Message-ID: <6621eli$9712211308@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: X-Good-Line-Length: yes Subject: XMAS STORY 2: "Christmas In Scarsdale"/MrSpraycan Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <67i1d4$s4m@camel15.mindspring.com> [A spanky sequel to 'Christmas Carole', also posted here] Disclaimer: Fiction, I suppose. Any resemblances are coincidence, improbable, whatever. (C) stuff: Intended for entertainment. Private use only. Do not archive, redistribute. All rights reserved. Copyright (c) 1997 MrSpraycan. CHRISTMAS IN SCARSDALE By MrSpraycan Christmas morning, early. Santa Claus has not come, but Pat O'Reilly and Carole Muhlstein have, several times. It's that magic time just before dawn when kids are anxiously awaiting signs of life, determined to provoke some activity if nothing happens soon, desperate to see what presents they've been given. Pat is snoring gently, while Carole muses on her good luck. Just an impromptu one-night affair, she asks herself? Was I just reacting out of gratitude to the promise of a raise and promotion? Just that famous Christmas party foolishness? Maybe. And maybe not. He's kind, gentle, and quite intelligent. Not the demon lover he seems to think he is. In fact, not much of one at all. But he's teachable... The bedroom window seems just a little lighter. Dawn soon? Carole turns over, snuggles up closer. Pat gives a little snort, and is awake. "Huge bed, Carole," he says, wondering if this is enough of a question to get an answer to something that has crossed his mind on the edge of sleep, in both directions. "Not mine," she explains. "Why I had to keep you waiting. Had to shoo them out. Mine's a tiny, rickety little thing. Creaks terribly. We'd probably have broken it, with all that bouncing." "Your sisters, they sleep together?" "Oh, they're not my sisters," she laughs. "No, no. And they're not sisters, either. It's just what I call them, so life is kept simple." Pat is confused. "Do they...uh, are, they, do you?" He's blushing a little at what he's trying to suggest. Will she be angry? Carole giggles. "Do I, or have I? Yes, darling. But don't get all excited and start thinking, you know, what you're thinking. They don't like men very much, and they won't." "I wasn't thinking," he begins, then corrects himself. "Well, maybe I was. So, you ... licked one of them? Is that what you're saying?" "Yes. Both of them, actually." "At the same time!?" "I only have one tongue, dear," she replies. "But yes, we were all in bed together if that's what you mean." "Carole," he says reproachfully. "Oh, it was lovely," she whispers in his ear. "But not as lovely as having this big strong thing of yours shoved inside me. That's what I love most of all, being fucked by a guy, one who's really excited about me. Who wants to satisfy me." Her hand has found his semi-erect cock, and is gently rubbing. "Yes?" He kisses her. "Yes, Carole. So, tell me what you did." "That excites you, doesn't it?" She laughs musically. "Oh, men!" He waits. Her hand is busy now. And he's getting hard. "Well, we were all completely naked, no nightclothes at all...it was, oh, August I think. We'd spent the whole evening almost completely undressed. Listening to the radio. Reading." "Do you often do that?" "When it's hot, yes. Of course. Anyway, Ann wanted her back rubbed, and Susan was feeling crabby, so I did it." "Are they pretty?" he asks. "Oh very. Terribly pretty. Girls from the country often are." "How did you end up in bed together?" He's a little impatient, now. "Oh, Ann grabbed my hand, said it was exciting. Put in on her breast. Then, Susan started kissing me. And, I just said okay. I only had a petticoat on, and some panties, and soon I didn't." "Did you know they were, I mean, had you thought about...?" "I knew, but we hadn't talked about it. So," she presses on, "We ended up in bed together, real quickly." "And?" "It's not like with men, so it's difficult to explain. You do things slower. And little things mean more. Touching. Kissing. It's not all about, 'put this in here', or stuff. We played a lot." "Oh, this sounds wonderful." "It was. Is. I had Ann sitting over me, holding my shoulders, showing me everything. And Susan, playing with me." "I'm trying to imagine it." He's shaking his head in amazement. "One day, maybe..." "But you said..." "Oh, not with them, but with some other girl, maybe. I'll find one who doesn't mind, and show you. Maybe Eva? Eva Goldschmidt at work?" "Is she?" he asks in astonishment. "I got that message, yes." "She's lovely," he sighs. "I've always wondered..." "Then I'll try, hmm?" "Will you?" he asks anxiously. "I'd really like that, Carole." "Oh, I can hear that. And yes, you would like it," she kisses him again. "What do you want, Pat? Would you like to watch us? Or be a