FOX AND HOUNDS PT 1
"Drat!" said Cindy as she flipped through her mail. Bills, bills, and more
bills. And the money was running out. Where was Rudy, her damn agent? Not a call
in 3 weeks. Every time she called him it was allways "things will open up soon;
or, there is a new show starting and I know the producer". But nothing ever came
of it. Cindy knew in her heart she was a first class dancer and a good actress.
She kept up with her study at the Midtown dance studio and worked out
religiously. It showed. Cindy was a honey-haired blonde, 5' 5" , her 120 lbs
distributed in all the right places. She had well sculpted dancer's legs and
smallish but well formed breasts, creamy skin and a pert heart-shaped ass that
wiggled deliciously in the short skirts and tight slacks that she favored.
She knew she had to find something soon or she would have to slink home to Texas
and admit defeat. They would all say "I told you so", like she wasn't tough
enough for the Big Apple. Well she would show them! Even if it took dancing as a
stripper in some sleazy club, she would survive. She was tough enough, dammit!
She was still building up a nice head of steam about small town minds when she
noticed the blinking message light on the phone. She hit the play button. Like a
gift from the gods, Rudy Bannerman's thick Brooklynese emanated from the message
machine!
"Sorry its been a while, kid, but hey ,I may have something for ya. It's only a
weekend gig but it pays well. I don't know much about it, myself, but do
yourself a favor and call a Mr Arcado at 456-9008. He's the one with all the
details. Good luck!"
Great! Finally, a possible job. She wasted no time and dialed the number. A
gentleman answered. He sounded cultured, and spoke formal and correct English
with a European accent. She couldn't place it. Spanish perhaps?
"Uh, Mr Arcado? This is Cindy Morgan. My agent, Mr Bannerman gave me your
number."
"Ahh...yes, Ms Morgan. I am so glad you called. Rudy spoke very highly of you.
Yes, we may have need of your talents. Let me explain briefly and then if you
are interested we can meet and I will describe this situation in more detail."
"Yes..er..that would be fine".
"Good. I represent a company called Fantasies Unlimited. We own resort property
all over the world, and we have a resort in the Carolinas. It's a hotel situated
on a 2000 acre preserve. We would like to fly you to our resort for a weekend to
have you participate in a game, an athletic contest of sorts, a fantasy that we
have prepared for some very wealthy patrons of ours."
A game? What was this?
"What sort of game, Mr Arcado? I'm a dancer and an actress, not an athlete."
"But you are an athlete, Ms Morgan. You are a dancer in tip top condition. You
work out and run regularly, and you played varsity tennis in high school."
How did he know all that, thought Cindy?
"You seem to know a lot about me, Mr Arcado."
"We have done our homework, Ms Morgan. Let me be blunt. We would like to engage
you, and we are prepared to pay you 10000 dollars for one weekend of work."
Whaaaat? Thought Cindy, $10000?? That was more than she would see in 3 months!
"Are you serious?" Cindy blurted, still not believing.
"I am very serious Ms Morgan. If you wish to know more about this opportunity,
I would like for you meet me in the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton, tonight. I
apologize but our time frame is rather short."
"Yes...yes...I am very interested. What time?"
"Meet me at 9:00. I'll have a table."
"How will I know you?"
"I'll know you, Ms Morgan."
*********************
Cindy entered the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton at 9. She did not want to be late.
She wore a cocktail dress, having decided to go for understated elegance. It was
a short little black dress that displayed her lithe body to perfection. As she
walked in and looked around, she saw a tall distinguished looking man in an
expensive suit rise from his table and approach her, smiling. He was tanned and
had a thin moustache, his hair graying at the temples. He looked to be in his
late 40's.
"Ms Morgan, it's a pleasure," he said, extending his hand, "Thank you for
coming. I'm Alex Arcado. Please sit down."
"Thank you, Mr Arcado," said Cindy, smiling as he pulled out a chair for her to
sit.
"What will you have to drink?"
"Thank you, I think a white wine, Mr Arcado."
They chatted pleasantly, killing time until the drinks arrived. Arcado was an
international traveller, Cindy learned, and a charming host. He asked her about
her career and seemed genuinely interested in her experiences in the New York
theatre scene. She had started in on her recent difficulty finding work when
Arcado interjected.
"That's where we may be of some service, Ms Morgan. As I mentioned, this job
pays $10000 for one weekend."
