768 lines
30 KiB
Plaintext
768 lines
30 KiB
Plaintext
MOIRA'S TICKET
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She asked for a private meeting to discuss going on my
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show. Where we had met before, and radio stations are often
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crowded, noisy and frantic, I set the appointment for five
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at my home. My show finishes at four, but there's always a
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problem, meeting or phone calls. "Five would be fine." she
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said.
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Moira was the Director of the Women's League political
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organization and I do a local talk show on issues, so here
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she is, coming up my walkway looking like a million bucks in
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a tight black skirt, white blouse and tall black "heels." I
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opened the door.
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"Welcome."
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Her smile flashed a thousand hellos as she jiggled ever
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closer. Moira was from the generation that "Never to go out
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without a pair of pumps." and her hair bounced nicely with
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each "clop" of her cadence. She had a manila envelope, a
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two foot long box and a big smile.
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"How are you?" she said with exciting feminine modula-
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tion as I took the box and envelope. Purely on impulse I
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kissed her on the cheek while the immortal bard's great and
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considerable truth, "A woman is a dish for the gods." burst
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in my brain like dawn, I felt that I was drinking something
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wet, wonderful, and risky.
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"My God!" I exclaimed, "How impetuous of me! I..."
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"How nice." she interrupted gracefully, "And, thank
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you."
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"Ladies always look so sharp." I attempted to recover.
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"It's expected." she said the way a mature woman could
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annunciate; with authority.
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"And you enjoy it." I pronounced with a smile.
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"I do." she said rising on her toe and turning grandly.
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"Wowzo!" I gushed in sophomoric Walter Denton, cracking
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high school intonation as she spun full turn and then
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stepped into the living room.
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"What a lovely new home." she observed as I closed the
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door. She was like a cat, moving smoothly through the room
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in a tight skirt with an inviting long zipper up the butt as
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she strutted through the room on stilleto heels.
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"Well thank you. I just finished it. It's been a year
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in work."
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How gracefully she moved, turning back to me as I drank
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every move of her trim body.
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"It needs a few things." She quipped as she slithered
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to me, "From a woman's point of view..." pausing, turning
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her foot presenting a profile of one tall pump with trim
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ankle. This was a woman with authority, power and grace.
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"Curtains?"
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"Yes."
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"Well, the lady will have to come first." and she
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twirled, spinning to present herself frontally.
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"Bachelor?"
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"Divorced."
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"y tu?"
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"Si." she responded
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We smiled longingly, and I wondered, "What would it be
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like?" She broke the moment with a blink and a smile show-
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ing lines of time, while I reflected with mine more than
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hers by ten.
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"Let us continue..." I said in my best "gallant," lead-
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ing her through the house.
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"Notice we don't really have halls. In my design all
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space is used. This is the master bedroom. And, this..."
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I started to point to the kitchen, but she had gone through
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the door.
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"Oh!" she exclaimed, "What is that?"
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A thousand thoughts raced through my mind as I wondered
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if she were looking in my closet, the bathroom, not cleaned
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in a week, or under the bed, but as I entered saw her point-
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ing to the patio.
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"Oh!" I exclaimed in relief. "That's a solar oven."
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She went to the sliding door, opened it, and strutted
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out to the patio, with sun highlights sliding on her shoes.
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The way she moved on those heels was something to behold.
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"How do they do it?" She flowed fluidly...
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"Oh! There's something in there!" she exclaimed.
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"Two squab. My favorite foul. It cooks them slowly and
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renders all the fat. Very healthy."
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"I'm sure." she observed, looking at me warmly and then
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I saw the approval women have for men doing something domes-
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tic. Why not? Everyone has to eat!
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"Perhaps you'll stay for dinner?" I asked hopefully,
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and she only smiled, a definite "Maybe..." so I took her by
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the hand.
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"How graceful you are." I said sincerely, struck with
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the way she moved. A younger woman may have blushed, but
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Moira smiled knowingly a monument to all that couturier,
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chemistry and culture could complete, flashing her stunning
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presence to a man caught in urges, tempered by training and
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teachings of time. A ballet of genes, yens and cautions.
