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THE FETISHIST AND THE SPINSTER , 1962 free porn video
THE FETISHIST AND THE SPINSTER
"I could just beat him! I'd like to beat him within an inch of his life!" the big woman said. Bedelia, the lady bartender, listened with interest to this plight of her patron for she, like the men of her profession, was proficient at doling out sympathy and advice along with glasses of good cheer. This was a new customer, obviously not a regular habitue of bars. A tallish, largish woman, plain looking but with every potential for fixing herself up into an impressive beauty.
"Boy friend? Cop who leave you a ticket? Or guy competing for your job?" Bedelia prompted.
"Those I could handle," the distressed woman said. "This is my boss."
"More women fall in love with their bosses than do with their psychiatrists, Bedelia prompted. "And this beating binge you'd like to go on, you may well be on the best of all possible tracks."
"He insists that I get whole stacks of work out in a hurry and then doesn't sign it. He compliments other women and ignores me. And he gets a far-away look in his eyes sometimes in the middle of dictation. It may be just a word, like 'fetish' or 'leather,' or 'rubber* or 'taffeta'." She took a big gulp, grimaced. "Yesterday it happened when he dictated 'Sorry I couldn't contact you. I was tied up for the past several days'."
Bedelia then began questioning her customer more narrowly. What did the girls he noticed most wear? Any features he especially complimented them on? The customer, who by now had introduced herself as Sarah Kaufman, joined Bedelia in the analysis. The rustling of a taffeta petticoat, the sight of a gleaming fabric, the idea of something tight and constricting like a corset or boned girdle the height of a heel, a very high heel, these were the things that seemed to arrest the attention of Harvey Ross most. Then Bedilia told Sarah about fetishists. How they are queer for a certain tactical experience or odor or garment or feature. How they can be captured by the person who understands this quirk. How they can always be kept under complete control, if only... but then Bedelia’s attention shifted to Sarah's personal appearance and she had a flock of useful suggestions here, too.
It was a rewarding meeting for both. Harvey Ross was an early riser. He enjoyed getting to the office ahead of his staff so there'd be plenty of time to get work organized and a day programmed. He'd completed the preliminary work and was just starting to read the literature he'd secretly requested on dictating equipment when he heard a sound in the adjoining office. It was a soft, rustling sound, like leaves in the breeze, like Japanese paper lanterns at a Spring carnival, oh but ever so much more sensuous. The literature in his hands swam away in a blur as his attention wandered inward. Girls in taffeta. They surrounded him and danced in a circle about him, their full skirts swinging and rustling deliciously as they moved gracefully on very high heels and those rustling taffeta skirts brushed against him.
Then the sound Itself drew closer and Harvey dropped the literature Into his lap and looked up In time to see, could it possibly be Miss Kaufman coming through the door — a dream fully realized! Her black, full skirt danced and swirled on the waves of taffeta underskirts, the dull reflection of the rich sheen of the fabric like a stream In the moonlight. Her waist was nipped in and clearly defined, setting her breasts out in magnificent fullness and the sleekness of the taffeta blouse made a dramatic contrast to the fullness of the skirt. She wore a vide taffeta belt, a huge taffeta bow, a matching taffeta headband, large earrings, very high heels, and heady perfume. Instinctively, Harvey shoved the literature in his lap into his wastebasket. He had nearly made a serious mistakel
"Miss Kaufman," he said, his eyes wavering between his fantasy, dream-look and sharp reality, "you look, you look fine this morning."
"I’m feeling quite healthy, thank you," she said, her eyes steady on him, her voice low.
And now he was acutely aware of the dramatic eye make-up she was wearing. It made its contribution to the turmoil he felt inside. "I, um, I have a lot of things I’d like to discuss with you," Mr. Ross fumbled, "and I wonder if it would be possible for you to stay down and have dinner with me tonight. “That outfit you're wearing will be just fine,” he said, his voice rising and breaking.
"Why don't you come up to my apartment instead?" she suggested. "I've plenty of food and drink on hand and it let's us talk away from too much noise and interruption."
"What a wonderful Ideal Thank you. I'll just take advantage of that hospitality of yours," Harvey said. And the far-away look returned to his eyes.
CHAPTER II
With a gallantry she'd never experienced before, Harvey took the key to her apartment from the long-gloved hand of Sarah and unlocked the door.
"I'm a whiz in the kitchen, he said, after he'd helped her remove her coat. "If you'll just show me where things are, I'll whip them up in no time and you can just sit there and let me admire you." His voice contained a forced gaiety.
"It's a deal," she said, in the same spirit,"but you'll get all soiled. Take off your coat," and she helped him remove his jacket, "and let me slip this apron around you." Then she tied a ruffled taffeta apron with huge streamers around his waist tightly and opened the bow wide. He stood rigidly still, holding his breath, while she performed this studied effect on him. Then she perched herself on a high kitchen stool, exposing a generous expanse of dark nylons over shapely legs, ending in incredibly high heels, while he prepared the meal.
After dinner she said, "Now I'd like to change into something more comfortable, but I have no chaperone here to watch you. How can I make sure.... oh I know! Slip your wrists through the bow of your sash like this," and she stilted the action to the words, drew the bow tight around his wrists and tied it tightly so that his hands were secured firmly behind his back. "There, that's fine, Harvey," she said, a new tone of authority entering her voice.
