Chapter 9
Visiting Rites
A Neighborly Insertion by P.N. Dedeaux "I'll get it," Rita snapped icily, as the mellow fellow ding-donged at the door again. "Little man in there's impatient.
"Stay right as you are," she added, noticing a mellifluous move of Mona's majesty, "whoever it is, see. Touch those toes and stick up that toby. This time, in view of your recent behavior, you're in the soup and I'm going to see to it, it's sizzling."
Opening the door, however, Rita double-took. A slant-eyed glory of a girl, with a river of inky hair, stood poised and smiling, clad in a square-shouldered military tunic, well decorated, and little else-black lace step-ins became visible when she paced forwards in, long-gartered black stockings, platform shoes. An Oriental Olga Korbut. Rita goggled.
"May I come in?"
"I see absolutely no reason why not." Rita clicked the door to.
"A womanly position." The newcomer's eyes swept the room, and its other, butt-blatant occupant. "One in need of the unguentine, hm?"
"Mona's my roomie."
"She is that. I've seldom seen one, well, how shall I put it?" The elfette giggled shyly. "So tremendously there!" "If you must know I just whipped her ass." "That's evident."
"Getting a little too liberated."
"At the moment she looks like she's trying to liberate it from her cut-offs. I saw you go to work on her tail with that flail, and I just couldn't resist dropping over. Even those new Zeiss glasses I got ..."
"You! To what do I ... ?"
"My full name is Lo Due Thong. Just call me Miss Opposite."
"You!" Rita was stunned. Pensively she pulled the sleaze of stuff out of her ass-cleft again and pensively her fingers felt the dying wealings on her own fat. "But I thought you were an old crone!"
"No, I'm a young crone." The girl giggled.
And again Rita goggled. It was true. With that varnished nut of a face you really couldn't tell, say between twenty and forty. The Dietrich legs were now straddled equably apart but there was a potential ferocity within this exquisitely rounded body.
"How did you get across the street? Like that?" Without half the local windows breaking, she wanted to add.
"I shook it. No, it's a long time I been watching you educate kid sister's ass and I jus' thought it was time you and I got together. For a moment just now, over that hassock, I mean, she looked real uncomfortable. You swing a mean one."
Rita's mouth went chisel-hard. "Well, this time the little twitch has gone too far. She's got something really to look forward to." Her fingers trailed her heavy hips.
"What was it this time? Putting a button in the collection at the chapel?"
"Let some of the boys in the frat house put the blocks to her."
The other whistled. "I can see their point."
"Asshole, too."
"I can see their point."
Suddenly Rita saw the skewering image again, Mona spitted on cock, and she shut her hot eyes tight, her sweet spot curling.
The intruder was shaking her head. "Those fellows. If they don't get their ashes hauled on time." She sashayed toward the brick-faced target of their conversation and Rita saw the the khaki tunic had the regulation vent behind, exposing about as cute a pantied can as it had been her fortune cookie to see.
"She's got a real lesson coming to her this time, and no mistake," she said grimly. "I don't mind you helping me at all."
Sadly smiling, arms akimbo, Lo Due savored the spread of seat.
"Sometimes you have to really hurt them, y'know."
"Any suggestions are perfectly welcome."
"Were you thinking of . . . the bone?"
"I was thinking of trimming her ass, that's what."
"Bone or birch should do it for you."
"Uh-huh. Don't have the twigs."
"I do."
Rita's brows went up. This was becoming interesting.
"Trouble is, Miss Mushy Twat has double lumps due her. Not only did she let the dear boys drill her, but she tried to hide it from me, too. Fibbed. Sunday over here's Repentance Day and Penance Day."
"Don't I know it," said Miss Opposite. "But ouch! for someone's buns. Just as well there's plenty of them. Looks to me as if . . . did you beetroot her with the board a bit, too?"
"Hazed her a few." Rita shrugged crossly. "But with that heinie ..." "May I feel?"
"Sure. Grab yourself all you want."
"Please!" The whimper was emphatic. "Can't I stand up? I'm not a . . . not a . . ."
"What? A fuck-tunnel was what you were, luv, and if you're not careful I'll let our guest hear that tape."
"Naaoo! Please!"
Lo Due's sensitive strong fingers were feeling out the resilience of rotundities, under the sweet snug stuff. A sepia thumb indented the whip-streaked and exposed gluteal fold below.
