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Archive-name: Bondage/cheryl3.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Cheryl





                                               September 24, 1988



        Something happened to me this evening that is so mind-

blowing that I have to tell someone.  For reasons that will be

obvious, I can't do that, so I'm writing it down instead.



        It started with a phone call this morning from Cheryl, a

girl in the payroll department at the construction company where

I'm an estimator.  I knew her by sight, but that's all, so I was

a little surprised when she said she had something personal to

discuss with me.  She suggested that we have lunch away from the

office, so we could talk in private, and I agreed to meet her at

a little burger joint a couple of miles from where we work.



        Cheryl was already there when I walked in a few minutes

after noon, sitting by herself at a table in the corner.  I'd

never really noticed her before, but now I took a look as I

walked toward the table.  She was about my age, maybe two or

three years older.  Short light-brown hair.  A white blouse with

ruffles down the front, primly buttoned to the collar, enclosed

what seemed to be a nice pair of boobs.  With contacts, or maybe

a less librarian-ish pair of glasses, I decided, she wouldn't be

bad looking at all.



        I said hello and sat down.  We made small talk until the

waitress had taken our orders, and then I asked Cheryl what she

wanted to see me about.  She said that she'd been working late

the night before, doing some month-end work, and her computer had

started to act up, so she had gone over to my desk to use mine.

Not wanting to damage any of my files, she had looked to see what

was stored on my computer's disk, and had noticed that some of

the file names didn't seem to have anything to do with the jobs I

was working on.  In particular, she said, she'd been surprised to

find "these"; she pulled a manila envelope out of her purse,

opened it, and slid out half a dozen sets of pages stapled

together.



        I didn't need to look at them to know what she had. When

I was younger I'd thought about becoming a writer.  I've pretty

much given up on that idea, but lately I'd been working on a

novel.  Nothing that Book-of-the-Month Club would be interested

in - it was pure, hard-core pornography, as raunchy as it gets.

I hadn't decided whether to try to sell it to one of the X-rated

book publishers or not; for now, it was just a private

exploration of some fantasies.



        At least it had been private.  But now, here was Miss

Prim sitting across from me, holding printed copies of the first

six chapters of my X-rated book.  No doubt she'd copied the

computer files, too, so grabbing the hard copies wouldn't help.



        I was dizzy with both anger and embarrassment, and my

face felt about ten degrees hotter than the rest of my body. "You

had no business looking at those files," I said through clenched

teeth, "let alone printing them out."  Cheryl looked at me coolly

and replied "It's the company's computer, and I don't think

Mr. Moore would appreciate what you've been using it for."



        Bob Moore is the founder of the company and still runs

everything with an iron hand.  He hired me right out of college,

even though I didn't have any real experience, and has seemed to

be pretty happy with my work so far.  He also happens to be the

father of Kathy Moore, who has been the principal love object in

my life for most of the last year, whenever she's home from

school on breaks or vacations.  Besides that, he's a deacon in

the local Baptist church, president of the Rotary, and a major

contributor to the Republican Party and the Moral Majority.



        I could see it now.  If Bob Moore knew what I'd been

writing, he'd fire me, forbid his daughter to see me, have me

publicly branded as a pornographer, and do his damnedest to see

that I never got another job in his town, or anywhere else for

that matter.



        "What do you want?", I asked weakly.



        "Why don't you come over to my place this evening,"

Cheryl said sweetly, "about seven, and we'll talk about it."  She

wrote out her address on a napkin and handed it to me.



        I stuffed the napkin in my pocket, dropped a five dollar

bill on the table and walked out.  I wasn't hungry any more.



        The afternoon was pretty much a waste.  I didn't know

what Cheryl would demand, but I assumed that it would be money,

and I didn't have a lot to spare.  Even if I paid her off, how

could I be sure that she wouldn't keep a copy of the

incriminating files and hit me for more later?  I thought about

going to Mr. Moore and confessing everything, but I figured that

even if he somehow could be persuaded to let me keep my job, he'd

put Kathy off limits.  That was an awfully high price to pay, and

I decided that I'd better find out how much Cheryl wanted before

I took that course.



        I knocked on Cheryl's door at 7:00 sharp, and she invited

me in.  She'd changed into slacks and a T-shirt, and I realized

that I'd been right about her boobs.  She offered me a drink; I

started to refuse, and then decided that under the circumstances

I needed one and asked for a scotch and water.



        We sat on opposite ends of the sofa in her living room,

sipping our drinks and waiting, each of us, for the other to say

something.  Finally I decided to go first.  "I gather that you're

planning to give those printouts to Mr. Moore, and tell him where

you got them, unless I give you some reason not to," I said.  She

nodded.



        "You know what I make," I said, "and I don't have any

savings.  I don't see how you could expect me to give you enough

to make it worth your while to risk going to jail for blackmail."



        "I don't want money," she said.



        "What do you want, then?", I demanded.



        "When I was growing up," she replied, "my parents were

pretty rough with us - with me and my brother, who's three years

younger than I am.  Whenever one of us got out of line, there was

a spanking, a paddling, a caning or a real whipping with a belt

or a razor strap.  If we got in trouble together, like if we were

fighting or something like that, my mom or my dad, or sometimes

both, would line us up and give it to the two of us together."



        "I don't get it," I said.  "What does your childhood have

to do with me?"



        "Just shut up and listen," she said roughly.  "A few

times one of us got a licking in the middle of the day, but

usually they waited till bedtime, when Jimmy was in his PJ's and

I was in my nightgown.  It was awful, knowing sometimes for hours

that it was going to happen, taking a bath and getting ready for

bed, and then having one of my parents come in, make me take off

my nightgown and work my ass over with a hairbrush or the strap

or something like that."



        I was listening but I couldn't help picturing Cheryl

stripping off a little nightgown and presenting her developing

young asscheeks to her mother or father.  I could feel a definite

tightening in the crotch, and crossed my legs to hide the

situation.



        "It was almost as bad when Jimmy was going to get it,"

Cheryl continued.  "There was just as much tension in the air,

and when I said good night to Jimmy, I'd know that in a few

minutes I'd hear him crying and pleading, and then there would

start these terrible alternating sounds as something smacked into

his ass, followed by his shriek of pain, and then another smack

and another shriek."



        "The only times I could say I looked forward to it was

when we were both going to get it.  I'd get taken to Jimmy's

room, or he'd be brought to mine, and then we'd both have to

strip.  One of us would watch while the other got it, and then

the other would watch while the first one got it.  Once - I

remember it very clearly, because it was when I had my first

orgasm - we both got it at the same time; my mom had me across

her lap and was paddling me with a hairbrush, while my dad had

Jimmy over the edge of his bed, blistering his behind with a

cane."



        Cheryl paused and looked at me.  Her eyes were shining,

and I could see little beads of sweat on her forehead.  "I still

don't know where you're going," I said.  "I'm sorry you had such

rotten parents, but I don't see what this has to do with my

stories."



        "It's very simple," she replied.  "We're going to do some

play acting.  You're going to be my little brother, and I'm going

to be my mother."



