Chapter 8
Morning Drill
A Confessional Interlude by P.N. Dedeaux Goddamn sheeut, hissed Rita Henshaw, staring at the tousled tangle on the mattress-less bed. Why does taking exercise always make me horny?
"Mona?"
There was a slight stirring-of the coarse horse blankets, the knuckling of an eye, no more. "Show a leg."
Or preferably a little more. Just go on pulling down those blankets and watch how that banana splits. One slice up and over.
Rita had risen early, gone through her daily dozen, plus twenty punishing push-ups, each of which had squashed her grapefruits on the polished bedroom floor, she was that conscientious about her shape.
Anyway. Into her taut track-suit, two pieces of royal blue terylene stretch with nothing underneath, tying up her sneaks with chin on braced-back knees, plus a quick look back in that position at the mirror to appreciate the big glutes on which Professor P for Pig had whipped his white-hot cane, and out to the fog-pale park for two good miles.
She was sweaty now and panting hard, but that, she well knew, wasn't entirely from the setting-up exertions. Her legs were astride, the elastic gussets hauling the thin britches taut, and she could actually feel her ass bucking a bit, bumping by itself, scooching her hotly cornered cat into a delicious little tickle from the rough stuff of her pants.
The inner planes of her thighs were a-quiver as she remembered the dry knifing cut of the cane on her underneath. Just as well she had on longs or she'd have her fingers in the cookie jar and be tossing herself off right there in front of Mona's single eye.
"Rise and shine!"
What you need, my girl, is a lung-deep fuck. Tough gristle up your guts. Scads of spewn. A private dick. With a big deposit in your vault. Christ on crutches, up the ass on one and in the snatch on two. She hadn't heard herself protesting exactly, had she?
For a moment she concentrated hard on the rasp of stuff on the pulp of her love-core and no darn doubt about it, full clitoral erection was available there. Maybe with a little more scrunching she could induce a fast, sharp, butt-shaking one. But no. She wanted to be in full tension for what was to come. She was intending to be as unpleasant as possible, in fact.
Her throat was quite pink. For the girl on the bed had now tossed off her covering and stretched. Lately Mona had been allowed to wear a flannel pyjam top but that was all, and the metal springs had marked her slightly, behind. In the center of the now writhing limbs the close-clipped purse looked curiously swollen this morning.
Rita groaned and all but gritted her teeth. What dude with pulsing prick or cum-laden cock would not want to pound it into that puss and swab up the gash? Rita unzipped her top, let it gasp for burning breasts. Son of a bitch, she was in rut. The girl most likely to catch eye and tee this day sprawled before her.
"Come on, hon. There are no movie cameras about, as far as I know."
"Whassa time?"
"Time. Or it wouldn't surprise me if someone not a million miles from here got a hunk of her tail licked off, sooner than soon."
Mona squeaked off the springs, grimacing, stood sleepily erect in the middle of the room.
"Gosh, Rit', those things hurt. How much longer am I going to have to sleep on them?"
"First we'll just do twenty squat-bends, then twice as many toe-touchings. After that, it's knees up, Mother Brown. I want to see you strut your stuff, like you do in the house. Remember wet T-shirt night? Well then. With a one and a two. Come on, make those boobies bounce."
While she put the gorgeous girl through her morning callisthenics, Rita idly unhooked the MONA-marked paddle from the wall and slapped it on her own slabby side in cadence. It stung.
The doublings became more desperate. A calculating eye came back, beneath the frown of effort. When it was over, she stood astride before her charge, the stretch of pitch pine held behind her hefting up her own lower person.
"Homage!"
This was a new routine she had insinuated into Mona's increasingly miserable Sunday mornings. The kid had to kiss three parts of her mentor's so marvelous body-three only was she allowed-and one of them had to score on that delicious dainty mentally selected beforehand by Rita. If she failed, it was three good ones across the saucy saddle.
Mona looked about. "Please, Rit'. There are so many bits and pieces of you ..."
"All of them delectable, dear. Each one worth a nice big buss."
". . .'n I never seem to get it right."
"Nonsense. You did twice last month. Off scot-free, except for that bit of shoe-leather later. Right nip and left earlobe. I can still feel the kisses you gave me there."
