Chapter 6
Jack Talbot was fuming. He had thought that finding a parking space directly outside the small supermarket was a stroke of good luck, since it would enable him to keep a fairly close watch on Mary as she wheeled her shopping cart up and down the aisles. From this vantage point he could also see her when she paid for her purchases at the check-out counter.
Now he wasn't at all sure. It might have been better, he realized, if he had parked his car behind the store, in the small and always crowded lot the store provided for its customers. Then he wouldn't have been witness to his girl's aggravating, nauseating behavior.
Watching the woman you were nuts about make a complete ass of herself by flirting with every Tom, Dick and Harry she met was no way to begin a Saturday. Here it was, not yet ten thirty in the morning, and already Mary had blinked her baby browns at-half a dozen guys, all of whom had smiled back while no doubt thinking her an easy lay.
Disgusting, that's that it was, Jack thought, angrily tapping the steering wheel of his '69 Plymouth. Why couldn't the little bitch go about her business without starting up with every two-bit jerk who crossed her path. Through the large supermarket window he had seen her flirt first with the produce manager, a roly-poly guy with a fat, stupid smile, then with the manager of the store, a lean, lantern-jawed buck with enough nerve to put a hand on Mary's arm while talking to her, and then with some balding, bespectacled idiot whose shopping cart she had bumped into with her own.
And now, at the check-out counter, she was giving the eye to a kid, a skinny, freckle-faced punk at least five years younger than herself. She was really giving the kid a going over, smiling that naughty little smile of hers and sticking out her chest in an obvious attempt to turn him on.
It wouldn't surprise him in the least if the next thing Mary did was reach across the counter and clamp her hot hand over the kid's crotch. If he was getting a hard-on, then she'd know for sure that he found her exciting. Maybe he'd even have the guts to make a grab for her cunt.
But that was Mary, Jack realized disgustedly, his blood boiling as he watched his girl in animated conversation with the youthful check-out clerk. Everywhere they went together, to the movies, to a store for groceries, to a dance, for a stroll up the block, Mary was sure to find at least one stud she could tease to distraction by batting her eyelashes and swiveling her shapely hips.
She just couldn't resist the temptation to flirt. She was always striking up conversations with strange men, approaching young and old alike with a boldness and disdain for propriety associated with arrogant streetwalkers. How well he remembered their visit to an art gallery when, after a lengthy search prompted by her sudden disappearance from his side, he found her in one corner of a room fending off, playfully, of course, the lewd advances being made by a tall, goateed gent in his sixties.
What really galled, what knotted his stomach and made him want to puke, was the possibility that Mary's flirtatious behavior had resulted, in who knows how many instances, in her being bedded. How many of those she teased did she wind up fucking? That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question, the one that lingered in the back of his mind waiting for an answer.
He knew for a fact that she had fucked her employer, that horny psychologist Paul Latham, but how many others had plumbed the mushy depths of his girl's pretty pussy? How many cocks besides his had she taken into her mouth? How many stiff pricks had she taken up her saucy ass?
Damn the little bitch anyway!
Jack turned his gaze from the supermarket and stared out the windshield when he saw Mary and a clerk, another mop-haired teenager, exit the store. The fact that the two were laughing did absolutely nothing to extinguish the flames of anger raging within him.
"In here, Tom," he heard Mary say. "I think we can get it all on the back seat."
He'd like to put you on the back seat, Jack thought.
"Jack, will you open the back door for us?"
Mary asked, peering through the half-opened window on the passenger's side of the auto. "My hands are full, honey."
Jack turned and glared at his girlfriend for several long seconds, then finally reached across the front seat and flipped up the door lock. This done, he immediately resumed his stiff pose behind the steering wheel, hands gripping the wheel tightly. Just wait until I get you home, sweetheart, he thought angrily.
It took less than a minute for Mary and the brash young clerk to stash her packages on the back seat. After slamming the door shut and thanking the youth for helping her, Mary pulled open the front door and slid in next to her boyfriend. No sooner had she closed the door and rolled the window down a little than Jack was on the attack.
"So Miss Hot-Pants, Miss Cock-Crazy Cunt, I suppose you gave that jerk your telephone number."
"What?"
"Well why not? I mean half the studs in Crestmont have it. One more won't make any difference. Besides, it's probably the best tip the kid will receive all fucking day."
