These Lands Beyond (Part 8 of 8)

19Oct12

wedding spankingOur story started here.

Somewhere a cockerel announced the morning and a song bird joined in with an instant busk to celebrate. In a half dream state Chelsea thought that if she ignored them then they might just go away. But it was only a momentary delusion and after a short pause she opened one eye.

“Still dark,” she growled at the world through a mouth that tasted like she had been eating sand.

Then Chelsea realised the curtains were still shut and she reluctantly opened the other eye. The clock on the bedside table announced that it was almost eight o’clock, the time she normally got up, she thought puzzled. So why…?

She sat bolt upright and threw back the covers. “I’m late,” she squealed.

Somewhere below her someone was cooking bacon, suggesting that her tardiness was not actually fatal, although through her head ran the mantra, big day, big day, big day…

“Chelsea,” Aunt Sarah called up, impatiently. “You should have been down here half an hour ago.”

“I know, I know,” Chelsea cursed.

She wouldn’t blame Aunt Sarah if she spanked her. The poor woman had been working double overtime for weeks and all Chelsea had done was make endless demands to the dressmaker and stand around for endless fittings.

“The dress,” she squealed. Today it would be ready.

One more night of freedom and then… she blushed. That chat with Aunt Sarah had been excruciating. But even as she relieved the embarrassment she began to make haste.

*

The guests started to arrive before breakfast was over. And as the morning went on, Chelsea began to see people she had seen for months or years in some cases. Her mother had died years before and she had no sisters. But a cousin had come from the next county where Chelsea had grown up and miscellaneous women and friends from college had begun to turn up for the final the fitting and the bridal rituals that preceded the wedding.

Candida and Alice could not contain themselves and even warning looks from Aunt Sarah could not keep them quiet and more and more guests were joining the babble all the while. So by the time Cecilia had arrived something like a party was in full swing.

“Hi Chelsea,” she managed over the babble.

Alice and Candida exchanged glances. Chelsea’s future sister-in-law had been somewhat nicer since their shared punishment months before. If Alice had had any doubts about the effectiveness of a sound spanking, Cecilia was a breathing example of how a person could be improved with a good attitude adjustment.

However, Candida was not so convinced that Cecilia had changed her ways or that one punishment would be enough. Nevertheless, the rather difficult and not so say embarrassing ordeal had been a shared one. Afterwards, when Cecilia had apologised for dropping Chelsea in it and her previous hostility, it had at least had seemed sincere. As well it might, Candida thought ruefully; it had been a week before any of them could sit down and she knew from direct experience in front of the mirror that the marks had last for near a month.

As for the enema and rather thorough spanking she had at Sarah’s hands, well Candida did not want to dwell on it. Unlike Chelsea, she was not ready to laugh it off, although she had to admit that not only had it been deserved, but that she had never felt so close to her friend after that. Kneeling cheek-to-cheek with another girl and a nozzle in your bottom will do that for a girl. Her face burned all the more when she thought of the cheeks in question.

Chelsea caught her expression and smiled shyly as if she had guessed what Candida was thinking. Mercifully the train of thought was interrupted.

“Alright ladies, since you don’t seem to know the meaning of the term ‘after ten…’” there was general laughter at this before Sarah continued, “…could someone please help me clear the dishes and then we can begin our day.”

What followed resembled something like a mass coffee morning with games that rapidly descended into pranks. At the centre of the melee stood Chelsea wearing her bridal gown while Aunt Sarah and the dressmaker fussed around her to make some final adjustments.

“She looks like a meringue,” Mandy Mead called out.

But her tone was good natured for a changed and the room was immediately divided between those gently teasing the bride and those who leapt to defend her.

Alice was the loudest of the defenders and picked up a cream cake form the table and closing one eye like a boy she had seen playing baseball, hurled it at Mandy.

Mandy giggled and followed with a disparaging remark and a flying confection of her own. This might have signalled an all-out bun fight but not only did the bun miss its mark, but it also narrowly missed the dress before hitting Aunt Sarah squarely in the face.

Most of the women howled with laughter, but one or two of the younger girls grabbed unceremoniously at cakes ready to let fly.

“The next girl who throws anything will go across my knee right here in front of everyone,” Aunt Sarah warned in voice that hovered somewhere between anger and amused challenge and then wiping cream from her face she added, “One peep out of you Mandy Mead and you will be first.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mandy threw back, although she took care to keep her tone light.

