textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/crunch.txt

                        Crime, Confession and Punishment

I should point out that I had a long correspondence with Ted before this
event. In that correspondence, I had said several times that "when we meet,
don't let me talk you out of giving me a spanking." He responded that I did
not have to worry about that, that when the moment came that I was going to
get my fanny tanned in the old fashioned way.  I was not sure that he meant
it-I kind of thought so, but I have learned since that many men (but
practically no women) can be talked out of it, and especially if sex is
offered, they will forget about it.  At that point in time, I had been almost
there a number of times, but never all the way. Oh, I had a gentle hand
spanking lots of times but nobody had taken me over the wall yet, and I knew
that I had to have that experience.  Now Ted had assured me, but did I believe
it absolutely?  Well, back to the fateful day.

He had me on my feet now, and the collar around my neck, the leash attached,
and holding the crop in his hand. Leading me by the leash, the crop rubbing
against my naked bottom, he had me parading around the room for him, terrified
but more excited than I have ever been before--frightened of what he might do
next, and still almost at the point of orgasm, every erogenous part fully
stimulated.  He led me to the bedroom, and flipped me down on the bed, turned
me over so that my rump was uppermost, had me raise up further so that he
could force a pair of pillows under my belly.   Now I offered a target that
excited him, too.  He tickled me with the crop, and said "now slut, tell me
what you want me to do.  You have been talking about wanting punishment--tell
me now if you really do."  I gasped, but said nothing, my face down into the
bed clothes. I am not sure if I just didn't want to speak or could not, but I
am sure that I did not want to stop now.

Suddenly the crop flashed through the  air, hitting nothing but making that
characteristic sound.  I gasped again, and again the crop flashed through the
air, this time striking both cheeks of my upraised bottom with a hideous
TTTTHHHHWWWWAAACCCKKK.  He waited a long time to let the sensation of that
first stroke soak in fully.  It felt like a firey line had been drawn across
my ass.  I was already fully in tears, and begging him to stop.  But he knew I
did not mean it yet, and probably he would have refused even if he did believe
me. My bottom was shaking, wiggling this way and that, trying to find a
comfortable position, and hoping (perhaps) that he would not use the crop on
me again.  Of course he did, slowly, firmly, hard biting strokes across my
heaving rump, which by now seemed to have taken up a motion of its own as it
received another five firey red lines.

I know that you would like me to tell you that he then gave me a royal fucking
in my burning ass.  Actually, he did, but he was not especially large and it
was not uncomfortable. That part of my fantasy went unrealized- though if had
something like a 9" monster I would have had it all.  What he had was big
enough and certainly hard enough to get the job done, and when after cumming
in me he withdrew, he had no problems whatever- considering that the
fire-bringing crop was right there on the bed- in getting me to suck it clean
for him.

Comparing that session to the one I had at Emily's house is difficult for me,
because in a way they were so different.  The first one, I always felt in
control even though my hands were fastened behind me.  Any time I really
wanted him to stop, I think he would have.  At Emily's, she (Emily) was fully
in control, and being another woman, had a better understanding of what I
could take, and resolved, I am sure, to take me all the way there, and beyond.
Now she did not wield the crop, Doris did.  But she was in charge of the
event, the mistress of ceremonies, so to speak-have no doubt about that.

When I was invited (or ordered, if you prefer) there for a hen party and a
dinner, I had no idea what was going to happen.  Lets face it, she and I were
not exactly social friends, but I was in no position to refuse, so I duly
showed up, suitably dressed for a social dinner with 8 or 9 women present.
Early on, there was no obvious sign that this was going to be different from a
thousand similar parties we both have been to.  Later on, however, the tone of
the conversation changed, and Emily announced in words that I cannot really
remember that this was a special occasion-that present was the person who had
helped break up her marriage, etc., etc.  Everybody chimed in at that point,
and however it worked conversationally, I ended up nude, with my wrists behind
me, tied.

