climbed down slowly.   The Hungarian reached the ground first, and he took off at a slow jog around the redwoods.    Tim dropped some switches to the dirt, and then dropped from the same branch that Susan had dropped from.

Tim landed badly on his ankle and he was winded - he was bent over, gasping from pain.     Pelegrin completed his first circuit of the two redwoods and the apple, and came bearing down on Tim, waving his apple switch,  Tim took off at a lope, but not fast enough - Pelegrin overtook him and struck a him a ferocious blow across his bottom, and continued on his path.    Tim, who was favoring one foot as he ran, doubled back to the apple tree for a switch, and with the switch in his hand, he put on a burst of speed and quickly overtook the overweight professor, and struck him a good blow across his bottom.    That blow put a bit of extra speed into the panting professor, but it could not last - he slowed to a lumbering walk again, panting and exhausted.     Then it was just a matter of Tim making circuit after circuit of the trees, and each time he overtook the slow-moving professor, he thrashed him one blow.      But it was clear the blows that Tim was giving were nowhere near as hard as the ones his own ass had gotten high in the tree - Tim's ass was a mess.

It was too cold to be naked outdoors, and Susan was chilly, as this slow beating went on.   Pelegrin was just too fat now to be chased through trees with a whip.  Susan spoke to Anna.

"Do you want to play these flogging games, Anna?"

"Excuse me, I am not your name knowing? Missus?"

"Sorry, I should have introduced myself - I'm not at my best in the mornings.    I am Ms. Susan Thomas - this is my house."

"Vhy you ask if I a vhipping vant, Miss Thomas?"

"I will be getting one.    I don't want the men to say that men are tougher than women."

"You vant to prove that voman can be vhipped - Ha!    Who is vhipped more than voman?   You want to prove voman are strong, then vhip, Sussan Thomass - Vhip men, and do not to be vhipped!"

"I'm sure the men will be glad to let you whip them, Anna.   And of course they will not whip you without asking."

"Matolcsi is strong Magyar.   He will not assk!"

But Susan was spared trying to make sense of what it was exactly that Anna did want, because Pelegrin's thrashing was finished.     He was blue in the face and panting from his slow run.   Tim, who had run the course twelve times more than Pelegrin had, was not visibly sweating.     But when they came over to the women, they both stank.   Their cocks were flaccid, and their balls were hanging low; because the exercise had warmed them up.   They both looked much happier than the freezing women.

"Do you ladies want a thrashing before we go into the sauna?"

Anna said: "I do not vant a vhipping!"

"I do, Tim, but let's just go into the sauna first.   I'm cold."

"Susan!   I'm surprised - I was sure you would want one."

"Well, I don't right now."

"Well, OK then!  Suit yourself!"

Susan opened the sauna door - it was like an oven.   The sauna rocks were red hot; Susan had paid extra for the luxury model, and the hot rocks were hollow tubes of Utah pipestone, heated from within by gas burners.

"Oh, it iss hot."

"The sauna, much more hot than this, will get, Anna.   I have not sauna in England or America have, but in Hungary I remember - it is when ze water on stove to make steam iss, that the trouw very hot comes.   In ze camp, I am made this position to take."      Pelegrin crouched behind the hot stones with his back to them - with his butt sticking out over them.    If a cup of water were dashed over them now, the explosion of steam that would shoot up would burn his bottom - burn it bad enough to send him to the hospital.     But Pelegrin kept his position - and he said "I am ready."

Tim took his apple branch, and dipped it in the container of water he had brought into the sauna - not the sauna's jar of drinking water, which Susan hadn't remembered to fill, but the hot-tub bailer, filled with bleachy hot-tub water.   Tim struck the wet branch across the stones; from the few drops that flicked off, a cloud of steam shot up to bathe Pelegrin's protruding butt.   Then Tim struck that butt with the smoking branch.     Pelegrin said "Ahh..."

It had been as hard a blow as those Tim had taken high in the tree - hard enough to make a bruise.  And the steam must have burned, too.  Susan asked him how he could endure the pain.

"Ze sauna in camp, Russian soldiers made, it was better, it had .... ropes ..."  Pelegrin was groping for the English word, and he described it in the air with his hands - a sling.      So Susan figured out that the Russian soldiers had equiped their make-shift camp sauna with a sling for hanging Hungarian boys for torturing, so the boy's bottom was over the red-hot stones - heat that would cook meat.  And Professor Melman, torture victim, called a sauna with such a sling "better."

Now Tim took his turn to steam-cook his bottom.    Tim stuck his butt out, and when Pelegrin flogged the stones, there was more water and the cloud of steam was larger, and Tim screamed.

"Tim - you're hurt."

"I'm OK.   It's good."

Pelegrin was already moving into place to take another turn - and because he was fatter than Tim, when he squeezed into the cramped space behind the hot stones, his bottom was several inches closer to them than Tim's had been, and the force of the steam-cloud was directly against his bottom.   But still he was able to bear it.   Then when Tim whipped him hard he hardly flinched from the blow of the switch.    "Ahh, that iss gut...."

Then Tim took another turn.

The steam was heating the sauna so hot that Susan found it hard to bear, but she could hardly complain that the steam was too hot for her, sitting on the other side of the room, when the men were taking it directly on their bottoms.    She dipped her hand into the water container, and tried to cool herself with handfulls of the hot, chloriney water.    She couldn't understand how Tim could be enduring this, voluntarily - it was obviously far more pain than the riding-crop smackings he had exchanged with her.    Those beatings had not been easy to take, but Susan had enjoyed them, because she had been in a intense state of sexual arousal.     But Tim did not even have an erection for this game with Pelegrin; it was a male-male competition--they were so intoxicated with their game that they seemed to feel no pain, as well as not having any brains.