"Now wait a minute, Miss Kaufman," he said, bewildered. “I’ve waited a lot longer than that,” she said. "And finally I have you figured out. Now I'm going to do something I've been wanting to do for some five years!"
He blanched, "What is that?"
“I’m going to give you the spanking of your life,!” A sickly smile came over his face and he tried fruitlessly to free his wrists.
"Why that's ridiculous. I'm a grown man! I'm your boss! You wouldn't, you can't really be serious about this!”
She went to a drawer in a cabinet and brought out a handfull of bright-colored taffeta sashes. She tied one very long one around his neck and the ends ran down his back. These were used to pull his bound wrists high up his back so they could not be lowered to protect his rear. Working methodically, she raised his trouser cuffs and tied his ankles very tightly together, then rolled up his trousers above his knees and used another bright taffeta sash to bind his knees together. She shoved a chair in front of him, its back against his upper legs, and tied more sashes around his legs and around the back legs of the chair. Then she pulled him forward and rested his forehead on the seat of the chair across which she had laid a taffeta housecoat. Another taffeta sash around his neck went to the front legs of the chair and he was now in position for his spanking, completely unable to move.
She let her fingers explore his exposed seat while she talked to him in a manner designed to increase his feeling of humiliation and helplessness: "You don't look so much like the big, tough business executive now, Harvey," she said, "Just consider your position for a moment. Here I, just a woman, an ignored, long-oppressed employee of yours, have reduced you to this. You‚ are wearing a woman's taffeta apron, bound with those bright-colored taffeta scarves, completely helpless, unable to move, and about to be spanked by a girl all gotten up in feminine finery. There isn't a single thing you can do about it. I could do anything I wanted to you and you'd have to stay there in that ridiculous position and take it. You'll suffer, but you'll not even be able to squirm!”
And she dug her fingers deep into his rump, pinched it in a number of places, knowing well that she was leaving lasting marks through his underwear and pants. He didn't protest, didn't plead or threaten. Helpless as he was there was nothing he could do but remain in this exposed, off balance position while the truth of Sarah's remarks burned into him. He heard her skirts ruffling and rustling as she walked around the room and occasionally he caught a flash of the gleaming beauty of her apparel. From his upside down position he watched his pretty captress bring out a table tennis paddle, then wrap a taffeta slip around it, gathering the fabric around the handle so that it couldn't slip.
"See what I'm going to spank you with, Harvey?" she asked teasingly rubbing the paddle against his cheek.
"A ping pong paddle!” he thought, relieved, "That shouldn't hurt much."
An instant later he learned how wrong he was! Hard-swung and perfectly aimed with a double-handed delivery, it was almost as though the force would break his leg bonds. He heard the"crrwhack" sound of the paddle striking him at the same instant he felt the sharp, hard sting of its landing. How unyielding it was. And what force she had used to hit him. His buttocks cringed in anticipation of the next blow. Resoundingly it landed on the other cheek and he found himself wondering how a woman who looked so beautiful, who was so exquisitely attired, could at the same time be so powerful and cruel. He tried to move, to dodge, even to brace himself for the coming blow, but he could only remain bound helplessly and wait. Again and again the paddle struck him, always at a slightly different angle, as though no square inch of the surface of his rump was to be spared and Sarah intended to bring it all to the same pain-wrought color. Now Harvey could retain his silence no longer and he contributed to the satisfaction Sarah received from striking him and witnessing his helpless condition while she taunted him, by yelping: "Ouch!" each time the paddle landed. Then "Oh, that hurts!" And "Please let up, please, I beg you."
These cries and pleadings only lent new strength to her arm and the paddle continued to administer its punishment. Then, abruptly, Sarah stopped. It was as though a rushing current had ceased to flow. It was like the air after a sudden summer shower. Only the dull, throbbing ache over his entire buttocks remained to remind Harvey of what he had just experienced. Only the tired feeling in her arms, the heaving sense of exhilaration still pounding in her breasts let Sarah know this strange thing she'd so long, so unknowingly, wanted to do to Harvey had at last been accomplished? No, just started.
Quietly she freed his neck from the sash that held it bound to the front legs of the chair and helped him stand. With considerable satisfaction she saw the tears that had been coursing down his temples spotting the housecoat on the chair now change direction and flow down his cheeks. With a perfumed little lace-bordered handkerchief she wiped the cheeks of the helpless man. Then, watching him imperiously she waited, every inch the conqueror, while his sobs again rose then slowly died away into total silence.
"Why did you do this to me?" he asked when he could again speak.
"Because I very much wanted to. I wanted the feeling of power it gave me. I wanted to punish you for those years you ignored me. And I felt you had not only that but a long and extensive punishment coming to you for being the thoughtless male-thing that you are. And this is not the end of your punishment. It is only the beginning."
"What more could you possibly do?" he Inquired.
"I could humiliate you, tease you, punish you in many, many ways!" she replied. "And I will."