". . .'n besides, you seem to think it some sort of joke, three swats with that paddle. Gosh, they really sting, the way you give 'em ..."
"Would you want them any other way?"
"Well, you needn't hit quite so hard. I mean, like if I get the, the cane later it makes it five times as bad."
"And ten times as good for you. Anyway, sweetie, if you ain't bin bad you won't get the cane, will ya! Now quit stalling and start kissing. These I want to feel to your tonsils."
Shaking her corn-blonde mane the girl advanced, ducked and gave Rita's exposed navel a slobbery mouthful. It made the older girl giggle.
"Idiot! That's my salt-cellar. Midnight snacks in bed."
With a hopeless shrug Mona then tried her friend's nose and lastly her lantern chin.
"Wrong on all counts," chuckled Rita. "Three smackeroos across those princely pillows is just the way to start the day. Come on, butt up. Spirit of Seventy-Six!"
Mona sulked scowling. "Bet it was your big right boobie."
"Wrong again. No witch's milk for you this mom. Look, let's say, double or quits. I'll give you three more guesses and a hint first-it's somewhere on my lower bod. Beneath the waist, that is. You can't miss. And I won't fry your fat tail if you do."
"Will you give them all just as stiff as usual?"
"Regular grind. There's no other way."
"Six really stings, y'know it."
"I had no idea."
Mona dropped to her knees. For a while she remained there, staring at the tautness of material across the bulging bump of heaven. Holy Chee-Rita went dry-throated. If she kisses me there I'll explode. Won't need no ying-yang from the prof this day.
With a sigh Mona bent and pressed wet bee-stung lips to the toe of Rita's scuffed right sneak.
"Uh-uh."
Left calf.
"Sorry again."
With a crayfish shuffle Mona went to the rounded rear. She kissed Rita's right cheek hard and its owner gave a telltale wince.
"Warmer, but no dice. Too bad."
"Oh no," groaned Mona, getting to her feet. "What was it then?"
"Asshole, asshole!"
Rita was exultant but Mona merely moaned-"Good grief, I don't believe it. That's not fair."
"In color it's not, I agree. Pinky when something gets rammed up you there-only of course that's never happened to little Mo, has it?"
Whacked into a chairback the paddle made a pistol shot. "First you do your twice-around-the-block and first one in's a sore fanny. I'm timing you, mind, and I'm hitting hard-you're getting too fat back there anyway, though I doubt if the boys in class complain. Think about it as you run, give you something to do. Me, I'll just practice on this cushion."
"First I gotta go."
Paddle-tapping Rita peeked-just to see new rules were being reasonably regarded, the door left open and our hefty heroine of the scarlet, show-stopping sorority line properly astride the bowl. These days Mona had to pee as she took her punishment-like a man. She let fly with arms indignantly akimbo, and Rita watched the gush with surprise, then sheer outright admiration. Apprehension did it to them, but this was ridiculous. As the rubbery shudders of the royal butt wrang out the last droplets she thought grimly: first, we'll purple those peaches a mite, my love, then we'll get THE TRUTH out of you!
Into her clingy skivvies (Mona's track suit was kelly green) and on with her sneaks and out the door as the second-hand on Rita's tanned wrist cruised past zero. No sooner had the door slammed then Rita inspected the blankets and opened a drawer. It was as she had thought.
"Your things really are in a mess, hm," she thought grimly. She turned on the shower to let it run really cold. Mona came back in, panting like a dog.
"Three minutes under this morning, missy. And don't dry yourself after. I like the sound better wet."
"Rit', please. You're so tough on me . . . all the time."
"All the time? Get in there quick!"
She aimed a kick and connected, bumpily, with a bun. While the water ran she swatted her cushion harder and harder, with growing excitement. When Mona came through she was dripping and dejected, furze-bedewed in front and rosy of rear. Slowly Rita removed her track top, released bouncy breasts, and flexed a bicep.
"Bend," she said coldly. "Paddle position."
"Ah gosh, Rit', six can really hurt. Please don't lay them on flat out."
"It was your choice."
"Hardly."
"Did you varnish your cane again yesterday?"