threesome, where you get to have her too?" "Either," he gasps. "Do you think she'd do that? Oh!" "Find out if her hair's really that color, hmm?" "Yes!" Carole rolls onto her back, and spreads her legs wide. "Come on," she whispers. "It's hard enough. Do it to me again, you big randy man." As he quickly rolls on a condom and fits himself into her, she murmurs encouragement. When he's on board, and chugging away she asks softly: "We're going out today, aren't we?" "Hmm?" "Up to your place?" "Yes, we could." "Want to. I want to help educate you." "Meaning?" "Show off to you." "No clothes?" "Stark naked, all day." "Oh! Would you really?" "Show you everything, real carefully. Show you my cunt." He's grunting with excitement in her ear. "Like that, Pat? Get a doctor's view of it, would that be good? Show you what I do when I'm alone, dreaming of a man." "Really?" "Yes. I'm sure you'll find it exciting. And I can tell you all my dirty secrets." "Please." "So long as you tell me yours, too, of course." "Are yours really dirty, Carole?" "Oh, you won't believe some of them." They're close to coming now. "That thing about spanking, remember?" "Did I say that?" she teases. "Yes, I remember. I like that idea. We can talk about that too. Do it, I mean. Come on, darling, you big hairy man..." The two sisters are rather distant, as you'd expect. Driven from their bed in the middle of the night. They'd set their hearts on a Christmas lunch with Carole, and who knows what afterwards? It's easy to guess. And now here she was with some man. Oh, her boss from work, sure. Ann, a short dumpy girl in her early twenties -- but with an angelic face, Pat corrects himself -- says, with little enthusiasm: "Oh, you must stay for lunch, Mr. O'Reilly." The other two agree. So much of the preparation has been done, and there's food for a dozen. Some other friends are expected. Women, all of them, two from the apartment building, and some former colleagues. A college friend of Susan's, who's a thin, black-haired librarian type. Carole amazes them with the news of her big promotion, and raise in pay. Pat nods wanly, says: "Oh, it is so richly deserved. She's so talented." And he means it, she sees. Pat has no other plans for the day. He weathers the morning of awkward sociability, taking the opportunity to go with Carole to buy some more cigarettes. The biggest excitement so far had been a thimble-sized glass of Madeira. Oh, and Carole's present from the sisters: a peach-colored nightgown. "Be brave," she says as they scamper down the street. "They're all harmless. They're not going to rip your pants off." "More's the pity," he grins. "Don't make me jealous, now," she smiles. They stop and kiss, passionately. "God, I want to fuck," she sighs. "After?" he says. "After, yes. We'll find somewhere. How about driving up to your place like we said?" "We could. It's kind of bleak. A lot of the furniture's in storage, only a couple of rooms open. But..." "Is there a bed?" she asks boldly. "Yes." "Is the heating on?" "Yes, the maid comes three times a day." "Lucky maid!" Carole hoots, making an elderly passerby turn in surprise. "Shush! She does the boiler." "There's some food?" "Yes." "Then we have what we need." After lunch, which is surprisingly delicious, and not dominated by inane chest-pounding conversations about the war -- like every other meal or meeting Pat has been to in recent weeks -- they make excuses and leave. The two sisters wave goodbye from their window. "They'll be in bed before you get to 90th Street," Carole says with a knowing grin. "I'm sure," Pat replies. "But on their own, or will some neighbors be creeping back upstairs?" "Oh, you got that too," Carole observes. "Yes, I think a foursome was in the making there. Well, I guess the bed will stand it." "Wish you'd stayed?" he grins. "Oh no, this is just fine," she says, stroking his thigh. "Just fine." It's not a long drive to Scarsdale, but they get lost a couple of times, chattering all the way. You wouldn't think he'd made this drive every day, once. Now he has a small apartment on the East Side that he's furnishing. It's not quite ready, with painters in. His house is astonishingly large to Carole. A mansion, almost. But, even from the outside it's clearly a deserted house. Some exterior lights have been left on. But most of the windows are curtained, and there's a lot of uncleared snow on the long semi-circular driveway. He parks close up by the front door and they enter. She gives a gasp of wonder. The huge open staircase, the hallway, the reception room, one huge deserted room after another. Just the pantry and a small kitchen, with some furniture. "It's lovely. Is it really up for sale?" she says. She's thinking, wow, there's real money in advertising. And I settled for a lousy $125 a week? "Yes, but no