CHAPTER III
Leaving her boss-victim bound helplessly to the chair, Sarah unfastened her belt and removed her blouse and skirt, tossing the softly rustling taffeta things so that they landed on the helpless man's shoulders and the skirt d****d over his head and fell across his shoulders like a huge, full cape. Then she went into the next room and removed her petticoats, wiped her body with cologne, and put on a striking housecoat. It had big, puffed sleeves, a wide, high collar, an incredibly wide, full, long skirt and a wide sash that flowed almost like panels behind her. With this she wore very high-heeled satin mules. And she carried a whip in her hand when she returned to Harvey. Without saying a word to him, she unbuttoned his shirt. She untied his legs from the chair, then removed the taffeta sash that held his bound wrists high. Using a narrow silken lace, she tied his two thumbs securely together. Then she untifed the apron bow.
"Now, Harvey,"she instructed him, "you are to get down on the floor and put your legs through the loop of your arms so that your tied hands are in front of you. It was a struggle for him to get his rump and then his legs through the opening, but, with Sarah's help, he made it. She produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them around his wrists, then unfastened his belt, ran it through the link between the handcuffs, and buckled it again. She pulled his shirt and his undershirt over hie head so that they hung from his handcuffs and his back was bare.
"Harvey," she commanded, "drop to your knees in front of me." Clumsily, bound as he was, he obeyed her. Exultantly she looked down at the broad, naked back of the man, cringing and cowering at her feet. "This is your rightful position, Harvey,"she said. "Show your lowliness by kissing my feet."
Something rebelled inside him at this point despite his affection for the lovely taffeta fabric that flowed from his eye level when kneeling all way to the ground. His eyes flashed and he glared up at her.
"You've humiliated me enough now. I refuse to kiss your feet." Like a snake striking, she whipped out terrible pain of it. Again across each shoulder and cutting down at an angle across his back the whip delivered its punishing stripes. Slowly he was driven down by these hard, heavy blows and he kissed Sarah's two feet and remained crouched low lest the whip again torture his flesh.
"You showed a degree of insubordination then, Harvey, which cannot go unpunished," Sarah said. "Now you will submit to a very unusual degree of humiliation and degradtion. "Not only will you kiss the hem of my robe, you will kneel there, holding it in your mouth, unable to call out because of it, while I deliver fifty hard lashes across that sturdy-looking back of yours. And if you drop the hem of this lovely taffeta robe I'm wearing from your mouth, you will receive five lashes for every one that was undelivered at the time you let go."
She set his body at just the angle she wanted, kneeling, leaning slightly forward. She picked up the hem of her robe and wadded a generous portion of it into his mouth. Then she sent the whip whistling its song of savagery in a vicious arc before it bit into the back of her victim. The strides fell across each shoulder and across his back in much the pattern of two palm leaf fans at first. Then, so full was her skirt, she stepped to one side and delivered a series of hard parallel blows down his side and she duplicated it from the other side. Doggedly, despite the searing pain, he held the skirt in his mouth while the whip whistled through the air and took its bites deeply into the flesh of the tortured man. Through the tears in his eyes, Harvey saw the full skirt of his captress, a gleaming series of rippling flames. The handcuffs bit into his wrists. His thumbs were sore. The taffeta sashes around his ankles and knees had long left their deep marks in him and now his back felt as though every particle of flesh was being ripped off of it by the whistling, cruelly biting whip of this merciless woman who had so unexpectedly, so surprisingly put him into this impossible to explain situation.
How the whip cut and bit into his back each time it landed! Surely, by now she had delivered all fifty strokes. A particularly cutting slash made him open his mouth to shout from pain and some of the fabric nearly slipped from his mouth, but he caught himself in time and clamped his jaws shut on the taffeta in time. Sarah saw the muscles crawling under Harvey's skin like moles beneath the ground. With a series of involuntary convulsions, his back prepared for the painful blows. She saw the pink stripes grow redder, then blue, then purple. Occasionally, where two hard slashes intersected or where an irregularity in the whip's surface was driven deeply, a tiny droplet of blood would rise to the surface and a couple of these had become fine trickles. Now whole areas of his back took on a nearly uniform coloration. And the whip sought to broaden these areas.
“Here was joy.” she exulted. “Here was real power!” she gloated. To have this once arrogant man here, kneeling before her, at her feet, submitting to her punishment, to whatever cruelty she cared to inflict. With a particularly powerful delivery, she sent the whip laying directly down along Harvey's spinal cord for the 48th stroke. His mouth opened and the hem of her skirt slipped out. But she couldn't deliver the ten punishment strokes for this weakness on his part. Harvey had fainted.
Harvey was lying face down when he came to. He was lying on a bed with taffeta sheets. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows and almost screamed out with the pain of it, his back was that sore. Gingerly, he tested his legs and found that they had mercifully beeh untied.
"At last," he thought, "this strangely terrible yet intriguing ordeal is over." Then fear gripped him. He heard Sarah's voice.
"Well, my sleeping beauty. Do you realize, Harvey, that you fainted and then that you slept for quite a few hours?" Harvey groaned as he turned to face his persecutor. Oh, how those whiplashes hurt.
"How could you do what you did to me last night, Miss Kaufman?" he asked. "It was necessary," she said, "in order to let you know that I could and I would beat you tirelessly and without any limitations whatsoever to my cruelty if you fail to respond immediately to voice commands. It is early morning now. Get up." His back fairly screamed in pain as he tried to comply.
