I’m off the grid for a few days, so while I’m gone, I’ve scheduled a few reposts. Normal activity will resume after the weekend. Here is a story of mine from the collection of the same name.
Art by Paula Russell
Available at Amazon and other fine ebook retailers.
THE FRIDAY NIGHT BRIDGE CLUB
“It’s a forgery,” said the rather striking looking young woman gesturing towards the painting. To Jack Clark it looked like a rather ordinary still life sort of thing, just a painting of a room with no people in it. It looked vaguely Victorian, or maybe Edwardian, whatever the difference was. Gaslight, warm woods, old timey chair, old couch and a fireplace with an iron stove. There were portraits of a couple on the wall on opposite sides of the fireplace. It certainly didn’t look special.
“How much did you say it was worth?” asked Jack. As a relatively new investigator for the insurance company who had written the theft insurance policy, Jack nevertheless knew this was the always the big issue—just what was the value of the stolen property.
“In the divorce settlement it was valued at $45,000,” said Gloria Grant. “It’s called The Drawing Room.”
Jack whistled. This was going to be tough. A lot of money.
“But you think that someone you know substituted this for the real one?”
“Yes, I do. It was someone in my club. The Friday Night Bridge Club that I belong to.”
Jack took out a notebook and prepared to write. “When did you see them last?”
She looked at Jack like he was an idiot. “Friday night, of course.”
“Oh. Right,” said Jack. But he hadn’t missed the supercilious tone. A hot babe nonetheless. She probably knew it too. Early 30’s, platinum blonde hair that framed a thin face with high cheekbones and flawless skin. She was wearing a tight black sheath dress that left nothing to the imagination.
“Anyway, I want you to question them. I’d rather have my painting back than the money. I wonder which one did it and if it was just a lark, but I’m sure you’ll find out. You’re a rather rugged sort,” she said with a wicked smile. “You’ll make them talk, I’m sure.”
Jack was in fact an exceedingly handsome rugged sort. She had asked for him by name when she had filed the claim, or so his boss had said. But he’d never met her. He was 27, just starting out after his Army obligation had run its course. “Well, I will interview them and try and get to the bottom of this,” he told her, “but as for ‘making them talk,’ I think maybe you’ve seen too many old movies.”
“Perhaps,” she said mildly, “but I may be of some help there. You see our club is a bit unusual. We don’t play cards for money, but in our game we do spice it up a little. Every month there are several winners but two losers. The two losers have to pay a forfeit. The winners get to dictate the nature of the forfeit. It’s usually something humbling like cleaning the winner’s house or serving as a maid at a dinner party. And it’s a surprise. The forfeit arrives in the mail or by hand delivery and the party must immediately obey the summons.”
“Ok, so it’s sort of ‘hell night at the sorority house’ is what you’re saying? How does that help?” Jack observed that Gloria had caught his ‘hell night’ quip, but had merely shrugged it off.
“It turns out that the losers from the last game night are the two members who I suspect may know something about my painting. So, I have a plan. I’ll have you deliver the summons personally. The forfeit will involve you. They’ll have to obey you. I can guarantee that from the nature of the little forfeit I’ve planned, they’ll tell what they know.”
“Why would they do that? If it’s embarrassing or something, wouldn’t they just say forget it, I’m done?”
Gloria Grant turned and sauntered over to the bar. It gave Jack a chance to see that wonderful ass of hers shifting in the tight dress. “Let me tell you something about our club. We do more than play cards. It’s very exclusive. You must be very well connected. We are all very ambitious women and the club is used to foster contacts on a high professional level. To be in this club gives one a huge advantage in one’s career. No one would fail to accept a forfeit and risk expulsion. Yes, we are a sorority of sorts, I suppose. But we are risk takers as well, and all of us like to ‘live on the edge’ as it were. Hence the forfeits. It makes for delicious conversation at the next function.” Jack observed a knowing smile on her face that hinted of lurid secrets.
Jack took the two envelopes and two boxes. One box was long and thin like a box that would hold flowers. The other was small and square. Inside each were questions Jack was to ask. He was to read the messages in the envelopes aloud to the losers and then play his part, whatever that was. Would he have to time them with a stopwatch as they stood on their heads or some silly thing?
