Physical
Gabriella Luciano
American Taboo Press
New York ― Los Angeles
Smashwords Edition
First International Edition, October 2012
Copyright © 2012 by American Taboo Press
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by American Taboo Press, Los Angeles.
Stories
Olivia M.
The Formal Interview
Ivy Glen Academy
Olivia M.
from Spanked: Real Stories
Q: Tell me about your experiences getting spanked.
Olivia: He was an older Australian man. I mean at least a number of years older than me. He lived on a neighboring ranch next to my parents' estate out on the edge of the outback. They had purchased the place from a family friend with the intent that it would be their retirement home. I had never even been to Australia even though my father was born there and I had dual citizenship. It was a few months after they had purchased the place when I decided I would go visit. I had been living in New York and working a very stressful corporate job that required me to put in 60 or 70 hours a week. I needed the escape.
Q: Did you find it?
Olivia: (laughs) Well, I don’t know if I found escape but I certainly found what it’s like to get whipped out in parts of the rugged Australian territory where neighbors are few and far between.
Q: He whipped you?
Olivia: Actually, he used a carpet beater, but let me start from the beginning. I arrived at my parents' ranch with the intent to stay for a week. They had settled into the place, had begun to farm a number of crops they grew to supplement their income and had even purchased a few horses. I had grown up as a child in Kentucky so I was completely at home on top of a horse. So, two or three days into my vacation, I would ride the horse out to the far stretches of their property. They had acquired a couple thousand acres so their neighbors were literally miles away from them. Well, one day I took the horse to the western edge of their property. My parents had told me that there was a man by the name of Ross Higgins who lived there. They told me they had only met him once or twice but he seemed to be an eclectic sort of frontiersman. He was divorced and spent most of his time overseeing his vast acreage of cotton crops.
Q: So what happened?
Olivia: It took me nearly a quarter of an hour just to make it to the property line that was marked with an old handmade wooden fence and a lot of barbed wire. I rode along the line until I made it to his place. It was set near the edge of the main dirt road that divided the territory. As I approached his ranch house, the sight of his figure standing in the rear courtyard grew larger and larger. I could see that he was at work doing something but I could not see what he was doing. There was just this silhouette of a man on the landscape making a kind of swift motion with his upper body and the muffled sound of a harsh thud at the finish of the motion.
Q: A thud?
Olivia: Yes. It was only once I got close enough to his house that I saw that there were a half dozen large carpets hung over a clothes line and he was striking them with some sort of an object. I only half-recognized the object. I think I had seen it in a movie or something. I knew that it was called a carpet beater and that it was used to beat the dirt from the carpet in an age before there were such things as vacuums and steam cleaners. When I saw him viciously striking the thick pieces of fabric, it seemed almost cinematic. Plus, I guess I had always assumed that women had used them in their traditional domestic duties. To see a man using the wicker implement to strike the dirty rugs was disorienting at first, particularly since he had the look of a rugged outdoorsman. He was wearing a pair of thick tan dungarees but his deeply tanned chest was as bare as could it could be. I pulled up my horse and just sat there watching him. The intensity with which he struck each carpet with the beater was very impressionable.
Q: How so?
Olivia: He would wind up like a baseball player getting ready to hit the ball out of the stadium. Every time he struck the beater against the carpet, he would hit it with the full force of his whole body. At times, it seemed as if he would catapult his feet right off the ground. There was such a violent intensity to it but at the same time it seemed very poetic and beautiful as I watched it from a distance.
Q: So what happened?
Olivia: I was just sitting on my horse watching him do his work, repeating the motion over and over, when he suddenly looked up in my direction. He must have felt that someone was watching him. He stopped and looked toward me. When he saw me, I felt my heart skip a beat. I really wasn’t doing anything I wasn’t supposed to be doing, but I think I had started to be more of a voyeur than just an innocent stranger who had happened to come upon him. It only took him a couple of seconds to motion me to ride down the length of the fence in his direction. I immediately led the horse down the line of the property as he casually walked to meet me. When I pulled the horse up in front of him, he eyed me for a moment to try to figure out who I was. He asked me if I worked for my parents and I told him that I was their daughter. He simply nodded up and down while he took stock of me. There was an intense visual exchange after I took a moment to ogle his body. He was a good number of years older than me, but still very fit with a strapping torso from, what I assumed, many hours and days of rugged labor. His thick brown hair was graying at the temples.
