In the Service of the Wolf II


bend_and_bare_trepidationPart I here

The road made a wide sweep through the forest; the indefinite curve so limiting the route ahead that Alice Eden felt as if she was in a true wilderness. The 28-year-old lawyer had been driving for hours and it had been at least 40 minutes since she had even seen another car.

“Where the hell have they sent me,” Alice cursed as she glared at the road as it straightened out. The sign up ahead flagged up the highway to Butte and a side turn to Pulver. “At last,” she muttered.

The highway rolled left in yet another wide curve, leaving a more modest road off to the left. It was none too travelled, she thought. The image of a backwater was reinforced when 10 minutes later she came to a modest sign bearing the legend: Pulver, Pop. 1276.

“Hello Billy-Bob, come and meet my pa,” Alice crooned in an exaggerated TV accent, then she giggled. “Well you have to laugh,” she muttered in a serious tone, adding with a drawl, “No place career ends up in no place.”

The town was a little better than she expected. It had a town square of sorts and boasted at least three streets from looks of it. They even had a supermarket, a diner and something called the Shack, which looked like a bar.

The car slowed at the corner of two streets, neither the one she was looking for. Seeing the paved square was pedestrianised, Alice eased the car around and headed up the third option, the one with its name sign backwards to her.

The house wasn’t hard to find. Modest, but freestanding it was well maintained with white painted boards and ‘sad-eyes’ for its attic windows. It reminded Alice of a horror movie house, only nicer. Even the front lawn had been mowed.

“Looking for something ma’am?” an elderly man in a floppy straw hat asked as she got out of the car.

“Just three signatures,” she sighed.


The man eyed the tall well-dressed auburn beauty like she was an alien. The way her long hair was expertly piled-up atop of a smart green business suit, he figured she was moneyed and had just got lost on the highway.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said pleasantly, her professional smile was almost genuine. “I am looking for…” she paused to remember one of the names. “Dr Anderson…?” she proffered after a moment.

“The doc keeps an office over the way,” the man replied, “Next to the fire house. Are you sick?”

“No, no, I’m… I’m here on business,” Alice told him. “Alice, Alice Eden,” she added.

“I am Bernard Roach, retired. I just keep up the gardens of some of the houses, like the old Stephens place here.” Mr Roach told her, hoping, she guessed, to get her to tell him her business.

“Do you know a Margret Dangerfield too?” Alice deflected him.

“Maggie,” he grinned, “Sure she keeps the store, not the big one, the one next to the Shack.”

“Thank you,” she smiled with a wave to signal their chat was over.

“Your welcome,” the old man shrugged.


Breakfast was lively, although not all 39 were present. The early birds had come and gone, with some of the late arrivals were still in bed. The permanent farm guests had long since out grown the old dining room and a kitchen wall had been knocked through to an extension to the side of the Stone’s house.

As usual Garrick Stone sat at the head of the table next to Jared and Sundance at his right hand, with John and Adam to his left. The other men were mostly absent now and the women, who made up most of the residents of the farm, sat around Augusta at the other end of the long table. Only Clarice and three or four helpers were on their feet serving breakfast.

Jared, who looked like a younger larger version of his father, was his usual taciturn self, seeming to give his whole attention to the meat-heavy meal on his plate. Every now and then he cast a glare at Melanie who was shifting awkwardly in her seat and blushing. He noticed she did not once look his way.

Sundance was near as old as Garrick, older some said. He too had little to say as he chased the remains of his breakfast around the plate. Wearing a native shirt and bandanna that complimented his Navajo heritage, he held his head cocked like an owl and his piercing brown eyes missed nothing.

The twins looked like Clarice, all dark and jocular. Adam, the eldest by a few minutes wore his hair short; a contrast to the figure hugging motorcycle jacket and blue-jeans. John had a mane of thick hair in a style emulating the other three men at the table, although his white T-shirt and cargo pants gave him a worker’s look.

These five men, along with Augusta made up the elders of the pack, although Clarice too had some claim to a seat at the table.

Most of the women, none of whom looked much over 25, were either helping or sitting in huddles discussing the previous evening in the Shack or wherever else they had crept off too. Some had not made it back until dawn, but had had the wisdom to report in to Clarice to fess up. These were mostly among the helpers eager to mitigate any confrontation with Augusta once she was apprised of their tardiness.

Only Lana and Keri had been caught and their main crime had been to openly fraternise with town boys and bring them home yet. These two sat morosely nibbling on a cardboard breakfast and casting wistful glances at Augusta in some vain hope that she might intervene between them and Garrick.

Garrick himself had said nothing, nor had even looked at them. But any hope that he had forgotten their meeting was a forlorn one. Garrick never forgot anything.


Lana leaned tentatively from the waist as she peered into the two wide open barn doors. It was almost as if she were afraid to rouse a bear in his cave. Behind her Keri tried to make herself as small as possible and even looked as if she might flee. With breakfast over there were far too many people about for either of their likings and with so sign of Garrick they earnestly hoped he had been otherwise detained.