The first one was Catherine Dumont. Her address, a very swank condo in the business district. He had to be buzzed in by a doorman who looked as big as the door and gave him the once-over. Catherine turned out to be a stunning redhead in her late thirties. She wore an expensive green silk blouse and tight white stretch pants that hugged every inch of her shapely figure.
“So you are the bearer of the warrant for my doom, Mr. Clark?” Catherine cocked her head, gave him a rueful smile. She attempted to project jocularity but in truth she appeared nervous.
“Ah, yes. I’m afraid so. I am here on behalf of Miss Grant.” Jack looked around. It was quite an apartment. The décor was first rate. He could tell. And she did have some nice looking artwork. Maybe she’d wanted more.
“Well before we proceed, I’m going to need some Dutch courage before you give me the bad news. Get you a drink?” She gestured toward the wet bar. Jack said ‘sure’ and she turned to walk over and make the drinks. Jack was treated to a rear view that showed a sumptuous pair of bottom cheeks clad in the fashionable slacks that fit like a second skin. So far this gig had certainly provided the eye candy.
“You have some nice artwork,” ventured Jack admiring the paintings hung on the walls.”
“I’m glad you noticed,” she said handing him a scotch, neat. She had one too. “Well, cheers.” She gestured with the glass and gulped hers down. Putting it down on a table, she said, “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
Jack nodded. He still didn’t see how this was going to help him solve anything. Jack had been given an envelope and a long box. He understood he was to read the message aloud.
He tore open the envelope. “It says, ‘greetings Catherine. In the box carried by Mr. Clark you will find a long slender rod. It is an English junior girl’s cane. Across the pond they use this on naughty schoolgirls. For your forfeit you will kindly ask Mr. Clark to give you 12 good stingers with this rod right across your shapely derriere. I’d suggest you bend over the back of that lovely stuffed sofa of yours and hold on tight to the cushions. Don’t think about cheating. Janet Compton, club secretary, will call upon you shortly to inspect the stripes and they’d better be there. Oh, Mr. Clark is authorized to be lenient if you answer three questions to his satisfaction. They are in the box. And finally dear, please lower your pants for the last six. That’s a good girl.’
Jack could not believe what he just read. Catherine grimaced and had placed her hands to her rear as if to ward off what was coming.
“Is this er…usual?” sputtered Jack.
Catherine emitted a sigh of resignation. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Clark. This sort of thing has become more and more popular in our little club.” She squared her shoulders with resolve as she faced him. “I’m ready to begin, though. Let’s get this over with.”
Jack opened the box and extracted a slender yellow wand about two and one half feet long. He gave it an experimental swish. It was very whippy. Catherine stared at it with wide eyes as it quivered in Jack’s hand.
Still eyeing the cane, she said, “Much as I dread this. I don’t wish to delay my due forfeit. In the club we always pay our debts. Please follow me.”
Jack’s eyes were glued to the seat of Catherine’s pants as she led him into the parlor. The side to side shift of her bottom cheeks was mesmerizing. As the note said, there was a sofa with a well padded back. Jack took the opportunity to retrieve the note inside.
‘Find out what she and Amy Thorssen spoke about while they admired my painting. What was the name of the man they mentioned? Does Amy Thorssen have a print of my painting? If she cooperates, you need not strike so very hard. But if not, well, use your judgment. In either case make it sting a bit.’
Catherine strode to the sofa, facing the back. “Where would you like to stand Mr. Clark? To the side? I can move over toward the end…”
“Left side is fine Miss Dumont. I’ll have to say, I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing…”
“You don’t need to put much arm into it. An elbow and wrist swing should satisfy Janet Compton,” she said hopefully. “And do try to be accurate, Mr. Clark. I’m playing tennis later and would prefer not to have marks on my legs. I should think my bottom is an adequate target.”
It certainly was. Two full rounded hemispheres that strained against the tight pants were a delicious target by any measure. “As you wish. Now if you would please ah, assume the position, I suppose.” This will help me do my job, he told himself. And she’s ok with this kinky club, so here we go.
Catherine bent over, thrusting the shapely rounded globes into broad prominence. Jack lined up to her side and adjusted his distance so that the end of the cane barely cleared the right cheek with his arm extended. He tapped her bottom. “Are you ready?”
There was a muffled “yes”.
He drew back his arm and flicked the cane down, giving it a little wrist at the end. There was a whine and a crack! as it impacted the shapely seat.
“Ennnnhhh…” Catherine drew a breath and lifted a leg.