He asked me why I was watching him beat the carpets. I told him that I was American and that I had never seen anyone use a carpet beater. He still had it in his hand and I was covertly examining the woven design of the wicker implement. I made a comment that I thought women were the ones who typically used them and he immediately frowned at me. He told me he was divorced and his own daughter didn’t have any clue how to properly beat a carpet. He said that it had to be struck with a certain force to displace the dirt from the tight fabric. He said it in such a technical way but it seemed so provocative in its erotic suggestiveness. Maybe that was just me. I don’t know.
Q: So did something happen?
Olivia: Not then, no. We talked for some time. I asked him more about beating the carpets and he inquired about my visit to the country. There was definitely this strange connection between us. He was a bit irritated that I had come upon him unannounced but I could tell he was intrigued by this seemingly naïve American woman watching him from the edge of his property. He rested the wicker beater on his bare shoulder, as he spoke to me, like it was hatchet or a baseball bat. He showed no shame or feelings of self-consciousness to the fact that he was violently beating these dirty carpets like a man possessed with an uncanny intent to purify them. After we talked for a bit, there was a lull in the conversation and he said he had to get back to his work. I wished him a good day and rode off toward my parents' place.
Q: And after?
Olivia: That night, I had some intense dreams but I could only remember fragments of them upon waking. Immediately after breakfast, I took one of the horses out again and headed straight toward his place. When I got there, it must still have been very early in the morning as the air was still a bit chilly. I expected somehow to find him in the same place where I had left him but not only was he not there, but the carpets had been taken back into the house. I hesitated for a moment but then noticed a light on in one of the windows of his ranch. I slowly rode up the length of the fence so I was just yards away from his dwelling. When I saw his bare body through one of the windows, I pulled up the horse and froze in place.
Maybe I wasn’t used to the secluded nature provided by the vast distances between each house, but it seemed like he was on full display for me to watch. He had evidently just showered as he was toweling the water off of his body. He was stark nak
ed and he rapidly wiped the moisture from his tanned skin with a white towel. My first instinct was to ride away but I was afraid that the noise from the horse would betray my presence. I remained as still as I could on my horse and ogled his body as he shimmied it dry. Suddenly, he made a quick motion toward the window to hang up the towel and he glanced out. Our eyes locked and his expression transformed to a look of shock and fury.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just ride away. Well, I guess I could have but I didn’t. A few moments later, he stormed out of the back of his place wearing only his jeans and a pair of dark brown boots.
Q: And what did he do?
Olivia: He literally stomped across the distance from his back door to the spot where I rested at the edge of his property. He began to shout before he even reached me. At first, I could only hear random words from what he was saying. Not only because of the distance but because there was a steady breeze blowing. It was phrases like “how dare you?” and “who do you think you are?” and you “dirty little voyeur.” It was that last one that really woke me up. I mean I was afraid from his reaction but when he called me a “dirty little voyeur,” that got my attention. I suddenly felt like I had committed a crime or something. I mean I had just ridden up to the edge of his property to see if he was beating the carpets again. I don’t know why I thought he would be doing it the very next day, but I didn’t mean to catch him in the nude.
So by the time he got to me, my heart was racing like crazy and I didn’t know what he was going to do. His face was red with anger and he was still shouting at me in full fury. He finally told me to get down from the horse and I did. He immediately looked me up and down. I was wearing full leather chaps over my riding pants and I must have looked like some high class equestrian snob to him. He demanded to know why I was peeping in his window and I tried to tell him that I didn’t mean to. I was just there to watch him beat the carpets. He looked at me like I was some crazy American tourist who thought he was there just to give her an Australian outback show.
Q: Is that was he said?
Olivia: No, that’s how he looked at me. What he said was that he was going to teach me what happens to “dirty little voyeurs.” He told me to tie up my horse and “get my skinny ass” inside before he beat it right there. I didn’t know what to do and I froze for a second. My parents had said he was eccentric but I didn’t know if that meant he was dangerous. When I hesitated, he moved to step through the barbed wire fence to come toward me, and I quickly relented to his orders. I tied up my horse and ducked through the fence. He immediately grabbed my arm and led me towards his house. My mind began to race with the possibilities of what he was going to do. I mean, we were practically out there in the middle of nowhere. All he said was that he was going to teach me how he beat the dirt out of the carpets. I knew deep down that he meant he was going to do more than that.
Q: What do you mean? Why didn’t you just leave?
Olivia: I don’t really know. I could have just left, but I didn’t. I felt like nothing really bad was going to happen and whatever did happen, no one would be able to see or hear way out there anyway. It was like I slipped into another zone of reality. This strapping Australian man had caught me peering through his window and was now roughly leading me into his house. It just felt like it was supposed to happen.
Q: And what did happen?