"There's certainly plenty of meat in this young seat to work on. Did you, uh, employ a cane beforehand, too?"
"A few cuts, nothing much." How wise was this extraordinary creature who now, tossing back her black mane, stood back and, hands on hips, head cocked, assessed the broadly parted beam before her, atop the stalwart, slightly quivering thighs.
"Thing is, all your lessoning just doesn't seem to be getting through to her, dear. Do you know Professor Porter, by any chance?"
"Only too well," said Rita.
"Well, once or twice it's good for a girl to go really over the top. I mean it, Niagara without the barrel. That hose idea of yours was swell, really made her move her can, but this one's due for something special, if you ask me."
"Any help in the general direction would be appreciated," said Rita gravely. "And listen, Lo, I wish you'd call me Rita."
"The real fear of God. Brrrh!" Slim shoulders shook.
"They don't do badly in the sorority."
"My place was in Lisse, Holland, where the tulips are, y'know. Pledges were only supposed to use rear entrances. Hell, they taught us butt-fucking the hard way. Did they ever!
"The senior girls had this whacking dong, see, biggest artificial or living pecker in the west, sculpted slightly on the curve with a ski-slope head and corona like a cobra. Made you feel sick to look at it.
"Some girls swore it was solid gold, but actually it was bronze. Boy in Perpetual Flight some wise-ass called it, my year. Anyway they lined you up in cheerleader nothings, sans culottes, needless to say, and mounted this monster hip-height on a staunch tripod. Then wired it up and dolloped it with grease.
"It heated all through. Oh, not enough to hurt you- much, but enough to melt the grease. Then, with the actives grinning like Cheshire cats at the side and slapping their calves with their paddles, Girl Number One for the treatment, looking about as miserable as it was possible to look, even in Lisse, backed toward her destiny-The Rectifier was what it was officially called-butt on, and holding up her skirt in back.
"Swallowed the hog-head with a look of horror and slid the greasy pole all the way. Usually with a squeal. They adjusted it so's you were lifted slightly off tiptoe, swinging. Then they turned up the ultra-sound."
"The what?" said Rita, who had been going red during this recital.
"Makes like kinda hundreds of pins and needles, getting stronger all the time. Gee, what a goose that was! You were supposed to take up to four degrees-the dial turned to ten but two was bad enough-for ten seconds, or depending how mean they were feeling that night.
"I tell you. Damnedest sight. Bird in flight was what it was when a girl somehow got herself off that throbbing bugger. And if you hadn't made it for the time given there was that line of actives dying to baste your buns.
"I went through it twice one night when the hot squat was a full fifteen seconds and they skinned me to jelly both sides. Hot damn. That was what fear was. Just the sight of The Rectifier turned my tummy over. Hey, what say you let Sof'-Spot stand up now, with her back to us, natch, and see how she bulges."
"Get up, Mo'."
"She bulges," grinned Lo Due Thong, watching Mona trying with little success to tug the cut-offs over cut-ups. "And you say the wicked boys were actually allowed to use the, ah, waste disposal channel?"
"Asshole," corrected Rita, whose language grew fouler with her disposition. "If you can help make this slut really sorry for herself I'd be only too grateful."
"I might have just the thing." The Oriental cupped and joggled the heavy rounds. "First, some long division, if I may."
From one military side-pocket she produced her namesake, a thong. It was thin and worn, with little brass studs along one side, and when Mona's Island shirt had been pushed up it dug snugly into her lower waist; to the ring that hung down from the buckle of this belt in front was fastened a twin thong, deftly run down Mona's one and only, through her legs and up the Great Divide behind. The difference was that the worn-brass studding was in this case on the inside.
"Hey, that hurts!" Mona warbled, bucking backwards and thrusting fluttering fingers against the haul of the saddle strap. Lo Due kneed her back and notched it home, almost taking the sinner off her toes.
"Eeeek! Phew!" Mona cambered absurdly, holding her split sides.
"You must confess that separates 'em and makes them stand out as a pair of sitters, about to catch It, should."
"Why didn't you give her the waist-belt with the studs inside? Wouldn't that have hurt her more?"
Lo Due shot her a pitying smile. "The side of the belt is sewn with short needle tips."
"Pur-lease," pleaded Mona, moving her legs like some restless colt, "they're agony."