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"How wonderful of you to say that." she said, pushing
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herself to me, kissing with purpose and brushing closely
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confirming my arousal. She was complete. Then she stepped
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back.
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"Well." she exclaimed as if to say, "What else?"
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"Would you care for some wine?"
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"Should I?" she asked, asking, and I smiled.
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Without a word, and her hand in mine, I led her to the
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bar where she hopped onto a stool, crossed one leg over the
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other, presenting a long, magnificent work of nature. I
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reached into the refrigerator where I kept two bottles of
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champagne chilled, grabbed one, added another, and opened it
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carefully.
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"Champagne?"
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"It's all I drink, and a bottle a day keeps the doctor
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away."
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"A bottle?"
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"It's only three cups, but I have more in case we
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prefer." Her smiling silence suggested we would as she
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continued to twirl her pointy pump pensively but provoca-
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tively.
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"What a magnificent leg."
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"I have two."
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"I know."
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"You're a leg man."
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"And, a pump man. I love plain pumps on women. Taste-
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ful simplicity."
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"Thank you, they're my preference too?" she said
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twirling her foot delightfully.
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"Now, to business." I paused, "I am at your service?"
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"Oh," she flashed, "Yes..." and she turned to the box
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opening it to reveal a paddle! I hadn't seen one since
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college or felt one since junior high school, but the sight
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was slightly alarming.
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"This is why I wanted a private meeting." she began and
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I felt some warmth on my cheeks. "You know about SB 221, the
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Campbell bill?" she continued.
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"The corporal punishment bill?"
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"Yes. Well this is a paddle legally defined in the
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bill. I had it specially made for me." she said opening a
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copy of the legislation, putting on glasses to read.
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"Listen to this:"
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"Said paddle must be 18 to 24 inches long, have a six
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inch handle and a 12 to 18 inch working surface. "Working
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surface?" she interrupted herself, looking over her glasses,
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as I smiled, then she continued. "It is to weigh no more
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than one pound. And, then it goes on to describe the number
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of swats per offense, and so on..." She put down her glass-
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es.
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"I would guess you're against this." I offered.
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"Well certainly!" she exclaimed, "It's barbaric."
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"I don't think so."
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"Well!" she huffed.
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"Have you ever been paddled?"
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"Me?" She was shocked.
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"Yes."
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"Certainly not." she said with a toss of her head.
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"Then you don't know what you're talking about."
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"I was told you might be like this."
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"I'm professionally contrary, but really I think it's
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OK.
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"Well," she huffed again, "have you ever been paddled?"
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"Certainly." I answered, "I grew up in the middle west
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in the 50's. That's all they did was paddle our butts when
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we had it coming."
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"Had it coming?"
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"Usually over something we'd done to girls." That gave
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her pause and she sipped from her glass.
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"What does it feel like?" she asked and then I knew the
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wine was working faster than usual.
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"It stings, but it's not all that bad."
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"What do you mean?"
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"Bend over and I'll show you."
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"You'd really do it, wouldn't you." she frowned slight-
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ly.
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"Sure, but only in the name of education."
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"Are you daring me?"
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"No, I just think if you're going to get mad about
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something of which you have no knowledge and that's foolish.
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Try it, then you'll know."
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"OK." She stood, handed me the paddle, took a position
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in front of me and bent over. I grabbed her by the belt and
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then:
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"WHAP!"
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She straightened up with wide eyes.
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"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Oh my!" and she grabbed her butt,
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"What a strange sensation!"
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"You're wearing too much clothing to really feel it."
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"You mean..."
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"The real swats are done bareback."
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"Hardly."
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"Yes." I said as she sat.
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I took the moment to tend to the music, picking a New
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Age CD blend of sitar, tambla and synthesizer.
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"I feel I've known you a long time." I said as I opened
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the second bottle.
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"Is that a line?"
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"Yes, but true. You're very relaxed and you're right
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at home."
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"You're the only man who ever laid a hand on me."