The heat was horrible, and the smell of chlorine was making her feel sick, and sleepy.    It seemed like they had been in the sauna for hours; at least it was warm in here.   Susan had gotten deeply chilled, standing around naked outdoors at dawn, watching the boys whip each other, and now she was warm - warm clear through; deep down warm.    If only she wasn't so thirsty.    She couldn't remember how many turns the boys had taken at roasting their bottoms.    She was so thirsty.  But it was pleasant, sitting on this bench, leaning back against the slanted wood, listening to the boys.   It was so warm.  But that water - Tim had  scooped it from the hot tub; you wouldn't want to drink it.    And the chlorine ...  Tim was so sexy,  She ...

"SUSAN!    WAKE UP!    SUSAN!"

"What?  What? Where am I?   What ..."

"Nothing.   You fell asleep is all.   Do you want a stroke with the switch?"

There was only Tim's voice.   That was really important.   She hadn't understood it before, but now it was so clear.   She had discovered something really important.   She'd have to remember it.   Her discovery was that there was only Tim's voice.   She had to remember that.   Remember that.    Remember ....  Everything was so clear.    So clear.   So clear.

"Susan?  Do you Susan?   Susan?   Do you want a stroke with the switch?   It will feel good."

"It will feel good.    It will feel good."

"Well, come on then."

Susan allowed herself to be led by the hand into the space behind the stones, where she wedged in with her butt sticking out over them.   She felt no alarm as Tim dipped the charred branch into the bailer.   The sweat was running down her back.   It was so warm ... so warm ....

"WOW!    That was really something.   Fire on her bottom!    It felt .... it felt ... well she didn't know how it felt.   It was ... it was pain.   That's what it was.   Pain.   That's what it was called ...  Pain ...

"What's happening?   What?  ..."

"It's OK Susan, you fainted.    I had to grab you, I was afraid you would fall on the stones - I'm sorry about slapping you - I didn't know what else to do.     Did it hurt so much you fainted?"

"No, I liked it."

"It does feel pretty good, doesn't it.    But you are very hot.   Drink some water."

"But it has chlorine in it."

"The water at the ranch sometimes tastes as bad as this.   It won't hurt you."

It was utterly foul, and hot enough to scald her throat.   The horrid taste made her feel a bit more clear-headed, though.

"There you go - you just needed some water."

"She iss tough - like you, Indian."

"I'm not an Indian.   But I am used to hot sweats.   I think it's time we took Susan outside.   She has heat-stroke."

"Is this Indianish sveatlodge like?"

"Not at all.     A sweatlodge is very dark, and the smell is very different, the smell of dirt, not bleach, and we sing - or at least, someone is usually singing and drumming outside while it's going on, because a lot of sweats happen at powows; that's when everybody can get together - the Maidu kind of like live all over California now.   And it's not like this, because it is sacred ; any sweat is sacred, my 'Uncle' says, not just the ... um, uh, sacred ones.

"Is sacred to your religion?"

"Not mine.   I'm a Methodist."

"Sacred to gods of Indianish Maidu people?"

"Actually my Uncle is a Methodist too - he says it's all heathen superstition.   So he's never told me who it's sacred to, exactly, just that it's sacred.   He likes me to wear a sash with a crucifix on it, when I do a dance, as a sort of protection against the heathen gods."

"Are you done or do you want more to do?"

"Yeah - I'll have some more.   But you go first."

Pelegrin wedged his fat body into the space behind the stones.  "It is Indianish initiation, to endure the pain."

"Actually, in the sweats I did when we were lashed, it wasn't like this.   First of all, we were kids.    And our Uncles were wearing masks - I mean, we knew it was our uncles behind the masks, but we didn't really know.    Our kindly uncles - everyone was being so mean to us, all of a sudden, and they were in the masks, so we thought it was really somebody else - that it was bad spirits.  Even if we thought it was Uncle, we thought the spirit had taken him over.   And when they took us underground - deep in the earth, and we lay naked on the dirt floor in the dark and were lashed - we held each others hands and whispered to each other that we were frightened - that we'd never see our familiies again."

Tim whipped the red stones with the wet branch, which sent up a big cloud of steam to Pelegrin's bottom.   The switch caught on fire.    As Tim swished it through the air to whip Pelegrin's bottom, the flames blew out, but the leading edge of the switch was glowing red charcoal when it hit the  flabby bottom - the charcoal shattered in a shower of sparks.   Pelegrin didn't even groan.

"So what happened then?" - that was Susan.

"Oh, my Uncle made this long boring speech about being a good Indian and staying away from drugs and alchohol and learning Maidu - not that he gave the speech in Maidu - and so we knew it was him.    I was really suffering because my cousin did my body paint and  it ran down my face from the sweat and got into my eye.   And I had to pee really bad.  It wasn't hot enough to take the pain away for us kids, because we had to lie on the dirt and that was cooler.   So the lashing hurt; and they lashed us for a long time with bow-strings and braided sage whips which are sharp as knives, and it was - well it was boring.   That's what pain is, when it just goes on and on like that - really annoying.   The pain from needing to pee and my eye hurting was worse than the lashing - while I was being lashed my eye didn't bother me so much, so I kind of looked forward to my uncle coming around to me each time he made the circle.   I'm not kidding about my eye really hurting, I had a scratched cornea, and I had to go to the eye-doctor at Chico hospital and wear an eye-patch for two weeks.   And when the sweat was over and I could run to wash my eye in the creek,  I let go and peed and my cousins are still laughing at me for that, climbing the ladder with a stream of pee coming out of my little white dick. It's really horrible to do that, to pee in a sweat lodge, but I had to pee so bad."

