Sixteen of the Best

by Sarah Veitch

  Stan's eyes turned steely: a cat fight. This was not a simple matter to be resolved by the judicious application of fist to chin. He looked from one to the other of the combatants. The tousled hair and ripped bodices told the whole story.

  'It was her,' Kitty began.

  'No it was not. She started it by...'

  Stan held up his hand. 'Both fighting, both to blame,' he said.

  'That is hardly fair,' said Suzee.

  'I'll tell you what is fair,' said Stan. 'You'll both take my belt across your backsides. Twelve each. Can't say fairer than that.'

  Both women began to wriggle at once but the other girls tightened their grip. They were certainly going to enjoy seeing Miss Kitty taken down a peg or two. And as for Suzee Moon with her Kansas airs and graces, they were relishing the thought of hearing her squeal.

  'But surely we can negotiate an alternative,' said Suzee as she and Miss Kitty were being bent over opposite sides of one of the large tables.

  'There is an alternative,' said Stan as he organised things so that each woman had a girl facing her across the table pulling her by the wrists on to tiptoe and another at her side holding her by the waist to keep her bottom at the correct angle. 'The alternative is: no spanking, no job. You can leave now and pack your case. I won't have fighting in the saloon. Not under any circumstances. So what is it to be? Miss Kitty?'

  'Spanking,' she said through gritted teeth.

  'Suzee Moon?'

  There was a long pause and the room grew quieter.

  'Spanking,' she said at last.

  There was a murmur of approval from the crowd which Stan silenced as he walked around the table, clearing onlookers to allow himself a full swing. When he had walked around a couple of times and satisfied himself that he had sufficient room he nodded to the girls, and they raised Kitty and Suzee's skirts and petticoats to the waist in one swoop, much to the delight of the crowd.

  The two miscreants were almost facing one another and Stan wondered if Kitty was still glaring at Suzee as his first swipe with the broad belt landed full force across both cheeks. He moved slowly and purposefully around the table knowing that Suzee would hear and dread his footsteps as she waited her turn in the hushed room. She gasped in shock as he swung the belt hard against her upturned bum. Walking back he wondered who would be the first to call out. For call out they both surely would by the time he had finished. He could see Suzee watching him as he drew back his arm and let Kitty have it again across both cheeks.

  After four each the women were trembling, clenching and trying to sway as soon as he stood behind them. He motioned to the girls to hold them tighter so that they should not escape even a fraction of the punishment he was going to dole out to their smarting bottoms.

  It was on the seventh that Kitty threw back her head and yelled unashamedly as Stan switched to an upward swinging stroke that caught her just where her bottom met her thighs. Without Stan's assistants to hold her down she looked as if she would have leapt over the table. For a moment Stan thought he saw Suzee smile at her boss's discomfort. If so it was shortlived as he quickly moved around and did exactly the same to her, with the same devastating effect.

  Stan waited until both women had stopped trying to hop from one foot to the other before switching to a diagonal roundhouse swing that sang through the air before landing on Kitty's tender behind. She threw her head back again, opened her mouth in shock but could not catch her breath enough to scream. Stan watched Suzee's eyes widen before moving around and laying a broad stripe across her. Both women lay shaking, bottoms clenched tightly.

  'I sure am surprised at you ladies,' Stan said as he shook his head. 'I thought you would have known better, Miss Kitty, and as for you Suzee Moon, I thought that you had learned a lesson last time. You will have to have some extra lessons or folks around here are going to think I'm losing my touch.' There was a ripple of laughter but as far as most folks were concerned they preferred not to think about Stan at all.

  'You better listen up, all you girls. I won't have fighting in the saloon. Let's hope you all take telling from this,' he said. 'But just in case anyone is in any doubt, any repeat of this and it will be over the fence with you at the Fair next month and you'll take six from each of the lucky six winners of the raffle.'

  'Put me down for ten tickets,' said Nervy Derek from the safety of his bar.

  'And what's more,' said Stan ignoring him, 'you'll take it with your backside bared for all to see. Understood?' Stan took the total silence as complete comprehension.