Mona sighed. "Three times. Like you said."
"Good. I want those last few inches a little stiffer for your butt, girl. You like things stiff, don't you?"
Mona shrugged. She stood back from the end of the bed, visibly made up her mind to do it and, like a diver, bent to grip its rail, legs together. Her hair fell forward. Her regal bottom bloomed. And Rita breathed.
"Arch your back and thrust it up. Come on, you can do better than that. Knees back."
Mona shuffled. Dropleted from the shower, the well-fed rounds thrust sturdily to the ringmaster's command, at their base the split plum of her person, unsutured wound, a true Cape Cod pink.
"Get it up!"
"It is up," Mona complained.
"Ah so it is." (Beg your pardon, Ms. Hardon.) "But I think you can still get more division if you straighten your thighs harder. There, that's much more the total woman."
Rita placed herself. She wanted to let it work on her a little longer. Minute squirrelings went on inside her. Slight coppery traces quivered on the downy skin. Again Mona shuffled, waiting.
"Oh do get it over with, Rit'."
"Six."
"I know!"
Rita held the taped handle and patted the mounds. "Do these know?" "Oh yes!"
"I think so, too. I'm awfully sorry to say I feel in real form today, honey, and I hope you'll let me know if I'm not doing my job properly."
FLACK!
"Hhhh . . . ohuuuh . . . one . . . thanks!" "You're welcome."
Two, three, she painted the bands across the buttock-meat, noting how dark they turned at the ends. After the fourth there was a scunching of the butt in pure-pain spasm.
"Get to you a bit, there? Righty. Stick . . . it . . . OUT!" FLACK!
"Furffffffyve ... oh my God . . . thanks."
Rita wondered. Was it possible? She had never had an orgasm actually in the process of whipping Mona, but the to-and-fro'ing of her belly in this itchy-kitchy stuff of her pants was making her kitten fairly keen, within, increasing the bitchiness of her disposition.
"Ooooh Christ, not another ..."
There was a perceptible twitching of the inner thighs, followed by a churning of the halves. Rita leant forward- Don't pop your jollies yet she told her aching self.
"Umm. Use bubble bath or my soap in that shower, huh?"
"Please, Rit', you're skinning me silly with that thing."
"Good for you to have your ass gunned every now and then, dear. Now stick that rump up. Make like a burley queen. Set it for the darning needle now."
The mauve staining across both pulpy loaves had brought up the cane lines beneath. The mottled edgings on the right told her she'd hit harder than she realized.
"One more for size now."
She whacked the wood home. It detonated into fat and with a squeak Mona jacked up, arching back, grabbing handfuls. Rita felt her insides coil at the sight. For a second Mona's face was wrinkled as a nut. She puffed and stamped, on scalding coals.
"Hough! You didn't have to . . . not that hard ..."
"Not much of a war dance this morning, huh." Rita replaced the paddle and took down the lighter and thinner of the canes available. If she looked any longer that mite inside would retch.
"Come along, hon." She swished the limber limb. "You know what you get for losing position before permission."
"Oh gosh no, oh darn it, Rita, I mean like you can't jus' keep on whupping me like this ..."
Can't I just, she thought unsteadily. She took a pencil from the table top. Today we're getting down to the BARE FAX of the case, missy. I have a surprise in store for you.
"Hurry up. You know you have to stay over till I say up."
Ruefully rear-rubbing, Mona shuffled forward. More wretchedly she knelt. More miserably still she put her left hand on her bottom and her right in a line level with her chin.
"Fingers stretched right out, please. Thumb down." Rita arranged the mute offering, palping the fleshy palm. Hand canings could be quite sexy, really, when you had palms as rosy as Mona's. "Keep it that way."
"Oh gosh, how you roasted me, Rit'." She wiggled behind.
Rita bent and lifted up the girl's left jug. She put the pencil under it and let the slab of flesh fall back, holding it in position there.
"Each time you drop it, one on your tubby toko, luv."
"Only three on each hand then? Promise? Gee, I could hardly write after those last ones."
"Should have thought about that before leaping up so lustily."
"Yeah, but it gets me in . . . with Sigma ... if I can't write out my . . . OWWW!"