Pelegrin had come out from behind the stones, and Tim went in, saying : "Pelegrin, give me an extra stroke for pissing in the sweat-lodge when I was a boy."    Pelegrin picked up the smoking apple switch.

Susan asked : "And I suppose you weren't really underground - you just imagined that?"

"A sweat lodge is just a small lodge, Susan - a dugout.   It has grass on it.   White people who walk by, white backpackers, usually think it's a hill.   If you don't leave the ladder sticking up, it's pretty easy to hide the smoke hole.   White people don't look for the door to a house on the top of the roof."

"That sounds so cool."

"My uncle's dugout wasn't.  Well actually it was cool - it was cold.   It was horrid ; I lived with him for a while.  My Uncle said it was the happiest day of his life when he moved into a goverment double-wide trailer; he had heat and running water and a flush toilet, and lights and a phone and an electr... - YEE-OW!"

Tim had taken the steam on his bottom, and it hadn't make him stop talking, but a blow from the switch of glowing coals made him howl.   More and more of the apple switch was turning to charcoal, and the swishing of the wood through the air heated the glowing charcoal to incandescence - to white heat.  Susan figured there would be a stripe of second-degree burns - blisters - across Tim's bottom, from this one blow.    The two men didn't seem to have any sense - they were injuring themselves for pleasure.

"You are good spirit to me, Indian brave.   I wish initiation with braided sage whips and speech of being good Maidu. You are my Uncle, teaching me the Indianish lore."

"I don't know any Indian lore.  I'm not an Uncle and I'm not an Indian."

Pelegrin was about to go in again, for another stripe of burn across his bottom from an apple switch that was on fire.   So he would get a stripe of blisters too.   They were utterly mad.   And they were more in love with each other than Tim ever would be with her.

Susan said: "It's my turn.   I'll take the steam, but Tim, I want you to use the other end of the switch - I don't want to be hit with something that's burning."

"OK."

Susan got into position, and tried to remember what her first ass-steaming had felt like.    She knew she'd had one, just a few minutes ago, but she couldn't remember it clearly, it was all so hazy.   But the heat of the room was so very pleasant and luxurious that even more heat could only feel even better.    She stuck her bottom way out, getting it really close to the rocks.

... YAOW that hurt!     And it did hurt - it hurt so much she wanted another one!    She said : "Aww that's good..."  

"ssshshsshsh ...."

That was the sound of something hot being dropped into water.   What was going on?   Susan slid out of the space behind the stones so she could turn around to see what was happening.     The sshissh sound was Tim was pouring water from the bailer onto the burning apple switch, to quench the burning coals before hitting her.   Susan looked over at Anna -

"YOU IDIOTS!   LOOK AT ANNA!"

Anna had fainted.    Tim rushed over, and felt her forehead

"She burning up!"

Tim ran for the bailer of water, and poured most of it onto the slumped girl, mostly on her head.    The he slapped her, but there was no response.    Tim took some water into his mouth, and spat about a teaspoonful into the girl's mouth.   He put his fingers in her cunt, and poured some water so it went in.   Then he picked her up, and smashed through the door of the sauna.    When Susan and Pelegrin ran out after them, they found Tim trying to break through Susan's back fence, by hurling his body against the boards.

But the stout redwood fence defeated him.    Instead, he picked up Anna and flung her up so she landed draped over the fence, half on one side and half on the other, folded over the sharp redwood points that ran along the top.    Then Tim scaled the fence with a jump, and balancing on top he picked her up and dropped her over the other side, and then jumped down himself.   Almost at once they heard a big splash, and then another.

Susan didn't think she could jump the fence, so she ran to her shed for a ladder.    Pelegrin followed her.

"No Professor - call an ambulance."

"Where?"

"In the kitchen - you can't miss the phone, it's pink.   On the wall in the kitchen."

When Susan climbed the ladder, she was stunned - Conchita Karlsberg's yard was so beautiful.   So beautiful.  She just looked, and looked ...

"Susan - help me."

Susan stopped looking at roses and azaleas, and looked at Tim and Anna in the frog pond.   They looked peaceful, but Anna's eyes were still closed - and Susan began to realize that things were very serious.   She let herself hang down the other side of the fence and dropped, getting redwood splinters in her tits and skinning her knees.    She walked over to the pond with a heavy weight of fear in her stomach.

"Susan ... I don't know what to do."

"You know more than me.   I told Pelegrin to call an ambulance."

"Good.    She's still alive, I think, but I don't know why she's not waking up."

"Did you take her pulse?"

"How?"

Susan waded in, but then she switched to floating instead because the bottom was mud.   "'Her pulse is strong.   And she feels normal - not hot. And her color's normal too. You know, since she's cooled down, I'm not sure we should leave her in cold water.     If she's in shock, maybe we should keep her warm."

"But what if we take her out of the water, and that turns out to be the wrong thing to do."

"Then we're wrong.   Tim, you decide what to do - I don't know anything, and you did pretty good getting her over here."

"OK.   I think ..."

"TIMOTHY RUSSEL, what are you doing!   Get your hands off that girl!  Is this an orgy?"