"I can't," he said. The whip cut sharply across the bruises and scabs of last night's beating. Harvey howled in pain but he got up and found he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. She threw him an armful of taffeta petticoats, all very full and with wide ruffles at the bottom.
"Get into these." Embarrassed, gingerly, he held the rustling armful of feminine finery. Again she picked up the whip and he began scrambling into the petticoats, feeling their stiff softness, the sibilance of the fabric, noting the many bright colors of the garments but mainly feeling a deep-seated sense of shame that he, Harvey Ross, head of the firm, should be subjected to this by a mere, an ordinary... but then he looked again at Sarah Kaufman. This morning she was wearing a very full-sleeved white satin blouse open at the neck and with a red taffeta ascot. Her red taffeta skirt was full and short and matched the color and fabric of her big-bowed shoes. It was picked up also by the scarf-bow in her hair. How beautiful she looked this morning, and how fragrant she smelled. No, there was nothing ordinary about Sarah Kaufman and if she wanted him to wear taffeta petticoats, well, he hastily stepped into the last two of them. They were so full, so many that the top one seemed to stand out straight to the sides.
He felt ridiculous like this. His back carrying the marks of the beating he'd received. His buttocks still tender from the ping pong paddling. His body encased in nothing but a pair of shorts and perhaps a dozen taffeta petticoats.
"Now, Harvey, I want you over in front of this big mirror," Sarah ordered. Sheepishly, Harvey obeyed her. In the mirror he saw his tousled hair, sleep-laden eyes, unshaved face, the portions of the whip marks that had come around his sides, then the huge flounce of taffeta petticoats beneath which were hairy legs and bare, bony feet.
"What do you see there, Harvey?" Sarah asked.
"I see a strange-looking, undressed character in a bunch of petticoats."
"You feel you should be wearing some thing else?" she asked.
"I sure do."
"Very well, then," Sarah said. "I'm going to put a nice can-can record on the phonograph. I want you to reach way down and gather up your skirts in front of you like they're a big bouquet and make frou-frou with them from side to side to the tune of the record."
She put on the record and Harvey simply stood there. Surely she couldn’t have meant what she said? A sharp cut with a thin, pliant cane across the calves of his legs told him she meant every word. It took about ten of these forceful reminders and Harvey was watching himself gracefully waving a double armload of bright-colored feminine froth to the tune of the music while Sarah busied herself rummaging through closets and drawers. The long playing record eventually ended and Harvey let his skirts settle down, although the sound of them was to ring in his ears for a long time.
“Let me trade you those shorts for these panties with the garters atached," Sarah said. Harvey backed away from her in a fearful kind of resistance. She slashed him hard across the cheek with the panties and he felt a thin trickle of blood where one of the metal garters had caught him with its side. Again she drew back her arm and he dug down under his petticoats to unsnap the shorts and ashamedly step out of them. They traded. He put on the silky-feeling pink panties, blushing scarlet as he did so.
"These gray nylons are next."
Clumsily, carefully, he worked his thumbs down into the sheerness of the hose and put them on over his legs, feeling the sensuousness of the fabric, sensing the contact between the taffeta and the nylons and his skin.
"Here, put on this old brassiere of mine," she said, handing him a black satin and lace confection. "We can pad it out with a few pairs of panties."
Writhing with humiliation and embarrassment and a new and different kind of feeling, he followed her orders in putting on one of her taffeta dresses and high-heeled shoes, shaving carefully and letting her put make-up on him and then perfume. She tied a scarf, gypsy fashion, around his head and then a pair of huge, heavy, gold hoop earrings. Then she let him take off all but one of his petticoats. She tied him to a post in front of the huge mirror, forcing him to see himself thus attired and then she set an oscillating fan in motion so that it caught the fullness of his skirts and made his feminine attire flutter just slightly in the breeze. She phoned the tavern and invited Bedelia up to her place.
"Wonderful" the lady bartender said, "morning's always dull here anyway."
"Surely you can't be planning to expose me to anyone in this condition," Harvey said, his whole being squirming in recoil from the idea.
"Not anyone else. Just Bedelia. You might say, in a way, she's my psychiatrist.” The doorbell rang and Bedelia entered.
She walked around Harvey, wearing Sarah’s clothes, inspected him carefully, and then said, "You should spank him by hand while he's dressed like this, Sarah." Bedelia unfastened Harvey's bonds and, holding him tight, an arm led him over to the chair in which Sarah sat.
"She forgot to manicure your nails," she said, "and you should be wearing many bracelets and a big dinner ring. Now lie down across Sarah's lap like a good girl."
As in a strange, impossible dream, Harvey obeyed this soft-spoken woman. With a new kind of authority, Sarah raised his skirt and petticoat, smoothed his pink panties and proceeded to give him as hard a spanking with an open hand as anybody ever has received. Harvey squirmed and cried out but Sarah's blows were methodical and hard.
Bedelia kneeled where her face was very close to Harvey's. The spanking continued She studied him carefully. "If I were you, Mister or Miss, or whatever you are, I'd propose to her."
"Will she quit treating me like this if I do?" Harvey asked.
"I don't know. It might even get worse She may even start you in corsets and make you wear taffeta shorts to work."
Harvey sighed deeply. "Stop, please, Sarah," he said, urgently, "there's some thing very important I want to ask you."