From on high the cane whistled and bit. It drew a surprisingly livid line across the outstretched hand. Mona squawked and, still managing to hold out her hand, rolled her head on her shoulders.
"Aaaaagh, Pete's sake!"
"Hold it out. And-open your eyes!"
Rita steadied the trembling fingers and-hhhuitt!-sliced again. With a stricken cry Mona ducked forward, jamming her boiling palm between her thighs. The pencil dropped.
"I'll say one thing. You're sure a glutton for it on that ass, dearie." She looked down at the slowly shaking head, that of one not understanding of a sum, cascading silken wheat over smooth-skinned gourds of breast. "D'you think it hurts more there than across the soles of your feet? I'd really like to know."
"Oh, I don't . . . yes, I think ... I mean, uh, like, oh God . . ."
"Well pick up the pencil and put it under your bub and handy out."
Mona managed. Rita readied her rod for the last this side.
"This one's coming from the ceiling."
Mona took her hand away, snatched it back, took it out of place again, put it out, took it back with a panicky gasp. Rita waited, white of face, waves of heat rippling in her tummy. With a final pleading expression Mona held out her hand again. Rita cut, but the cane slashed empty air.
"You know what you get for that, too!"
"Please, Rit', please . . . you don't know how ..."
"Oh stop being monotonous. Get it out. A ten-year-old could do better than this."
The hand was out, its whipped skin stretched. This time Rita sliced it spitefully.
"Hhhhaieee!"
Mona rocked, shaking out her hand and wringing it in the air. But the pencil stayed in place. "Other one now."
So tenderly did Mona put her scarlet right hand back on her bottom, so well-trained a hand changed the pencil to her right breast's embrace, so gingerly did she extend her left for three more lashes that Rita's skin crept within her britches.
The three given (the pencil fell but once), she turned, no longer able to control her facial muscles. To the whining wounded girl behind her she said crisply. "Donkey position, donkey."
Keening still, Mona took it slowly up. On all fours, head up, staring ahead, back arched, butt braced.
"I'm giving you four. Two for each drop and two for taking away. Actually that last little habit annoys me considerably, Mo, and I've decided it's got to stop. The tariff's going up to three each time you do it. I've been letting up on you lately."
"You hhhhaven't been . . . letting up on me," panted Mona back, barely audibly.
"Well, I don't want to start a debating society. I just want to teach you that the consequences of not staying put and absorbing your punishment when it's doing you most good are apt to be painful. This time keep it cocked up and let yourself really feel it."
She bent her knees. Calmly she took aim at the quivering patches of blue beet. The cane knifed into them nicely and sprang back to a hectic dark weal. Mona panted, bucked.
"You were made for the Roxy back there, honey!"
When the four had been given, grilling neatly one under another, Rita turned once more and stood with feet apart.
"Now give me the kiss, silly billy, and get on with it."
Mona, slowly mastering coursing agony, shuffled on her knees, hands kneading white-hot hinds behind. She put up her puckered face and grasping the elasticized waist of Rita's track trews in her teeth, started to ease them down. Rita gasped, swallowing hard as she felt sticky tears on her hot hips.
All at once she stiffened. The kid would see ... had seen? Quickly tugging up she called casually, "That won't be necessary today. Just through the material will do. Let me feel your tongue."
She couldn't last much longer. She was coming unglued inside. She felt the head butt between, the mouth worry out its morsel, the stub of tongue pressing.
"So you do understand then, don't you. If you remain bent over, however hard to do so, and don't get any relief the shellacking will do you that much more ... ah, no, I did not say give me a colonic. You always overdo things, Mona." She strode off abruptly, tossing the cane aside. "Jus' skin-tight cut-offs and an Island shirt, nothing under. I'll get your brekker for today."
The last sight she had of mournful Mo was actively licking her right palm on her knees.
Rita seemed to have to heave herself across the living room. She never made it.
"Bitch!" she hissed, reviling herself. She stood with legs mashed together a moment, the contractions building under the double-ply at her crotch, then she staggered to a sideboard, bucking. Her ass hunched, went into sudden lewd trounces. Was Mona watching through a crack in the door? Was Miss Opposite opposite? Rita could not care. The world was coming apart. Somehow-hot damn-she got into her bedroom, dazed, eyes glassy, face wet.