"Jack, let's get home, huh?" Mary sighed, exasperation weighing down her voice.
"Just like that, huh? No explanation or-"
"I've got stuff in the back that will melt unless it gets in the refrigerator soon," Mary broke in.
"That's more important than your embarrassing me again, is it? Well, that figures."
"Jack, just shut up and start the car, will you?"
"You've got some fuckin' gall, you know that, bitch?"
"Please, don't start a scene again. I had enough the last time you took me shopping."
"I saw you parading around in there, baby. I watched you strut your stuff in front of all those guys. Yeah, you really had them chafing at the bit, Miss Slut of 1973."
"Jack, will you-"
"Maybe you grabbed a quick one when I couldn't see you, huh? How 'bout it, baby? Did the manager take you down to the basement and screw you on a bed of potatoes? Or maybe he shoved it in while you were bent over a stack of cartons."
Mary shook her head. "You are unbelievable, Mr. Talbot. I'm beginning to think you've lost your mind."
"And then, just to add insult to injury, you bring back to the car one of the guys you were flirting with. Yeah, that was a nice touch, wasn't it? That's what you call rubbing salt in the wound, right?"
Mary swiveled around on the seat and flashed Jack a look that would have wilted the ardor of the most arrogant, persistent swain. "Listen, you jealous bastard, and listen good. You know damn well Tom was helping me with my packages. I couldn't possibly have managed four heavy bundles all by myself and you know it."
"You could have made two trips, baby," Jack argued.
Mary snorted. "Sure, why not? What the hell do you care if I make a dozen trips back and forth, my arms breaking from the weight of those fuckin' packages. You can just sit here and pretend you're a king or something. If you weren't so damn lazy, I wouldn't have to get somebody to help me. If once in awhile you'd-"
"You know I detest shopping for anything," Jack interrupted, stubbornly refusing to admit to himself that Mary's anger, at least as it concerned having to lug the heavy bundles to the car, might be justified. "It just isn't my style, that's all."
"Yours is the style of the typical male chauvinist pig," Mary fired back. "Let the women handle all the menial chores, that's your motto. Keep them slaving over a hot stove, dusting the furniture, making the beds, doing the shopping, and all those other unimportant, boring jobs. If they get a little uppity, a little sassy, well, then just throw them on the nearest bed and give them a good fucking. A stiff cock once in awhile is all they need to keep them happy, anyway."
"You're changing the subject, baby. I'm not like you say I am. And even if I was, that doesn't excuse your behavior. Not one little tiny bit. You have no right to go throwing yourself at everything in pants."
"Throwing myself at-oh, shit, you're just too much, Jack. Paranoid is the word for you. I suggest an immediate visit to a good phychiatrist. Maybe a specialist in mental disorders can figure out what's ailing you."
"Why don't you arrange an appointment for me with that clown you're working for?" Jack suggested, his voice dripping sarcasm. "He's found out what it takes to cure what you've got."
"And what is it I have, Mr. Talbot?"
"Hot pants, baby," Jack answered without hesitation. "You've got a real bad case of the always twitching twat."
"I never heard you complain before about my always twitching twat. I thought you rather enjoyed fucking it, in fact."
"I don't like sharing the wealth," Jack stated angrily, his steely blue eyes boring holes in Mary.
"If you don't put a lid on this insane jealousy of yours, you just might find yourself with nothing to share."
"Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I've had it up to here with your stupid accusations and idiotic demands. Every time I take a deep breath your heart skips a beat because you think I'm about to whistle for a man. I'm nothing more than a sex object to you, Jack, and being a cuddly plaything is getting to be an awful bore."
"I love you, baby," Jack declared firmly.
"You love yourself," Mary countered. "Now will you start this car and get me home? I don't want to talk about us any more."
Jack's eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at his saucy girl friend, who had turned away from him to look out the window on her side. There wasn't any sense in continuing the conversation, he decided. As far as Mary was concerned, the subject was closed. To belabor his point would serve no useful purpose.
Jack turned the ignition key and stepped lightly on the accelerator. The Plymouth growled in response and then fell to humming softly as Jack let the engine idle for several seconds. He glanced over at Mary and discovered her still looking out the window, obviously determined to avoid his gaze.