THE END
"I could just beat him! I'd like to beat him within an inch of his life!" the big woman said. Bedelia, the lady bartender, listened with interest to this plight of her patron for she, like the men of her profession, was proficient at doling out sympathy and advice along with glasses of good cheer. This was a new customer, obviously not a regular habitue of bars. A tallish, largish woman, plain looking but with every potential for fixing herself up into an impressive beauty.
"Boy friend? Cop who leave you a ticket? Or guy competing for your job?" Bedelia prompted.
"Those I could handle," the distressed woman said. "This is my boss."
"More women fall in love with their bosses than do with their psychiatrists, Bedelia prompted. "And this beating binge you'd like to go on, you may well be on the best of all possible tracks."
"He insists that I get whole stacks of work out in a hurry and then doesn't sign it. He compliments other women and ignores me. And he gets a far-away look in his eyes sometimes in the middle of dictation. It may be just a word, like 'fetish' or 'leather,' or 'rubber* or 'taffeta'." She took a big gulp, grimaced. "Yesterday it happened when he dictated 'Sorry I couldn't contact you. I was tied up for the past several days'."
Bedelia then began questioning her customer more narrowly. What did the girls he noticed most wear? Any features he especially complimented them on? The customer, who by now had introduced herself as Sarah Kaufman, joined Bedelia in the analysis. The rustling of a taffeta petticoat, the sight of a gleaming fabric, the idea of something tight and constricting like a corset or boned girdle the height of a heel, a very high heel, these were the things that seemed to arrest the attention of Harvey Ross most. Then Bedilia told Sarah about fetishists. How they are queer for a certain tactical experience or odor or garment or feature. How they can be captured by the person who understands this quirk. How they can always be kept under complete control, if only... but then Bedelia’s attention shifted to Sarah's personal appearance and she had a flock of useful suggestions here, too.
It was a rewarding meeting for both. Harvey Ross was an early riser. He enjoyed getting to the office ahead of his staff so there'd be plenty of time to get work organized and a day programmed. He'd completed the preliminary work and was just starting to read the literature he'd secretly requested on dictating equipment when he heard a sound in the adjoining office. It was a soft, rustling sound, like leaves in the breeze, like Japanese paper lanterns at a Spring carnival, oh but ever so much more sensuous. The literature in his hands swam away in a blur as his attention wandered inward. Girls in taffeta. They surrounded him and danced in a circle about him, their full skirts swinging and rustling deliciously as they moved gracefully on very high heels and those rustling taffeta skirts brushed against him.
Then the sound Itself drew closer and Harvey dropped the literature Into his lap and looked up In time to see, could it possibly be Miss Kaufman coming through the door — a dream fully realized! Her black, full skirt danced and swirled on the waves of taffeta underskirts, the dull reflection of the rich sheen of the fabric like a stream In the moonlight. Her waist was nipped in and clearly defined, setting her breasts out in magnificent fullness and the sleekness of the taffeta blouse made a dramatic contrast to the fullness of the skirt. She wore a vide taffeta belt, a huge taffeta bow, a matching taffeta headband, large earrings, very high heels, and heady perfume. Instinctively, Harvey shoved the literature in his lap into his wastebasket. He had nearly made a serious mistakel
"Miss Kaufman," he said, his eyes wavering between his fantasy, dream-look and sharp reality, "you look, you look fine this morning."
"I’m feeling quite healthy, thank you," she said, her eyes steady on him, her voice low.
And now he was acutely aware of the dramatic eye make-up she was wearing. It made its contribution to the turmoil he felt inside. "I, um, I have a lot of things I’d like to discuss with you," Mr. Ross fumbled, "and I wonder if it would be possible for you to stay down and have dinner with me tonight. “That outfit you're wearing will be just fine,” he said, his voice rising and breaking.
"Why don't you come up to my apartment instead?" she suggested. "I've plenty of food and drink on hand and it let's us talk away from too much noise and interruption."
"What a wonderful Ideal Thank you. I'll just take advantage of that hospitality of yours," Harvey said. And the far-away look returned to his eyes.
CHAPTER II
With a gallantry she'd never experienced before, Harvey took the key to her apartment from the long-gloved hand of Sarah and unlocked the door.
"I'm a whiz in the kitchen, he said, after he'd helped her remove her coat. "If you'll just show me where things are, I'll whip them up in no time and you can just sit there and let me admire you." His voice contained a forced gaiety.
"It's a deal," she said, in the same spirit,"but you'll get all soiled. Take off your coat," and she helped him remove his jacket, "and let me slip this apron around you." Then she tied a ruffled taffeta apron with huge streamers around his waist tightly and opened the bow wide. He stood rigidly still, holding his breath, while she performed this studied effect on him. Then she perched herself on a high kitchen stool, exposing a generous expanse of dark nylons over shapely legs, ending in incredibly high heels, while he prepared the meal.
After dinner she said, "Now I'd like to change into something more comfortable, but I have no chaperone here to watch you. How can I make sure.... oh I know! Slip your wrists through the bow of your sash like this," and she stilted the action to the words, drew the bow tight around his wrists and tied it tightly so that his hands were secured firmly behind his back. "There, that's fine, Harvey," she said, a new tone of authority entering her voice.