"Mary Lou.   What are you doing here?"

"You've been doing an initiation, haven't you. Tim?   I can see the welts on Susan's bottom."

"Mary Lou, this girl is very sick.   We can't wake her up - I think she's in a coma."

"She'll be fine, she's just fainted.   We used to do sweatlodge whippings as initiations for The Togetherness.   Plus anytime the Good Leader thought you needed more self-dicipline, he punished you with a sweatlodge whipping until you fainted.    But, Tim,  I'm really steamed that you did an Indian initiation for Susan and your girlfriend without me."

Tim pulled Anna out of the water, and lay on top of her.   It looked like sex to Susan, even if it was really just keeping a shock victim warm.   And it must look like sex to Mary Lou, as well.

Susan asked: "How did know it was Tim, Mary Lou?   He was in a mask."

Tim said : "Oh, Mary Lou has seen me bare lots of times - she knows my birthmark.  She changed my diapers."

"Tim, I'm not that old.   You were long out of diapers before I started baby-sitting you.   But I did make you take your bath, remember.   And I spanked you, too--so I had lots of chances to see your birthmark."

"Yeah, you were the world's worst baby-sitter.   None of my Maidu baby-sitters ever came into the bathroom to make sure I washed my dick - and they didn't spank me either."

"Too bad for them; you were the world's worst brat."

"Well, maybe I did sass back my beautiful cousin - I had such a crush on you.   I used to put sticky jelly on my dick on purpose, that's how much I wanted you to soap it and wash it for me.    It was worth it, but then you would spank me!"

"If you didn't like the spankings why did you keep doing stuff to get spanked?    Why would you come bug me when I was watching TV, and tell me you took a cookie from the cookie jar, when I hadn't even asked you?'"

"I didn't!   It wasn't like that at all.  I got lonely 'cause you wouldn't play with me.   Then you tricked me.  I hadn't taken the cookie."

"But, Tim, there were crumbs.   Besides, when you were pyjamas down and over my lap, I gave you one last chance.   But when I asked: 'do you want to say you're sorry or do you want a spanking?' you said 'spanking'."

"If I didn't take a spanking you called me chicken and made me feel like a worm.  So of course I said 'spanking.' I was just a kid and you could make me do anything you wanted.   It wasn't that I liked the spankings.    Did you think I wanted to be spanked?   You should go to jail for what you did to an innocent little boy."

"You?  Innocent!"

Susan was racked with jealousy and fear.   Tim hadn't played the brat with her.    But he had done it with Mary Lou when he was a kid, and he was still doing it with her now.   He had "spank me, I've been naughty" written all over his face.  He hadn't teased Susan, but he was teasing Mary Lou now, and it was making Mary Lou mad enough to spank him.   Susan loved to be teased too; this wasn't fair.   This teasing could only end with Tim saying he was sorry or Tim getting a spanking, and it would be the spanking, just like when he was a kid.  Tim knew it, and Mary Lou knew it, and they both knew that Tim wasn't a little boy any more, and the spanking would lead to something more.  Susan thought: Mary Lou's marriage is toast, and sex with your cousin isn't incest in California.  Tim isn't relaxed like this with me.   And, Susan thought, if he tells her we had sex, I'm screwed.    Statutory rapist.

Mary Lou said : "And you're still a brat, and you are still legally a child, Tim, and I'm still responsible for you to your mother--I can still spank you.  And you better believe we'll have a session, with a paddle, just as soon as we get home.  I bought a new cheeseboard when I heard you were coming.   Susan, did he tell you any Indian legends?   About living in harmony with nature?"    

Susan answered no.    When Tim heard the word cheeseboard he started to say something, but stopped.    Susan guessed he was about to say the cheeseboard could be made to hurt more, by drilling holes in it, something Susan had told him, which she herself had found in one of the books about spanking she read in the stacks of the library, too embarrassed to check out.    But Tim was playing the naughty boy spanked by his baby-sitter with Mary Lou, so he couldn't volunteer something to make it hurt more.

"We used to talk about Indians living with nature in The Togetherness, and here my uncle goes and knocks up a real live Indian squaw, so I'm the girl with a real live Indian cousin, and he won't tell me anything.  When Tim was a boy he just wanted to talk about baseball all the time, or TV.   He only saw TV at our house so you couldn't pull him away. If he was watching Huckleberry Hound on our old black and white, Saturday mornings, he would pull down his jammies and lie on the floor, so he could be spanked without taking his eyes off the screen, but he wouldn't talk about his Indian ledgends."

"I don't know any Indian legends, cousin."

"He's lying, and I'd give him a spanking right now if his butt wasn't so decorated already.    Did these two spend the night in your spare room, Susan?    I'm responsible for him to his mother, but what can I do if he climbs out his window?    I can only hope they used a rubber.   I mean rubbers.  But he's only sixteen, Susan.   Shouldn't you have stopped them?"

Tim said : "Mary Lou, you are jumping to conclusions.   I have not had sex with this woman, Anna Kulcsár."   Tim was lying on top of Anna, and was very erect, and was rubbing his dick in the hollow of her thigh, so this assertion didn't carry much conviction.

"Then just where did you spend the night, Tim?   The last two nights?"

Tim squared his shoulders to confess to his baby-sitter: "Well, I ...

"YOU ARE TRESPASSING ON MY PROPERTY AND I HAVE CALLED THE POLICE.   Señorita Thomas, Señora Bingams, I am shocked.   This is not what I expected from my neighbors."