Olivia: He took me to the back courtyard of his house where he had been beating the carpets the day before. There was a number of nylon cords tied to metal poles over which he had laid the rugs. It looked very ramshackle, as if he had built them himself. When we got to them, he told me to lift my arms and wrap them around one of the lines. That was the point at which I felt he was a bit crazy. Well, I don’t want to say crazy, but he had a certain pathological way of seeing things that included it making sense in his mind for making this American woman wrap her arms around his carpet hanging lines. I hesitated and he told me to get my arms up there. I glared out toward the prairie as if I was seeing if anyone was there. I mean I’d been living in the city. I wasn’t used to risking myself like this without the safety of a cell phone call or a scream to someone passing by.
Q: So did you do what he asked you to?
Olivia: Yes. I think my arms were trembling but I made the leap of faith. I lifted my arms and wrapped them around the nylon cord so they were extended out in both directions. Then, he immediately told me he was going to beat the dirt right out of me and that he was going to teach me not to be a naughty little voyeur. I should have run away right there but, in retrospect, his words really turned me on. I had watched the sensual intensity in the way he used the carpet beater on the rugs and it seemed like there was just a whole world of emotion simmering underneath the violence. I turned my head back toward him as he went into the house. I still remember the sound of the screen door smacking loudly against the frame of the house. In a matter of seconds, he strutted back out with the carpet beater in his hand. It was the same one he had used the day before. It was a long wicker thing with a simple woven design at its end.
He approached me quickly and didn’t give me any time to prepare really. He just told me he was going to beat the dirt out of me and I suddenly felt the harsh sting of the carpet beater strike my butt. It hurt like hell, even over the thickness of my jeans and I gasped in pain. He whipped it across my butt several more times and each time I could hear the whisking sound of it as it flew through the air. When it struck me, a cloud of dust was sent from the fabric of my jeans and quickly blew away in the brisk breeze. All I could think was how insane this moment was. He was beating me like a carpet and I kept my arms entwined in the nylon cord like I was supposed to be beaten like a carpet.
Q: Did he say anything?
Olivia: The first few times, no. He just did it. I had never been spanked for real up to this point, expect for just playing around sexually with boyfriends. This was for real. It hurt like hell, but I just gripped the cord in the palms of my hands to bear it. I never turned around or tried to resist. After he whipped it across my butt a few times, he started repeating: “I’m going to teach you how to get the dirt out, young lady.” He said it over and over. Not only did it make me realize that he didn’t even know my name but that he was obsessed in some deep way about getting the dirt out of what should be clean. I had talked to him briefly at our first meeting about his ex-wife and daughter but he didn’t really seem like he wanted to provide intimate details about what happened. There was something about the carpet beating, I think, that helped him vent his emotions or relieve some deeper pain inside of him.
Q: How many times did he strike you with it?
Olivia: Probably ten times, and then he paused for a moment. I had gasped in pain each time that he did it but it definitely felt like just a preparation for something more intense. When he stopped, I glanced back at him but I didn’t say anything. The whole experience felt so cathartic, like words didn’t matter. When I looked back at him, he seemed to be just examining his work. It was as if he was seeing if he got all the dirt out. Then, he suddenly approached me and quickly reached around my waist. He immediately started unbuttoning my jeans. I should have been shocked, but like I said, it was all so strange for me to be out there in the middle of nowhere. I think my mind had been so trained, from living in the city, to always think about what others thought of me rather than what was actually happening to me. I don’t know. I brought a lot of emotional baggage to the moment as well. I was so stressed at work and with my own relationship that I desired some kind of extreme release. Maybe all the stars were aligned to make it happen how it did.
Q: And how did it happen?
Olivia: He unbuttoned my jeans, button by button, and then pulled them down to my thighs. I mean he did it really, really quickly and in a rough sort of way. He certainly wasn’t concerned about how I felt about it or about being delicate. I was still wearing my leather chaps which must have made the whole thing seem so graphic. I mean they were belted around my wais
t and covered the lengths of my legs, but they are made in such a way that if you happen not to be wearing anything else, only your bare ass and bare front is left uncovered. But he could only pull down my jeans to the middle of my thighs without stopping to take them all the way off so he just tugged them down as far as they would go.
There was a brief moment of silence while he reached to pick up the carpet beater again. It gave me time to realize the insanity of the situation. I mean I could have just slipped my arms out of the cords and run away, but I didn’t. I waited for him. It occurred to me how we were in this together. It was not so much that there was a deep connection between the two of us as much as we each had an uncontrollable urge to participate in the act. I know that sounds crazy…to participate in the beating of my bare ass in the middle of the Australian Outback, but that’s what it was. We needed it deeply beyond any reasonable explanation.
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