There was a collective “ooh” from the ladies and everyone looked at Sarah, joshing her.

“I rather think Mandy is asking for it,” Mrs Barrow said pointedly and laughed.

“Spank her,” someone called.

The call was taken up and within a few moments two dozen women were chanting, “Spank her, spank her, spank her…”

Mandy licked her lips nervously and glanced about her.

Sarah kissed the air as if considering and then took half a score of strides towards the blushing girl.

“I was kidding,” Mandy wailed in embarrassment and tried to flee.

Several girls grabbed her and held until Sarah reached her and pulled her from her seat to take Mandy’s place.

“I think it is high time someone took you down a peg or two Miss,” Sarah growled as she tipped the blushing girl over her lap.

It took a few moments more to get the struggling girl’s skirts up to expose the seat of her panties to the room.

“Ladies, what do you think? Shall I?” Sarah yelled like a barker at a fair.

“Down, down, down, down,” the crowd bayed.

“Please, I’m sorry,” Mandy squeaked, but too late.

Sarah hooked her thumb into the girl’s waistband and drew the silk scanties down her thighs until her hard white defiant bottom was bared to the room.

“Ooh,” Mandy said hiding her face.

“Perhaps I should send for a hairbrush,” Sarah teased.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mandy wailed.

Sarah smacked her crisply cross her bottom and everyone laughed.

“I think you have been needing this for a long time,” Sarah chuckled and began spanking the girl in earnest.

“Ouch, ooh, ow,” Mandy blustered as Sarah’s hand rose and fell just hard enough to make her point and still keep the situation light.

*

The church was full to capacity with people lining both sides of the aisles; the Gates family and friends to the right and Chelsea’s friends and cousins to the left.

Chelsea could see Stephan a million miles away at the end where he stood with his back to her next to a young man she didn’t know. All other eyes were on her, including the bishop’s, who had been drafted in at the request of Reverend Gates to conduct the ceremony.

If it hadn’t been for the firm grip Uncle Sedge had on her arm, she might have fled. As it was she was shaking and looked around nervously at Candida, Alice and Cecilia who were serving as her bridesmaids.

“Come on girl, you’ll be alright,” Uncle Sedge whispered soothingly.

It sounded to Candida like he was talking to a horse, but she said nothing. I think I’ll just elope when my time comes, she thought, her eyes straying to Greg who was sitting towards the back of the bride’s side of the aisle. He winked and she blushed.

Luckily, only Alice caught the gesture and she nudged Candida in the ribs; her eyes pumping in the bride’s direction to remind her whose day it was.

Chelsea’s mouth was made of cotton and she worked it demurely in tandem with her brain in a search for something to say. But just as she thought of something, the music began and she felt Uncle Sedge draw himself up.

“I hope you are not as nervous as I am,” he said, his mouth breaking into a broad grin.

Chelsea suppressed a small laugh with her hand as Sedge pulled on her to start the long walk to her future as she took small uncertain steps.

As it was the procession seemed to take hours to reach the altar and Chelsea felt she was swimming in a sea of faces, all familiar and yet not one could she put a name to. Then as they reached journey’s end she saw the paddle.

“It’s a stupid tradition,” Sedge whispered.

Chelsea nodded and tried to ignore the smirks from the aisles. It wasn’t so bad, she realised; they have all been through it.

“Who gives this woman in the sight of God?” The bishop intoned.

“I do,” Sedge replied in a bold voice.

“Name yourself brother.” It was an old ritual.

“Sedge Anthony Baxter, brother.”

“Do any here dispute his right?” The room fell silent.

“Have the bands been called?” The bishop continued.

“They have brother,” Sedge replied.

“Then sister, step forward and name thyself.”

There was a hush and Chelsea took a hesitant step.

“Ch-Chelsea Anne Wentworth of the House of Baxter.” Chelsea heard the voice as if someone else was speaking.

“Who claims this woman?” The bishop fixed his eyes on the book in front of him at this point. It was almost as if he had no idea who he was marrying.

“I do.” Stephan’s voice was clear and strong and he stepped forward like a hero in a book about to confront a dragon.

“Name yourself brother.”

“Stephan David Gates, brother.”