buyers. And no furniture auctioned off yet." He points upstairs: "That's all empty too. But there's a bed back here." She nods and asks: "The maid?" "Probably gone. Be back around 8pm, just to check the furnace. Unless I call and tell her not to bother." "Yes, call," she says with a languorous smile, stretching. "It's nice and warm. Where are the dirty books?" "The erotica collection?" he inquires, raising his eyebrows. "You heard me." He shows her a cardboard carton filled with old Saturday Evening Posts. "Under here." She starts to dig, a big lopsided grin on her face. "I'm going to check that the furnace is okay, too. Yes? Then we'll be alright." "Yes, dear," she nods, deep into something in Krafft-Ebing already. And when he comes back from the phone in the pantry, reassuring words on his lips, she has almost finished undressing. Her coat and dress are carefully hung up. Shoes, drying by the fire. Her garter belt, slip and stockings are over the back of a chair, and she's in just her brassiere and panties. "Want to take them off for me?" she teases. He rushes to her side, kisses her neck, and begins to fumble with the catch on the bra, his fingers trembling. "The bedroom?" he prompts. "No, let's explore the house. I'm looking for somewhere nice and light, Pat." The bra's mystery is solved, and he holds her breasts in wonder. Her nipples are hardening, she is eager. She slips her own panties to her knees, then off. Naked, her pubic triangle damp. He grabs at it, quite eagerly. She purrs, sniffing her panties: "I didn't wash this morning, so I smell very good. You don't mind, I hope?" He shakes his head. "No, that's okay." "Let's get you undressed too," she growls. "I want you to have your big sword out to protect me." Like Babes In The Wood, they are prowling through the deserted house. Both completely nude. Carole gripping his wrist tightly. He's displaying a fat erection. He's much more self-conscious than her, even though it's his house. She leads the way, asking what each room is. Upstairs, she marvels at the huge bathrooms. "It'll be fun getting dirty, just so we can get clean," she giggles. In the warren of basement rooms, she contemplates the beams and joists with an expert eye. She arranges herself against some, coyly. To his mystified expression she replies: "All sorts of possibilities for games down here, aren't there?" "Such as?" "Imagine ropes and chains," she says rather impatiently. "Think imprisonment. Think medieval dungeon, maybe." "You, you mean?" he asks. "Do you, do that kind of thing?" "Bondage, you mean?" she asks, with a little snort of amusement. "Yes," he answers nervously, not comfortable with this idea. "I might. Could be me, or could be someone else," she sighs. "Keep an open mind, Pat. I do all sorts of things. Everything is interesting to a girl who wants to be properly fulfilled...Oh, look. Stone walls! How lovely." Spreadeagles herself, and wriggles happily against the rough stone. He looks at her rather nervously, but his cock is hardening. There's something about this that appeals to him. Her submissiveness, yes. But the whole scenario of captor and captive, too. He's behind her as she climbs the basement stairs. His eyes are on her beautiful round bottom, the sproutings of hair visible between her legs as she climbs. Her scent is getting stronger. Her eyes light up when she leads him out into the conservatory, an extension built overlooking the sloping gardens at the rear. There's no other house with a direct view. The conservatory is painted a brilliant white, with a bare polished wood floor. On three sides, uninterrupted windows, flooding the room with late-afternoon sunlight. At the center of the room, a pool table, draped with a huge dustcloth. "Here!" she says with passion. "Right here." He looks at her nervously. She lets go of his wrist, boosts herself up to sit on the edge of the table. Then, smiling mysteriously, she lays back and arranges herself with her legs spread as wide as she can, her arms out to the side. "Come on, darling. Look. I want you to study it. My cunt. Take your time. Touch it as much as you want. Ask any questions. Don't be shy." And she means it. He takes a deep breath, then steps close and bends to look. "Carole," he flounders. "I don't know what to say." "Oh? You had lots of questions when I started talking about what we all got up to in bed, didn't you? Us girls. Well, let me show you..." She begins to point out what's she displaying. Her labia, inner and outer, her urethra, her anus, her vagina, her clitoris. Spelling out their sensitivity, tracing each with a fingernail. Opening her vulva to make sure he sees everything. Encouraging him to put fingers inside her, sense the power of her muscles, her wetness, her heat. Describing how each part might best be stimulated with a