"If she writhes, as writhes she must, they will be, I fear. Mama scratch. Of course, they would be far too severe for the pineal separator. I think you'll find those dull-headed studs do the trick, though. Make her want to throw off the shackle. See." "Please!" Mona was standing astride, holding apart her hefty hams. "Honest, I'll try to take it, like a, a trooper. I know I deserve some'pin, any rate. But you don't have to do this, first."
"What are you doing now?" asked Rita, as this time, from her other pocket, her interesting visitor produced two shorter thongs in twin, these of thin rounded leather, like stable harness.
"Sulcus straps or gluteal garters. Watch."
Rita did so intently. These thongs circled each thigh at its very top, disappearing under the overhang inside and buckled bulging-taut on the outside.
"Like so," said Lo Due. "Now there's a pair proud to be called firm, upstanding buttocks for you."
True, they were, thought Rita, studying the outstretched and separated halves of her "roomie," whose cut-offs had ridden almost to mid-point of cheek-curve-a girl in mint condition and no mistake.
"Did you, uh, is there ... I mean on the inside of those two?"
"Natch," laughed Lo Due. "She keeps her little bottom still when it's whopped and she'll be much, much happier. Otherwise, like I say, Mama scratch. Now: if I might just use your phone. Taylor will bring something over."
"Who's Taylor?"
"Taylor's my man. Okay?"
"Help yourself, go ahead." Rita could not take her eyes off the choice curves, only slightly marked up, after all, even when Lo Due took the phone up and spattered into it some angry-sounding bizarre foreign tongue.
"Taylor will be over in a tic. If he knows what's good for him. Now: if you have a stiff vodka. Thanks."
As Rita mixed it her skirt moved and so did Lo Due, humming. Rita felt fingers under her mini behind-"Et tu, Brute?"- and just had time to put a hushing finger to her lips. Mona had not noticed, however, being inordinately preoccupied with trying to ease her cheeks apart.
"Who gave you those?" the Oriental whispered, her teeth nipping Rita's rosy earlobe.
"No one you know."
"I like them when they're real raised twin-tracks, don't you? Them slice one into the middle."
"What are you going to do with her?"
Lo Due rolled her eyes and downed her drink. "Mama spank. Ah, there's Taylor," she said, at another bell-yodel.
A contrasting apparition, no less remarkable, was ushered in, this one a vast Nordic beauty from Wilhelm Tell country. Madame Schroder-Devrient, as it were, at her prime, and in drag.
For this extremely solemn Amazon wore skin-tight blue serge trousers, a bum-freezer bellhop top, braided scarlet in front, over the opulent whoppers. Her almost white hair was dragged back in a braid. She had to be six-one, thought Rita, and she filled her breeches to bursting. In one hand she carried a long black box.
"You sent for me, sir?" she said gravely, looking at no one except Lo Due.
The latter explained. "Taylor's my little playmate, from the land of mists and Dutch-doll buttocks. Like her? Actually, she was a trapeze artist in her teens, believe it or not. Turned twenty-eight last March but still has the muscles. Quite interesting, really. Turn around, Taylor." "Yes, sir."
It was an astonishing breadth of beam, without being flabby at the base. The pair were long and deeply divided by the clinging stuff which was worn enough to show, in places, glaze.
"Now squeeze."
"Yes, sir."
"Now spread."
"Buttock muscle," pronounced Lo Due with satisfaction. "Special exercises for it. I've seldom seen such masses so muscular. She could grip a guelder between them for an hour and often has. It doesn't seem to make them hurt any the less, though. In fact, I think it even brings the nerves more to the surface. Now gimme."
She seized the box and opened it on the sideboard. Rita caught wicked gleams within. Three needle-thin lengths of ebony whalebone were laid reverently out.
"Her real name is Hanneke," said Lo Due, then crossly tscked. "You forgot the Tickler."
"No, sir. If you pardon me," came the ready retort, in the woman's accented English. "I put in the Tickler."
"Not the one I asked for, idiot." She lashed out, clumped the woman in the middle and she doubled. Gawking, Mona put a hand to her mouth.
"For Pete's sake," she gasped.
"Don't sorry, you can't really hurt Taylor. Anyway, he has to be punished. What would you recommend for Miss Wobblebum here?"
Rita, roiling within, ran a tongue over her lips. "Well, I have some canes. It would do Mo a deal of good to watch."