        It took a minute to sink in.  "Wait a minute!", I almost

gasped.  "You think I'm going to let you, UH, spank me?  I'm

twenty-three years old!"  The idea seemed so ludicrous that I

wanted to laugh, but Cheryl didn't seem to be joking.



        "Would you rather I had a talk with Mr. Moore in the

morning?", she asked.



        "Of course not," I blurted without thinking.  "But I'm

too old, I mean, I'm not a little kid!  This whole thing is too

silly for words!"



        "Jimmy wasn't a little kid, either," she said hotly. "He

was fourteen the time I mentioned, when I - when we both got it

at the same time.  And Mr. Moore would think that your little

stories were a lot worse than anything Jimmy or I ever did!"



        "Anyway," Cheryl added defiantly, "that's the price you

pay - either that or I go to Mr. Moore in the morning.  So which

is it going to be?"



        My mind was whirling.  If she went to Moore, it would be

practically the end of my whole world, and how bad could a

spanking be, anyway?  I could handle pain; I'd broken bones as a

kid, and played football in high school, until I had knee surgery

and couldn't run any more.  But on the other hand, how could I, a

grown man, stand the humiliation of letting a woman spank me?

Then again, was that really worse than the humiliation of being

fired from my first job and being denounced publicly as some kind

of moral degenerate?



        Finally, I told her "If I say yes, I'll want every copy

of my stories back - including whatever copies you've made of the

computer files".



        "When we're through," she answered, "I promise that

you'll have everything back, and you can watch me erase the

computer disks."



        "All right," I said grimly, "let's get it over with."



        Cheryl stood up.  "Take your clothes off in here, and

then come back to my bedroom."  She pointed to the door that led

into a hall at the end of the living room.  "Through that door

and turn right."



        "Just a minute," I said.  "If I'm supposed to take my

clothes off, then you should too."



        She laughed.  "You don't give up, do you?  You think I'll

be so impressed with your big manly body that I'll forget why

you're here and slip into the sack with you?  Well forget that

idea."



        She started toward the hall, then stopped and turned back

toward me.  "I'm not getting undressed, but I do think I'll

change into something else."



        After Cheryl left the room, I pulled my shirt off and sat

down to untie my shoes.  My socks came next, and then my pants. I

piled my clothes on the end of the sofa, but decided to keep my

jockey shorts on.  I'm not ashamed of my body, but I wanted to

keep whatever dignity I could for as long as I could. Everything

that had happened since Cheryl had called this morning still

seemed unreal, but here I was, standing almost naked in a girl's

apartment, heading for her bedroom.  It was a great scene, except

I wasn't going in to make love to her, but to let her spank my

ass.



        I walked into Cheryl's bedroom and my eyes almost popped

out of my head.  She was standing by the foot of her bed, and she

had indeed changed clothes - she was wearing one of the tiniest

string bikinis I'd ever seen!  It was an aqua color, and it

covered only a few square inches of an absolutely luscious body.

Obviously, no one at the company knew much about the uptight

young lady who cut their checks.  I stood there gaping at her,

and despite the absurdity of the situation, I could feel myself

getting hard almost instantly.



        "I told you to leave your clothes in the other room,"

Cheryl snapped.  I started to reach for the waistband of my

shorts, but then she noticed my erection.  "Keep them on," she

said quickly.  "I'll take them off when I'm ready.  But from now

on, you do exactly as I tell you."



        She walked over to a dresser and picked up a wide, flat-

backed hairbrush.  It was made out of some kind of dark wood, and

looked heavy.  She went back and sat on the end of the bed, her

legs just dangling over the edge, knees about eight inches apart

and feet not quite touching the floor.



        "All right," she said.  "Get over here, across my lap,

with your head toward my left."  I obeyed, clambering over her

until my cock and balls settled into to the space between the

middle of her thighs and my head hung just over the side of the

bed.



        "I've never felt so ridiculous in my life," I complained.



        "You'll feel a lot more than that, in just a minute,"

Cheryl responded.  "When was the last time you had a good hard

spanking?"



        "I've never been spanked, except by hand, and the last

time for that was probably when I was four or five," I answered.



        "Well, so as not to shock your tender little ass too much

too soon," Cheryl said, "I'll give you some warm-ups with your

underpants on."



        I held my breath as I felt Cheryl's balance shift while

she raised the hairbrush.  It smacked down on one cheek of my

ass, and I grunted and jerked.  It stung quite a bit, and the

burning feeling radiated out from where the blow had landed.

Before I really had time to think about the sensation, the

hairbrush had landed again, this time on the other side of my

ass.  I jerked again, and again as the heavy brush smacked in a

different spot on the other cheek.



        The blows went on until I'd received maybe twenty of

them, and I realized that each smack was a little harder than the

last.  The pain wasn't unbearable by any means, but by the time

Cheryl had stopped my ass was really smarting and my breath was

whistling through my teeth with every stroke.



        "That's enough," I said, starting to slide off her lap.



        She grabbed me across the knees and pulled me back. "Oh,

no, it's not.  Those were just the warm-ups!  Now, before I take

your pants off and really get down to work, I'll give you just a

taste of how it's going to feel."



        She caught the leg opening of my shorts and pulled the

fabric up until it cut painfully into the crack of my ass and my

right cheek was exposed.  "Just so you remember, here's how it

feels with your pants on."  She brought the hairbrush down hard

on the still-covered left cheek.  "And here's how it will feel

with them off."  The brush landed on my bare right cheek and felt

like a branding iron!  I couldn't believe the difference one

little sixteenth of an inch of cotton could make.  Before I could

react, the hairbrush had landed back on the left, then on the

right again.



        "That's enough playing around - now it's time to get

serious," Cheryl exclaimed.  She grabbed my shorts at the waist

and yanked them down in one motion to my knees.  I swore as the

waistband ripped past my balls, and it dawned on me that the

erection I'd had just a few minutes before was gone.



        "Such naughty language!," Cheryl giggled as she brought

the hairbrush down with a fierce "whack" in the middle of my

butt.  I tried to squirm, but she had a firm grip and my legs

were pinioned with my shorts around my knees.  I knew I could get

away, but what was the point of putting up a fight?  Either I'd

leave and she would go to Moore in the morning, or else I'd wind

up back in the same position.



        Again and again the back of the hairbrush burned into my

ass.  I was determined not to yell or do anything else to let her

know how much it hurt, but I was beginning to wonder how much

more I could take when she finally stopped.



        "Halftime," Cheryl said.  She put the hairbrush down and

began to knead the burning flesh of my ass with her fingers;

under other circumstances it would have been a real turn-on, but

instead it just hurt.  "Your ass gets numb," she commented, "and

you don't feel it as much.  We don't want you to miss out on

anything, do we?"



        "O.K.," she directed.  "Stand up."  My shorts dropped to

my ankles as I clambered to my feet.  "Leave your underpants on

the floor, and kneel on the bed, facing the side."  I did as I

was told.  "Now cup your balls with your right hand, and hold

your cock in your left hand."  I stared at her in amazement, but

when she said I'd be sorry if I didn't obey her, I decided not to

take any chances.  "Keep your hands where they are, and lie down

on your stomach," she ordered.  I flopped down, with both hands

under the weight of my body.