finger or tongue or by some rougher means. And demonstrating this as she goes, busily rubbing her mons and clitoral hood. "This is what I do on my own," she says, a little breathlessly. "Rub like this, pressing down hard here. Spreading the lips a bit. See? So the slit opens a little. See my clit? See how red it gets? Like a tiny cock, having its own erection? Want to try it?" After she's demonstrated a little longer, she lets him take over. Transfers her attention to her nipples. "That's good baby. Very good. Oh, I'll come if you do that for very long. You know that, don't you?" He's busily rubbing her now. "Yes baby. This is what Susan did for me. Oh!" "Will it really make you come? Just this?" "Always has done. Believe it. Press harder. A little lower too. Oh, yes." "You don't use something to push inside?" he asks, slightly doubtful that she will come without a penis at work. "Sometimes. Yes, I like to shove things in my hole. The handle of my hairbrush. Susan has a special thing, a dildo. But...rub harder, harder!" She's losing control, and he's breathing the rich aroma that she is emitting. Doesn't know what to say apart from: "Oh, Carole. Yes." The liquid sounds fascinate him. "So wet." "Always," she gasps. "I have to keep spare panties everywhere. Forever wetting them. Oh." Arching her back, bracing her feet and spreading her knees wide, she comes. He watches wide-eyed as she writhes and gasps, saying words that he thought only truck drivers and sailors knew. She's sprawled on the sheet, skin glistening with perspiration. Breathing deeply, her eyes closed, her mouth puckered in a secret smile of delight. Stroking her thick ringlets of pubic hair, now wet and sticky with her juices. "Want me to get your dress?" "Oh, no! Just like I said, I'm staying like this. Naked. Don't let me stop you if you're feeling modest, lover boy." "Uh, that's okay," he demurs. "I'll be alright." "Let's find some chairs," she improvises, sitting up and swinging her legs off the pool table. "I've got an idea." Where she had been, there's a big gooey puddle. She looks around. "Here, these'll do." Two old wooden high-backed chairs, banished from the kitchen. She drags them to an open area, places them facing one another, almost touching. "Sit down, I'll be back." He waits for no more than a minute. Drawers, cupboard doors are slamming. She reappears, clutching a fistful of lengths of rope. "Knew I'd seen these somewhere." She sits opposite him, and begins to tightly knot a short length of cord around her ankle. Then to the leg of the chair. "You do the same," she tells him. "Why?" "Humor me, huh?" And soon both her ankles are tied. Then she wraps some rope round her left knee, then round his right knee. "Legs wide apart, Pat. I'm going to show off all my stuff, you need to do the same. So we can talk honestly, huh?" He's more than a little puzzled, but goes along with it. They're both tied at the knee, and her thighs are spread very wide, almost uncomfortable for him. Both are displaying their genitals in a very immodest, not to say obscene fashion. She bends close, takes his face between her hands, kisses him. "This stops us getting up, chickening out, generally spoiling things, okey-dokey? Even better with handcuffs, or our wrists tied." "Where did you learn this?" he murmurs. "A lady I know." "Glad I told the maid to stay home," he grins. "Oh, who knows what she'd think? Maybe she found your dirty books. Did you think of that? Ha ha. So, let's hear about your earliest sexual experiences, shall we?" she starts. "Analyst style. Or, you can think of it as an adult show-and-tell." She smiles, and looks at his plump penis, in definite "periscope up", U-boat emulation. "Oh, and you can play with it as much as you like. I'm going to go crazy with mine!" He blushes. "What do you want to know?" "Oh, let's see? What would good analysts ask? Uh, when was the first time you masturbated?" He colors, and stammers out: "I don't remember. But I did, of course." "Did?" she laughs. "You still do, I expect, if you're like other guys at all. Come on. Was it before you got hair down there? Was it playing with yourself and finding you liked it, even before you knew what it was really for?" He shivers and says. "Yes, that's about right. And I started, uh, doing it, when I was twelve or so. But it was later, when I was about sixteen that I did it most. It was just when the last war started, for us, 1917..." "Oh, do wars have dick-stiffening memories for you, then? Does that explain this?" She smiles. "No, it's just coincidence, I suppose." "Not the khaki and the bayonets? Shame." "I used to do it every night." "I bet you did. In bed?" "Most of the time." "All your clothes off?" "Yes. That always feel better," he agrees. "How many times? How long for?" "When I was a kid? I'd do it twice, three times. But I'd be at it for four or five hours." "Good. Not many friends? No girlfriends?" "No, neither." "Ah, then I imagine this was your best friend." He grins. "Yes. And you?" "Oh, I went to a very strict school. Very conservative parents. I didn't even know about sex, at all, until I was," she shrugs, "eighteen? I mean, I knew about it in a theoretical way, but it was all biology and diseases and dire consequences. You never ever thought of it as being real, or you thought of it as something your parents would do, that you needed a license for!'" She laughs aloud, rubbing more busily, sniffs her fingers. "When I started? It was the year of the big Wall Street Crash. 