“Do you Chelsea Anne Wentworth consent to conjoin with the House of Gates?”

Someone giggled nervously, no doubt picturing a rather strange structure.

“I do.” Chelsea felt her heart pumping.

The bishop nodded and Sedge stepped forward and took up the ornate paddle that lay on a cushion upon the altar.

“Bend forward sister and raise your skirts to surrender to your master one last time.”

Chelsea blushed, but she remembered Sarah and her Uncle Garth and how he had occasionally spanked her after she was married. I wonder if this will be the last. She felt a little sad.

All this went through her mind as she turned and raised her skirts. Beneath she wore skin-tight white hose that was so thin that from the back of the church she appeared naked.

“In my grandmother’s day, girls were naked beneath their bridal gowns and in some traditions had to have their dresses pinned up all day for the feast,” Aunt Sarah had said the day before at the bridal party.

My last embarrassing spanking, she mused as she bent right over her bottom facing the witnesses as Sedge moved behind her.

Chelsea fixed her gaze on a point on the altar and gritted her teeth. The tradition was that first the father figure and then the husband spanked the bride as hard as possible and as many times as possible, which she had to endure in total silence. The harder the strokes she could bare was supposed to symbolise how much good fortune the marriage would have. The total number was said to denote the number of years of happiness.

“It’s not so bad, just put on a good show,” Aunt Sarah had said beforehand, “It is all a lot of nonsense. It is just a way of symbolic passing on authority to the husband. In ancient tradition the spanks equated to the number of children and the strength of the swat was supposed to show how strong the bride was.”

I could easily handle two or three apiece, she thought ruefully, who wants more than five or six children? What bastard changed the tradition, she would like to know. Then all her thoughts were taken by the first swat.

The sting of it set her blinking and it blazed in her bottom for several moments. However, it wasn’t half so bad as any spanking she had ever got from Uncle Sedge. Also she did notice that the sound of the impact within the acoustics of the church was far greater than normal. A good show, she realised.

The second was not bad either, she thought and after three the congregation began to count them off.

“How many, I mean, what would constitute a good show?” Chelsea had desperately asked Aunt Sarah the day before.

Aunt Sarah had licked her lips and remembered her own wedding day. Uncle Garth had threatened her with a rerun if she took anything short of 30 from Sedge and himself. It was a matter of family honour, she recalled. Sedge had been kind enough laying it on, but Garth had dished it out in earnest and she had not sat down for most of the honeymoon.

Instead of regaling the girl with this, she smiled and said in the most matter-of-fact tone she could muster, “Oh getting into double figures will be respectable enough.”

“What from each?” Chelsea had blanched.

“Well naturally, you wouldn’t want to be called soft or curse your marriage with bad luck would you?”

So it was that Chelsea gasped her way to a slow 10 without a sound.

“My daughter took 20 at hers,” someone shouted in a whisper.

“I think going for gold is the least a bride can do,” said another.

Fifty! I’ll die, Chelsea quailed inwardly.

“A dozen should suffice,” the bishop hissed out of the side of his mouth.

In the end Chelsea took 15 before Sedge quietly said, “Groan out loud.”

Chelsea gritted her teeth for three more before she stubbornly obeyed. She straightened up certain that she had put in a poor performance, but the grins and a short ripple of applause told her otherwise.

“Now we will recite the vows,” the bishop said sounding as if he were glad to be getting on with the religious part of the ceremony.

One look in Stephan’s eyes took the sting away and as bold words danced on his mouth, Chelsea thought her heart might explode.

Then she knelt and he took her hands in his as she too recited her vows.

The last of her words hung in the air like the silence that now fell and time paused in its passing. Then Sedge solemnly handed Stephan the paddle and Chelsea got her feet and once again presented her bottom.

A murmuring babble went around the church and there were several quips about a blushing bride until the bishop stilled them and silence was restored.

Hefting the paddle, Stephan did not spank her as hard as Sedge had, but he might as well have done given the tenderness of her behind. But Chelsea was determined to take more from her husband than she had from Sedge.

At 18 she gasped a little and Stephan paused.

“She did not cry out,” someone said eagerly.

“Did you?” Stephan asked, his voice tight with concern.

Chelsea couldn’t speak, but shook her head.

In the end she took four more before giving in to a growl and strengthening up.