Conchita Karlsberg still had a servant standing a pace behind her - and it was, Susan realized, the same one.    The boy, just her age, who had  handed back her cocker spaniel with a sweet smile, and had winced in sympathy when her father had promised to whip her, had been working all this time in the house behind her own, and Susan had never seen him.     She caught his eye - he had not lost his smile, nor his sympathy.    He was certainly aware she was naked, and his eyes ran her up and down, as a lot of men had done over the years.   But almost always, when a man scanned her naked body, it was just before having sex with her, or more often, deciding not to have it.   But this man was ashamed of the quick glance he had stolen.

Susan said: "Señora Karlsberg, my friend is very ill - she fainted in my sauna from the heat, and we felt it was imperative to put her in cold water as quickly as possible.   She has still not recovered."

"She looks healthy enough to me - just because she is pretending to be asleep, do you expect me to allow this behavior on my property..."  The grand Señora was advancing on Anna with her cane raised - but the servant ran and got in front of her, and raised his arms.

"José, stand aside!"

"Mais Señora, it is not proper for you to see - there is a senor who is ... uggh ..."  words failed him, so he pointed to Tim's rigid cock.    Conchita reeled in horror as if she was having a fit of the vapors.

José kept his body between Anna and his mistress's cane.      He felt Anna's neck, and slapped her face - not very hard.   He said :  "She cannot be pretending, Señora.   She is unconscious."

Personally, Susan would rather have seen Señora Karlsberg use her cane - it would take more than a slap to convince her that Anna wasn't faking it.    Anna had a naked and very erect young man lying on top of her and massaging her skin--surely if she was really unconsious she wouldn't look like she was enjoying it so much.

"SHIT!"

That came from over by the fence, and there was also a loud clang.   Mary Lou had been unwilling to try the drop from the top of the fence, so instead she had tried to pull the ladder up after her, and swing it around to the other side.    But it was an aluminum extension ladder, in two pieces, and the upper one had come loose from the lower one.   When the ladder had come apart suddenly, Mary Lou, who was balanced on the redwood points that ran along the top of the fence, had fallen off, into the Karslberg garden, and the upper half of the ladder had fallen on top of her.    When she tried to stand up, she cursed again; Susan ran over.     Mary Lou was sure she had broken her leg - she claimed a jagged bone was sticking out of her shin.

Susan investigated - "I don't think it is a break, Mary Lou, I think ... look, this sharp corner of the ladder has got driven into your shin and across your ankle when it fell on you.    They shouldn't make ladders with sharp corners like this.    You've lost some blood and it might be very serious - if you've cut a tendon that might be even worse than a break.   But the bone itself is not broken."

"I can tell when I've broken my leg, thank you - what are you, a doctor?"

"We've already sent for an ambulance for Anna, Mary Lou.    You can ride to the hospital with her and get an X-ray.    The ambulance should be here already - I can't think why it's taking so long."

"What do you mean you sent for it?    I saw Tim fling the girl over the fence, and you ran for the ladder.   Who called for the ambulance?"

"Professor Melman."

"Professor ...  Melman?"     Mary Lou, who was looking very pale from loss of blood and the pain, began to laugh.    "Professor Melman?    That tub of lard I saw was Professor Melman?     He doesn't have a tailor, he has a magician.    He looks good in a suit.   Melman?   That was Melman?   Oh, goodness, Melman?   Oh no, Melman?   What a tub of lard - what a lard-butt - what a white whale!"     Mary Lou was hysterical.

Susan didn't think it was funny.   She was a bit sensitive on the subject of lard-butts.    She thought perhaps Mary Lou should be slapped, but she didn't dare.     José, who had slapped one woman already, removed himself from screening his mistress from the sight of Timmy's boner, and came over to look at Mary Lou's ankle.   It was starting to swell, and when he felt it to test for a break, she screamed like a banshee - no slap would be needed.

"It is not broken."

"Thank you, José."

"You two know each other?"

"I see Señora Bingams at the neighborhood  association meetings.   I am sorry I have missed you, Señorita Thomas.   I have attended in hopes of seeing you, but you do not come."

So the boy of her girlhood dreams, Super-boy with magic powers and an angel's smile, had not only been living next door to her all her life, he had been looking for her.

"And Señorita Thomas, I have an idea why the ambulance is late.    Professor Melman thinks he lives on Napa Street."

"But we do live on Napa."

"You will excuse me, Señorita - but you and the professor and Señora Bingams live on the Napa Road.    But as it happens there is a Napa Street in Sonoma as well, a fact which is not well known.   It is is a small street of laboradores.     At every meeting of the association, Professor Melman speaks of Napa Street - and it is true that it is a street and not a road.    I have corrected him on this but it only makes him cross with me.     So I think perhaps the ambulance has been sent to the other side of town."

"They couldn't make such a mistake."

"Professor Melman has a thick accent, but he is impatient when he hears the accents of Mexico - he thinks Mexicans are stupid.    But many of the hospital workers are Californios - or of Mexico.     But if I am not mistaken, the professor has something to tell us.  .   I think I hear something - but he is having trouble scaling the fence."

The fence between the two yards was high, but not so high it couldn't be scaled using only the lower half of the extension ladder, which had fallen into Susan's yard.    It could be scaled by anyone that is, except Pelegrin Matolcsi - the fat professor was finding it very difficult.    But at last the pudgy white naked form appeared, and he sat on the top of the fence.   The sharp wooden points along the top sank deep into his soft flesh.   Then he turned around and hung down over Susan's side of the fence, to reach for the ladder he had just climbed up - which he did by folding himself over the pointy fence.    But he grabbed the ladder and pulled it up, and swung it over to the other side - at which point, he dropped it.