1929? I remember doing it in bed, listening to my parents shouting about all their money being gone." "Was it?" "I think so. He left, and my mother got some kind of job. We lived in Boston then. He'd come back every now and then. But I suppose I became very involved in myself. Suddenly, college was out and I had to work part-time to pay for even the lousy secretarial school." "Oh." "Don't worry. I didn't after a while. Got into what I wanted, and I'm happier now than I would be teaching..." "Do women do this a lot?" He asks naively. "Seriously?" "Oh, you bet. I'm a bit excessive, maybe. I have to come before I go to sleep, two or thee times usually. And I can't get up in the morning without it. But other women? Oh, yes, they do." She pauses. "Can I smell your fingers?" He offers them, and she licks. He grins. "Swap?" Her moist fingers are offered to his mouth. "Oh, Carole, that's lovely. Delicious." "We still haven't discovered much, have we?" she prompts. "So, who was the first woman you ever saw naked...?" "My sister..." "Was she showing you, or did you just observe?" "Just observing her after a bath..." "Older, younger?" "Older." "Good?" "Very beautiful." "And?" "Yes, I jerked off afterwards, couldn't get it out of my mind," he blushes. "So? That's okay, isn't it? No harm. And the first woman who let you see her cunt? Who let you fuck her?" "Amy." "Oh, the ex-wife." "Soon to be ex. Papers aren't final." "But there have been others," she says rolling away from this undoubtedly non-erotic topic. "Yes. Hookers. One or two of our models." "My. But you've not had the grand tour, like I gave you, have you?" He shakes his head. "Well, I can educate you in all the missing components of female sexuality, darling. And I promise you, I will." "How do you know so much?" he gasps, then corrects himself. "Well, I mean, don't say if you don't want to." "It's okay. I made up for lost time. Several lovers, a summer in Paris, a trip to Mexico. There have been some older men, and I know lots of other women who, well, don't mind discussing their experiences...Sex is interesting, I've studied it. I'm looking forward to reading your dirty books, very thoroughly." An hour has passed, and they're both very aroused. Constant rubbing, the lewd talk, it's got them on the edge. A few more minutes, they might both come. For Carole, that's immaterial. But she wants to conserve his powers. More games to come, and she intends to keep him very busy in bed tonight. She steers his hands from massaging his cock to holding her breasts. And quickly rubs herself until she comes. Then grabs his hands and holds them to her. She's the one who brings them back to earth. "Don't come yet. Inside me, okay? Save it." "Of course," he gasps. "Remember the spanking stuff you were talking about?" she murmurs. "Yes!" he breathes, kissing her. "Want to?" "Oh, baby. Yes!" "I, well, who gets to do what?" she chuckles. "See, I wouldn't mind being spanked either." "Is that something to do with your 'strict school' by any chance?" "Mmm. Could be. I went to a school where girls were caned, often." "Really?" "You bet." "Were you?" "Of course. But, answer the question." "Well," he says with a little frown. "I don't mind spanking you, Carole. If you want me to. It won't hurt too much, I promise." "Ha!" she splutters, shaking her head. "Then don't bother, okay?" "I mean, I'll take it easy at first. I won't do you any permanent harm," he protests. "Of course, it'll hurt. Hurt a lot I expect." "So, I'm going first, is that it?" "If you want," he agrees, though it's plain he's been looking forward to having his backside paddled ever since the idea first emerged. "I want," she nods. "Let's get untied." They unravel the ropes, stand stiffly, and hug. They're both a little chilly from sitting so long in the bleak room, and she suggests: "The pantry, maybe? There was a nice little chair there I could bend over, in front of the fire." He leads the way. It's sunset, and they take a final look out at the snowy garden, tinged with orange light. "If it was summer, I'd take you out there, put you over my knee by the pool and give