My name is Carol Hamilton, and I was born into a wealthy and well-respected family.
But money and position don't always make a girl's life ideal. My parents have
been divorced for years. I've had little contact with my real father. I suppose my
mother has always loved me and cared about me, but she's a confused woman with a
fondness for alcohol. At present, I am 23 years old, but back when I was 18, my mother
began drinking even more heavily than usual, and that's when I found I could no
longer communicate with her.
I might have been able to help Mother, but she always had this steady stream of
boyfriends, live-in “uncles” who influenced her greatly. Frank Neddick, the uncle who
moved in when I was 18, became especially troublesome almost as soon as he arrived. He
came on to me whenever my mother wasn't around. And he did it in a very crude way.
He'd make suggestive remarks about my body, especially if I was wearing something
skimpy. I'd just finished with High School. My body had ripened. And I was trim and
toned from doing gymnastics, my breasts high and firm, my bottom rounded and taut.
I'd been letting my dark hair grow out, and it was almost down to my waist. I'd
cut a few light streaks into it to contrast with my tawny skin tone. People had taken to
staring at me when I walked down the street.
Mostly, I was able to just ignore Frank's comments, but I saw that I was going
to have to get away from him when he started asking all these really pointed questions.
“You should be a photo model, Carol,” he said one afternoon when I was walking
through the living room in a pair of white short-shorts. “Have you ever thought about
posing for nude pictures? You could make a lot of money with that sweet, little body.”
I felt like telling the creep to take a flying jump at the moon, but instead I just
told him I'd never thought of it and kept on walking, getting out of the room as
quickly as I could.
I didn't mention any of this to my mother. I knew it would just set her off,
and she wouldn't have believed me anyway. She was convinced that Frank was her Mr.
Right.
One evening while she was out, probably staying too late at a cocktail lounge with
one of her lady friends, Frank made a very direct move on me.
“Somebody ought to spank that sassy little butt of yours, young lady,” he said as I
was coming in the front door. “Would you care to get over my knee for a good bare-ass
spanking? It would probably do you a lot of good.”
“I wish you'd stop talking to me that way,” I said as I made my way toward the
staircase that led to the second floor.
“You know there's nothing you can do about it,” he laughed.
Even when I got upstairs and closed my bedroom door, I felt as if I could still
hear his laughter.
With two of my best girlfriends away for the summer, one traveling through Europe,
one on a world cruise, I felt very lonely. I had no one that I could confide in. I really
didn't know what to do about Frank. I was afraid he was going to make a grab for me,
maybe even pull my shorts down or something like that. What could I do then? I'd have
no way to protect myself.
I started spending as much time out of the house as I could, though I didn't
have much to do. I'd gone to an all girls school, and I just didn't know many
guys. I dated sporadically, but I didn't have a regular boyfriend.
My mother's house is in a genteel and sedate sort of neighborhood in probably
the most fashionable part of the city, townhouses with short wrought iron fences
protecting small, well tended lawns, some of the streets cobblestone, charming, winding
alleyways. Families with old money have lived there for generations, my family included.
Frank was in some sort of business, and he was at home on some afternoons and
usually in the evenings. My mother, with time on her hands, had a less predictable
schedule. Thus, I began going out in the late afternoons and in the early evenings, though
there was little for me to do but stroll around the area where I've lived all my
life. I started hanging out an old cafe called Nettie's. Nettie's is located on
a fairly busy street, just a few blocks over from my mother's house. There's a
grassy lawn in front of it with picnic tables here and there. I'd take something to
read and sit at one of the tables and have a strong espresso or maybe just some tea and a
light pastry. It was a pleasant place to spend a few hours. And best of all, I was out of
Frank's reach.
And this is when Marlene came into my life. Marlene: the woman who would take
control of me.
I'd see her walking past Nettie's. She was a beautiful woman with sleek
brunette hair that she wore in a blunt cut, just to her neck. I thought she was probably
in her late thirties, maybe a bit older. She had an air of success about her, always
dressed so smartly in office clothes, usually carrying a leather tote bag, as well as a
purse. She seemed to live in a lovely old house on the corner there near Nettie's,
bay windows and a slate roof, a small well-manicured lawn with shrubs and rose bushes. On
some days she'd pull into the driveway of the house in a gray luxury sedan, a very
expensive car.
And when she began to notice me sitting there by myself, she started stopping by
for coffee. It didn't take her very long to strike up a friendship with me. She knew
what she was doing.
Marlene quickly became the only real bright spot in my life. She seemed genuinely
interested in me, and I began to confide in her about my troubles, though I didn't
give her all the lurid details where Frank was concerned. But she must have been able to
guess what was going on.
When I was around Marlene, I laughed easily, and the world seemed rosy. She had a
way of putting me at ease. I could relax whenever I was around her. I began to live for
our brief afternoon visits.