  'And so,' he said very deliberately, 'the last four.'

  For the next three strokes he moved swiftly from one woman to another in quick succession as they cursed then begged, then pleaded as he lashed their quivering bottoms. He paused for a long moment before the last. Both Kitty and Suzee had their eyes tightly shut and he dealt with Kitty before laying a vicious stripe right across the centre of Suzee's stinging bum.

  'They must be blazing under those drawers,' Derek called out to general laughter.

  This time Stan did not ignore him. 'Good point,' he said. 'I will need to inspect the full extent of my handiwork to make sure the lesson has been learned.'

  'It has! It has!' said Suzee and Kitty in chorus.

  Stan sensed the bated breath in the room. He could see Nervy Derek and others licking their lips salaciously.

  'But I shall carry out the inspection in private.'

  There was the faintest murmur of disapproval.

  'Unless anyone has a problem with that...' He looked around.

  Everyone seemed to take a sudden interest in shoes and the ensuing silence was broken only by Suzee Moon. 'Well, yes I do as a matter of fact. I don't see why...'

  'Will you be quiet,' hissed Kitty. 'Let's quit while we're ahead.'

  'Upstairs, ladies, if you please.'

  'And you call this being ahead,' Suzee whispered to Kitty as they shakily climbed the stairs ahead of Stan.

  'Compared to the alternative, yes.'

  Stan let them into the room that is always kept for him and then locked the door. He could hear the piano start up again and the laughter and raucous sounds began to grow as the tension eased downstairs.

  He looked at the two young women. Miss Kitty was staring at the floor but he couldn't decide if Suzee was nervous as she looked around remembering her last visit; or was there a trace of defiance as she caught his eye.

  Dammit but she was a fine looking woman! But he had a job to do first and he was not about to shirk it.

  'Right,' he said, 'let me see if my lesson has been learned. Miss Kitty will take first turn. Kneel at the bed, if you please.'

  'But, I'm in charge of the girls. I should watch Suzee take her punishment.'

  'I want you to demonstrate so she will know exactly what to do.'

  Stan's expression was implacable, so with a resigned shrug Kitty knelt at the bedside, hoisted her skirts to her waist and then laid herself on the bed stretching out her arms.

  'Very good,' said Stan. He turned to Suzee. 'I hope you are paying attention.' He hardly needed to ask. Her wide eyes were a sure sign that she was both horrified and fascinated.

  'Ordinarily,' said Stan as his deft fingers undid Miss Kitty's drawers, 'just undoing this here string would be enough for me to know if the job was well done. But as punishment for a catfight I want to see it all.' And with that he took hold of the white cotton waistband and pulled Kitty's drawers right down to her knees.

  'Take a good look, Suzee Moon. Would you say that backside was completely red?' He could see for himself how the broad scarlet stripes from his stinging belt had crisscrossed her plump cheeks.

  'Well?'

  Suzee could only nod.

  'I wish I could agree with you,' he said quietly before going over to the desk and sliding out a wide drawer.

  'Oh no, Stan,' said Kitty, 'not the switch!'

  'Indeed it is,' he said, extracting a strip of willow so supple he could almost bend it into a circle. 'You
will now show us how to take a switching bare.'

  Kitty started to moan and complain but she made no attempt to move as Stan stood over her.

  He raised his arm but he did not strike. Milking the hushed expectancy he suddenly said, 'The angle is all wrong. Suzee Moon will you take a couple of pillows there and place them under Miss Kitty's belly. Let's get that behind pointing up to me.' He smiled to himself as she asked Miss Kitty to lift up so she could place them correctly.

  'Excellent,' he said before making a minor adjustment to her position, before letting fly with a vicious downward swipe that made Kitty cry out immediately.

  'Well done,' said Stan. He turned again to Suzee. 'That is how to receive the willow switch. No wriggling or leaping. You'll have noticed how the switch wrapped itself around her curves, and you can see the result.' He tapped lightly at a deep red line that had marked both cheeks, causing Miss Kitty to moan and clench tight.

  'I see that your lesson is indeed learned,' he said.