you a damned good spanking," he says, getting into the mood. "Oh, Pat, you're so imaginative," she flatters. "But it's much too cold right now." He smiles, strokes her ass. "Or is it? Later maybe, as a punishment, if you're not a very obedient girl." "Oh, I'm going to be very good," she promises, hugging him. "We'll see, won't we?" he says, taking her by the wrist. "I like it here so much," she sighs. "I can imagine living here." He nods. "Well, I haven't sold it yet. Maybe we'll have to: it's hellishly expensive." She hasn't missed the 'we,' and clings tightly. To be over his knee appeals to her greatly, but the chair in front of the big wood fire sounds equally promising. The fire needs fresh logs, banking up, some maintenance. He takes care of that while she fixes them both a drink. When he turns round, she's draped in an armchair, legs wide, stroking herself, looking at some nude photos, sipping a martini. She laughs aloud: "It's Marlene! That receptionist from last year! Oh, her tits look so much nicer like this. And, my, isn't she hairy!?" He sits on the arm, and watches over her shoulder as she discovers a lot more about her modeling staff, current and past, than she had suspected. Another hoot when she sees that a favored blonde starlet has a frizzy black bush, and that modeling assignments involving bottles can get off into wild and randy directions when photographer and model get bored. Her excitement is growing, and manifesting itself in the usual fragrant and liquid ways, with quite a lot of finger motion between her thighs. "That's enough, Carole," he tells her with a little grin. "You're being rather naughty. Playing with yourself too much. Dirty girl. I think it's time for that spanking." "Yes, Daddy," she says, in a soft voice. "Over my knee?" "There, the chair," she insists. Bend over it, grips the seat firmly, displaying her large backside. She's savoring the heat of the fire on her bottom, and her thighs. A preview of how she'll feel, she's sure. He has the belt from his pants, doubled into a loop. He runs a hand over her, then crooks a finger and probes her buttock crease, just lightly prodding at the puckered ring of her anus. "Do you?" he asks shyly. "Do I what?" she replies, puzzled for a second. "Oh, do I like to be fucked there too?" "Yes, I, well, I might...it's something people..." "Don't be so shy, Pat. Of course you can do it to me! I've done that, yes. It's fun. Different." A little grin. "Tighter. Lots of fun." "I will." She looks at him and says cheekily: "Will you be taking my photo too, or aren't I pretty enough?" He swings the belt, hard, bringing a thick red stripe to her backside. She shudders but doesn't cry aloud. "Oh, I've already thought of that. You're pretty enough, Carole. Very pretty. But I don't have a camera here that's good enough. Publication quality only, or it's an insult to the eye, isn't it? We need good lighting, and a plate camera. But the agency's open again on Monday. I can arrange to get some time in the studio, later in the day. After everyone's gone. And you can help me in the darkroom, can't you?" Another vicious stroke. "Oh, yes, I promise. Will they be very rude photographs? Nasty?" Crack, on the back of her thighs. "Yes, Carole. Of course they will. Maybe a few of you getting undressed, but I think naked is right where you're concerned. You like to show off in the nude too much, proved it today. So I'll make sure they're very, very rude. Photos of you playing with yourself. Some glamorous ones too. But some really nasty ones of you with your legs apart. Peeling it open. The Grand Canyon. Pearl Harbor. Would that be good?" "Oh, god yes!" The next blow brings the first yelp of protest. "Photos of you with a nicely striped backside, darling. Maybe putting things in yourself." "Oh, yes, I'd like that..." Another stroke. "Maybe photos of you with some other woman," he gestures to the scatter of photos on the floor, or the armchair. "We have some choices, I can call. Or perhaps you can persuade Eva Goldschmidt." "Yes! I'm going to try. Or, one of the models. I think we know which ones are most likely now. That'd be good." "What a slut you are, Carole," he says with deep affection. "Slut, whore. Yes. Thank you, Pat...you know, that's what I long to be. Oh, thank you, this has been the best Christmas ever." "Oh, and for me too, darling." "Is this love, maybe?" She's thinking, it will be if I work a little harder at it. And find a good stiff cane to apply to his ass in revenge. Ouch, this hurts! "You know, it might be." Another hard stroke, across both buttocks, now reddened to a festive glow. "It might just be." Copyright (c) MrSpraycan 1997 Visit the website: Check the new web soap series, "Primal": [ Via MailAnon Remail Service ] -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |