A two-fer today to make up for last week. First up is a little piece I wrote as a response to someone who said, “you can’t write stories in second person POV.” Oh yes, you can. Here is:
THE SECOND PERSON
You’ve never been here before. Others have, but never you. They said she was strict but you discounted that, thinking that your bluff and toughness would carry you through. But then teacher caught you drawing those pictures, those dirty pictures, and now you are outside her office. Yes, HER office. The secretary takes the slip from your hand. She clucks disapproval as she reads it. Shakes her head. “Wait here,” she says and leaves you standing at the desk pondering your fate. She enters the inner office. You hear a muffled conversation through the door. You anxiously await, shifting from foot to foot. What will happen? What will she do? You’ve heard the rumors. You’ve seen the boys and girls as they return to class, tears in their eyes, wincing as they resume their seats after a trip to her office. But no, you didn’t care. Full of bravado, you were. You passed around the drawings and drew some laughs; that’s how Teacher caught you. You’re not laughing now. Your stomach is in knots. Your heart is pounding. You are actually shaking.
The secretary returns. She points to the open door. “She will see you now,” she says with a smirk. Slowly you approach the open door. A voice commands you to enter. Miss is seated at her desk reading the note from Teacher and perusing your drawings. She asks if you have anything to say for yourself. You are tongue tied with fear. She is an imperious woman, tall and well formed with an ample bosom. Her stern demeanor that will brook no nonsense reduces you to jelly. You stammer that you are sorry, that it won’t happen again. She fixes you with a steely glare and says that no, it will not happen again and that she intends to see that it doesn’t. You feel a cold knot of fear in the pit of your stomach.
To the side of her desk is an armless chair. It sits in the center of a clear space. She rises from her desk, pulling an object from a drawer as she does so. As she seats herself in the chair you can see the object. It is a paddle, twelve inches in length and four inches wide. It has a pair of rows with holes in them. Instinctively your hands fly to your seat, palms out. No, no, you think. Not that. It is too shameful, too childish.
She commands you to approach. You must obey. On trembling legs you edge forward. She reaches for the button of your short pants, commands you to be still. With ruthless efficiency she unbuttons your shorts and drags them to your knees. You blush beet red with embarrassment. You want to beg, to plead. Please, no. You blubber and all she does is glare at you. She orders you to place yourself over her knees. With a choked sob you obey.
It is a most ignominious posture. Your bottom is centered over her lap in the classic position of a naughty child about to experience correction. You gasp in horror as you feel her fingers in the waistband of your underpants. She intends to bare your person for this punishment. She pulls your underpants down. You feel your last barrier to modesty being removed and your bared buttocks now feel a cool breeze. Your underpants are at your knees. You are bare from your knee hollows to the small of your back. You feel horribly vulnerable. You feel the paddle pressing against your bottom. She taps you a time or two. You flinch with dread.
Suddenly a flash of hot stinging pain. The paddle smacks your bottom with a loud crack like a twig snapping. It is instant pain, burning, stinging. It is worse than you even imagined. You feel the smack of the paddle again. The sting intensifies. Again, a searing crack as the wood blasts your very bare and very vulnerable buttocks. You want to be brave, not to cry out, but it is too much. You whimper. The answer is another hard spank. You begin to writhe. You feel her hand pressing into the small of your back keeping you still. The smacks continue unabated in intensity or tempo. The sting is unbearable, wave upon wave assaults your senses. You try to shield your buttocks with your hand, but she grips your wrist and holds it in a hammer lock at the small of your back. She renews the paddle’s assault on your bottom cheeks, spanking hard, so hard your eyes begin to well up with tears. You are not so brave now, suffering an ignominious spanking on your bare bottom that will make you cry.
A voice scolds, “You’ll not draw pictures again, sir. Or you’ll be back right here across my knee.” The paddle continues its inexorable smacking. You kick your legs, a weak flutter because your knees are trapped by your lowered pants. Your body bucks uncontrollably, your buttocks are aflame, and you cry at last, tears dripping on the floor, snot running down your nose. When you bawl like a baby is when she finally stops. You slump across her knee sobbing. You have been reduced to the status of a crying child.
“And that, Mr. Worthington, is what you can expect if you care to make an appointment,” said the seductive voice over the phone. “I have a light schedule today. You are the second person. Shall we say four o’clock?”
James Worthington gulped, regarded the card slipped to him by a knowing concierge. “Corrective Measures. Miss Amanda Kane,” it said. “Domestic discipline for discerning gentlemen. 784-7906.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a shudder. “ Four o’clock. The second person.”
Next up is a book excerpt by Anthony Payne, from his new ebook, Taming the Wild West. This Western is a bit different. It’s a femdom story which is somewhat unusual for Westerns which mostly feature rugged, dominant cowboys and lawmen, like my book, The Colonel’s Woman. So see what you think.
TAMING THE WILD WEST
by Anthony Payne
Chapter One – A Morning Reminder
“We need to take a little trip to the woodshed before you leave for work.”
Jacob Miller’s cup jittered slightly in his hand, sending a splash of coffee over the rim and into the safety of his empty breakfast plate. His wife Mary had calmly dropped the statement as she swept away the remnants of the morning meal. Their two children had long since left for school. One of the advantages of being a banker had always been the mornings together. He had always cherished those precious moments alone, the window of sanctuary between being a family and being a businessman, the daily hour when they could just be a couple.
Only this morning Mary had other intentions. Jacob was well aware of the purpose of the trip out the back door and into the sturdy little shed that housed their supply of firewood for the approaching winter. The shed was stacked full, but there would still be plenty of room for his wife to swing her leather strap. It was a trip they had made together countless times and one that never failed to leave him with damp eyes and a red and welted behind.
Why? He racked his mind to find the answer. Nothing sprung forward. What had he done? After fifteen years of marriage, Jacob had become familiar with his wife’s expectations. He had by the same token become just as accustomed to her methods of dealing with her displeasure, only today he was at a loss to find the cause for any need for his spouse to deliver her preferred brand of marital discipline. “Mary, I don’t understand. What did I do?”
“Finish your coffee,” Mary replied, leaving his question unanswered. “When you are done, go saddle up your horse and then come back in. I should be done cleaning up by then. We will discuss the matter further once your bottom is bare.”
Jacob knew better than to push the conversation any further. Mary was a loving wife, a giving mother and a committed partner but she was also a formidable disciplinarian. She had made up her mind he was to be punished… and he would be. Soon he would be bent over that familiar sawhorse with his pants around his ankles awaiting her ministrations with the strap. Anything he said now would only make things worse. He sighed quietly and tried to make his coffee last.
Mary went about her morning routine, inwardly chuckling as her husband delayed the trip to the woodshed as long as possible. She had given him a playful swat on the butt when he finally drained his coffee cup and headed to the stable to make ready the horse. The ride into town would feel more like ten miles than the actual one this morning. She would see to that. She loved her husband with all her heart. They had a good marriage and two happy, healthy children. In a few minutes she would do her very best to make sure things stayed that way.
Truth be told, Mary enjoyed spanking her husband. Yes it served a purpose; it was a big part of giving them a happy and harmonious marriage, and providing her a considerate and attentive husband who was the envy of many of the women in Black Creek. But it was more than that. It was sexy. Just thinking about leathering his cute little behind or watching him dance across her knees as she warmed him up with the hairbrush sent waves of moisture to the spot between her legs. Hmm, she hadn’t used her brush in quite a while. Maybe tonight she could send the girls out on some errand and take Jacob over her lap for a quick reminder. Or maybe a return trip to the woodshed for a second little licking from her strap… followed by another kind of licking and maybe something more.
But first she needed to mind the task at hand. Jacob had returned from the stable. “Trixie is all saddled up and ready to go, dear.”
“Well let’s get you ready then.” Mary gestured to the back door. “Go.”
Jacob sighed once again but nevertheless obeyed his wife’s command. Trudging across the cabin he made his way out the door and down the walkway into the woodshed. Mary followed close behind, her eyes never leaving his behind, relishing the way his trousers clung to his shapely male ass – which would soon be swaying in a different manner.
Inside the shed, Mary pointed to the sawhorse set conveniently apart from the woodpiles. Jacob did not need to be told what to do next. As he had so many times in the past, he quietly walked over to the trestle, unfastened his belt and pushed his pants and drawers to his ankles. Naked from the waist down, the one and only banker in Black Creek then lowered himself over the near edge of the sawhorse, his hips resting on its surface and his hands clasping the far legs.
Mary smiled and already felt herself begin to moisten down below. Rolling up the sleeve of her dress, she retrieved the strip of leather hanging just inside the shed door. It was nearly two-feet long and a good three-inches wide. The entire thickness of the well-worn strap was oiled frequently by her husband to ensure a supple and effective nature. She ran her fingers over the length of the implement, taking her time making her way back to Jacob, extending his anticipation of what was coming.
When she was satisfied he had waited long enough, Mary raised her strong right arm up past her shoulder. There was a swish followed by a loud crack that broke the silence inside the woodshed. A bright red band immediately appeared across the crown of Jacob’s buttocks. He gasped out, arched his back and tightened his grip on the wooden horse. The second crack of the leather landed just below the first, slightly overlapping the first. Again Jacob responded with another sharp intake of breath, this time accompanied with the upward jerking of his head.