  He watched Kitty relax with a sigh of relief and it was just at that moment that he let her have stripe number two, again right across both cheeks and no more than an inch from the first. It took much longer for her to stop shouting 'no' over and over this time, but the second she did Stan laid a third stripe between the first two. Kitty yelled then burst into tears.

  He stood to make sure that Suzee was taking it all in before placing a firm hand in the small of Kitty's back, then struck her five fast, hard swipes as she buried her face in the quilt.

  He stood aside again and watched Suzee's expression as she saw the full effect of the switching her boss had taken on the bare bottom.

  After a few minutes Stan said, 'And now Suzee Moon, it is your turn. Miss Kitty, you may dress and leave the room.'

  Kitty, tearful, pulled up her drawers gingerly and tied them loosely behind her before dropping her skirts. She stood up slowly and shakily.

  'Did you say something, Miss Kitty?'

  'It's not fair,' she muttered. 'She saw me but I don't get to see her take it.'

  'Not this time,' said Stan, with reasons of his own for wanting to deliver the lesson in private. 'I hope you don't have a problem with that.'

  'Definitely not,' said Kitty hastily, making for the door.

  As she left, Stan caught the look of malice she glared at Suzee. He didn't expect he'd heard the last of this. He smiled a Stan smile. Maybe next time they needed a lesson he would... or maybe... now that really would put the coyote in the hen house.

  'And so Suzee Moon your time has come. You saw Miss Kitty; I want you to do exactly what she did. Correct position, please.'

  Stan stood well back to admire the view as Suzee knelt, raised her skirts to her waist and then lay face down on the bed. He loved the way her full bottom pushed the white cotton tight. He could sense how tense she was as he slowly untied her drawers, and he too would have had to admit a certain tension as he lowered them to her thighs and saw her lovely behind still reddened from his earlier efforts.

  'I feel sure that this final treatment will cure you of brawling in the bar once and for all.'

  'I'm already cured,' said Suzee frantically.

  'I doubt that. But in any case, I am a great believer in the phrase "better safe than sorry". And I am safe in the knowledge that you are going to be sorry. Sorrier than you realise even now.'

  With that he brought the willow down smartly across the centre of her bum. A scarlet line appeared across her hot cheeks.

  Suzee leapt up from the bed and clutched herself. 'No, no, no,' she cried over and over. Stan waited until she stopped. She looked at him, caught his eye and then hoisted her skirts again before lying face down.

  'You will remember how many Miss Kitty took?'

  'Yes. Eight.'

  'Good. And so shall you take eight.'

  'Not another seven of those.'

  'No. Another eight, for if you get up on your knees or move away at all... we start again. Start again, you understand me?'

  Suzee nodded and muttered her assent. Stan watched her as she closed her eyes tightly. Still he waited as she tried to clench her buttocks as they quivered. While watching he carefully chose his spot. He noticed that just where the full curve of her bottom met her thighs there was a strip of pale skin that the belt had missed. He decided on a sideways stroke, a low arc rising up to bite into those soft cheeks.

  There was a brief silence before Suzee let out a long cry. 'Aaaaaaaaah! Ouch, ouch, ouch!'

  But she stayed down. Stan could see how she was trying frantically not to sway her hips away from him. He waited until she was perfectly still before repeating the action and catching her in exactly the same spot.

  He nodded with satisfaction as she buried her face in the patchwork quilt and gripped handfuls of it. He saw her wriggle into the pillows as the heat from the switch rippled through her body. Stan could see the lesson was virtually learned but to ensure it he tried a third upward, curving shot twisting his body weight into the swing and catching her low again on her shaking bum.

  Her muffled screams and shouts went on for a while and then suddenly she relaxed and seemed to be accepting the inevitable.

  'Only four more,' Stan whispered almost tenderly. Changing stance and rhythm, he placed three hard fast strokes right across the centre of her throbbing arse.

  He listened as her sobs began to subside.

  'After the last stroke I would be obliged if you remain where you are.' It was obvious that she was too far gone to take in anything he said, but never a man to shirk his duty, Stan raised the willow above his head and brought it down full force. As it wrapped itself around her curves Suzee lifted her face from the quilt and screamed through her tears.