        "Spread your legs out - wider," she commanded.  "I want

to be able to see your fingers around your balls.  If either one

of your hands comes out from under you, I'll flatten your balls

with the hairbrush.  Understand?"



        I muttered that I understood.  The new position didn't

make much sense to me, until I realized that with me across her

lap Cheryl could only lift the hairbrush about a foot, but now,

with her standing up, she could swing it three feet or more!



        I lay there, clutching my cock and balls, feeling

ridiculous and more than a little apprehensive about what the

hairbrush would feel like the next time it landed.  I didn't have

long to wait.



        Cheryl put her left hand in the small of my back,

supporting most of her weight with it, raised the hairbrush high

with her right hand and swung it down ferociously.  It landed

with a crack like a gunshot on the left cheek of my ass, and

despite my earlier resolve, I couldn't help crying out.  The pain

was more intense than anything I'd ever experienced before.



        I steeled myself for the next blow, which landed just as

hard on the right cheek.  That time I managed to limit the sound

I made to a gasping groan.  I was still marveling at that when

the hairbrush landed again.  After suffering through about six

more, I decided that I couldn't take it any longer.



        "Stop it, please, Cheryl," I begged.  She stopped in mid-

swing.  "Sure, I'll stop whenever you say," she said calmly. "Of

course, if you make me stop before I'm ready, then you won't have

kept your part of the bargain, and I won't have to keep mine,

will I?"



        She let that thought linger for a bit.  "Well, what do

you say?", she asked.  "Shall I stop now?"



        I groaned and said "No, go ahead."



        "Go ahead and do what?", she demanded.



        "Go ahead and spank me some more."



        "A little more, or a lot more?"



        "A lot more!", I shouted.



        I had barely answered when the hairbrush began its

drumming on my ass again.  It was coming down so hard that my

whole body was bouncing off the bed, almost as though Cheryl were

dribbling a basketball.  After thirty or forty of those, she

stopped again and asked if I were ready for her to quit.  "Not

until you're ready to stop," I replied, and so she started up

again.



        Finally she stopped, panting, and took the hairbrush back

to the dresser.  I lay on the bed, still clutching my cock and my

balls, my ass throbbing in time with my pulse, and watched her

walk across the room.  Her whole body was damp with sweat, her

bikini bottom dark at the crotch and along the crack of her ass.

I was still alert enough to reflect on how incredibly sexy she

looked, but I couldn't have gotten it up if my life depended on

it.



        Cheryl looked down at me.  "Get up and get dressed," she

snapped.  "I'll see you in the kitchen."



        I staggered to my feet and went to pick up my shorts,

glancing in the full-length mirror as I crossed the room.  My ass

looked just the way it felt, an ugly purple from top to bottom

and side to side.  A good thing I had no hot dates scheduled this

week, I thought to myself.  I eased my shorts on and went out to

the living room where I'd left the rest of my clothes.  Dressing

was agony, but at last I finished getting everything back on,

even tying my shoes.



        Cheryl was sitting on a stool in the breakfast nook in

her kitchen.  "Have a seat," she smirked as I shuffled in.



        "No thanks," I said.  "I'll just take my stories and all

of the computer disks and go."  I wondered whether I'd be able to

sit in my car to drive home.



        "I promised you could have them when we were through,

didn't I?", Cheryl said thoughtfully.



        "You're damn right you did!"



        "Well, I'll keep my promise, but this was just so much

fun that I don't think we're through yet."



        "What the hell do you mean?", I demanded.  "You've had

your fun, now give me those files and those papers!"



        Cheryl was opening the front door as I spoke.  She smiled

at me and said "Why don't you come over Friday evening, and we'll

talk about it then?"  She nudged me onto the porch and closed the

door behind me.



        I was tempted to kick the door in, beat the shit out of

Cheryl, if necessary, and demand my papers and computer files

back.  As I stood there in the cool night air, though, I realized

that I couldn't be sure she hadn't kept copies somewhere

else - and besides, if she went to the police and gave them my

name, I didn't really want to tell them my side of the story.

There was no way to keep it quiet in a town the size of ours.



        Cursing under my breath, I limped back to my car and

eased myself in.  Sitting down wasn't pleasant, and I wondered

how much better it would feel tomorrow.



        Well, that's the story for now.  Somehow, between now and

Friday (this is still Tuesday, for another few minutes) I've got

to decide what to do.  Whatever it is, I won't be able to tell

anyone, so I'll just have to continue to confide in this journal.

                                               September 27, 1988





        I'm writing this Friday evening, after coming back from

Cheryl's again.  Emotionally, but not physically, I feel a lot

better than I did Tuesday night.  The story is, if anything, more

incredible than the first part was.



        My work suffered all week as I stewed about what to do,

but I finally decided there really wasn't much choice.  I'd have

to confront Cheryl again if I were ever to be sure of getting all

of the incriminating evidence back.  I worked late Wednesday

night, and managed to check Cheryl's computer and her desk to

make sure she hadn't kept any copies at work.



        I found nothing, and hadn't really expected to.  Cheryl's

power over me depended on no one else knowing what she knew, so

she wouldn't take a chance on leaving anything at the office.

That probably meant that everything was in her apartment, though

she might have put copies in a safe deposit box or someplace like

that; I'd just have to judge how sincere she seemed to be Friday

evening, because there was no way I was going back for a third

session!



        Cheryl walked by my desk this afternoon and murmured "See

you at 7."  I just nodded.  I didn't want anyone else to get the

idea there was something going on between us.



        I knocked on Cheryl's door a few minutes after seven. She

opened the door, stepping aside as I walked in.



        "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," she

said.  "I wouldn't have minded talking to Mr. Moore on Monday,"

she went on, "but it sure would have spoiled my plans for this

evening."



        I said nothing.  She looked at me for a few seconds, and

then went to fix drinks.  "How're the buns?", she asked in a

conversational tone.  "Bruises all gone?"



        I nodded as she handed me my drink.  "Well, we'll remedy

that in a few minutes," she smirked.



        "No more dirty tricks," I said.  "This has to be the last

time."



        "Okay," Cheryl said - too quickly, I thought.



        "I mean it," I insisted.  "I want to see all of the hard

copies, and all of the computer disks, out here right now."



        "No way!", she snapped.  "I want you cooperating, and you

won't be if you know that all you have to do is come out here,

grab the stuff and leave."



        "How do I know you won't pull the same stunt as last

time?", I demanded.



        "You'll just have to trust me," she replied, "when I say

that tonight is it."



        That's not good enough, I thought to myself, but I'll

just have to find another way to deal with it.



        Cheryl glanced at my empty glass.  "All through?", she

asked.  "Good.  You can leave your clothes in here - all of them,

this time - and meet me in the bedroom."



        She strode out of the room, and I was left to repeat the

bizarre experience of last Tuesday, stripping off my clothes to

meet a beautiful and sexy woman, for an experience that was going

to be anything but erotic, at least for me!