"Gimme," cried Lo Due, kicking off her platform shoes. "A nice long hickory-dickory. Oh what a beauty!" She slid the limb Rita had given her through her fingers, nearly crooning. "A few clips across your commodiousness, Taylor. Pull your trousers up."
They could hardly be tauter, Rita reflected, thinking they must be held up by galluses.
"I'm giving you ten," she heard, and jumped in her stomach.
"Yes, sir."
"Looking forward to it?" "No, sir."
"Twelve where the trousers are tightest, eh, Taylor? And if it's going to do Ms. Luscious here good to watch, it's going to do Taylor even more good to feel."
"Not to mention me to see" breathed Rita fervently.
"Stand with your legs apart, Taylor, and pull those trews up TIGHT."
She was now making gushy slashes through the air which had Mona mouthing an incompleted "For Pete's . . ." as she still held onto her frightened fundament.
Lo Due kicked out the hassock. "This has seen good service, I don't know why it shouldn't see some more. Put your palms on it, Taylor, and your legs stretched out behind you."
Rita saw that the woman stared lengthily at the hassock top, her forehead frowning, before she put her hands on it and her legs straight out in an angle behind her. This bowed up the buttock basin which at once, in Rita's estimation, took on considerable character.
From being a pair of rather hard, heavy hams they became an intensely whippable couple of rumps, exactly molded by the material (held taut, indeed, now she saw, by British braces fire-engine red to match the braiding); Rita particularly relished the rotundities at the base, dumb soulful curves that met, rather than merged into, the thrust of the thighs. "On your insteps," instructed Lo Due, explaining in a smiling aside-"Makes her muscle 'em up a bit more. See!"
"There's certainly plenty to hit."
"Cut," corrected the other, dreamily flexing her stick, one that shivered eagerly in complicity. "Actually, I'm going to take her about as low as she's showing. On the real sitting part. Don't you think that'd be best?"
"Sure thing," said Rita, smoothing her skirtlet.
"Rib 'er about four inches wide there. Too many on the same spot tend to numb." "I find about an inch above the crease induces the most lasting repentance. Aren't you going to strip it first?"
"Uh-huh. Like the sound of wood on serge, m'sel'. Tell you what, though. We have a rule in our house. Taylor just ain't allowed a wrinkle in his britches. Do you have a paddle?"
This plaintive plea answered, the Oriental stood grinning, hefting the varnished sorority board over the beefy breeks.
"Mo'," Rita commanded. "Kneel down, and observe, No, closer than that. And keep your eyes on that butt while it catches it, and tell yourself you're going to get the same shortly."
"On'y worse," said Lo Due. "I see a wrinkle," she chanted, and brought the board whacking down on the right flank. The woman called Hanneke grunted. Mona, gingerly kneeling and shifting, trying to pull at her saddle, simply blinked.
"Haven't quite flattened it out!" Another thunked down, reverberating the crupper.
"One on the left," showed Rita. "On the inside."
It was remarkable how the woman held braced her rump, though the color of her facial cheeks darkened perceptibly-only after five (for the last of which Lo Due let the bat hang down her back) was the stuff declared perfectly skintight and prepared for punishment.
"Gimme that slinky beauty," slinked Lo Due, accepting the ready limb.
"I like my meat tenderized, too," said Rita, a little breathlessly. "You, Mona, count."
The Oriental girl drew back. "Get it right up, Taylor. I'm sorry about this but it has to happen."
Tunic-skirt swinging she praced and cut. Mona positively jerked as the cane-tip whistled under her nose. She saw the limber tip bed itself into the slab of gluteal flesh, low down, cling in and then pluck itself out.
"Wer-wer-one," she gulped, dully.
"That was a good one," Rita said, having seldom seen more sheer venom in a cut. "Whupped right in there."
"Think so? Ya gotta do better than that to hurt Taylor. And hurt he has to be, I fear."
She thrashed the seat again. "That's better."
"A squirm, a palpable squirm," Rita agreed, nibbing herself.
"Two!" now piped Mona.
"Hot damn!" laughed Lo Due. "I love caning this butt. Taylor gets to five or so, then it's punishment time."
The cane whistled in again, a punishy snip of pain. The twin sides were locked jammed, yet an eloquent cringe at their very base made Rita hiss in appreciation-"Less comfy all the time."
"Only six more to go."
"Alas."
The mellow ding-dong siren-called at the door anew, no less insistent than the fat little fellow yowling out Rita's uttermost need.