I was far too young to understand that Marlene was planning on making me into her
servant girl, her whipping girl. As we sat there at the table talking, she was probably
imagining what it would be like to have me stripped and bound, to have me fastened out in
leather straps, taut and strictured, my body readily available for any hand that sought my
nudity.
On one day, after I'd been hinting around about what was really going on in my
home, Marlene handed me a slip of paper with her phone numbers on it. “If it ever gets so
bad that you have to get out, just give me a call, dear,” she said softly as she pointed
to her house down on the corner. “You can come and stay with me. I have plenty of room for
a special girl like you.”
I'm rarely at a loss for words, but at that moment I simply couldn't
speak. All I could do was nod gratefully. It seemed like the best offer I'd ever been
given!
Just few nights later, it got very bad with Frank, and I was so glad to have
Marlene's phone numbers. It was Saturday, and my mother was off on a weekend jaunt
with one of her lady friends. Supposedly, they were going to the seashore. Late in the
afternoon, when Frank started ogling me each time I passed him, I decided that I'd
best get out of there for the evening, even if it meant just roaming the streets.
After bathing myself in my bedroom's private bath, I walked out into the main
part of the room, just wrapping a fluffy towel loosely around myself, a little too
loosely. When I looked up and saw Frank standing there with a big grin on his face, I was
so shocked that I dropped the towel to the floor. Suddenly, I was standing there stark
naked in front of that horrid man! I couldn't figure how he'd gotten in there.
I'd locked the bedroom door. He must have gotten a key somehow.
“Just wait until I tell your mother you like to run around the house nude, showing
off like a little whore,” he laughed as his eyes roved over me.
I tried to pick up the towel, but he stepped forward and kicked it out of my
reach.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked in a shaky voice as I crossed my left arm
over my breasts and covered my pussy with right hand.
“You left the door wide open,” he said. “You wanted me to see you.”
“I did no such thing,” I cried.
“Yes, you did, and that's what I'm going to tell your mother, you little
slut,” he said as he came forward and grabbed my wrist. “She'll believe me, and you
know it.”
He was right. I had no answer.
“Maybe I won't tell her if I think you're sorry,” he said slowly. “If
you're ready to take a good spanking, maybe I'll forget the whole incident.
It's up to you, little girl.”
He had me. I told him I'd to do whatever he said. What other choice did I
have?
Before the words were even out of my mouth, Frank began hauling me over to the big
double bed, pushing me roughly up against it and forcing me to kneel, my knees on the
floor, my upper body lying sideways over the top of the maroon coverlet.
With my fingers clutching at the bed, I began trembling and wondering just how bad
this was going to be. How harshly was he going to punish me? And when I heard a clicking
sound, I managed to look up over my shoulder to see that he was unfastening his belt and
taking it off!
“No, please don't beat me with that!” I blurted out quickly. “You didn't
say anything about spanking me with a belt!”
“You have nothing to say about it, you little exhibitionist,” he sneered as he
raised the belt. “And you'd better stay in place for your punishment or the
deal's off. I'll tell your mother how you're always running around the
house nude when she's not here.”
I'd done no such thing, but I bit my lip and braced myself, my bottom-cheeks
clutching at themselves and quivering with fear.
And then I heard the whizzing sound of the belt in the air.
And when the leather seared over my rump, I let out a sharp cry. It was awful. My
hips slammed forward, and my fingers dug into the soft bedspread.
“Please, not so hard,” I yelped out. “My rump can't bear it.”
That just made Frank laugh. And as he began flogging the belt at my rump in
earnest, I realized that he was the sort of man who enjoys the sight of a girl in pain.
This wasn't the kind of discipline that some people use to help a girl live a more
orderly and focused life. No, Frank was simply being cruel for cruelty's sake.
He flailed that belt at my bare flesh in a random and mindless way, not counting
the strokes, the force in varying degrees of harshness.
I did everything I could to remain in place and keep him satisfied, though my upper
body was writhing at the bed, my bottom wagging from side to side, my bare feet kicking up
and down at the floor. And when I began pleading for mercy, he again gave me that cruel
laugh.
“Beg, Miss Pretty,” he said. “Let me hear you beg.”
I couldn't help doing just that. The words just spilled out. My poor bottom
was on fire. I didn't know how much more I could take. I was becoming pain-crazed!
As I begged, I peeked up at him. His trousers were bulging. Beating me had given
him a huge erection. I thought this was the strangest thing I'd ever seen.
I don't really remember how long it went on. In fact, once it was over, I was
only vaguely aware of him leaving the room. I'd gone off into a curious whirlpool of
confusion and pain. For some time, I simply remained kneeling by the bed, whimpering and
shaking all over.
I heard a clicking sound. When I looked up, I saw that Frank had returned, and he
was taking photos of me! He wanted evidence of my shame. He could show those photos to my
mother if I didn't cooperate with him in the future.
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