Susan ran to put it up again, but before she reached the fence, Pelegrin had dropped to the ground - sliding down the fence on his backside rather than his front, so it was his bottom that filled with redwood splinters, rather than his dick.  But he landed on a rose bush, so his attempt to protect his dick was not entirely a success.

Señora Karlsburg was examining the intruders into her yard, through her quizzing glass.   Now that José had removed his body from between her and the object of scrutiny, she was finding it quite entertaining.   She said to Susan - "I was not aware that you had built a temescal, Miss Thomas.   I wonder if I might trouble you on behalf of my majordomo Senor Rodríguez.    He suffers from an, um, male complaint, and I believe a hot steam bath would be most helpful, and alas I have no such facility ..."

But before Susan could try to discover what on earth her elderly neighbor thought that a sauna could do for "male complaint," they were interrupted.    Pelegrin had untangled himself from Señora Karlsberg's Peace rose, and came limping over to talk with Susan.

"There iss vit the ambulance problem, for idiot at hospital hass sent to wrong place.   It vill now come soon."

"But Pelegrin, will it come to Napa Road, or to this house on Calistoga Street?"

"To your house in Napa Street I send it."
    
"But then you'll have to go back, to be there when it comes."

Pelegrin looked at the high fence, and the two sections of ladder - and for the first time he noticed Mary Lou, looking pale and in great pain.  José was cradling her in his arms, and wiping her brow.   She was biting on a stick.    Anna was cradled in Tim's arms, still unconsious; but she wasn't pale, she was glowing - and so was Tim.    And Señora Karlsberg looked steamier than any of them - she was examining the welts and burns on Tim's bottom with her peering glass.    Then she hobbled on her cane to stand behind Pelegrin, to look at his.

Susan said: "Don't worry, Pelegrin.   I won't make you climb the fence.    Señora Karlsberg, may I go into your house to use your phone? - I should send the ambulance to this house - they will need to carry out the patients on stretchers, so they must come in from Calistoga Street in any case."

Señora Karlsberg volunteered: "I will make the call, Señorita."

But José, although he was some distance away by the fence with Mary Lou, must have heard or guessed what was being said, because he shouted out : "Of what are you speaking, Miss Thomas?    The telephone?     I should make the call, the Señora is not accustomed - Susan, can you come and hold Señora Bingams?"

As she hurried over to him, he allowed himself the pleasure of another shy glance up and down her naked body.  And at her face, to see if she had noticed that he used her first name.  Then he looked away, blushing--but smiling to himself.    But then they had the complicated business of Susan sliding in, to take Mary Lou from his arms to hers, as gently as possible.   There was a great deal of touching between José and Susan's naked body, including her naked bottom on his lap.    By the time he slid out from under her, he was redder than Tim or Anna.   He tried to make his good-by to Susan, but all that would come out was "S ... " and then he choked.   "S ...", he tried again.  Then he ran into the house.

Susan said "How are you feeling, Mary Lou?"

"All right, I guess.    Pain is boring when it just goes on and on like this.   I have some cocaine in my house - could someone get it for me?"

"The ambulance will be here soom.   I think it would be smarter to wait for the pain-killers they will give you - you don't want to mix drugs."

"I suppose you think I'm dreadfull, snorting cocaine.    I started in The Togetherness.   Not that Togetherness was about drugs.  Not at all--the Good Leader was against drugs.  He always said so.  But it was a real hard time for me, when the group started to go bad, and we started selling to make money.  There was some bad stuff going on and I  had--it was really bad--I just had to get out in '73.    The Good Leader said I would die like a dog for leaving.   That I didn't have what it takes. I left the drugs but they didn't leave me."

"I don't judge you at all, Mary Lou." - this felt to Susan like a dreadful thing to say, but she couldn't think of anything else.

Mary Lou continued to talk about the Good Leader and his appetites, but Susan did not listen.   She was watching Tim and Anna.   He was hugging her tight, and cradling her head, and he had a very hard erection which was pushing into the groove between her belly and her leg - and they'd been like that for a quarter of an hour.   And he was moving just enough so his erection was sliding up and down, just a bit, in that groove.   He was gently rubbing her skin with his hands; which was proper first aid for shock.    He brushed the hair from her eyes.    José had dropped his short Mexican jacket, a black bolero, over her torso, so when Tim ran his hands over her, under the jacket, Susan could not see exactly what he was doing, but it wasn't hard to figure out;  he was lightly pinching and fondling her tits.   And then his right hand went lower.

And if she's unconscious, Susan thought, then I am the Queen of Hungaria!

The signs of Anna's orgasms were pretty obvious, Susan thought.    And then she thought that maybe they weren't.   Maybe I'm imagining the whole thing - maybe Tim is just doing what you are supposed to do, first aid for a shock victim.    Maybe Anna's panting is normal too.   Certainly Tim's was.

And then Anna turned bright red.      An orgasmic flush - rare and very special, and Anna must have one of the finest in the world.   Susan knew about them because an ex-boyfriend had told her; they were something else that men liked, besides big tits and a cunt that got wet, that Susan didn't have.   Tim pulled his hand out from under the bolero, and looked at it in horror - he must think he's just orgasmed her to death, Susan thought.   He must be worried that masturbating a shock victim is fatal.   But Anna continued to breathe, and it was hard to believe there was anything wrong with her, to look at her.   And then, out of relief, Tim kissed her, very tenderly, on her nose.