"Now wait a minute, Miss Kaufman," he said, bewildered. “I’ve waited a lot longer than that,” she said. "And finally I have you figured out. Now I'm going to do something I've been wanting to do for some five years!"
He blanched, "What is that?"
“I’m going to give you the spanking of your life,!” A sickly smile came over his face and he tried fruitlessly to free his wrists.
"Why that's ridiculous. I'm a grown man! I'm your boss! You wouldn't, you can't really be serious about this!”
She went to a drawer in a cabinet and brought out a handfull of bright-colored taffeta sashes. She tied one very long one around his neck and the ends ran down his back. These were used to pull his bound wrists high up his back so they could not be lowered to protect his rear. Working methodically, she raised his trouser cuffs and tied his ankles very tightly together, then rolled up his trousers above his knees and used another bright taffeta sash to bind his knees together. She shoved a chair in front of him, its back against his upper legs, and tied more sashes around his legs and around the back legs of the chair. Then she pulled him forward and rested his forehead on the seat of the chair across which she had laid a taffeta housecoat. Another taffeta sash around his neck went to the front legs of the chair and he was now in position for his spanking, completely unable to move.
She let her fingers explore his exposed seat while she talked to him in a manner designed to increase his feeling of humiliation and helplessness: "You don't look so much like the big, tough business executive now, Harvey," she said, "Just consider your position for a moment. Here I, just a woman, an ignored, long-oppressed employee of yours, have reduced you to this. You‚ are wearing a woman's taffeta apron, bound with those bright-colored taffeta scarves, completely helpless, unable to move, and about to be spanked by a girl all gotten up in feminine finery. There isn't a single thing you can do about it. I could do anything I wanted to you and you'd have to stay there in that ridiculous position and take it. You'll suffer, but you'll not even be able to squirm!”
And she dug her fingers deep into his rump, pinched it in a number of places, knowing well that she was leaving lasting marks through his underwear and pants. He didn't protest, didn't plead or threaten. Helpless as he was there was nothing he could do but remain in this exposed, off balance position while the truth of Sarah's remarks burned into him. He heard her skirts ruffling and rustling as she walked around the room and occasionally he caught a flash of the gleaming beauty of her apparel. From his upside down position he watched his pretty captress bring out a table tennis paddle, then wrap a taffeta slip around it, gathering the fabric around the handle so that it couldn't slip.
"See what I'm going to spank you with, Harvey?" she asked teasingly rubbing the paddle against his cheek.
"A ping pong paddle!” he thought, relieved, "That shouldn't hurt much."
An instant later he learned how wrong he was! Hard-swung and perfectly aimed with a double-handed delivery, it was almost as though the force would break his leg bonds. He heard the"crrwhack" sound of the paddle striking him at the same instant he felt the sharp, hard sting of its landing. How unyielding it was. And what force she had used to hit him. His buttocks cringed in anticipation of the next blow. Resoundingly it landed on the other cheek and he found himself wondering how a woman who looked so beautiful, who was so exquisitely attired, could at the same time be so powerful and cruel. He tried to move, to dodge, even to brace himself for the coming blow, but he could only remain bound helplessly and wait. Again and again the paddle struck him, always at a slightly different angle, as though no square inch of the surface of his rump was to be spared and Sarah intended to bring it all to the same pain-wrought color. Now Harvey could retain his silence no longer and he contributed to the satisfaction Sarah received from striking him and witnessing his helpless condition while she taunted him, by yelping: "Ouch!" each time the paddle landed. Then "Oh, that hurts!" And "Please let up, please, I beg you."
These cries and pleadings only lent new strength to her arm and the paddle continued to administer its punishment. Then, abruptly, Sarah stopped. It was as though a rushing current had ceased to flow. It was like the air after a sudden summer shower. Only the dull, throbbing ache over his entire buttocks remained to remind Harvey of what he had just experienced. Only the tired feeling in her arms, the heaving sense of exhilaration still pounding in her breasts let Sarah know this strange thing she'd so long, so unknowingly, wanted to do to Harvey had at last been accomplished? No, just started.
Quietly she freed his neck from the sash that held it bound to the front legs of the chair and helped him stand. With considerable satisfaction she saw the tears that had been coursing down his temples spotting the housecoat on the chair now change direction and flow down his cheeks. With a perfumed little lace-bordered handkerchief she wiped the cheeks of the helpless man. Then, watching him imperiously she waited, every inch the conqueror, while his sobs again rose then slowly died away into total silence.
"Why did you do this to me?" he asked when he could again speak.
"Because I very much wanted to. I wanted the feeling of power it gave me. I wanted to punish you for those years you ignored me. And I felt you had not only that but a long and extensive punishment coming to you for being the thoughtless male-thing that you are. And this is not the end of your punishment. It is only the beginning."
"What more could you possibly do?" he Inquired.
"I could humiliate you, tease you, punish you in many, many ways!" she replied. "And I will."