Unseen or heard by either girl, the pack leader strolled up behind them and joined Lana in a mocking stare into the empty barn; almost as if there was a bear.

“I can’t see him,” Lana said with hope in her voice.

Keri startled as she saw their nemesis standing beside her and groaned. “I can.”

A beat later Lana noticed the shadow and straightened up.

“Good morning ladies,” Garrick said brightly, “Shall we begin?”

He strode past them into the barn and walked over to a saw trestle. As he reached it he made one deft move to unhook his broad leather belt and slip it through the hoops of his pants.

The girls exchanged sour glances and at a reluctant pace followed him in.

“Sh-shall I go first?” Lana offered, her hands already moving to the button and zip of her cut-offs.

“Oh I think the crossbeam can hold both of you at once,” Garrick said casually as he doubled his belt. “But before I blister your behinds, perhaps you can tell me why you’re being punished.”

“We were late,” Keri suggested meekly.

“The boys maybe?” Lana said cheekily and shrugged as if it was almost worth it.

“Either one of those might have got Augusta’s goat,” he snorted and then paused for any further suggestions. A good answer would get them a lighter hiding.

The girls exchanged another glance, but both being out of ideas they bowed their heads and squirmed.

“You brought outsiders here and above all you got caught,” Garrick sighed impatiently. “Oh enough of this; get your little butts over the trestle.”

Keri adopted the demeanour of a pre-roadkill bunny, while Lana rolled her ‘whatever’ eyes amid an expression that combined failed bravado and woe. Both stooped to a crouch as they shucked down their denims.

The brevity of Keri’s panties made Garrick cock and eyebrow. He would have done more than that had he seen Lana’s underwear, but wisely she took them down with the shorts, heedless now that she was showing Garrick and any passer-by her smoothly pert uncovered bottom.

Lana flopped over the wooden beam and dared the world to look. However, the obscene up-thrust of her bare bottom made Keri quail, knowing as she did she was about to give a similar show.

Garrick knew there was no place for timidity in the pack, but instead of anger he shot the skittish blonde a stern paternal smile and nodded at the place next to Lana’s properly presented tail.

“This is hardly your first time,” he said.

“No Sir,” Keri whispered and with a deep breath she pushed her shorts and panties all the way to her ankles and folded herself over the beam next to Lana.

The sight of two comely and imperilled bare bottoms drew a small smirking crowd of young women and in moments a couple of men strolled over to see what was happening. Lana could see a random array of upside down legs between her own and the jocular hub-bub left her in no doubt that they watching.

“Just great,” she groaned.

Keri felt her face burn and attempting some Zen she fixed her gaze on a crack in the concrete floor and imagined herself elsewhere. It didn’t work.

Garrick stepped into a measured stroke and swung the leather across Lana’s upturned cheeks. The thwack-crack noise was terrific and the generous sea of needle points on her bottom drew a gasps.

Keri jerked in sympathy and tensed for her own turn.

The second crack over laid Lana’s first as did the third, fourth and fifth. Lana discarded any pretense of being too cool for school and howled as if there was a full moon.

Keri gaped sideways at her friend’s contorted face and the red-rimmed eyes so close to open tears. She never knew Lana had it in her.

Then a tongue of fire licked her own bottom and all thoughts of the dark-haired girl were driven from her.

Garrick was mildly amuse to see that Keri had a strawberry bottom next to Lana’s apple red, but both girls were children of the moon and strong. They would heal too fast for half measures and pack discipline must be maintained. So in sets of five and six he swapped back and forth a dozen times or more between bottoms until both girls were sobbing hard and all resistance had long since fled.

“We can do this again any time you like,” he said to the pair of heaving and squirming blistered bottoms.

Kerri’s gasps for breath competed with ragged sobs and Lana gently cried. Neither knew how to answer.

“Alright, stand up and get facing the outside barn wall,” Garrick said wearily, “You know where.”

They did. Barely a week went by before one or three of the girls found themselves in this very humbling vigil. The pack was young and spirited and like Lana and Keri, they were always so certain that wouldn’t get caught.

“Yes Sir,” Lana sniffed as she staggered to her feet.

“But…” Keri sobbed, “Everyone… will,” she heaved another sob, “See,” she finished miserably.

Lana rolled her eyes and then wiped her nose. “Come on kiddo,” she said gently, “Its show time.”

To be continued

4 Responses to “In the Service of the Wolf II”

  1. 1 Svetlana

    The “pre-roadkill bunny” gave me the biggest smile, but the most touching moment was when Keri watched Lana’s face.

    • 2 DJ

      It is a challenge always to invoke the moment and find a new simile oe metaphor – so thanks 🙂

  2. I like the slow development on this one. Great details.


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