With a groan of disgust he shifted from "P" to "D" and jerked the car away from the curb. He'd try to control himself until they got to Mary's place, he decided, pulling into traffic. Once in her apartment he would be able to exert his authority. What Mary needed, what she was begging for, was another good spanking.
Mary sat in stony silence during the ride to her apartment, only occasionally glancing over at her boyfriend behind the wheel. He was seething with anger, she realized. The look on his face was ample evidence of that.
Well so what? She had as much reason to be upset with him as he had to be upset with her. Maybe it was true that she enjoyed flirting with men, teasing and arousing them to the point where they were ready to royally rape her. And maybe she had hit the sack with a few horny studs since meeting Jack Talbot.
But what of it? This was a free country and she was still a free female. There was no law that said a girl couldn't screw men of her choice, when and where she felt like screwing them. She and Jack weren't even engaged. He had no right to watch over her like a mother hen.
She liked Jack Talbot. Maybe she even loved him. He was a handsome six foot one inch, one hundred ninety pound hunk of male sex appeal. Curly black hair crowned a head near perfect in design, Jack's features being sharp, well-defined, eyes, ears, nose and mouth in attractive harmony.
Then, too, there was his proficiency in the sack. Jack was a strong, virile lover, capable of screwing her into a state of ecstatic exhaustion just about every night of the week. A girl would have to look long and hard to find his equal in bed.
But that didn't mean he had the right to enslave her, Mary argued silently, her body jerking suddenly to the left as Jack made a quick, too sharp right turn and gunned the automobile down the one-way street. He owned her no more than she owned him.
Just because they were living together in her apartment didn't give him exclusive right to her body. It would be another thing altogether if she and Jack were married. Then he'd have every right to expect fidelity from her and throw tantrums if she strayed from the marital bed. At the moment, however, Jack Talbot was just her lover, and his maniacal suspicions, the way he watched her like a hawk, were driving her right up a wall.
On the other hand, she wouldn't like to lose him. Jack had his good points, quite a few, in fact, and she had to admit that he was as generous with a dollar as he was quick to explode in anger when he suspected her of wrongdoing. As his wife she would no doubt enjoy many material comforts. Jack would probably work extra hard at his truck driver's job to provide her with those goodies, big and small, which contribute to a wife's happiness and sustain her on days dark with despair.
Yes, marriage to thirty-year-old Jack Talbot could prove rewarding in a number of ways. And it most certainly would not be boring. Now if only she could find a cure for his disgusting, and exasperating jealousy.
Jack brought his auto to a sudden stop outside his girl's apartment building and quickly turned off the engine. Without a word he got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He pulled open the back door and scooped up two of the four bags of groceries huddled together on the back seat.
He kicked the door shut and then marched around the Plymouth and up onto the sidewalk, his stride purposeful as he headed for the well-maintained rent-controlled apartment building. Under the moss green awning he marched, pushing open the thick, grilled door with his left hip as he entered the large, unspectacular but tastefully-furnished lobby. He walked to the elevator, pressed the button with his right elbow, and waited impatiently.
Shaking her head, Mary pushed open the door on her side and climbed out of the car.
Less than a minute later she was heading toward her apartment building, her arms weighted down with the two bulging bags of groceries she had pulled from the back seat.
It occurred to her, as she waited for the elevator, that she might have gone too far once again. That Jack was boiling mad was more than obvious, and it was with a very real fear that she remembered the wicked walloping he had administered to her aching behind the last time she provoked him.
But he wouldn't dare do that to her again, she told herself, stepping into the small, immaculate elevator. He wouldn't have the nerve. She pressed number eight on the panel of buttons and then stepped back into a corner, a worried frown blanketing her pretty face as the humming elevator began climbing to her floor.
Jack was waiting for Mary when she entered her cozy three room apartment. He stood near the living room window, one hand clamped over his left hip, the other tilting a can of beer to his mouth.
"Help yourself, why don't you?" said Mary sarcastically, pausing on her way to the kitchen.
"I already have, baby."
" I see that. You don't waste any time, do you?"
"I was thirsty. You don't have any objections, I hope."
"Would it make any difference if I did?"
Jack shook his head. "Nope." Again he brought the beer can to his mouth, tilting his head back as he guzzled the thirst quenching brew in a manner befitting men of his ilk.
Again shaking her head, Mary moved into her small kitchen and set her packages down on the kitchen table. It wasn't bad enough, she thought, that he treated her like a possession, now he was beginning to act as if the apartment were his and not hers. Brother, how pushy could you get?
"Hurry it up in there," Jack shouted from the living room."
"What?"
"You heard me, baby. Put those groceries away and then get in here. We have some unfinished business to discuss."
"Are you ordering me in there, Jack?"
"Im tellin' you to shake a leg, baby. Put that stuff where it belongs and then bring that sweet ass of yours in here. And bring me another-no, never mind, I don't want another beer. I just want you, sweetheart."
Mary was about to tell her boyfriend to go to hell when she thought better of it. Better to take a different tact, she decided, pulling open the refrigerator door to put away the milk, butter, cheese and eggs she had purchased at the supermarket. She would humor Jack, on a casual air and treat the foul mood he was quickly slipping into with something akin to nonchalance.
If she was lucky, he'd decide to go out for a walk.
"So, here I am, master," Mary said a few minutes later, a sardonic smile on her face as she entered the living room.
"You took your sweet time, didn't you?" Jack chided, turning from the window to confront his girl friend.
"I could have gotten in here sooner if you had helped me put away the groceries."
"That's women's work."
"You eat twice as much as I do, Jack."
"Huh? What's that got to do with anything?"
Mary sighed. "Never mind, lover. I'm not about to start explaining to you."
Jack set his empty can down on a table and stood staring at Mary. He felt his cock stir within the warm confines of his undershorts as he took in his girl's pert, provocative figure, enticingly encased at the moment in a purplish-red, breast-hugging sweater and a pair of tight-fitting beige bellbottoms stretched taut across the saucy swells of her firm, rounded backside.
But the fact that he was getting aroused in no way altered his conviction that Mary deserved to be punished, first for her flirtatious manner, which he found obnoxious to the nth degree, and second, for engaging him in argument outside the supermarket instead of owning up to the fact that she enjoyed humiliating him by playing up to other men.
"Hold it, baby," he said, as Mary prepared to settle into the upholstered armchair in the corner.
The adorable brunette forced a grin. "What are you going to do, take my picture?"
Jack strode to the armchair and pulled his girl friend up to her feet. "C'mon, Miss Smartypants, you and I are going into the bedroom."
"I don't feel like that now, Jack," Mary argued, trying to pull away from her boyfriend. "Just because you're horny all of a sudden doesn't mean-"
"Fuckin' isn't what I had in mind, sweetheart. I mean, that can come later."
"Then what-" The remaining words to Mary's questions stayed locked in her throat as she suddenly realized, with numbing clarity, exactly what it was Jack intended to do to her. The thought of once again suffering the indignity, the awful humiliation, of a cruel spanking filled her with unvarnished dread. The pain of such a punishment was bad enough, but what made the ordeal really loathsome was the damage it did to her pride, her sense of self-respect.
"That's right, princess," Jack grinned, holding Mary's arms tightly as she started struggling in his grip, "once again it's time to smack some sense into that mixed-up head of yours."
"No!" Mary shouted, grimacing as she twisted and turned this way and that in a frantic effort to escape. "I won't let you do that to me. Once was enough."
"That's the whole point. Once wasn't enough, Mary. You haven't yet learned your lesson. Now-"
"You bastard!" Mary fumed, anger now surging ahead to momentarily overtake fear. She drew back her right foot and then delivered a swift kick to her boyfriend's left shin.
"Oww!" Jack howled, his face contorting in pain.
"Let me go, Jack. I'm warning you."
"You little bitch, I'll fix you."
"Jack if you-ughhh, no. Noooo-"
Suddenly, with surprising agility, Jack had flipped Mary up over his right shoulder, bending down and wrapping his strong arms around her legs and then jerking upright as he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"That kick will cost you a dozen extra slaps, baby," Jack announced, as he started for Mary's bedroom.
"Put me down this instant, you brute," the scrumptious brunette demanded in a choked voice, kicking out with her legs as she began pummeling Jack's back with her balled fists.
"Sure, I'll put you down. And when I do you'll wish I hadn't. You can count on-"
"We're finished if you do this, Jack," Mary warned. "I mean that." She struggled gamely, with a fierce determination, at one point reaching out to plant one hand against a wall in the foolish hope that this would somehow slow Jack down.