“That’s one,” said Jack and he tapped her bottom again.
Whishh…thwack! went the springy cane.
“Ahh….oh, my” mewled Catherine.
“Ok. Two. Here’s three.” Whick!
“Oh, oh, oh.” Catherine shuffled her feet.
Jack stood back, flexing the cane. This was giving him such a hard on. He needed to focus. “I have a question, Miss Dumont. How you answer may have some impact on the next three strokes. What did you discuss with Amy Thorssen as you admired Gloria’s painting, The Drawing Room?”
“What? I…I can’t say. She’s my friend. It was confidential.”
“Well, then we will continue.”
Jack lined up the next stroke. He made it a little harder. Catherine yelped. The fifth was even harder. At the whishh….crack! of the cane Catherine let out a cry.
“”Please, Mr Clark. That’s hard. It really hurts.”
“Then answer the question.”
“I can’t. Please don’t make me….”
Whishh…crack! The hardest one yet. Catherine wailed.
“It would go a bit easier if you answered. Oh, and next question. Who was the man she mentioned in that conversation?”
“Please, I can’t say. It would betray a confidence. Don’t make me.”
“Oh my God,” gasped Catherine. “I’m not wearing any panties underneath this.”
“I didn’t make the rules. What would your club friends say if I reported that you failed to follow instructions?” Jack was getting into this now. He’d get some answers.
Catherine blushed, but turned her back to Jack. She unclasped the waist latch and lowered her pants, wriggling from side to side to get them down over her curvaceous hips. The fulsome cheeks of her bottom popped into view as she lowered the pants to her knees. She was right. Underneath she’d been bare. Jack whistled to himself. The globes of her bottom were high set and exquisitely rounded. The shape spoke of hours at the gym.
“Bend over, Miss Dumont. Next three.”
“Ok. Ok. We did discuss her painting. Amy had one like it but it was just a print. She was plainly envious.”
“And the man she mentioned?”
“No, please. I can’t say.”
“Next three, Miss Dumont.” Jake tapped the cane on her bare cheeks which now carried red weals. She flinched.
Jack delivered the three strokes with gusto. He marveled at how her bottom cheeks would quiver at the cane’s impact then bounce back to their perfectly rounded shape. Catherine wailed with each crack of the whippy wand. The stripes now being painted on Catherin’s behind were more lurid.
“There are three more, Miss Dumont. You have some very attractive welts, probably enough to satisfy your Janet Compton. The man’s name?”
“Oh, no. She made me promise not to tell”
“Then here is number ten.”
Jack drew back and put some arm into this one. The crack! was like a rifle shot. Catherine’s bottom rippled and another weal sprang up.
“Owww…ow…my poor bottom!”
“The man’s name.” whish…crack!
“Yeoww! Elia Kavanga. That’s his name!”
“And twelve.” Jack tapped her lightly with the cane for the final stroke.
“My God,” hissed Catherine as she stood. Her hands flew to her buttocks. “I had no idea.”
Jack thought that a curious comment, but said, “You took that well. Really. This must be some bridge club.”
Catherine bent and kicked off her pants. Then she commenced to furiously rub behind her. “Be a dear, will you? There is a jar of cold cream right inside the bathroom door there. Would you bring it to me?”
Sure, he could do that. After all he’d just welted the lady pretty good. Least he could do.
He brought it out. She stood by the couch. Please sit down, she told him.
“Would you rub this on my bottom? Please?”
Jake sat and she laid across his lap, bottoms up. She snuggled closer while Jack took the cream and spread generous dollops of it all over that delectable fanny. He didn’t need instructions as to how to rub it in and was soon soothing and kneading the wounded cheeks. Then he noticed Catherine kept lifting up and writhing sensuously as he massaged her, especially near her womanly parts. The unmistakable aroma of feminine arousal assailed his nostrils. Without warning she reached back and grasped his fingers, guiding them to the center of her arousal. She was slippery with desire.
“Ummm…oh…” she moaned. Then she said, “not yet,” and rolled over, grabbing Jack around the neck and kissing him passionately. Frantically, clothes were flung all over the room. They eventually ended up in her bed, naked. She was insatiable, and they coupled in every position that Jack knew, but Jack was a vigorous lover and well able to keep up. In fact he discovered that the whole scene with the cane and Catherine’s shapely buttocks writhing under it’s administration had excited him far more than any encounter he could recall. It was hours before he left a finally satiated Catherine Dumont.