And Susan was over him.    Just like that.   Half-fucking Anna's thigh, and giving Anna pleasure with his fingers on her huge lovely tits, and then her clit, Susan could bear - it only made her jealous; it just made Susan pity her own ugly body, and feel envious of Anna's.   She didn't blame Tim for normal male appetites.  She liked that about him, in fact, that he was so very sexual.  But a kiss of affection was too much.   She felt nothing any more for Tim.    Perhaps José could use some help with his male complaint.

But Señora Karlsberg seemed to know altogether too much about her servant's problems in the male department.    The Señora was inspecting the flogged buttocks of Tim and Pelegrin very closely, as well as Susan's buttocks.   So if Susan managed to get José into the sauna with an apple switch, to do something about his male complaint, perhaps they might not be alone.    But in any case she was over Tim.   She had known all along he couldn't possibly desire her.   He had made a much better choice in Anna, obviously.    And of course he could get Anna if he wanted her.   Susan might be over Tim, but that didn't change the simple objective fact that he had the hottest male body in Sonoma County.   Besides, she'd taught him not to wear underpants.   Susan always thought that even ugly men would get all the women they wanted if they would just let their erections show.    She herself would go with any man who saluted.

"He hasn't fucked her!    He hasn't fucked her!" - that was Mary Lou - in pain, but very excited about something.  

"Mary Lou, what are you talking about?"

"Don't you see? he was shocked when she turned red, so he can't have fucked her before.   So I wonder where he's been these past two nights.   What could make a sixteen-year-old boy sneak out of bed and climb down a tree, and lie to his old baby-sitter about it, besides sex?   And who could he be having it with?   When I saw he was gone last night, I checked - and both pairs of pants he brought with him were in the washing machine - so he slipped out of my house naked.   Where could he have been going?    What do you know you aren't telling me, Susan?   If Tim wasn't in your spare room fucking Anna the last two nights, then where was he and who was he fucking?"   

Pelegrin answered: "He with me wass.   He to teach me secret Indian rites agreed, and we have two nights passed.    Iss secret only, and so I may not the details say."

Tim shouted : "What did he say, Susan?"    From over near the pond, where Tim was holding Anna, it was a good fifteen feet to the spot where Susan was holding Mary Lou.    Tim had heard Mary Lou's shrill voice, and Susan's, but Pelegrin's voice did not carry.    Susan shouted: "He says you spent the last two nights in his house - teaching him Indian lore."

"I don't know any ..."

"I THINK YOU MUST HAVE BEEN AT THE PROFESSOR'S, TIM," she shouted   "Where else could you have been?    Mary Lou says you sneaked out of your bedroom window, naked.    Did you sneak into my yard to use the sauna?    WHERE ELSE COULD YOU HAVE BEEN the last two nights, Tim, but HOLDING A SECRET ceremony with Pelegrin?    Obviouslly not at my house - since YOU ARE UNDER AGE."     Susan realized she was sounding quite hysterical herself.

Mary Lou scolded Tim: "How could you have a ritual with him and not your own cousin?    Do you think I'm so stuck up I wouldn't do a naked ritual?    After all I've told you!"   Mary Lou sounded so much like a scary baby-sitter that Tim rubbed his bottom with a rueful look.

Señora Karlsberg was fascinated.   "A secret Indian temescal ritual in the middle of the night?   Next door to my yard?   How exciting.     I don't object to Indian braves in my garden in the early hours of the morning, if it's for religion.    But you must admit it was quite a surprise to see you come out of the water when I was out walking my dog - a pleasant surprise though it may have been."

Tim said: "I dont know any secret Indian .... Oh, forget it."

Mary Lou said: "This is very interesting.   Professor Melman, I am envious.   My cousin has always claimed he could tell me nothing of Indian rituals.   But now he holds one for you.   So interesting."

Mary Lou seemed determined to find out what Tim had really been doing those two nights - and without an alibi, without a story that would put Tim somewhere else for those nights, it wouldn't be hard to prove he'd spent them with Susan.   There were plenty of witnesses to their conversation in the Plaza.

Mary Lou said : "So, Tim, you spent the two nights holding a ritual with Melman.    But I wonder where Anna was in all this?   Was she there, at your naked ritual?      But of course she couldn't be, she's a student - Professor Melman could hardly keep his job.    I can see the headlines now - Sonoma State College professor in naked ritual with under-age student.      Is that what happened, Tim?    Because if it is, I will tell the college.    And I have noticed her comings and goings from that house, so don't lie to me.   Is it true what Melman said?   Have you been showing him a ritual?"

It seemed that was it.   Mary Lou was suspicious, and she had enough to go to the college already, and when she did Melman, or Susan, or both, would be proved guilty of having an underaged lover.   In Melman's case, that lover was a minor under his care as a teacher.  He stood to loose more than Susan.   Prosecutions of men who had sex with teenage girls were common, and the penalty was very severe.    But there was one more voice to be heard from:, Anna's :

"Of course it iss truow vhat Pelegrin Matolcsi he says.    My husband he is hero of the Magyar people." 

 

   February 2006

David Nunes da Silva



  
.
This is a work of fiction.  In particular, the house of Yves St. Laurent, although it did do some see-through clothing in the 70s, has never (as far as I know) designed foundation garments based on Japanese rope-torture techiques.  Also I have given Sonoma a college that is actually in Rhonert Park, apple trees that are actually in Sebastopol, and a boutique I once saw in Santa Fe.