CHAPTER III
Leaving her boss-victim bound helplessly to the chair, Sarah unfastened her belt and removed her blouse and skirt, tossing the softly rustling taffeta things so that they landed on the helpless man's shoulders and the skirt d****d over his head and fell across his shoulders like a huge, full cape. Then she went into the next room and removed her petticoats, wiped her body with cologne, and put on a striking housecoat. It had big, puffed sleeves, a wide, high collar, an incredibly wide, full, long skirt and a wide sash that flowed almost like panels behind her. With this she wore very high-heeled satin mules. And she carried a whip in her hand when she returned to Harvey. Without saying a word to him, she unbuttoned his shirt. She untied his legs from the chair, then removed the taffeta sash that held his bound wrists high. Using a narrow silken lace, she tied his two thumbs securely together. Then she untifed the apron bow.
"Now, Harvey,"she instructed him, "you are to get down on the floor and put your legs through the loop of your arms so that your tied hands are in front of you. It was a struggle for him to get his rump and then his legs through the opening, but, with Sarah's help, he made it. She produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them around his wrists, then unfastened his belt, ran it through the link between the handcuffs, and buckled it again. She pulled his shirt and his undershirt over hie head so that they hung from his handcuffs and his back was bare.
"Harvey," she commanded, "drop to your knees in front of me." Clumsily, bound as he was, he obeyed her. Exultantly she looked down at the broad, naked back of the man, cringing and cowering at her feet. "This is your rightful position, Harvey,"she said. "Show your lowliness by kissing my feet."
Something rebelled inside him at this point despite his affection for the lovely taffeta fabric that flowed from his eye level when kneeling all way to the ground. His eyes flashed and he glared up at her.
"You've humiliated me enough now. I refuse to kiss your feet." Like a snake striking, she whipped out terrible pain of it. Again across each shoulder and cutting down at an angle across his back the whip delivered its punishing stripes. Slowly he was driven down by these hard, heavy blows and he kissed Sarah's two feet and remained crouched low lest the whip again torture his flesh.
"You showed a degree of insubordination then, Harvey, which cannot go unpunished," Sarah said. "Now you will submit to a very unusual degree of humiliation and degradtion. "Not only will you kiss the hem of my robe, you will kneel there, holding it in your mouth, unable to call out because of it, while I deliver fifty hard lashes across that sturdy-looking back of yours. And if you drop the hem of this lovely taffeta robe I'm wearing from your mouth, you will receive five lashes for every one that was undelivered at the time you let go."
She set his body at just the angle she wanted, kneeling, leaning slightly forward. She picked up the hem of her robe and wadded a generous portion of it into his mouth. Then she sent the whip whistling its song of savagery in a vicious arc before it bit into the back of her victim. The strides fell across each shoulder and across his back in much the pattern of two palm leaf fans at first. Then, so full was her skirt, she stepped to one side and delivered a series of hard parallel blows down his side and she duplicated it from the other side. Doggedly, despite the searing pain, he held the skirt in his mouth while the whip whistled through the air and took its bites deeply into the flesh of the tortured man. Through the tears in his eyes, Harvey saw the full skirt of his captress, a gleaming series of rippling flames. The handcuffs bit into his wrists. His thumbs were sore. The taffeta sashes around his ankles and knees had long left their deep marks in him and now his back felt as though every particle of flesh was being ripped off of it by the whistling, cruelly biting whip of this merciless woman who had so unexpectedly, so surprisingly put him into this impossible to explain situation.
How the whip cut and bit into his back each time it landed! Surely, by now she had delivered all fifty strokes. A particularly cutting slash made him open his mouth to shout from pain and some of the fabric nearly slipped from his mouth, but he caught himself in time and clamped his jaws shut on the taffeta in time. Sarah saw the muscles crawling under Harvey's skin like moles beneath the ground. With a series of involuntary convulsions, his back prepared for the painful blows. She saw the pink stripes grow redder, then blue, then purple. Occasionally, where two hard slashes intersected or where an irregularity in the whip's surface was driven deeply, a tiny droplet of blood would rise to the surface and a couple of these had become fine trickles. Now whole areas of his back took on a nearly uniform coloration. And the whip sought to broaden these areas.
“Here was joy.” she exulted. “Here was real power!” she gloated. To have this once arrogant man here, kneeling before her, at her feet, submitting to her punishment, to whatever cruelty she cared to inflict. With a particularly powerful delivery, she sent the whip laying directly down along Harvey's spinal cord for the 48th stroke. His mouth opened and the hem of her skirt slipped out. But she couldn't deliver the ten punishment strokes for this weakness on his part. Harvey had fainted.
Harvey was lying face down when he came to. He was lying on a bed with taffeta sheets. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows and almost screamed out with the pain of it, his back was that sore. Gingerly, he tested his legs and found that they had mercifully beeh untied.
"At last," he thought, "this strangely terrible yet intriguing ordeal is over." Then fear gripped him. He heard Sarah's voice.
"Well, my sleeping beauty. Do you realize, Harvey, that you fainted and then that you slept for quite a few hours?" Harvey groaned as he turned to face his persecutor. Oh, how those whiplashes hurt.
"How could you do what you did to me last night, Miss Kaufman?" he asked. "It was necessary," she said, "in order to let you know that I could and I would beat you tirelessly and without any limitations whatsoever to my cruelty if you fail to respond immediately to voice commands. It is early morning now. Get up." His back fairly screamed in pain as he tried to comply.