“A ruby,” a woman exclaimed in approval.

“More like two and she won’t be sitting on either,” someone catcalled.

Chelsea smiled along with the general laughter, not all of her tears being from the paddle sting.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the bishop said, his face cracking into a broad grin.

*

Stephan had been in the bathroom for a while and Chelsea was getting nervous. To distract herself she lifted up the back of her negligée and examined her bare bottom. It was still sore and held a smooth even all-over red. The kind of clinging stain you could only get from a good paddling or a long horse ride. It was kind of cute, she thought. Then she smiled; an idea creeping into her mind.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, Stephan stared into the mirror at the stranger there and held him with his eyes. He had taken a cut while shaving, like a clumsy boy, he chided himself. Then he puffed out his chest so that the slight hint of softness over his otherwise muscle grid stomach disappeared. Not bad, he thought.

A strange feeling stole over him as he willed himself to be the man in the mirror. Or at least make the man in the mirror become a true reflection of who he was. Instead he felt disconnected, like his life was a runaway horse he had yet to tame. It was exciting.

He thought of the tavern girls he had known with some regret. But I am not that sorry, he grinned to himself. Then he frowned. Marriage is a sacred sacrament. All the same, he wished that he was more experience. Would Chelsea think him clumsy? He sighed.

Then he thought about everything that his father had told him about women and none of it helped.

“What are women like Dad?” He had asked before going off to the seminary school.

His father had nodded, Stephan remembered.

“Are they like horses?” Stephan pressed him eagerly. “Martin Thomas says women are like horses and only need to be tamed.”

Stephan could see then that his father was struggling not to laugh. He was only 18 back then, but he was a man and being laughed at was too much to bear.

“No son, I mean I know what he means, but he is wrong,” Stephan’s father had chuckled. Then he frowned. “Tell me, does Martin Thomas play football?”

“Yes, he’s a good player, but…”

“And Michael, your study partner, does he play football?”

“He’s not as good, but yes, but I…” Stephan was confused.

“Do all men play football as well as Martin?”

“No, of course not.” Stephan was angry now. He wanted to know about women and his father was playing games and asking him about football.

“So Martin is a better man than Michael?”

“No, all men are different…” Stephan blushed as he understood.

“I married your mother, God rest her soul, because she was not like any other woman,” his father had said with a sad smile.

Stephan smiled now and the man in the mirror joined him. It was the best advice he had ever had.

“We are one,” he said to his reflection, but he was still thinking of his wife.

Then interrupting his thoughts Chelsea sang from the bedroom, “Stephan, oh Stephan,”

Stephan turned out the light and went to find her.

The bedroom was dark. Lit by only a pool of light that shone on the bed and another by the window where Chelsea now stood like an angel. Stephan gasped.

Chelsea was naked except for a scandalous corset affair and some sheer black stockings. She stood caressing the wall like a tavern wench selling her wares. Her mouth was slightly open and her bare bottom was turned to greet him. The red sheen glowed now; nature’s blusher placed to enhance her so that Stephan ached to look on her.

“You hussy,” he rasped. His friendly mocking tone lost.

“I know,” she agreed. “I’m no fit wife for a preacher.”

“Tell me again when I give a damn,” he said his voice tight as he advanced on her.

“I’m a bad girl, but you won’t spank me too hard will you?” There was a giggle in her voice.

“What if I do?” He growled pulling her to him.

“Then I guess I’ll have to take it, just like I have to take anything you want to give me,” she breathed.

They tumbled entwined onto the bed and clawed at each other as they rolled like they had never done before. He took her quickly.

*

As they lay panting he asked, “Sorry, that was…”

Chelsea kissed his eyes tenderly, “Beautiful.”

He went to speak but she kissed him to silence.

“You didn’t spank me,” she whispered.

Then as he watched she got on all fours and presented him with her bottom.

He joined her kneeling, hugging her around the waist with his left arm and rolling his right over and deep between her tender curves until she gasped.

“I’ll have you like this,” he said eagerly, “Afterwards.”

His hand spanked her hard across both cheeks and she squealed.

“Will you punish me often?” She said lowering her head.

“Yes,” he replied spanking her again, “Young wives need to be trained.”

“They do,” she whimpered.

He spanked her again about as hard as she could and watched her rock forward without complaint.

“Will you institute maintenance spankings?” Chelsea groaned.