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"How does it feel?"
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"Oh," she said wistfully, "I can feel it."
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"If it's done right you'll feel it for a couple of
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days."
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"You mean bare."
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"Yes, or almost..."
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The sky was yellowing and the room turned to gold as
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the music set the mood and I poured the wine. She was such
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a celebration of life lived well and intelligently. So
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together in so many ways and so gloriously beautiful.
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"I really think this is a stupid bill and we shouldn't
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start spanking people for breaking the law."
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"Well, the jails are full and too often misdemeanants
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get off without any real penalty. They don't pay fines.
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What can we do? They're just trying to reduce crime."
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"Well, the Women's League is against this 100% and I
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would like to present our arguments on your show."
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"OK," I agreed, "but we do have a few things to talk
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about."
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"Oh my!" she exclaimed, inhaling deeply as she present-
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ed her ample chest, "It's getting late."
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"That means you'll have to stay for dinner."
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"Only if I can make the salad. Do you have an apron?"
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"OK, but if you're going to stay, I'll have to change
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into something more appropriate." I was wearing a casual
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polo shirt and the lady was in heels. It seemed a little one
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sided. "What would you prefer?"
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"Oh, I love men in tuxedos!" she smiled. "Do you have
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a tuxedo?"
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"Do I look Mafioso?"
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"No," she laughed. "I'll settle for white shirt and a
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nice tie. I just love men in white shirts and ties, but let
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me pick them." she said hopping off the stool with a quick
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leap "clopping" to the floor and a clatter of heels.
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We went to the bedroom and I pushed open the closet.
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Her eyes passed quickly over the shirts on hangers and she
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touched one in a plastic storage bag.
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"My Fiesta shirt?"
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"Yes. Please...."
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"Oh Lord." It was a 19th century high collared costume
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shirt I only wore during our annual "Fiesta." Local celeb-
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rities, dignitaries and characters were expected to play
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parts in the annual celebration and the shirt was uncomfort-
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able, but I had offered and she was grinning widely.
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"I just love these shirts. I wish men wore them now!"
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She was dancing in anticipation.
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"OK, you do the salad and I'll change." She left the
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room with a quick turn and a great "going away" strut worthy
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of an erection. I took a quick shower, got into the shirt,
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stretching upward to get the stiff, high collar closed. The
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tie felt more like a noose than a cravat, then into some
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fresh pants.
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"Excellent!" she announced as I entered the room,
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giving her a "matinee idol" profile side view.
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"Now we're both slaves to fashion." I observed. "My
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neck, your feet, and God-only-knows-what-all, are in pain-
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producing, ridiculous garments."
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"But we're exciting." she whispered loudly, wrapping
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her arms around me and kicking her right foot into my view,
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kissing me again. Then she rubbed up against me firmly,
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running her fingers over my collar as we kissed. Suddenly,
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I felt like I had just discovered girls!
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"Oh, I love these collars." she said as she tapped the
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starched tube gracing my neck. Then she moved away, got on
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the stool and picked up the copy of the bill.
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"Listen to this!" she exclaimed, "Speeders will get one
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swat for every two miles per hour they're over the speed
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limit. If the number exceeds ten swats the misdemeanant may
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arrange to get one spanking per week until all swats have
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been given. This is barbaric!" she exclaimed.
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"Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket?" I sensed this
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issue was close to home.
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"As a matter of fact," she began slowly, "I did just
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last week over by the Adams school. They're so silly with
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that 25 mile per hour business."
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"And how fast were you going?"
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"35"
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"Five swats."
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She grew quiet as I continued to prepare dinner.
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"I'll get the squabs."
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As I took the birds from the oven she emerged moving
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more fluidly than ever, as if she had just left the ladies
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lube rack, a flawless picture of style and grace. She was
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the perfect mature woman and I no longer felt silly in that
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old style stiff collar. It seemed right for the occasion
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"It's ready."
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"I know." she said as the approached and we kissed
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again.
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"The energy that cooked these birds boiled of the sun
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only eight minutes before we used it."