"This women's lib business is starting to affect your brain," Jack said. "Another spanking just might help you to put things back in proper perspective."
"Ohhhh, I hate you," Mary groaned, realizing the futility of her struggles.
Jack turned a corner and entered the bedroom, a still squirming Mary draped over his right shoulder. Once in the bedroom, the walls and ceiling of which were soft pink, Mary's favorite color, he flipped her onto her back on the double bed. The fearful female bolted to a sitting position and then started to scramble off the bed.
"Whoops, no you don't, sweetheart," Jack said, quickly grabbing hold of his escaping girl friend. He dragged her back across the bed and then, gripping her waist, flipped her over onto her tummy.
"You'll pay for this, Jack," Mary promised, tears welling in her eyes as her boyfriend yanked down the six inch zipper at the side of her fanny-firming bellbottoms. "I'll never forgive you. Never."
"You'll thank me for it in time. Besides, a sound spanking once in awhile does a woman good. Satisfies the old masochistic urge, you might say."
"You bum!" Mary cried out. "You pervert!"
"Sticks and stones, sweetheart," Jack grinned lewdly, working purposefully as he tugged down his girl's bellbottoms to a point several inches below her provocative posterior.
Mary started whimpering into the yellow bedcover, her moment of pure misery composed of one part hatred of Jack, one part fear of the upcoming spanking, and one part nagging self-pity. Stirred into this sad mixture was the awful realization that her so-called punishment seemed unavoidable.
Jack would eventually have his way with her. Arguing with him was out of the question. Reason alone wouldn't dissuade him from raining blow after blow on her poor bottom. She could plead with him, beg for mercy like a trembling captive caught escaping. But that wouldn't work, either. She had tried appealing to his sense of decency the last time he whacked her derriere and had failed dismally.
There was nothing to do but suffer the spanking, Mary thought sadly, a single tear trickling down her left cheek to drop silently onto the bedcover. Further efforts to escape would surely prove unsuccessful and serve only to temporarily delay the inevitable. Oh, what a sickening son of a bitch Jack Talbot was!
Jack, who had been staring down at his girl, his cold blue eyes feasting on the scintillating sight of Mary's pantied posterior, now moved to denude that delightful derriere, his fingers digging into the elasticized waistband of the pink cotton briefs as he began tugging the flimsy garment down.
"C'mon, baby, lift those hips for me," he ordered.
Mary obeyed, lazily wriggling her shapely hips up off the bed so that Jack could work her panties down and around her ass.
"There, now we're cooking," said Jack a few seconds later, when the pretty brunette's undies were banded around her creamy thighs, resting atop her bellbottoms. A lewd smirk danced mischievously across his face as he studied Mary's succulent behind, obscenely framed now on top and bottom by the ruffled border of her magenta sweater and the crumpled band of pink trapping her thighs just below her hidden anus.
A somewhat clumsy positioning of Mary's posterior followed, Jack having to expend energy he would rather have saved in order to place Mary in proper position for her spanking. Considerable effort was required to get the uncooperative female draped, bottoms up, over his lap.
Mary, refusing to assist in her own humiliation, willed her body limp, becoming dead weight in Jack's arms and forcing him to pull, shove, tug, drag, carry, and generally manhandle her inert form until he had her in ignominious sprawl over his knees.
But the desired end was finally achieved, with spanker sitting on the side of the double bed and spankee, her face flushed with shame, the taut cheeks of her smooth, well-molded fanny quivering in frightened expectation, obscenely draped across his lap.
The wicked pummeling of one near perfect posterior could now commence.
"Got anything to say, baby, before I begin?" Jack asked, tracing the exciting contours of Mary's curvacious bottom with the thick, work-toughened fingers of his right hand. "Suppose I give you one last chance to apologize?"
"Go to hell," Mary muttered.
"That'll cost you, Miss Smartypants. I'd say, oh, about half a dozen additional smacks."
"I wish I had never met you, you creep."
"Then you refuse to apologize?"
Mary said nothing. Why waste breath calling him names, she thought. It wasn't going to change a damn thing. And apologize? Hell, she didn't have one solitary little thing to apologize for. Not one. True, expressing regret over a supposed sin and asking forgiveness just might spare her the spanking, but not before the Pope administered the rites of confession to Satan himself would she give Jack the satisfaction of an apology, even one she didn't mean. No sir, never.