        I pulled my shorts off, leaving them on the sofa on top

of all of my other clothes.  My stomach felt hollow as I walked

resolutely toward Cheryl's bedroom, my limp cock swinging in

front of me and my scrotum tight with nervous anticipation.  I

wondered if Cheryl would be wearing the aqua bikini again; it

didn't really matter, but somehow I hoped she would be.



        When I rounded the corner and could see into the bedroom,

I was glad Cheryl wasn't wearing the aqua bikini.  Instead she

was wearing a red one, even smaller - if that were

possible - than the other.  The bottom covered less than half of

each tawny cheek of her ass, and when she turned to face me I

could see her nipples standing out sharply through the filmy

material and the lips of her pussy pressing tightly against the

crotch of her bikini bottom.  Despite my nervousness, my cock

began to salute the vision in front of me.



        "You like it, I see," Cheryl said.  "I don't get to wear

it as often as I'd like to," she added almost wistfully.  Then

she turned all business.



        "I have a little surprise for you tonight," she said.  "I

want you on the bed from the start this time."



        I clutched my cock in one hand and my balls in the other,

and lay down across the end of her bed, as I had last Tuesday.



        "Not like that - up in the middle, with your arms out in

front of you," she instructed.



        I obeyed, releasing my genitals and stretching my arms

out as I sidled away from the foot of the bed.  Cheryl bent down

in front of me, giving me a magnificent view of her delectable

tits as she reached under the bed.  She sat back on her haunches,

holding an elastic cord about three feet long - the kind some

people use to strap luggage on the racks on the back of sports

car trunk lids - with metal hooks on each end, and began to wrap

it around my wrists.



        "What's that for?", I protested.  "I'm not going

anywhere."



        "Just a little extra precaution," Cheryl answered grimly.

She stretched the cord as she wrapped it four or five times

around my wrists, clamping them together, and then fastened the

hook on the other end of the cord to some part of the bed frame.



        Cheryl stood up and walked around the foot of the bed.  I

thought she was going after the hairbrush until I suddenly felt

her wrapping another cord around my left ankle.  That worried me,

and I started to kick and struggle, but she was too fast and too

strong.  Slowly she dragged me backward across the bed,

stretching the cord that held my wrists as she pulled my left

ankle down against the cold metal of the bed frame.



        I tried to kick at her with my right foot, but she

quickly seized it, repeated the wrapping process, pulled my right

ankle down toward the head of the bed and hooked the end of the

cord to the bed frame at that corner.  Then she gripped me just

above the hips and dragged me back another inch until I felt my

balls slide free of the edge of the mattress.



        There was no way I could have been more helpless, or more

vulnerable.  My feet spanned almost the full length of the bed,

my ass just off the side of the mattress, cheeks spread wide

apart, my balls hanging free.  I swore furiously at Cheryl,

squirming in my makeshift bonds.



        She ignored me for a while, then told me to shut up; I

did, but only after she'd reached down and given my balls a sharp

squeeze.  That really took the wind out of me, and I watched

silently as she walked over to the dresser and picked up the all-

too-familiar hairbrush.



        "I told you I have a surprise for you," Cheryl said

smugly, "but I'm going to save it for a few minutes.  I think

your little bummy needs some spanks with this to warm it up." She

brandished the hairbrush as she walked toward the foot of the bed

and stopped behind my painfully twisted left knee.  "You don't

have your underpants to protect you, so I'll be very gentle," she

added mockingly.



        I craned my neck to look over my shoulder as Cheryl

brought the hairbrush back and began to swing its lacquered face

toward my immobilized buttocks.  I lost sight of it before it

completed its swing, but my sense of touch told me exactly where

the swing ended.  The hairbrush landed squarely in the middle of

my right asscheek.  I gasped in pain but, remembering how annoyed

I'd been with myself on Tuesday, I managed not to cry out.



        The next blow smacked into the left cheek, and I bit my

tongue to keep quiet.  As Cheryl continued to paddle my helpless

ass, I turned my head away and closed my eyes.  I squirmed and

wriggled, but nothing I did could deflect the hairbrush from

whatever part of the target Cheryl selected.



        After about the fifth "SMACK" I'd started counting,

mostly as a distraction from the pain.  Thirty blows later, she

stopped.  "There, now," she asked innocently, "weren't those nice

and easy?"



        "You know they weren't, goddamn you," I spat.  "Now

unhook me and let me get out of here!"



        "But we've hardly started," Cheryl protested.  "And I'm

hurt that you don't give me credit for being gentle.  Maybe you

need a real spanking to help you appreciate the difference."



        "NO!", I yelled, but it was too late.  The hairbrush

landed low on my right buttock, and even as I bellowed in pain I

had to admit that Cheryl had been right - the first batch had

been gentle in comparison.  She settled into a slow rhythm,

burning the hairbrush into my ass every two or three seconds.  I

rocked from side to side, trying to break the cords that bound my

ankles to the bed frame, and cried out shamelessly with every

blow.



        After thirty or forty of those - I stopped trying to

count - she paused and asked if I wanted a gentle one.



        "Yes, please," I begged, and she obliged.



        "What kind was that?", she demanded.



        "An easy one," I gasped.



        The next one wasn't.  I screamed again, and Cheryl asked

"What was that one?"



        "A hard one!", I groaned.



        "Tell me what this one is," she commanded as the

hairbrush slapped again.



        "An easy one."



        "So you do know the difference," Cheryl said

sarcastically.  Do you want some more easy ones?"



        "No, please, Cheryl, no more," I pleaded.



        "Ten more," she said.  "Hard ones or easy ones?"



        "Easy ones, please," I answered.



        "I thought you'd say that," she snorted.  "I'll

compromise with you," she said.  "Half and half - do you want the

easy ones first or last?"



        I couldn't answer her.  I didn't want any at all, hard or

easy.



        "Hurry up," she demanded, "or there won't be any easy

ones!"



        "Last," I answered quickly.



        The next five were the worst so far, and the final five

weren't much gentler, at least from my perspective, but Cheryl

kept her word and stopped after ten.  I looked over my shoulder

at her, and saw that her bikini was almost transparent with

perspiration.  My cock didn't respond at all; 99 percent of my

attention was focused on the pulsating pain in my butt, and the

other one percent on my aching knees and hip joints.



        "That's enough, Cheryl, let me go," I pleaded.



        "We'll take a break for a few minutes," she answered,

"but you haven't had your surprise yet."



        I wondered what on earth she could be planning to top the

horrendous paddling she'd already administered, but I was sure I

didn't want to find out.



        Cheryl walked over to her dresser and picked up a leather

thong that looked like a boot lace from a hiking boot.  She tied

a slip knot near one end of it, passed the end through the knot

to form a circle about two inches in diameter, and walked back

over to the bed.  I could sense her directly behind me and was

mystified until I felt her cup my balls in one hand and slip the

leather loop over them.



        "What the hell are you doing?", I demanded.  For the

first time I was really frightened.  A man tends to be really

protective of his testes, and not just to avoid the pain that

comes from mistreating them - probably some instinct provided by

nature to ensure perpetuation of the species.