When he reported his findings(absent the sex part) to Gloria she said, “I knew it. Amy Thorssen has coveted that painting. I need to know more about this Elia Kavagna. I’ll leave your next package with instructions downstairs. Amy Thorssen is next on your list.”
The package was a small box. Jack found Amy Thorssen at her country estate outside the city. Do they all do this well, Jack wondered as he surveyed the lush grounds? Was it because of this club?
“I was told to expect you, Mr Clark.” Amy Thorssen was a petite blonde in her mid thirties, trim and athletic. She had a body like a dancer. In her little white shorts and halter top she looked delicious—perky breasts, toned legs and a pert ass. She caught Jack staring.
“Oh, don’t mind my appearance, I was just doing some yard things. Does it matter how I’m dressed for this?”
Jack didn’t mind at all. “I don’t know, Miss Thorssen. I haven’t read the note.”
“I guess we’d better find out then,” she said. “The Club demands satisfaction.” She fixed Jack with an approving eye. “But I’m glad they sent you.”
Jack blushed under the frank gaze. He tore open the note. “Greetings Amy,” it says. “It was very naughty of you to bid 6 clubs with the hand you held. You gambled on a finesse move and lost. Such naughty behavior demands a naughty forfeit. In the box is one minute egg timer. All you have to do is start the timer. Mr. Clark will do the rest. Oh, did I mention? When you start the timer you will be lying bottoms up over Mr. Clark’s knees with your panties at half mast. Mr. Clark will soundly spank that naughty bottom of yours for the one minute that the timer runs. Repeat three times, please. Between sets Mr. Clark will ask you some questions. Your answers may effect the vigor with which Mr. Clark applies his hand to your pert backside. No cheating. Your bottom cheeks should resemble ripe tomatoes when all is done. Janet Compton will be round to check soon.”
Amy’s face became more and more incredulous as Jack read, but she said, “Whew, she knows how to get to a girl. This is ah, a bit embarrassing, Mr. Clark. It seems that you are to give me an old fashioned spanking as my forfeit.”
Jack shrugged apologetically. “That’s what it says.”
Amy chose the couch in the living room as the place to pay her forfeit. As was the case for Catherine, she seemed to accept her fate with good grace. Jack was invited to sit. Amy stood to his right and loosened the shorts. Then she climbed over his lap, squirming about to get comfortable. Jack was sure she could feel his massive erection sticking up into her midsection. Once in place she raised her hips.
Jack pulled her shorts down inch by inch to bare the cheeks of her lovely bottom. Having dragged them to her knees, he handed her the timer.
“When you are ready, Miss Thorssen.”
Amy sighed. “Do your worst, sir. Starting …now.” And she hit the button.
Jack raised his hand and began to pepper Amy’s bottom cheeks with brisk spanks at a fast tempo. He alternated. Left cheek, right cheek, then right across the center. Amy sucked in her breath. He knew it had to sting, it stung his hand. Crack! Whap! Smack! Her bottom quivered deliciously and began to take on a rosy hue. She wriggled and fluttered her feet. Oooh ow, it stung more than she had thought. The timer beeped.
“Ow, Mr. Clark. That did sting a bit.”
“Well, I’m sorry but the note said to ‘soundly spank’. I do have some questions for you though. Do you have a print of Gloria’s painting?”
From her awkward position over Jack’s knee she looked back over her shoulder. “Why, yes. I’ve always admired it so I acquired a print.”
“Second question. Who is Elia Kavagna?”
“Oh, dear. I…I can’t say.”
“You can’t or you won’t. Tell me the truth…and start round two.”
“Ohh,” wailed Amy as she hit the button. Jack resumed the spanking with vigor, laying into Amy’s tender cheeks with hard deliberate smacks. Amy began to yelp. At thirty seconds her bottom was a lurid red and Jack kept spanking hard, determined to get the information.
“Who is he?” Smack! Crack! Whap!
“Yow….oweee!” yelped Amy. “Ok, ok. He’s a…a figure in the art world.”
“But what does he do?” said Jack as he finished off the second minute with a hard volley of smacks.
“Ow! Ow! He restores paintings. He makes prints. Please stop!”
Smack! Crack! whack! Jack finished as time ran out with three hard shots that made her rear cheeks jiggle provocatively.