“Yes,” Stephan grunted, “Once a month.”

Then he spanked her again.

“Once a week silly, least that’s what Aunt Sarah said,” Chelsea lied.

She would confess that later and take her punishment.

“Once a week then,” Stephan rasped and spanked her yet harder. “Now be quiet.”

Stephan launched into a volley then, his arm pounding her like a surrogate coupling over and over like both their lives depended on it.

“Oh Stephan,” Chelsea wailed, but she rolled with it until the tears of pain merged with those of joy.

*

Stephan was grinning so that his face was split as he came out of the bathroom. He wished now he had been doing what everyone had assumed he had been doing all that time on the beach. In fact the morning had come too quickly and he wondered if it was respectable for a curate to be in bed all day.

Chelsea was stretched out naked on the bed. Her only covering was a wet flannel that she had opted to place over her bare bottom. He could still see some spank-red peeking from under the cloth. She opened one eye at his approach and then stretched, wriggling her fingers and toes with contentment.

“Coming back to bed?” She asked with a dreamy smile.

“Perhaps,” he smiled back indulgently. “Why don’t you order some breakfast? I have to see father.”

“What?” Chelsea exclaimed and she sat up angrily, or tried to. She winced as her bottom rolled onto the bed and she had to roll back to rub at it.

“Oh, only for a moment or two,” Stephan said firmly, not in the mood to placate her. Start as you mean to go on, he thought. But he added, “I have to collect his wedding present. It’s an heirloom.”

“But couldn’t that wait? Anyway, why couldn’t he have given it to us yesterday with all the others?” Chelsea said with a pout.

“It is not that kind of present. It’s just a tradition really, you know, his father gave it to him and his father’s father, you know the kind of thing.”

Chelsea frowned and swallowed the urge to argue. After all, she had promised to obey and she knew that there would always be things she would not be a party to as far as the men were concerned.

“Will you be back for breakfast? I mean with me here… in bed?” She added the last in a husky voice.

“You scarlet woman, perhaps I should spank you again?” he growled.

“Perhaps you should,” she grinned.

He grinned back. “See you in about half an hour.”

*

Reverend Gates was sitting at a table in the corner of the hotel lobby. He looked old, Stephan thought. It was almost as if the mantle of the next generation had already been passed on. Then the pastor smiled and Stephan realised that he was just seeing the man for the first time and not just the father.

Stephan also noticed that in front of his father on the table was an old book wrapped in the skin of some nameless animal. The heirloom, he mused.

“Stephan, come and sit down,” his father said cheerily.

“I’m having breakfast with Chelsea, but I’ll have coffee,” Stephan nodded at a pot on the other side of the table.

“No worries, this won’t take but a moment,” Reverend Gates said as reached over to pour another cup.

There was something about his eyes that suggested he was about to say something grave. Impart bad news even.

Stephan nodded and sat.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“Oh I think I mentioned it,” Reverend Gates spoke softly. “It is a copy of the family bible.”

“Your father gave it to you?”

“Yes, it was passed onto him from his grandfather. In fact there are fourteen names inscribed here before mine and… now yours.”

Stephan’s jaw tightened and he nodded in a way which he hoped conveyed respect. But after all it was only a bible. He already owned four including one with the previously banned books included.

“It’s beautiful and so old,” Stephan tendered. “Was it kept out of the way because of the banded chapters?”

“Yes…” His father said hesitantly.

Stephan sensed there was something more.

“I think you had better look for yourself,” the reverend stood up and invited Stephan to open the tome with an open hand.

Stephan’s heart raced a little. Was he about to find out he had been adopted or that his father had been someone else? Were the Gates not a long line of preachers and was he about to learn the truth? None of that seemed so bad. He thought the whole long line of religious leaders was a crock anyway; if his own son wanted to be a builder or something else, then what the hell.

Stephan opened the outer cover and turned over the first few blank sheets of before the front piece. The pages were of high quality paper, but not vellum as he had expected. In fact although the pages were old they did not seem it at all.

“This paper is new,” Stephan observed, somewhat puzzled.

“No its old, but it’s not really paper,” his father said patiently.

“Nor vellum.” Stephan knew that he was missing the point when his father shrugged.