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 Date of the story is fall, 1980.


http://www.comevisit.com/chuckali/apples/table.htm

http://www.tree-mendus.com/product_pages/apples/Apple%20List.html

Late Strawberry (AKA Autumn Strawberry, English Strawberry, Fall Strawberry, Strawberry)

 kolbász (sausage)  |    Jonatán mester álma   |  I know not a word of Magyar, and I'm sure I have made mistakes.   Perhaps my attempt to make my readers hear, as they read, the sound of a Hungarian accent and speech patterns, will even be offensive - if so I am sorry.    But do please write - I like being told I'm wrong.
 
  Sonoma goings-on in the '60s  ( I had never heard of the artist Ron Russell, when I used the name Tim Russell for my character; certainly no reference to the late Mr. Russell is intended. )  I did take the idea of the commune leader threatening - if in semi-jest - that group-leavers would 'die like a dog.' from this website.  |
 Sonoma Mountain Zen Center |

 Kuksu big-head dances  |  public dances and rituals |     
 Missionary goings-on in the 1810's : the history of Tim's mother's people.      the diary of Jose Dolores Pico, 1815: 

 The morning of this day we…came upon the village of the Cheneches, where two old women were found. It was clear the other inhabitants had gone on ahead of us, slipping into the thickets and swamps.  In any case, we were able to find no one.  After about two leagues we arrived at the junction of Mariposa Creek and the river. The guide whom we took with us, who was from that village, had previously told us that he was familiar with the village of Malim, but when he got there he said he did not know where it was but he did know that this was his country and we were hunting for his village.  I ordered him given ten lashes.  While this was being done, the soldiers spied some heathens who were coming up Mariposa Creek. By scattering out in various directions the troops succeeded in catching two Christians from Santa Cruz and three heathens.  The latter were to take us to the village but previously we encountered one of their little ranchos.  The inhabitants all fled to the swamps without our being able to seize a single one.  The village was located at a distance of three leagues west. However, after we had passed it by about a quarter of a league, they [the Indians] said it was behind us. On arriving [at the village] we found by our trail that we had missed it by no more than a gunshot. From this it was obvious that the captives had acted with malice, giving opportunity to the others [their countrymen] to escape. 

Russian Military School Tarnished by Hazing to Close : story in Moscow Times  |  19-Year-Old Grandfathers | Amnesty International
Military hazing in the United States :
Actually, I'm not so sure that the incident as reported in the original post is necesarily an exageration. At VMI we have something called "balling up." Basically, you take someone and roll their hay (bed roll) around them and use the straps for the bed roll to tie them up. Now it's mostly done when someone turns 21, and it's very often voluntary. However... We also have a far less good-spirited variation that involves taking someone who has been balled up into the showers and beating them. This is done as a sort of disciplining among brother rats (members of the same class). Five cadets ended up being dismissed over it. I'm pretty sure there's a newspaper link to it for the Roanoke Times.
1996 :  A similar attack occurred in 1996 when several cadets tipped over a freshman's cot, dumping him to the floor and breaking his collarbone. They also tried to shave his head and spray burning analgesic balm on his genitals.

[ One has to presume that the cadet with the broken collarbone was not happy about it.    But it is worth noting that of all the postings I saw concerning hazing in the US armed forces and military schools (most commonly, pinning medals into skin, and the crossing-the-line initiation at the equator) every posting from someone who had been hazed, approved of hazing.   The nature of the crossing-the-line ceremony is not too clear - someone said that as most navy ships were now co-ed, the ceremony had of course to be discontinued - but the ceremony as described, would not have had to be discontinued for that reason, so there must have been rather more.  ]

   The abuse at Abu Ghraib was undoubtedly related to a culture of systematic and condoned hazing in the military :
"Soldiers and Marines weren't perfect in my day either. On my ship, the abuses young leathernecks endured at the hands of senior Marines was far worse than anything seen in the images from Abu Ghraib. Hazing and other martial rites-of-passage ran the gamut from severe beatings (sometimes to temporary unconsciousness), being stripped naked and shackled to pull-up bars, backs and legs whipped with belts and the flat edges of swords, and bare heads smacked with belts and steel helmets. Blooding winging (a ritual wherein newly graduated Marine parachutists had their jump wings pinned directly into their chests). In one case a Marine private was severely burned — the result of his genitals and abdomen being painted with highly flammable boot-edge dressing and then ignited with a cigarette lighter."  W. Thomas Smith Jr.    
I suspect that forced public masturbation has been a frequent hazing practice; here is one report concerning sport hazing in Canada
In 1994, four male hockey players in Ontario reported that they were forced to masturbate publicly. As a result, 13 people were charged with over 100 sexual offences.
[ There are discussions of hazing on the web, suggestting that being required to masturbate, and to eat your cum,  is very common for fraternaty initiations - if so, it does not often lead to any charges being filed.   I did come across  a few cases where the torture of a boy's penis put him in the hospital.    One practice mentioned was to bore a hole in a watermelon, and make the pledge fuck it, when the melon had been heated in a microwave.  So I guess that not just masturbation, but masturbation consisting of  toruring the penis, has been fairly common in hazing.  - not something you want to try at home, naturally. ]

[ subject line: {ASSM} Red as an Apple  {David Nunes da Silva} {mF spank 1st hist} ]
synopsis:  what feels good in a fantasy hurts in reality.   

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