"Now let's get this tea party on the road. I don't want to sound as if I have a depraved mind but are you quite sure there's no more to Sunday Settlement than a borrowed bra, one cup of which you split?"
Rita folded her arms under the slope of her chest. It was an hour after "brekker" and she had inspected Mona's pot and perused the funnies in peace, having changed into chocolate silk, a mini that clung and cupped and kept getting caught in behind. There was just a smidgen of sulkiness in Mona's face as she reached and unfastened a further button of the thin shirt.
"Ummm? Like your mams handled, don't you. So you're sure. Shame on my suspicious mind," she clucked, "but I am your appointed guardian, dear. Fabulous titties. Remind me to paste them with honey one day and suck them clean after. Nothing that shouldn't have been there, then, in any of those adorable orifices?"
Mona shook her head. "Four whaps then. Over you go."
"Not with that . . . that hose thing again."
"Yup. Worked wonders last time. And think what an eyeful for your sisters when you get to do the greasy pole next week."
"Jeepers, it hurts."
Rita hefted it tensely as the girl got into position. It dangled from her hand over the jutty, halved globes which squirmed under faded blue cut-offs. The pineal seam of this was triple-sewn and made them really stand up. The tan thighs wriggled silkily together as Mona eased her pelvis full on the hassock, stretching legs out straight, all the way to bare toes. Rita stared down, her eyes hazed in sensuality.
"Four where the trousers are tightest, honey."
"Gosh-sake, please get them over quick. You really lammed into me just now."
"Let your buttocks burgeon, luv. The breadth of the ship astern, from the tuck upwards. On second thoughts, I'm going to use the thongs."
"Pete's sake, Rit'!"
The martinet was black and Rita let the lightly loaded tails lie on and convey their sensible weight to the plumpnesses a moment. Then she whistled them in a nearly horizontal sweep that snapped them under the butt, with a flocky sound.
Mona jerked and ground her hips, hunching into the hassock. Rita waited and thucked again. This one brought a right leg bounding up, revealing a melon-slice of white flesh over the tan as the cut-offs rode up.
"Aaaangh! It's . . . houh ... too much!"
"Legs back, ducky, and stick them up."
The cut-offs remained high that side and in the buttock-bulge there Rita saw how the tip-marks of the hard hide thongs had brought up angry black peas of weal. For the last two she lashed, and Mona rolled, grabbing.
"Aaaaaghh!"
Rita turned, barely breathing. It was just the sound on the tape. She felt her tough clit begin its drumbeat under the sleaze of her mini as she put back her flail, got out the tape recorder, slipped in the cassette. Mona was still massaging her burning loaves, her face torn.
"Good grief, that h-h-h-urt!"
"Now, my girl," said Rita sternly, holding the little recorder behind her, "up on your feet. You stand over there with your back to me and touch your toes."
"Wer-why?" Mona was aghast. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm not going to do anything to you, angel pussypie," Rita continued through her teeth. "I'm just going to ask you to listen to something with me. In position now."
Mona bent, her butt broadening, its bottomside showing the clawmarks of the thongs. Rita clicked and a sudden harsh man's voice rang through the room-"Who wants to cork her cunt?"
"Okay. One more time. Then Pari gets to ram her bunghole."
"Please," squeaked Mona's voice from the tape- "Aaaahhhhh!"
There were slapping and shuffling and squishing sounds, completed by a loud grunt-a man's, a boy's.
"Clumsy bastard, Ron. A ten-year-old kid could throw his arrow into that target."
"She movin'. Hold her still. There we go-aaaaah!"
"BEND OVER!" yelled Rita. "And not a peep out of you, mind."
For with a forlorn wail Mona had arisen, hand to mouth, flushing furiously-"Wur-where ... did you get ... ?"
"Get over!" Rita picked up the hose-length and Mona doubled swiftly . . .
Her face darkened to ripe plum at the sounds that now ensued, squishy socky slurpings, pantings and groans and wet-sounding slappings.
Rita tutted. "Such noises."
"Ggggaaaaa," gurgled the girl's voice on the tape.