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"I love it when you talk dirty." she said and then I
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knew the jewel of her charm was humor. She had real humor -
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a rare item in young women and a skill in those who dare.
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Finally all was ready and I asked, "Shall we sit?"
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We began eating in silence, affirming our comfort with
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each other and completeness with ourselves.
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"How's yours?"
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"Perfect." she answered and I lifted my glass.
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"To my friend."
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"How adorable." she affirmed and we touched glasses,
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put them to our lips and drank of the wine and its bubbles.
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I've had some strange dinners: seasoned with emotion,
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meaning or promise, but this was one for the books. The
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whole world stopped as we celebrated, gazing at each other,
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the room, the sky, and the emerging stars. My penis was
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throbbing and I could feel that she wanted me, and here was
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the beautiful side of maturity: We could build the moment.
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"How should we do the show?" she asked, adding, "I
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don't want to come off like some shrill witch on a crusade."
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"If we were going to do this show right," I began in
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measured tones, "we would paddle you on the air for your
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speeding ticket and then you could talk about it."
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"What a scandal!" she laughed.
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"Yes, but great radio."
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And what a scandal it would be. Not only was Moira
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politically prominent, but she was in "The Old Money" bunch
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and knew everyone in the town.
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"I cannot imagine what would happen if we did it." I
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said without a clear thought of where this was going. It
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was just too bizarre and then I noticed her glass was empty.
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"I'll open another bottle." and she smiled.
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We continued going over the details of the bill, but no
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show concept was developing.
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"I know now why they say you should never watch sau-
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sages or laws being made." she commented
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"It's a pretty boring bill once you get past the idea."
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"What are we going to do?" she asked.
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"I still think we should spank you for your speeding
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ticket, especially since it was in front of a school, and
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you can tell the world what it's like." She looked straight
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at me with two bleary eyes.
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By now the lady was plain drunk and horny. All she
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could do was produce a lusty laugh and breathy belch. She
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only had to fart I would have heard all the sounds she could
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make, but I wasn't far behind her inebriation.
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"Let's do it!" she announced and stood up taking my
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hand. "Where should we do it?"
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"Probably the bedroom, if you don't mind."
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"Not at all, but shouldn't we have a trial and a sen-
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tencing?" she asked.
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"Certainly." I agreed and led her to the front of my
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bar area, placed her on a low seat. Then I took the paddle
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in hand and sat on a high stool behind the bar. She crossed
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her legs and looked at me with a smile.
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"And how do you plead, Madam?"
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"I'm guilty your honor."
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"For speeding by the Adams Elementary School, ten miles
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per hour over the limit, it is the sentence of this court
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that you shall be given five swats with this paddle. May
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God have mercy on your butt." and we both began to giggle.
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"Take me away, your honor." she announced putting her
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wrists together in front of her and then she said, "Do you
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have any handcuffs? I've always wanted to be in handcuffs."
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"As a matter of fact I do. I keep them in case I catch
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a prowler or burglar." and I reached in the drawer where my
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"bracelets" were stored.
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"Behind" she instructed as she placed her arms behind
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her and I shut the clamps around them.
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"Oh God," she said, "it's hard to walk like this." as I
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led her to the bedroom and she wobbled noticeably.
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When we entered I led her to a position in front of my
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full length mirror so she could view her own spanking.
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"I think we should remove your skirt, if you don't
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mind."
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"I'm wearing pantyhose."
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"That doesn't matter. I spray a little water on them
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and they'll help."
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"Help?"
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"They do that in England when they cane schoolgirls.
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They wear a "spanking dress" made out of sheet cloth and the
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wet the butt area. Just wait here." and I left the room to
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get my fern atomizer from the bathroom, but stopped to pour
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some alcohol in it.
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"I'm sure you know how to undress a lady." she offered.
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"Of course." and I grabbed the zipper pulling down to
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open the skirt. It fell and she stepped out of it. The
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pantyhose preserved her modesty and presented to me a won-
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derful, exciting fanny to paddle.
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"I'm getting a little scared." she said in a small
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voice.