The front piece to the book was a crisp printed page, like that found in a modern book. For some reason Stephan noticed that the date inscribed under the title was for a year that had not yet come; a misprint perhaps? He looked at his father who frowned.

Stephan looked back at the title.

“Technical manual for project Other Eden: Religion and Social Structure Americana,” it ran.

“I don’t understand,” Stephan felt the corners of the world around him unravel but he ignored it.

“The bible as you know it, including the banned segments, begins on page 108. It’s a kind of book within a book. The banned sections were excised later by our ancestors, probably because they directly allude to the rest of the… document,” Reverend Gates explained.

Stephan turned the page. None of this made any sense.

“Preamble,” the next page was headed. “Once the micoverse portal is open, the pioneer units will move in to ensure that the nano-engineers have correctly constructed Other Eden…”

He read on in silence. The tatters of an unravelling world closing in on him.

“But… why? I mean, our whole religion is…” Stephan gasped.

“Our religion is based upon faith. It is just its teachings on how the universe was created that are… different… more complicated anyway than many believe. But who is to say that the World Beyond where we came from was not made in that way?” Reverend Gates remembered his own shock at the revelation.

“And who is to say that the World Beyond is not some construct by… what was it, an advanced civilisation of some kind?” Stephan could barely contain his rage. “A world within a world, within another…”

“My Great Grandfather believed it was all magic.” Reverend Gates smiled sadly. “He had quite a crisis of faith. But there must have been an original world. Who is to say that it was not created in the way that we teach.”

“But why?” Stephan leaned back.

“The answer is in there. The designers had a plan for social cohesion. That and quite a kink for spanking,” Reverend Gates snorted. “It is in our genetic make-up. Whether God given or not, who can say. The social code we live by is to harness that propensity in a positive way. Or at least that is what the founders intended. Otherwise, they feared centuries of a sadomasochistic culture would evolve into… well it is all in the book.”

“And I am supposed to keep this quiet?” Stephan spat angrily.

“You are supposed to read it and open your mind. In my opinion we should never have unbanned the books. It will only lead to… but anyway, that is for you to decide now. Think on it. Pray on it.”

“But father, I don’t want this knowledge.” Stephan’s lip quivered and he looked for a second like a small boy the Reverend once knew.

“Few of us do,” Reverend Gates said sadly, “But perhaps this time the loss of innocence does not have to mean the loss of Eden.”

“But father the world is not real.” Stephan felt dead inside.

Reverend Gates wrapped on the table with his knuckles.

“It seems real enough to me. And Chelsea last night, she was real wasn’t she. I believe it is real. I have faith and with faith…”

“We have life,” Stephan quoted.

Absently he picked up his coffee cup and drank from it. It tasted good. The best coffee he had ever tasted.

The end.

 



7 Responses to “These Lands Beyond (Part 8 of 8)”

  1. This was a great conclusion to this story, DJ. You had a good cast of characters in this one and they interacted well with one another while describing an alternate world. Good job.

  2. 2 paul1510

    Damian,
    what a great ending, I love the idea of a genetic predisposition to spanking, that would make all the heart searching redundant. 😀
    And surely that is as good an explanation of the beginning of things as any other.
    Paul.

  3. 3 bahamagirl1996

    Awesome ending

  4. 4 Loki_Darksong

    Interesting. I had guessed that their world was somehow crafted, but nowhere near this extent. A pocket universe. Perhaps this is what the series “Terra Nova” should have been. With the spankings, of course.

  5. 5 Kia

    Wonderful conclusion- thought provoking and enjoyable. Particularly liked Stephan’s reflections in the bathroom 🙂 .

  6. 6 Raffe

    I read the last part three times and still did not get the point, sorry. From the begining this story did not made sence, until the last part. I am just wondering how many of the elders knew about their world, or how many women know the story.

  7. 7 DJ

    Such a lot of feedback and positive too.

    I had intended this story to be a light and slightly surreal bit of fun with a patriarchal society and women/girls who struggled with the dichotomy of not wanting to want to be spanked.

    But as soon as I asked why and introduced the satirical religious aspects – the story took off with a life of its own.

    Of course I played with the Darwinian twist and touched on ‘Truth’ theory but I hope that the reader need not know anything about these and could read it as a straight spanking novella.

    As for who in the story knew and how many – well does it matter? The point is their world is what they choose to make it.

    Many thanks DJ


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