Mary continued with the task in hand. From the original stroke to the center of his behind, she slowly and methodically moved the strap downward, lashing further sections of his cheeks, each blow delivered with a precise accuracy. Her arm rose and fell at a steady but casual pace, each swing delivered with an extended follow-through to maximise the effect. She paid no mind to Jacob’s twisting and squirming as the strap hit home, easily finding her intended target with each blow.
By the time she had counted twenty, Jacob’s bottom was glowing from its center, right down to the point where his cheeks met his legs. Mary paused slightly and moved herself to the opposite side of the sawhorse. Taking a stance to her husband’s left, she resumed the punishment. This time the strap would begin at the very top of his bottom. The next twenty blows would fill in the white area from the base of his spine to the already reddened crowns of his cheeks, giving his entire seat a unified crimson hue.
Jacob held tight to the saw horse, lifted his feet up and down and continued to gasp and grunt as the strap lit a fire on his ass. He knew his ordeal was far from over. Forty licks was the halfway point at best. He did his best to remain as quiet as possible, knowing any pleading would only make things worse. If he was lucky she might only give him another twenty or thirty. He bit his lip as the strap finally reached the middle of its target, the final stroke overlapping the original blow.
Mary stood back and admired her handiwork. His bottom was a nice uniform red. It was a good start, but she was far from finished. She intended today’s lesson to be one he would remember for some time to come. Jacob would sit on a sore ass for a few days. Letting the strap dangle by her side, she returned to her initial position to his right, ran her other hand over his behind, revelling in the warmth of the tender skin. “Mmm, that feels nice. Men require a nice warmed bottom now and then don’t they?”
No reply from Jacob brought a swift volley of open-handed slaps to the top of his thighs.
“Ow, ow! Yes dear.”
“Good boy. Now to answer your earlier question: you have done nothing wrong. This morning’s discussion is just a little reminder of who is in charge.” She rubbed his bottom as she spoke. “This ass is mine. I can take my strap to it anytime I feel the desire, can’t I?” Her hand had stopped again on his stinging thighs, warning that she expected a reply.
“Yes dear what?” The question was accompanied with another hardy swat.
“Ouch, yes dear, you can strap my ass anytime you desire.”
“Better, but still a bit slow on the uptake. That’s okay. We can attend to that right now. Hang on my love, we are a long way from finished.”
Mary ignored his groan and went back to work with the strap. The next twenty strokes began again at the top of his backside, revisiting freshly barren areas. Switching sides again, she continued downward with the leather, treating the lower bottom portion of his cheeks to a second round. Jacob was losing his battle to remain stoic. As Mary belted already tender parts of his behind his groans turned into pleas. Soon he was uttering a litany of promises to behave and his eyes had begun to tear up.
“Starting to feel it are you?” Back on his right side again, Mary concentrated the next twenty strokes of the strap directly to the lower portion of his seat. Jacob’s gyrations on the sawhorse became frantic as, back from his left, the strap continued with still another twenty to the same area. He desperately heaved up and down in an attempt to offer Mary some new terrain. His efforts and his escalating pleas fell on deaf ears as she skilfully found her mark. Over and over the strap found that sweet spot just above the crease where his lower cheeks met his thighs.
Finally, Jacob ceased his twisting and turning and slumped helplessly over the wooden beam. Sobbing loudly, he lay ready to accept the remainder of his wife’s chastisement of his swollen and throbbing behind. Mary’s smile brightened. Now he had learned his lesson. His entire bottom was a deep red, the lower half layered with impressive welts and darker ridges. All that remained was to drive her point home. “There, there darling. We are almost done. Ten more should do it.”
She thought about giving him the last ten across the tops of his thighs but changed her mind. No, she’d save that for tonight. Once the children were gone she’d take him into the bedroom and put him over her knee. Her brush would relight the fire in his bottom and she could give more attention to his thighs then. That would get him hopping up and down across her lap. And then when she was done with the brush, he could do some more up and down movement between her legs.
She finished the strapping with slow hard strokes, all of them pinching directly down on the crease of his sit spot. Jacob cried out with each stroke but made no effort to move. At last he heard her footsteps across the shed, moving to hang the strap back on the wall. He remained in place, waiting for her to give him permission to rise. “Ok, we are done for now. We’ll finish this tonight.”
Mary didn’t wait for a response. She left the woodshed and merrily made her way back to the kitchen. Jacob would be standing in the saddle this fine morning.