        She tightened the noose without replying, and I could

feel my balls squeezed tight against the bottom of my scrotum.  I

tried frantically to rock forward and backward, to loosen or

break at least one of the cords that held me, until Cheryl yanked

downward sharply on the leather thong.  I screamed in pain, and

Cheryl said calmly "Hold still, or you're going to hurt

yourself."



        "You're the one who's hurting me, you fucking bitch," I

yelled at her.  "And why?  You've already got my legs tied up."



        "I'm going to take the cords off your ankles," she

answered, "but I don't want you going anyplace."  She tugged hard

at the thong again as she tied the lower end tightly to the frame

of the bed.  I groaned and tried to push myself backward to ease

the pressure on my balls, but the cord holding my wrists had

already been stretched to its limit.



        Then I felt first one ankle and then the other come free

as Cheryl unhooked the cords and unwrapped them.  I gave a small

sigh of relief as I pulled my legs closer together and took some

of the strain off my knees and hip joints.  My legs were free,

but the rest of my body was even more tightly restrained than

before; the cord binding my wrists kept me from moving backward,

and even the thought of trying to move forward added to the

constant ache in my testicles.



        Cheryl stood up from her labors behind me and walked over

to the closet at the far side of the room.  "Now for the surprise

I've been promising you," she said over her shoulder.



        She reached into the closet and came out with a thin rod

about three feet long.  "I took this with me when I left home,"

she announced.  "A family heirloom, as it were, used on several

generations of naughty bare bottoms - mostly younger than yours,

but none more in need of it," she added.



        As she came closer I could see that it was made of wood,

a little bigger around than the diameter of a pencil.  "It's a

birch cane," Cheryl explained, "and I can tell you from personal

experience that its effects are really, UM, exquisite."



        She walked around the end of the bed and I felt the

muscles in my ass shudder as she rested the cane across both

cheeks.  "Listen," she ordered.  She lifted the cane, brought it

back and then swung it sharply toward me; it made a whistling

kind of "swish" as it sped through the air, stopping just as it

tapped me.  I jumped at the contact, and Cheryl giggled at my

reaction.  "That sound really turns me on," she exclaimed.  The

cane whistled again, and again it stopped with only the lightest

touch on my expectant asscheeks.



        My buttocks clenched and my legs twitched involuntarily,

and she laughed again.  "You'll know when its the real thing,"

she said.



        "Listen, Cheryl," I said, "this game has gone on long

enough.  Put away the cane and let me go."



        "Oh, no," she responded.  "This is the best part, and I

don't care how much you beg, I'm not going to quit now."



        Her voice distracted me enough that I didn't hear the

swishing of the cane.  In fact, the next sound I heard was the

echo of my own surprised bellow of pain as the cane cut into both

cheeks of my ass.  The cane whistled again, slashing diagonally

across my right asscheek and forcing another scream from my

lungs.



        The pain was beyond description.  Each time the hairbrush

had landed, pain had radiated out in all directions from the spot

where it hit.  With the cane, it felt as though all that pain,

and more, was concentrated in the tiny strip of bruised flesh

right under the cane.



        In the time it takes to tell about it the cane had cut

into the helpless cheeks of my ass a dozen times or more.  I was

totally out of control, screaming at the top of my lungs with

every stroke, kicking my legs and struggling against my bonds,

oblivious to the pain in my balls.



        Cheryl paused until I quieted down.  "I don't care how

much noise you make," she told me.  "My apartment's at the end,

and the one next door is vacant.  But you ought to take it easy

with that kicking - if you're thinking of ever having a family,

that is."  And with that she resumed the caning.



        I screamed.  I begged her to go back to using the

hairbrush.  I pleaded with her to stop.  I told her to go ahead

and tell Mr. Moore about my stories.  But nothing even slowed her

merciless slashing at my ass.



        Between yells I looked back at her, and realized that

Cheryl's left hand was deep inside her bikini bottom.  From the

movement of her hand I could tell that at least one finger was

plunging rapidly in and out her pussy.  She had a rapturous look

on her face, but even that didn't interfere with the rhythm of

the whistling cane.



        Suddenly the caning stopped, and I was dimly aware that

the telephone was ringing in the other room.  Cheryl dropped the

cane on the bed beside me and said "Don't go away, there's more

to come."



        "Saved by the bell," I thought to myself absurdly.  Then

I realized that the interruption only made things worse.  If

Cheryl were planning to beat my ass and frig herself until she

came, she'd be a lot more strokes away from cumming when she came

back from answering the phone than she had been before it rang.



        There was no way I could endure more caning - I would

literally go insane if Cheryl came back and started in again, I

thought.  Somehow I had to get free.



        Breaking the thong that tied my balls to the bed frame

seemed out of the question; I would castrate myself before the

thong broke.  That left only the cord pulling my wrists toward

the far side of the bed.  I strained against it, which merely

increased the tension on the thong encircling my scrotum, until I

almost screamed with pain and frustration.



        But the alternative of lying there quietly until Cheryl

came back and picked up the cane seemed even worse.  I braced my

thighs against the side of the mattress, in the hope that would

keep me from sliding forward, and tugged with all my strength.

The mattress squeezed in some, letting me move forward until the

pain in my balls was almost unendurable.



        Just as I was deciding to give up, the hook that held the

cord to the far side of the bed frame broke off and my arms were

free!  The cord was still wrapped several times around my wrists,

but I gnawed at one of the coils with my teeth until it slipped

loose, and then I had my hands free as well.  I picked for a few

seconds at the slip knot that was sunk deep into the skin of my

scrotum, and then realized that it would be easier to undo the

knot at the other end of the thong.



        I had just finished untying the thong from the bed frame

when I heard Cheryl saying good bye to whoever had called.  I

snatched the ankle cords from the floor and the wrist cord from

the bed and hobbled stiffly to a spot behind the half-closed

door, trailing the leather thong from my ballooning testicles.



        Cheryl gasped in surprise when she saw the empty bed.  I

should have been too stiff and sore to move, but my desperation

overcame that.  I knew suddenly what I had to do to prevent any

further extortion.  In the half-second while Cheryl was looking

around the room in confusion, I knocked her down with a tackle my

high school football coach would have been proud of.



        Before Cheryl could catch her breath I had one of the

ankle cords wrapped neatly around her knees and hooked in place,

and was whipping the wrist cord around her wrists.  Then she

started thrashing at me with elbows and knees, and it was all I

could do to drag her over to the bed.



        By the time I had the wrist cord - with its one good

hook - fastened securely to the bed frame, Cheryl had managed to

throw her legs off the end of the bed and was almost on her feet.



        I shoved her back onto the bed, dodged her flying feet,

seized her ankles and dragged her into the position - lying

across the bed - that I'd occupied three minutes earlier.  I made

sure the remaining ankle cord was fastened securely around her

right ankle before loosening the cord with which I'd bound her

knees. Cheryl cursed, screamed and kicked at me as I dragged her

backward across the bed and hooked the right ankle cord to the

bed frame, but her resistance only fueled the fury that had been

gradually building up in me.