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"All in the name of education and the show. Now bend
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over." and she did.
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With a few quick squirts of the atomizer her butt was
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wet and the pantyhose seemed to disappear.
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"Oh," she exclaimed, "It's cold."
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"Not for long." I said grabbing the links between the
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handcuffs. "Bend farther." and quickly.
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"WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!"
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I delivered all five in as many seconds and she didn't
|
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have time to scream, but immediately went into a low moan
|
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with tears gushing from her eye.
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"OOOHHH!!!!" she moaned.
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"Oh God it stings!" she wailed and I unlocked the
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handcuffs taking her in my arms and I had an enormous erec-
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tion.
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She sobbed as I held her close to me and then she place
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her hand on the lump in my pants.
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"You see!" she exclaimed, "It's sexual."
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"You're very sexy." I countered and she smiled.
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|
"Oh God does it sting. I had no idea. I'd never speed
|
|
again if this is what happened." she said.
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|
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"There you see."
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|
"You should know what this feels like."
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"Oh I know." I quickly covered.
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|
"That was a long time ago." she said still crying
|
|
tears, but arguing clearly.
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|
"Come on..." she said with handcuffs in hand.
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|
"Turn around..." and I was just drunk enough to do it,
|
|
feeling the clamps shut coldly on my wrists sobered me a
|
|
bit, but by then lady was in charge.
|
|
|
|
"Now you stand in front of the mirror." she ordered and
|
|
I said nothing, but moved. Then she opened my belt, un-
|
|
zipped my pants, with tears still emanating from her eyes,
|
|
yanked my pants and then my underwear down.
|
|
|
|
"Bend over." she ordered and I saw myself in the mir-
|
|
ror.
|
|
|
|
In a moment it was like being back in elementary
|
|
school, out in the hall, bending over to be paddled by a
|
|
lady teacher. All I could see was ankles and high heels,
|
|
but then I felt the spray and regretted I had added alcohol.
|
|
|
|
"Here we go!" she warned and:
|
|
|
|
"WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!"
|
|
|
|
The stinging was incredible and she was right about one
|
|
thing, my recollection was not that vivid, but did I feel it
|
|
now! The tears just flowed and I moaned.
|
|
|
|
"Oh!!!" and she unlocked the handcuffs.
|
|
|
|
"Now what do you think?"
|
|
|
|
"No more speeding for me either."
|
|
|
|
"And no more erection." she observed.
|
|
|
|
"You didn't have to hit so hard."
|
|
|
|
"Do unto others...." she said as she moved close to me,
|
|
and on impulse I grabbed her and kissed her. She grabbed me
|
|
and began to work with knowing hands. Then she did some-
|
|
thing remarkable: She ran a finger across her labia and
|
|
then under my nose and me penis became rock hard. In a
|
|
moment we were on the bed and I was kneeling between her
|
|
legs. She led me to her with her right hand and I entered.
|
|
|
|
Moira was as beautiful inside as out. There was no
|
|
resistance. All was welcoming warmth and slickness. She
|
|
responded to my every move, but occasionally jerked when her
|
|
butt hit the bed.
|
|
|
|
"Ouch!" she said on one occasion and pulled back from
|
|
my too energetic thrust.
|
|
|
|
I don't know whether she faked it, or we came together,
|
|
but it was a splendid first time and I fell to the bed,
|
|
spent. In the morning I awakened with her beside me and she
|
|
only smiled slowly as she met the morning, pulled me to her
|
|
soon we were at it again.
|
|
|
|
"How's your fanny?" she asked.
|
|
|
|
"Mine still stings." I answered.
|
|
|
|
"Do you like to talk during sex?" she asked.
|
|
|
|
"I think it helps me perform better."
|
|
|
|
"You mean longer?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"But is it distracting." We were silent as we built
|
|
the rhythm and I kissed her neck.
|
|
|
|
"No hickey, please."
|
|
|
|
"You can wear a scarf."
|
|
|
|
"What if I bite your nose?" she asked, continuing, "How
|
|
will you explain that?"