"All right then, sweetheart. You asked for it."
So saying, Jack brought his right hand up over his right shoulder. He maintained the pose for several long seconds, arm cocked, hard hand ready to descend on vulnerable backside, and savored his complete control of the situation. At the moment he was the master and Mary the slave, the spirited filly in need of taming.
What a truly stimulating sight it was! What a luscious target Mary's tantalizing tail presented!
Arched provocatively, in wicked abandon, it was as if her beautiful bare bottom was beckoning a blow, asking to be struck repeatedly and turned a crimson hue. Who but a saint would turn down such a deliciously lewd invitation?
Smiling inwardly at the thought that never in a hundred years would he be considered for sainthood, Jack delivered the first of many mean smacks he intended to give his girl friend's impudent posterior. His hand landed with a crisp, "cracking" sound on Mary's left buttock, causing that semi-globe of gelatinous flesh to tremble and wrenching from Mary's throat a shriek of pain.
"That's numero uno, baby," Jack announced triumphantly, in the manner of one who had taken the first step toward achieving a desired objective. "And this is numero dos-"
"Oww!" Mary howled. 'Ohhhh-"
"Stings a little, huh?"
"You crummy-owww!"
Tears of shame and pain rolled down Mary's cheeks as the outrageous assault on her aching ass continued. Without mercy Jack rained blow after blow on her poor behind, striking in turn the right cheek and then the left, his meaty hand slicing through the air to come crashing down against the rapidly warming flesh.
"All you libbers need this once in awhile," Jack declared. "A good spanking does wonders for the smarts."
"I hate you," Mary whined.
"What was that, baby?"
"I said I-aiee! Ohhh-"
"You've got a pretty little ass, Mary. I'd rather fuck it than smack it. But until you learn to behave-"
"Owww! Arhhh-"
Mary's mortification was total. Draped as she was over Jack's knees, her arms and legs dangling downward, her bare bottom sticking up in obscene surrender, she could do nothing but suffer the brutal battering and pray with all her might that her boyfriend's arm would soon grow weary.
At the moment, however, it didn't seem that Jack would ever tire of swatting her sore seat. He was really into the spanking now, whacking away with a fiendish enthusiasm and turning her pert, flaming fanny a fiery hue.
Again and again his right hand descended on the quivering derriere, the imprint of his fingers remaining on the abused flesh for a few seconds before fading away.
Smack! Whack! Smack!
"Owww-it hurts so bad," Mary moaned.
"That's the idea, baby," Jack growled back. "Maybe you'll think twice next time before givin' some guy the glad eye."
"You're an animal. A stinkin' ani-aieee!"
Whack! Smack! Whack!
With devilish delight Jack beat a steady tattoo on his girl friend's aching ass, the muscles in his face tightening as he devoted himself to the savage swatting of the impudent seat Mary loved to wriggle for her admirers.
Her pathetic sobs of protest were like music to his ears, providing as they did a satanic sort of accompaniment to the sound his hand made as it cracked across her trembling, inflamed backside. Perverse pleasure engulfed him, making him want to thrash Mary's succulent behind until it was blistered and bruised, a rounded mass of raw, welt-covered flesh.
Smack! Whack! Smack!
"Stop-please stop," Mary pleaded, the awful pain at her tortured bottom spreading to all parts of her body and smothering her resolve not to beg for mercy.
"Stop? We've just begun, sweetheart. You won't be able to sit for a week when I'm through with you."
"No-please don't hit me. Don't do-arghhh-"
Mary squirmed in unadulterated agony on Jack's lap, tremulous sobs breaking from her throat as with diabolical determination Jack walloped her naked, quivering bottom. Tears streamed down her pain-contorted, flushed face and dropped noiselessly to the carpeted floor.
It was painfully obvious now, she realized, that Jack intended this sadistic spanking to be, at the very least, the equal of the last one he administered. Her ass ached something fierce and burned like blazes. It was as if she had backed into an open furnace and allowed the shooting flames to sear her naked seat, as if a gallon of white hot lava had been poured all over her fanny.