        I caught her flailing left foot, wrapped the last cord

around that ankle, and pulled her left leg inexorably backward

and downward until I could anchor it to the bed frame as well.

Panting, I stood up to survey the scene.



        Cheryl's position wasn't quite right, I decided; her ass,

even her crotch, were still on the bed, because I'd started with

her wrists in the same position mine had been in, while her arms

and torso were shorter than mine.  I loosened the wrist cord a

few inches, then dragged her backward and took up the slack by

tightening the ankle bonds.



        This time the position looked perfect.  I debated a

second or two about whether to leave her bikini top on, but

concluded that since I'd been totally naked, she should be too. I

untied the knot in the middle of her back and jerked the top out

from under her boobs, provoking a yelp of pain in the midst of

the ongoing stream of imprecations.



        There was no question that the bottom of her bikini had

to go - Cheryl's ass was going to be as unprotected as mine had

been.  I undid the tie strings at each side and pulled the bikini

between her legs like a diaper.



        Now I had a pretty good idea of how I'd looked to Cheryl

an hour earlier.  The crack of her ass yawned wide, with its

darker pigmentation spreading to encircle her puckered brown

asshole.  Below that, the exterior lips of her pussy, glistening

with the products of her earlier self-stimulation, gaped where my

balls had hung.



        The thought of my balls reminded me that I was still

dangling the leather thong.  Gingerly, I loosened the slip knot,

wincing as the thong pulled at stray pubic hairs that had been

caught in it, and eased my aching testicles out of the leather

noose.



        I walked around to the other side of the bed and tossed

the thong down where Cheryl could see it.  "I'm afraid your

ankles will have to stay put," I told her.  "You seem to be

lacking the appendages to make this useful."



        "You son of bitch!", she snarled.  "You won't get away

with this.  I'll go to the police, I'll go to the newspaper,

I'll - "



        "I don't think so, Cheryl," I interrupted her.  "I don't

think you'll ever want to tell anyone about what you did to me,

or about what I'm going to do to you."



        "What - what are you going to do?", she asked.  The

belligerence was gone from her voice.



        "To begin with," I answered, picking up the cane, "I'm

going to let you decide whether this feels as 'exquisite' as you

remembered."



        "Please," she whimpered, "not too hard.  I didn't use it

hard on you."



        "Right," I said as I walked around the end of the bed.

"So I won't use it any harder than you did."  I laid the cane

across her ass and adjusted my stance so I could land the cane in

any spot on either cheek without moving.  Cheryl started to sob

quietly, every muscle from her waist down quivering with dread.



        I decided not to tease Cheryl the way she'd teased me.  I

lifted the cane off her ass, brought it back, and swished it

forward onto the left cheek.  Cheryl shrieked and wiggled her ass

helplessly as a dark red welt rose where the cane had landed.  I

swung the cane and gave her a matching welt on the other cheek.

Again she screamed and struggled against her bonds.



        It wasn't until the fifth stroke of the cane that she

started pleading with me to stop, and it wasn't until the

twentieth that I did.  By that time, Cheryl's beautiful bottom

was crossed with a network of red stripes, and her whole body was

trembling uncontrollably.



        I laid the cane gently across her ass again.  "Now," I

said, "I'm going to ask you a question.  If I like your answer,

I'll ask another question; if I don't, your little tush will get

ten more reunions with the cane.  And we'll go on that way until

I have all the answers I want.  Got it?"



        "Yes," she wept.  "What's the question?"



        "That should be obvious - where are my stories?", I

demanded.



        "In a safe place, where you'll never find them," she said

defiantly.



        I was amazed; I'd thought she was ready to do almost

anything to stop the caning.  My earlier rage had been largely

transferred into the welts that now stood out on her ass, and I

had no particular desire to keep punishing her - but she wasn't

leaving me much choice.



        "I don't like that answer," I told her.  She stiffened as

I lifted the cane from her ass and raised it.  I selected a

relatively unmarked spot on her left asscheek and whipped the

cane down hard.  Cheryl shrieked in real agony, the lips of her

pussy opening and closing as she flexed her muscles against the

cords.  Nine more quick hard strokes of the cane, with the same

reaction to each.



        Again I asked her the same question, and again she

refused to tell me.  By the time I'd given her ten more strokes

with the cane, there was hardly a spot on Cheryl's ass that

wasn't part of one welt or another.



        I rested the cane on her trembling ass again.  "This

time," I warned her, "if I don't like your answer it'll be twenty

strokes, not ten.  Are you ready to tell me where they are?"



        "All right," she sighed.  "I can't take any more.  The

stuff is all in my old briefcase in the closet."



        I put the cane down on the bed and went to the closet.

The briefcase was in the back, between two stacks of shoe boxes.

I pulled it out and backed into the bedroom, no longer conscious

of my total nudity.  I put the briefcase on the floor in front of

Cheryl and tried to open it.  Neither latch would open; both had

little combination locks.



        "What are the combinations, Cheryl?", I asked wearily.

She looked at me speculatively until I got to my feet and picked

up the cane.



        "O.K., O.K.," she said quickly.  "I was going to tell

you."  She gave me the combinations and I set the numbers on the

little wheels.  This time both latches released.  I opened the

briefcase and found the manila envelope that Cheryl had been

carrying at our first lunch "date".  Inside the envelope were the

same printouts of my six chapters and two computer diskettes.



        "How do I know what's on these disks?", I demanded

suspiciously.



        "My god, you ought to trust me by this time," Cheryl

cried.  "I know when I've been beaten!"  It took a few seconds,

and then she gave a hysterical little giggle as she realized what

she'd said.  "You can check them on my computer - it's set up

where the pantry is supposed to be."  Her voice sounded defeated

but there was a glint of triumph in her eyes that bothered me.



        I made sure each of the elastic cords was holding well

before went out in search of Cheryl's computer.  I checked the

disks one at a time and they seemed to be right.  The file names

were correct and a quick scan of the contents looked familiar.

I'd shut down the computer and was heading back to the bedroom

when it dawned on me - the diskettes were a different brand than

we used at work!  When Cheryl first copied my files she would

have used disks from the office.  She could have copied them onto

her own diskettes and then conscientiously returned the original

diskettes to the office - but the glint I'd seen in her eyes told

me she still had the originals hidden somewhere.



        Tiptoing back to the bedroom, I glanced through the door.

Cheryl was still on the bed, straining against each of her bonds.

I'd expected that, but I was pretty sure she wasn't strong enough

to break any of the hooks the way I had.



        She stopped struggling as soon as she saw me.  Her

tentative smile of relief changed to a look of alarm as I strode

to the bed and picked up the cane.  I took up my position behind

her and rested the cane on her ass.



        "What's the matter?  Those are the right diskettes," she

babbled.  "Did you have trouble with the computer?  Let me go,

I'll show you how...."



        "These disks are just fine, Cheryl," I interrupted.  "Now

I want to know where the originals are.  And before you answer,

remember the stakes are up to twenty now."



        Five seconds passed in silence.  "Those are the only

copies I have," she said carefully.  "I erased the originals and

took them back to the office, I swear."