Doris had a metal clip that winds through the hair and locks, and to it, a
long cord attached that she tossed over a ceiling beam.  There I stood,
totally helpless, now very fearful of this particular event.  I did not feel
that I had any control at all over what would happen, and considering that
Emily was still very angry at me, I foresaw real problems,  and did not have
the feeling that the other ladies present were going to be supportive in the
least measure. Doris did her particular specialty after blindfolding
me--gentle, stimulating caresses of the nipples, guaranteed to arouse one and
erect those nipples no matter how frightened and apprehensive one might be.
And when they were suitably erect, a final pinch, and then those metal spring
clips attached, first one and then the other.  And soon enough, a searching
finger between the legs finds moisture, finds an erecting clit, massages it so
that it is standing fully at attention, and another clip attached to it--all
three together now applying a kind of hideous metallic caress that never stops.

Now Emily is seated comfortably, and asks me for my version of the
relationship with her ex.  I tell her the truth- that we had been together at
a Christmas party, and he kissed me under the mistletoe, but nothing more-
that day.  What about the next day she inquires, and I confess that we had
done some juvenile petting, with him maybe kissing my titties, and sliding his
hand up under my skirt--hardly enough for all this to-do right now.  She gives
the sign to Doris, and the crop flashes, whacking me severely across the rump,
making me gasp, and making some unseen female titter.  I dance, I shake, but I
have nowhere to go.  Again she asks, and I confess that later I had let him
take my panties down.  That day he gave my pussy a sweet kiss.  At that I get
a sweet kiss, too- by the crop, again across the rump.  I am really fearful
now, and crying, begging to be let go.  Nobody will have any of that, and I
get another slash with the crop for even asking.  Emily is leading the
confessional now- she wants to know what happened next-of course, she already
knows, that same day I had taken his cock into my mouth, but nothing more.  I
admit that, get another shot with the crop for it, and I am screaming,
practically hysterically now, because I do not know how much farther this is
going to go.  I also do not know that I am going to be the star of this film,
that is being taken this minute.

Emily wants to know about his fucking me, and I swear that it never happened.
Nobody believes me now, and the punishment continues, worse than I ever got
before. My confession is extracted from me, and by now after a dozen or more
stokes of that crop, I will confess to anything, and confess I do to seducing
him every which way, and from her leading me, to badmouthing Emily to him
(which the ladies seem to think is the ultimate insult- this whore badmouthing
a good, innocent wife.  Innocent, hah!!!).

Somebody suggests that my mouth be washed out with soap for that- and it is
duly done, with a strong laundry soap. Now understand this cropping.  I am
standing, my hair holding me upright.   Doris is an artist with that crop, and
she has me bobbing and dancing, kicking, even leaping, and certainly
screaming. None of it makes a bit of difference-I am not going anywhere until
I am released, and that will certainly not be until Emily is satisfied. And
when I got the cropping that day- much more severe by the way, it was in part
because she really did believe that I had been fucking her husband (and
believes it to this day) and wanted my  full confession.  She got it, true or
false.  And when I had confessed-which was absolutely believed by the other
ladies present, the consensus was that I was a slut who was getting what she
deserved-a comeuppance and tramps deserve but rarely get.  The fact that Emily
had the pictures and I could not let them get out and therefore she owned
me-they did not know that. All they knew was that this whoring slut, who had
seduced Emily's husband plus who-knows-who else, who might be making an
unknown play for the husband of any of the ladies present, she was getting a
richly deserved lesson, written on her ass by a luscious black maid.

They watched every stroke approvingly, and nobody protested that the
punishment exceeded the crime.  Later, when Doris?  Emily?  The volunteer?  I
don't know. All I know is that I had received a cropping- a cruelly efficient
one given under the most exotic and erotic circumstances possible, before a
very interested audience.  I know that Doris had me bobbing and weaving,
crying and begging for forgiveness for a crime that I did not commit, and if
these ladies in the audience had been a jury, I am sure that this sentence
given me would have been even more extreme.  If anybody had suggested that
they put a brand on my bottom, I am certain that the group would have agreed,
perhaps unanimously. And of course, adding to the overall flavor of the moment
is that the whole thing was being videotaped, in full, glorious color and
sound, for posterity to view.  Crime and Punishment-or better yet, Crime,
Confession, and Punishment-- how's that for a title.  It has a sort of Russian
Ring to it, no?