"Tight fuckin' tunnel," panted the man.
"She takin' the locomotive right up to the last of yer box cars, Ron," prattled yet a third.
Three of them there on her. Rita shook her head. She could see Mona gnawing her lip.
"Her insides are startin' to crawl. Her fuckin' fuck-muscles are milkin' me, man."
"Sock the jizz to her, Ron, I'm so hard my teeth ache."
Mona's whinnying could now be heard.
"Lookit her upfuckin' her butt for it like that."
"Ghhhaaaa . . . HORN IT TO ME, RON!" Mona shouted.
Some consummation was clearly in the air. "My, you fems are really lib on that campus," Rita sighed.
The whimperings crescended and catapulted into a shriek of mutual animality. There now appeared to be some heavy scuffling going on.
"Slam her out flat, man, belly down on the old mattress."
"No . . . aaaaagh!"
Four or five sharp slapping cracks on bare flesh resounded then, succeeded by squeals.
"Up on your knees, babe. You're now going to get it."
"Naaa . . . ner-not there . . . it's too beeeeeg . . ."
"Palm her butt open for me, Hank. Yeah. Stretch it in two, can't hurt her. You're tearing a loaf of bread there, man."
"Hey! Jes' look at her pucker string coil and twitch. The twitch!"
"Pry it open, Pari!"
"Hold her still for me and keep her from bucking. Now!"
"OOOWWWWW!" wailed Mona's voice then.
"Aaaaaagghhh!" it yelled.
"Atsit, Parly, drill it in her now."
There was panting and grunting and weak womanish whimpering, when the man yelled, "What a cornhole beauty! This has to be the hottest asshole in the West. Hold her, Hank."
"Much more?" came in a weaker pant from Mona now. "You get-got much more to go?"
"Oh, I'd say coupla inches, babe. Want it in one?"
"All right. Go ahead. Give me the rest of it. AAAAAG-GGHHH!"
Rita dabbed her forehead. She licked her lips. She stretched her wrists. There was white heat growing behind her eyes. Son of a gun, she was hard as rocks again. Looking at the girl's upraised ass-Mona was crying now, it seemed-she could see the huge cock slunking into it.
"Get ... go on," Mona's recorded voice was mumbling. "Shoot your jizz and get your filthy prick out of my ass."
"Such words," Rita purred.
"Why don't you shut up and let's fuck," cried the man in rut.
"I'll shut her up," said another voice . . . Hank's, at her head.
"Ner-no, Hank, please." Blub-blub the sentence ended.
And then the gurgling and the slurping and the slapping and the . . . yes, the sucking.
"Straighten her neck out, Hank, so's you can get a straight drive into her throat. Yeah, so."
"Now fuck her face."
Sobbing sounds, cooing, sucking.
"Cheeze," cried Pari, "I'll swear she's starting to steam this end."
Squish-squosh! Slosh-slosh! Slurp-slurp! Glug-glug!
And Rita's nails drove into her palms. She could see Mona as she had been then-a fuck-tunnel. Her body spitted on cock.
"Ready to go, Hank?"
"Am I ever . . ."
Rita clicked. She realized she was panting hoarsely. The silence in the room surrounded her, as she stood up and tried to control her trembling.
Mona, doubled, divided, was quivering, too. She was sobbing softly.
Rita roamed the room, humming to herself. She was so intensely conscious it hurt. Only when she stood behind her charge, one hand roving over the widened end which had been so thoroughly plugged by the unspeakable Pari (whoever he was, sounded like a name out of a cheap novel) did she come to herself.
"Quite a time. I'll spare your chaste ears the last centimeters of that scalding tape I had secreted for me in that furnace. My oh my." She patted the bulgy rump. "You can stand up now."
Mona did so, knuckling an eye. "I just cer-couldn't bring myself to tell you, Rit'."
"Sorry about that."
"I didn't enjoy it, really."
"You didn't seem to object to the investigation in the vestibule, dearie. No, the problem is, what are we going to do to you. For you're going to have to be punish order to teach you to keep a tight twat. Aren't you?"
Mona's fingers twiddled. " 'Spose so."
Just then the doorbell rang.