        I looked down at her ass.  The welts had sort of run

together, so both cheeks were a nearly uniform reddish purple. "I

don't like it when you lie to me, Cheryl," I said sadly.



        "I'm not lying!", she protested frantically.  "I'm

telling you the truth, I era - " She interrupted herself with a

howl of pain as I lashed down with the cane.  I left a dozen

fresh welts on Cheryl's discolored rump, and eight more on the

backs of her unblemished thighs.  Between screams Cheryl begged

me to stop, assuring me that she'd erased the original diskettes.



        I finished the twenty and waited for her sobbing to

subside.  "Look," she finally gasped, "you can fuck me.  You can

do anything you want to me.  Just stop caning me, because there's

nothing more I can tell you."



        "We can talk about fucking after I get those original

disks back," I told her.  "Now where are they?"



        Again she pleaded that she didn't have them, and again I

cut her protests off with the cane.  This time I worked on the

insides of her thighs, moving upward in a steady pattern until,

after fifteen strokes, she could have no doubt that the next one

would cut squarely across her convulsing pussy.



        I paused.  "Five more, Cheryl," I reminded her.  "You

know where they're going to be - or you can have them on your ass

instead, if you tell me where those diskettes are.  It's your

choice."



        "No, please don't, I beg you," she shrieked.  "I erased

them."



        I wanted to believe her, wanted to stop hurting her, but

I was convinced she was still lying.  I shrugged mentally as I

drew back the cane.  Cheryl had made her choice, and now she

would suffer the consequences.  The muscles bulged in her thighs

as she tried futilely to close her legs, to shield the most

sensitive part of her body, but the cane whistled cleanly onto

its target, leaving a furrow that cut diagonally across both lips

of her pussy.



        The scream that tore its way out of the depths of

Cheryl's soul was clearly more sincere than anything else that

had come out of her mouth all week, but it took another stroke of

the cane in almost the same spot before she finally gurgled "All

right, I'll tell you."  I'd promised her twenty, so I gave her

three more across the ass.



        "I'm waiting," I said, laying the cane down.  Cheryl was

shaking all over as she tried to speak, but I finally understood

that she was saying "in the freezer".



        Sure enough, there were two diskettes, the brand we use

at work, sealed in a ziploc baggie, hidden between two diet

dinners in the freezer compartment of her refrigerator.  A very

clever hiding place, I had to admit - not where anyone would look

for computer diskettes.  I didn't bother to check them on

Cheryl's computer; I was sure she wouldn't have held out on these

for so long if they weren't real, and the last real ones at that.



        I walked back into the bedroom.  This time Cheryl wasn't

struggling.  "Will you please let me go now?", she begged.



        "Well, I've been thinking," I said.  "We're about even on

the caning, but you're a couple of hundred little love pats ahead

of me with that hairbrush.  Maybe we need to even the score

before I let you loose."



        "No," she wailed.  "My ass couldn't stand anything more."



        "You didn't seem very worried about what my ass could

stand," I pointed out.



        "I know.  I'm sorry, but please, don't spank me any

more."



        "All right," I agreed, "no more tonight.  "I'll come back

in the morning and we'll see how the situation looks then.  Just

to be sure you're waiting for me, though, I'm going to leave you

right where you are now."



        Cheryl pleaded with me to undo her bonds, but I ignored

her.  I found an extra blanket on the shelf in her closet and

spread it over her shoulders and back - leaving her bottom

exposed - said "Good night, Cheryl," gathered up all of the

computer disks and printouts, and turned out the light.



        I dressed in the living room, pocketed Cheryl's keys,

found the thermostat and turned it up to 85 to keep the derriere

next door from getting too chilled, turned out the rest of the

lights and locked the door behind me.  As I got in my car and

started the drive home, I realized that I was leaving with a

lighter heart - and a sorer ass - than I'd had since Tuesday

morning.



        Now that this is almost finished, I'm planning to sleep

in tomorrow.  Oh, I'll make it over to Cheryl's, all right, but a

couple of extra hours won't make that much difference.  And I

don't have any intention of using the hairbrush on her, because I

don't get any special thrill out of seeing someone else in pain.

On the other hand, the idea of her spending ten or twelve hours,

realizing how helpless and vulnerable she is - and worrying about

how her own hairbrush is going to feel on that already-bruised

bare ass - doesn't make me feel bad at all.



        Good night, Cheryl, and pleasant dreams.

                                               September 28, 1988





        The story continues.  I woke up around nine this morning

and took my time shaving and getting dressed - for obvious

reasons.  My butt is still the color of raw meat, and aches like

hell at the slightest pressure.  By ten I decided that Cheryl was

probably getting pretty anxious to see me.



        I stopped by a fast food restaurant and picked up a

couple of scrambled egg and sausage breakfasts to go, and drove

over to Cheryl's apartment.  She was begging by the time I got

the door unlocked.



        "God, I thought you were never going to come," she

complained as I walked into her bedroom.  She was still in the

same position as she'd been when I left the night before, though

she had apparently managed to squirm enough to make the blanket

slide off her back and onto the floor.  "Please, let me go - I've

got to go to the bathroom so bad I can taste it."



        I put the breakfast boxes down on the dresser and walked

around behind her.  Cheryl's ass looked about the way mine had,

shading from dark red on the cheeks themselves to a series of

pinkish stripes on the backs and insides of her upper thighs. The

lips of her pussy, already darker than the rest of her skin, were

crossed with two black-looking welts where the cane had done its

work.



        Cheryl groaned as I released the cords that bound her

ankles, and stretched her legs out behind her while I loosened

her wrists.  She crawled off the bed and headed stiffly toward

the bathroom.  I went with her, but once I'd glanced at the

window and confirmed that it was too high and too small for her

to escape, I left the bathroom and let her close the door.



        She emerged about five minutes later, having done at

least some minimal washing and combing.  "I brought some stuff to

eat," I said, gesturing toward the dresser.



        "That's terrific!", Cheryl exclaimed.  "Let me get a robe

on."



        "Uh-uh," I responded.  "We've got some unfinished

business, and I don't want you skipping out the front door before

that's taken care of.  You look just fine the way you are."



        Indeed she did, especially from the front.  I hadn't had

a really good view of her boobs before, but the sight was worth

the wait.  They were round and full without sagging, and her trim

waist and hips were perfectly proportioned.  Perhaps because of

the caning I'd given her thighs, she walked and stood with her

legs well apart, providing a delightful view of her snatch.



        The smile died on Cheryl's face.  "You're really serious

about the hairbrush, I mean, about getting even?"



        "Can you give me any reason why I shouldn't be?", I

demanded.  I hadn't changed my mind about spanking her, but I

enjoyed the anxiety in her voice and saw no reason to relieve her

worries yet.



        "I guess not," she sighed.  "I suppose I really do have

it coming."



        "Let's eat first," I suggested, handing her one of the

boxes.  She took it and started to sit on the edge of the bed,

but immediately winced and jumped to her feet again.  "I can't

sit down," she cried.