|
|
|
|
"I will tell the whole truth on the air."
|
|
|
|
"You'd be fired."
|
|
|
|
"Doubtful." and then we both grew silent, entering the
|
|
intimate dimension of physical communication. It was just
|
|
pure sex.
|
|
|
|
"Oh!" I groaned as my several urogenital glands manu-
|
|
factured yet another semen potion and sent the whole load to
|
|
Moira's interior.
|
|
|
|
"Uh!" she arched her back to get the last tickle out of
|
|
my throbbing penis soon to go limp and then she quivered in
|
|
either the best "orgasm on command" I have ever seen or one
|
|
very fortunate occurrence of good timing. Again I fell to
|
|
the bed.
|
|
|
|
"I'm going to get dressed." she announced, bounding
|
|
from the bed as if I had been pumping up her inner tube.
|
|
|
|
I faded into sleep as the water ran, the toilet
|
|
flushed, it was quiet, but soon high heels were heard in the
|
|
house and she came to the bed.
|
|
|
|
"Thanks for dinner the paddle and coitus; all first
|
|
class. See you at the station..."
|
|
|
|
I managed to open one eye to see her "quite'," as the
|
|
matadors call a retreat from a bull with me playing the dead
|
|
animal with her stilletto "talcones" flashing in the rays of
|
|
morning light as she "clippty-clopped" out the door.
|
|
|
|
"They know exactly what they're doing..." I mumbled as
|
|
I felt yet another erection building.
|
|
|
|
Like most radio pros, I get to the station five or ten
|
|
minutes before air time just to avoid station BS and dis-
|
|
tractions. There is no way you can get around all the
|
|
political, personality and business distractions by being
|
|
there.
|
|
|
|
"Hi!" she said cheerily as I entered. I took her hand,
|
|
helping her rise from the couch.
|
|
|
|
"Come on back." I said, "We've got a few minutes to
|
|
air time, but I'll do an intro and you'll have no problem."
|
|
|
|
She followed me down the hall and into the studio where
|
|
I outfitted her with earphones and took my position at the
|
|
board.
|
|
|
|
"Good afternoon, Santa Royale. This is The Afternoon
|
|
Show at 967 - 4567, and we have a guest, Moira Thomas,
|
|
Director of the Women's League, who has come to discuss the
|
|
Campbell Bill on corporal punishment. I understand you're
|
|
opposed to this bill, Moira."
|
|
|
|
"Not at all..." she began, "I was opposed until you
|
|
showed me how it really feels to get paddled, and I can
|
|
still feel it now. I think it makes a lot of sense."
|
|
|
|
"I want our listeners to understand that I did this for
|
|
demonstration purposes only..."
|
|
|
|
"Yes and you got the same..."
|
|
|
|
"Quite right." I had to admit.
|
|
|
|
In many years of doing talk radio I have never seen all
|
|
phone lines light at once, but that is exactly what happened
|
|
after these words and the calls were hilarious.
|
|
|
|
"Do you mean he paddled you?" asked an elderly lady.
|
|
|
|
"Yes, and I enjoyed it."
|
|
|
|
"Did I hear that she paddled you?" asked a man of me.
|
|
|
|
"Yes, but I wouldn't call the experience enjoyable, by
|
|
any means. It was rather like being back in junior high
|
|
school."
|
|
|
|
The calls never stopped and the show was a riot. The
|
|
front office was besieged with calls from women leaving
|
|
their names and numbers.
|
|
|
|
"That's it for today. Tune in tomorrow and we'll do it
|
|
again." and I turned down the mike "pot," punched the news
|
|
satellite feed on and nodded to Moira. We left the small
|
|
studio, hand in hand to be met with the applause of the
|
|
entire staff as we exited the building.
|
|
|
|
"Your place or mine?" I asked as we came out and into
|
|
the brilliant sun of Santa Royale.
|
|
|
|
"Where is the paddle?" she asked.
|
|
|
|
"Mine."
|
|
|
|
"Then it'll be yours...."
|