  Stan surveyed his work with some satisfaction. Suzee's bottom was bright red with a series of dark lines across her trembling cheeks. As he looked he began to take more notice of her smooth thighs, and the fullness of her blazing bum. He knew she was still not fully aware of what was happening but he could not resist kneeling behind her. As he did so, he undid his belt buckle.

  Suzee tensed at the sound. 'Oh no, please, nothing else. I'm sure I'd faint under the belt now!'

  Stan pushed his trousers down to his knees and moved closer to her. He revelled in her compliance as she raised each knee to allow him to remove her drawers completely. He was delighted to find her wet and slippery as he pressed insistently against her.

  'It's time for you and me to ride into the sunset,' he said as he slid inside her.

  Disobedience À La Carte

  Kit

  'WHEN will you learn to be obedient?'

  He sets down his coffee cup, wipes his lips with his napkin and grins at me across the table. I smile back, a fellow-conspirator. Obedience isn't the point and we both know it. I don't drive a hundred miles each way every weekend I can get away in order to be obedient; he doesn't keep his weekends free for me to obey him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  'You haven't managed well so far tonight, have you?' I can't stop looking at his eyes, eyes to dive into, to drown in. 'I asked for fish, you provided beef. Very nice, I might add, one of your best to date' - he's always polite, always complimentary - 'but definitely not fish.'

  I'm always in charge of catering: he's a lousy cook. He washes up, and he's supposed to be in charge of menus: but, in fact, I cook what I want; the payoff's always worth it. After dinner on Friday night, we always sit for a while, listening to music; in the summer, we might go into the garden to watch the twilight thicken, to feel the night take on that rich, heady quality that goes so well with sex. Talking, digesting our week's news as our bodies digest our evening meal. I wait, in pleasurable anticipation, for him to signal that he's ready. It may be tonight; it might be tomorrow or Sunday. He watches me waiting, never misses a movement, a nuance. Sometimes he makes me wait so long that anticipation tips into impatience and I find I'm drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair or tapping my feet. He likes that, enjoys the power of it.

&nbs
p; He doesn't demand much: it's not that kind of relationship. It's not lifestyle: that wouldn't be right for either of us, though we're both intrigued by those who do it, the psychology of it, the paradoxical security of extreme mutual dependence. We depend on each other too, but our lives have other priorities to be juggled.

  He stands up and looks down at me, his six feet five to my five feet nothing; it's the signal I've been waiting for. Tonight we've been sitting in the garden and it's a warm, sultry night: we'll probably stay outside. I'm wearing what he asked me to wear in his email yesterday: a low-cut tee-shirt and a wraparound skirt. I'm wearing the high-heeled, peep-toe shoes he had made for me for my birthday; I've never had shoes so comfortable. No bra; just knickers. He clicks his fingers and I stand up, move towards him. He takes my wrists in his right hand - he has big hands: all the better to control you with, my dear - and raises my hands to his lips. He kisses my fingertips one at a time, slowly. My skin is prickling, my nipples throb; but I stand motionless. Not obedience, but anticipation: waiting for him to go on with what he's chosen to do.

  He leads me down the garden, my heeling sinking a little in the gravel path. A short, taut washing-line runs high beside the path further down the garden, between two trees. He draws me close, reaches up to the line, pulls it downwards and gently entwines each of my wrists in a twist of it. That's all it takes. The other year, at a party, his friend Peter's wife asked him why the washing-line was so high and he told her, 'So I can make Veronica stretch,' and everyone laughed because they were a little pissed and thought he meant he enjoyed the sight of me stretching up to hang out the washing. I blushed a little, because I knew exactly what he meant: I couldn't reach the line to hang up clothes, of course, but I'd been there the night before, my arms stretched high above my head, straining on my toes to keep my balance, as he whipped me with another stretch of the nylon line. That left marks that didn't fade for over a week. When I went back the next weekend, he ran his finger over every mark very gently; but he used the nylon line again that weekend.