        "You can do what I do," I suggested, sliding onto the bed

and lying on my left side, propped up on one elbow with the

breakfast box in front of me.  Cheryl matched my position, lying

on her right side.  The top of the Styrofoam box grazed her right

tit as she opened it.



        We ate the greasy lukewarm food eagerly without saying

anything more.  When we were both finished, Cheryl gathered up

the boxes, plastic forks and knives, and napkins and carried them

into the kitchen.  Again I followed her; my cock stiffened as I

watched her ass muscles ripple, her wide-legged gait exaggerating

the transfer of weight from one leg to the other.



        Cheryl dumped the breakfast debris and headed resolutely

back to the bedroom.  "Thanks for breakfast," she said.  "Let's

get this over with."



        She picked up the hairbrush from the dresser and handed

it to me.  "You're not going to tie me up again, are you?"



        "Not right now," I answered.  "We'll see how it goes."  I

sat down on the foot of the bed, but scooted well back from the

edge, so both legs were straight out in front of me.  My ass

throbbed, but there was no other way to get Cheryl into the

position I'd decided I wanted her to be in.



        I didn't have to tell her to lie across my lap.  She

crawled over my legs until her battered rump was over my right

thigh, and then eased herself down until her boobs flattened

against the bedspread.  "Not too much, O.K.?", she pleaded.  "I

already can't sit down, and I don't know how I'm going to make it

to work on Monday."



        Her ass twitched as I rested my arm across it.  "I don't

feel too sorry for you," I said.  "This whole business was your

idea, remember?"  Then I lifted her left leg at the knee and

swung it suddenly over my head, pulling Cheryl closer to me at

the same time.  She gave a startled yell and tried to pull her

legs closer together, but they were separated by my body.  "Put

your head down on my legs," I ordered.



        Cheryl moved to comply.  "But why?", she wailed.  I

waited for those grapefruit-sized boobs to settle onto my shins,

just below the kneecaps, before I answered her.



        "I liked the view last night," I said, "but this is more,

well, personal."  It was, in fact, extremely personal.  With

Cheryl's thighs on either side of my waist, her legs were spread

almost as far apart as they had been when she was tied to the

bed.  I could have bent down and bitten - or kissed - either

blazing asscheek, and her bruised cuntlips were only inches ahead

of the growing bulge in the front of my pants.



        I stroked her ass and said "I have some questions for

you."



        "Oh, Jesus, not this again!", she sighed.



        "Not that kind of questions," I soothed.  "If I hadn't

gotten loose last night, would you have given me the disks back?



        "Probably not," Cheryl admitted.



        "Just how long were you planning to play the game?", I

wanted to know.



        "I don't know, as long as you went along with it, I

guess," she replied.



        "Would you really have gone to Mr. Moore if I'd refused

to play?"  I continued to massage both of Cheryl's asscheeks as I

spoke.



        "I hadn't really decided yet," she responded.  "I was

pretty sure you'd go along, at least for a while."



        "But why me?", I insisted.



        "You were in a bad spot - you were vulnerable," Cheryl

explained.  She was beginning to squirm under my probing hands,

and I could see her pussy lips beginning to swell and darken.



        "I suppose a shrink would say I was getting back at my

father," she continued unexpectedly.  "I wanted to please him,

get him to care about me, but nothing I did was ever good enough

for him - and when I did something wrong, he really made me pay

for it."



        "Am I the first guy you ever spanked?", I asked, running

my thumbs along the inside of her widely spread thighs.



        "The second," she replied.  "I lived with a guy for six

months or so, and I used to work him over pretty good."



        "What kind of hold did you have on him?"  Cheryl was

beginning to push herself backward against my hands, and her

cuntlips glistened as the pressure of my thumbs at the base of

her ass spread them apart.



        "I didn't need a hold - he liked it," Cheryl said

contemptuously.



        "How on earth did you find that out?"  I was astonished.

"I mean, did he just tell you he liked it?"



        "Sort of."  Cheryl was breathing faster as I ran my

fingertips down the crack of her ass, across her asshole,

stopping just short of her pussy.  "We were sitting in bed one

Saturday morning.  I was trying to read a magazine, and he kept

reaching over and tweaking my tit.  It really irritated me, and

finally I told him that if he didn't leave me alone I was going

to paddle his ass.  He kept it up, so finally I grabbed my

hairbrush off the night table, pulled him over my lap, and gave

him ten or twelve good ones.  That made him really horny, and we

had a steamy fuck, and the next day he went out and bought me the

hairbrush I have now - the one I used on you."



        "This one here," I said, picking up the hairbrush from

the bed and resting its cool, hard face against one of her hot

ass mounds.  Cheryl's legs squeezed my waist as she clenched the

muscles in her ass.



        "Please," she begged, "not too hard.  I'm so sore from

the caning you gave me last night!"



        "Not yet," I said, putting the hairbrush back on the bed

beside me.  "So, he bought you the hairbrush and told you he

liked the way it felt," I prompted as I resumed massaging the

bunched muscles in her asscheeks.



        Cheryl's ass relaxed and she said "Yeah, it got to the

place where nothing else turned him on.  I used a belt on him,

then the cane, even tied his balls up the way I did yours, and he

loved it all."



        "Sounds like a perfect match," I commented.  "Why didn't

you stick together?"



        Cheryl moaned as I slid my thumb along the slippery

length of her cuntlips.  "I hated it," she answered.  "I needed

him to hurt, the way I had, but all I was doing was giving him

what he wanted.  It got so I never wanted to see his ass again."



        My thumb slid into her heated pussy and she gasped.

"Don't!", she exclaimed.  "I'm getting so hot I can't stand it.

Hurry up and paddle me with the hairbrush."



        I slid my thumb in all the way as I picked the hairbrush

up with my other hand and laid it atop her ass.  "Are you sure

you want me to do this?", I asked.



        "I deserve it," she insisted.  "I used it on you!"



        "I have a better idea," I said.  My thumb was still

buried in her cunt as I laid the hairbrush back on the bed and

lifted Cheryl's right leg over my head, rolling her onto her

back.  I fumbled one-handed with my belt and fly and dragged my

pants down over my throbbing erection.



        "I never cum this way," Cheryl protested, but her pussy

sucked eagerly as my rigid cock offered itself in place of my

thumb.  Her erect nipples were the size of gumdrops as I sucked

at them, feeling the walls of her pussy clenching at my thrusting

penis.



        Cheryl screamed and clawed at my back, arching her hips

as her orgasm started, and mine was only a few seconds behind.

Despite the fog in my brain I heard a "thunk" as the hairbrush

fell onto the floor.



        Gradually our bodies relaxed.  "My God," Cheryl gasped,

"I never felt anything like that before!"



        I kissed her mouth for the first time and slid off her. I

pulled my clothes off, dropping them over the edge of the bed,

and then slid off the bed myself.  Naked, I fumbled around on the

floor until I found the hairbrush.  I picked it up and walked

toward Cheryl's dresser.



        "Let's leave this over here where it belongs," I

suggested.  Cheryl nodded mutely and stretched a hand toward me

as I came back to bed.



--



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