Amy moaned as Jack rested his hand on her curvaceous bottom. With this gorgeous woman writhing across his knees He had a hard on that wouldn’t quit. Time to find out what is going on.
“You say yours is a print. Did he make it?”
“Yes. There’s no crime in that. I liked Gloria’s and wanted a print for myself.”
“Last minute coming up, Miss Thorssen. One more question. Where is this Elia Kavagna?”
“Oh, please, he’s very secretive. He doesn’t wish to known.”
“Here we go.” Said Jack and he launched into a hard volley of smacks that rang out loudly. Amy wriggled shamelessly under the new onslaught of brisk spanks. Jack smacked rapidly. It seemed her ass quivered with a life of its own. But she seemed to hump up and down as if actually raising her bottom to meet his descending hand. Then she’d grind her hips into his lap. Was she rubbing her clit on his knee?
“Where is Mr. Kavanga?”
Spank! Whack! Crack!”
“Yeowch! Ok, ok. Please! Milan. I think he’s in Milan, Italy.”
Time ran out. Amy gasped. Jack rested his hand on her bottom and unconsciously began to caress the red cheeks he’d just peppered with sharp spanks. Amy moaned and rubbed herself against him. He let her up and she slid to her knees. Her hands flew to his zipper and before he could register what was happening she had her lips sliding along his engorged shaft.
Jack left hours later, totally exhausted. After tearing off her clothes and his, she’d worn him down to nub. All Jack could fathom was that this was some bridge club. Two rich career women had willingly paid a club “forfeit” with their shapely asses and that had turned each into a raving lusty wench. At any rate, he now had some information, but it bothered him. He’d check this Kavanga guy before he saw Gloria Grant again. Something smelled fishy.
The company had an international division who, after some difficulty, located Elia Kavagna. Jack arranged a call. Fortunately international had some leverage. Kavagna had been implicated in an art forging scam and was willing to play ball in exchange for leniency.
Jack was amazed at what he found. Yes he had copied The Drawing Room.
“For Amy Thorssen? So she could switch it for the original?”
“No. For the Miss Grant. She wish to give it to Miss Thorssen, but then she say to ship the original to Miss Thorssen and send her the copy.”
So, thought Jack. Thorssen unknowingly holds the original and Gloria has the fake. Then Gloria Grant claims theft and substitution of a forgery for her original. He’d have a little talk with Gloria Grant. Did she think he’d never find Kavagna?
Amy Thorssen and Catherine Dumont greeted Gloria Grant warmly as she snuggled into their booth at Mario’s their usual Italian restaurant. They noticed the wince as she sat down.
“Well?” They asked almost in unison.
“He took to it like a duck to water. I didn’t even have to suggest it.”
“What happened?” Amy asked excitedly.
“It was so predictable. He accused me of engineering a scam to collect for the theft while appearing to really want the painting back. Then I said it was all a misunderstanding. He said it had cost his company a lot of time and aggravation. He’d be willing drop it but only if, he said, with this wicked gleam in his eye, I’d take what my friends got for wrongly accusing them.”
“No!” gasped Catherine, hand covering her mouth.
“Yes. And then he brought out the egg timer. He made me strip naked. And then he put me across his knee and spanked me—three whackings for one minute each. That set my my ass on fire. Then he brought out the cane. Oooh, that thing smarts.”
“Tell me about it,” said Catherine.
“But then…” The girls were all ears. “Well, we did not finish until well into the next day.”
The next day! Get out!” Amy was wild eyed.
“Girls, he’s definitely in the stable. The man is a stallion, and I taught him a few more things so he is primed and ready to go. In fact Eleana Hodges has dibs next, girls. She was the other winner.”
Both Catherine and Amy looked disappointed. They’d been mentally calculating their next time in the queue.
Amy asked, “But isn’t her thing that she’s some English schoolmistress who likes to ‘tutor’ naughty schoolboys all weekend? Cane them for being naughty?”
“Yes,” mused Gloria. “She does like that type of thing. Wears them out good.”
“But what if he won’t play along?”
“Oh, he’ll play. An insurance investigator having sex with a client who may be a suspect? It’s all on the video system. Besides, he loves it—and he’s a natural. He’s perfect for a group like ours. We have neither the time nor the inclination to date. Zipless sex on demand. What could be better?”
Catherine and Amy nodded in agreement. A nice addition indeed to The Friday Night Bridge Club.