How many blows had he administered already? She had no idea because she hadn't bothered to keep count. Of more importance, of course, was how many more scorching smacks he intended to give her. Fifteen? Twenty-five? Fifty? Would Jack ever stop this perverse pummeling of her blazing behind?
For five minutes more Jack banged away at Mary's reddened rear end, pausing every so often for a brief rest before resuming the punishment. Only when his arm started to ache did he stop altogether.
With a rough shove he sent Mary tumbling off his lap and onto the floor, where she remained for almost a full minute sobbing softly into her hands before dragging herself up to her feet. A sense of accomplishment welled within him as he looked at his well-spanked girl friend.
She was the personification of misery, he thought. With her wet, tear-streaked face, shielded in part by her disheveled hair, and her shoulders slumped in an attitude of resignation, Mary bore little resemblance to the smart-talking female who had argued at length with him outside the supermarket.
"I hope this has taught you a lesson, baby. From here on in you had better mind your P's and Q's."
"Get out of my bedroom," Mary said, softly but firmly, struggling to contain the rage that boiled within her.
"Are you going to behave from now on?"
"I said get out of here. Just leave me alone."
"Maybe I want to screw you, sweetheart. You look mighty sexy right now, you know, standin' there with your middle bare. Hey, don't pull your pants up on my account."
"Touch me and I'll scream my head off," Mary warned, working her briefs and bellbottoms up her hips and around her waist. "I'll have you arrested for raping me."
"Now that's no way to talk, baby. Just because-"
"Will you shut up and leave me alone?" Mary yelled. "Get out of my sight, damn you."
Jack stared at his angry girl friend and then, deciding it would be better all around if he gave her time to cool off before climbing into bed with her, he pushed himself up off the bed and started out of the bedroom. At the door he turned, just in time to see Mary fling herself onto the bed and begin moaning, great sobs of anguish trundling up her throat to be partially smothered by the pillow she clutched to her head.
Sorry, sweetheart, but you had it coming, Jack thought. No one makes a fool of Jack Talbot and gets away with it.
Five minutes later found Jack in the living room, settled comfortably in the armchair and sipping a can of beer. The sound of Mary crying in the bedroom drifted to his ears as he considered the sizzling spanking he had administered. He hoped she would remember the spanking the next time she felt like flirting.
The problem was, of course, that she was always being tempted. There weren't too many men able to pass Mary on the street without at least taking note of her curvaceous figure-especially when she was attired in an outfit that left little to the imagination. And all Mary had to do was sense a man's interest, see his smile of appreciation, and she was off and running, batting her 'eyes and wiggling her hips like a lusting floozy.
But what could be done about these naturally curious males? There was no law tha't said a man couldn't try to score with as many broads as possible. Every stud worth his salt dreamed of making it with dozens of curvy, cock-crazy chicks. He himself was always on the lookout for pretty hitchhikers, hot-assed, uninhibited hippy types willing to suck or fuck in exchange for a ride in his truck.
But that didn't mean he had to like it when other guys moved in on Mary, Jack thought, cradling the beer can in his hands as he ruminated. The fact that he could understand their interest in his cuddly girl friend didn't make their lewd propositions and suggestive winks any easier to stomach.
But again, what the hell was he going to do about it? Dealing with Mary was easy enough; he could continue punishing her until she woke up to the fact that what he wanted was a one man woman quick to smother the interest other males showed in her. But he certainly couldn't go around beating up all those characters who, by word or deed, made perfectly clear their desire for Mary's sweet pussy.
Or could he?
Jack took a healthy swallow of beer as he juggled the idea that had just popped into his mind. While there was no way he could get to all the guys Mary flirted with to caution them against pursuing her, what he could do was select one stud and make an example of him.
Someone like Paul Latham, for instance, the doctor with the quick dick.
The more Jack thought about roughing up Mary's employer, whom Mary had admitted laying, prompting her first spanking, the more he liked the idea. Not only would it provide him with a certain satisfaction, a feeling that he was doing something concrete to curtail Mary's flirtatious behavior, it would also serve as a warning to others who were planning on plowing Mary's pussy. Mary, too, just might be convinced to watch herself if she realized the potential harm to others engendered by her flirtations.
Yes indeed, Jack thought, tough talk accompanied by some physical action seemed necessary. In a way, it was just what the good doctor had ordered.
All he had to do was figure out the best time to hold his little meeting with Paul Latham.