"I can't," he said. The whip cut sharply across the bruises and scabs of last night's beating. Harvey howled in pain but he got up and found he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. She threw him an armful of taffeta petticoats, all very full and with wide ruffles at the bottom.
"Get into these." Embarrassed, gingerly, he held the rustling armful of feminine finery. Again she picked up the whip and he began scrambling into the petticoats, feeling their stiff softness, the sibilance of the fabric, noting the many bright colors of the garments but mainly feeling a deep-seated sense of shame that he, Harvey Ross, head of the firm, should be subjected to this by a mere, an ordinary... but then he looked again at Sarah Kaufman. This morning she was wearing a very full-sleeved white satin blouse open at the neck and with a red taffeta ascot. Her red taffeta skirt was full and short and matched the color and fabric of her big-bowed shoes. It was picked up also by the scarf-bow in her hair. How beautiful she looked this morning, and how fragrant she smelled. No, there was nothing ordinary about Sarah Kaufman and if she wanted him to wear taffeta petticoats, well, he hastily stepped into the last two of them. They were so full, so many that the top one seemed to stand out straight to the sides.
He felt ridiculous like this. His back carrying the marks of the beating he'd received. His buttocks still tender from the ping pong paddling. His body encased in nothing but a pair of shorts and perhaps a dozen taffeta petticoats.
"Now, Harvey, I want you over in front of this big mirror," Sarah ordered. Sheepishly, Harvey obeyed her. In the mirror he saw his tousled hair, sleep-laden eyes, unshaved face, the portions of the whip marks that had come around his sides, then the huge flounce of taffeta petticoats beneath which were hairy legs and bare, bony feet.
"What do you see there, Harvey?" Sarah asked.
"I see a strange-looking, undressed character in a bunch of petticoats."
"You feel you should be wearing some thing else?" she asked.
"I sure do."
"Very well, then," Sarah said. "I'm going to put a nice can-can record on the phonograph. I want you to reach way down and gather up your skirts in front of you like they're a big bouquet and make frou-frou with them from side to side to the tune of the record."
She put on the record and Harvey simply stood there. Surely she couldn’t have meant what she said? A sharp cut with a thin, pliant cane across the calves of his legs told him she meant every word. It took about ten of these forceful reminders and Harvey was watching himself gracefully waving a double armload of bright-colored feminine froth to the tune of the music while Sarah busied herself rummaging through closets and drawers. The long playing record eventually ended and Harvey let his skirts settle down, although the sound of them was to ring in his ears for a long time.
“Let me trade you those shorts for these panties with the garters atached," Sarah said. Harvey backed away from her in a fearful kind of resistance. She slashed him hard across the cheek with the panties and he felt a thin trickle of blood where one of the metal garters had caught him with its side. Again she drew back her arm and he dug down under his petticoats to unsnap the shorts and ashamedly step out of them. They traded. He put on the silky-feeling pink panties, blushing scarlet as he did so.
"These gray nylons are next."
Clumsily, carefully, he worked his thumbs down into the sheerness of the hose and put them on over his legs, feeling the sensuousness of the fabric, sensing the contact between the taffeta and the nylons and his skin.
"Here, put on this old brassiere of mine," she said, handing him a black satin and lace confection. "We can pad it out with a few pairs of panties."
Writhing with humiliation and embarrassment and a new and different kind of feeling, he followed her orders in putting on one of her taffeta dresses and high-heeled shoes, shaving carefully and letting her put make-up on him and then perfume. She tied a scarf, gypsy fashion, around his head and then a pair of huge, heavy, gold hoop earrings. Then she let him take off all but one of his petticoats. She tied him to a post in front of the huge mirror, forcing him to see himself thus attired and then she set an oscillating fan in motion so that it caught the fullness of his skirts and made his feminine attire flutter just slightly in the breeze. She phoned the tavern and invited Bedelia up to her place.
"Wonderful" the lady bartender said, "morning's always dull here anyway."
"Surely you can't be planning to expose me to anyone in this condition," Harvey said, his whole being squirming in recoil from the idea.
"Not anyone else. Just Bedelia. You might say, in a way, she's my psychiatrist.” The doorbell rang and Bedelia entered.
She walked around Harvey, wearing Sarah’s clothes, inspected him carefully, and then said, "You should spank him by hand while he's dressed like this, Sarah." Bedelia unfastened Harvey's bonds and, holding him tight, an arm led him over to the chair in which Sarah sat.
"She forgot to manicure your nails," she said, "and you should be wearing many bracelets and a big dinner ring. Now lie down across Sarah's lap like a good girl."
As in a strange, impossible dream, Harvey obeyed this soft-spoken woman. With a new kind of authority, Sarah raised his skirt and petticoat, smoothed his pink panties and proceeded to give him as hard a spanking with an open hand as anybody ever has received. Harvey squirmed and cried out but Sarah's blows were methodical and hard.
Bedelia kneeled where her face was very close to Harvey's. The spanking continued She studied him carefully. "If I were you, Mister or Miss, or whatever you are, I'd propose to her."
"Will she quit treating me like this if I do?" Harvey asked.
"I don't know. It might even get worse She may even start you in corsets and make you wear taffeta shorts to work."
Harvey sighed deeply. "Stop, please, Sarah," he said, urgently, "there's some thing very important I want to ask you."
THE END
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