"It sounds so mysterious, Mr Arcado. Why me and what do I have to do?"
"Let me explain. Fantasies Unlimited is in the business of setting up and
facilitating fantasy adventures. We cater to a select and extremely wealthy
clientele. The resort property in the Carolinas used to be a game preserve for
hunters. We have turned it into a game preserve of a different sort. We use it
to play a very sophisticated game of fox and hounds, or if you prefer,
hide-and-go-seek. When we set up a weekend adventure like this, about 100 guests
arrive on a Friday, along with the "foxes" who will be hunted. On Saturday the
game begins. Six young women such as yourself are the foxes, the guests are the
hounds. You are transported to remote areas of the estate and are given an hour
head start. The "hounds" if you will, wait one hour and then set out to find and
capture you. If you evade capture until 4pm when the siren sounds, you have won.
If you are captured, well, you are captured."
Wow! How bizzarre! I guess it's true, she thought, the rich are not like the
rest of us.
"It sounds so simple. A game of chase in the woods. And you will pay me $10,000
to play? What's the catch?"
"These are very wealthy and sophisticated individuals, Ms Morgan. Thrill seekers
I may say, and in order to make things more exciting for all, the game has been,
well... spiced up a bit. You see, if you are captured there is a forfeit to be
paid. Whether you are captured or not you still get the $10,000, but the
possibility of the forfeit keeps you on your toes. It adds extra incentive for
you to evade capture. After all, the easiest way to earn the $10,000 would be to
simply sit down under a tree and wait to be found. We wouldn't want that. It
would be boring and pointless."
"So what is this forfeit? Do I have to push a peanut across the floor with my
nose or something?" giggled Cindy. "Like some sorority initiation stunt?"
"Not exactly, Ms Morgan, but it is embarrassing and a bit painful." Arcado's
eyes bored into hers. " You see, Ms Morgan, if you are captured you will
be....spanked by the man or woman who captures you, then, later,...whipped,...
quite publicly, that evening, after supper....for the entertainment of all the
guests."
Cindy jerked upright. " Spanked?...Whipped? In public? Are you serious?" Now she
understood the reason for the large amount of money for a seemingly innocent bit
of fun.
"Yes, if you get caught, your capturer, as a reward, gets to administer a
somewhat humiliating but mild spanking in front of the others. Then later that
evening you will be led into the ballroom, stripped naked, tied to a post or
other device and whipped. I can tell you that it is a somewhat painful
experience, but it is not a brutal punishment. Specially made implements are
used that do not damage the skin. In a week there will be no sign that it ever
happened. We have a doctor on duty who will dispense special healing salve
afterwards to alleviate the momentary discomfort."
Cindy thought carefully. The possibilty of being whipped... naked in front of
strangers! Not to mention a childish spanking! But it was $10,000, guaranteed!
It would pay the rent for quite awhile. As she pondered, Arcado added,
"If you do evade capture, you will attend the evening banquet as a guest, with
the other guests. But because you escaped, someone else must take your place at
the whipping post or the frame. Please understand, these are thrill seekers and
risk takers. So they have elected to put themselves on the line as well. For
each "fox" that escapes, two names are drawn by lot, and each of those pair will
be chastised in your place. Each one will have to disrobe before the assembly
and assume the position you would have taken and accept your forfeit. So you
see, the stakes have been raised to make the game interesting, and quite a bit
more exciting. Any one of the hounds could find him or herself bound to the post
awaiting the lash. And, incidently, since the paying guests put themselves in
the same jeopardy as the paid "foxes" you know the lashing is only moderately
severe, not overly so."
"Who..who actually does the... er whipping?"
"Experts on contract, specially trained and brought in for this event. You see,
you will not be flogged everywhere on your person. The lashes, like the
spanking, are to be administered only on the backside, primarily to your naked,
er... bottom where there is the most ah... padding, if you will. Tell me, were
you spanked as a child? Do you know what that feels like? Perhaps you were caned
at school, or, I suppose here in the states I should say, paddled?"
Her blush answered his question.
She most certainly had been paddled. She flashed back to an incident that had
occurred when she was in high school. She had been 17, a senior on the
cheerleading squad. Like all new seniors they started out the year thinking they
could get away with anything. After the afternoon away game at East High she and
Betsy and Linda had hitched a ride with some cute boys instead of going back on
the bus like they were supposed to. Much later, after a few stops, they arrived
back at school to find a very angry assistant principal, Mrs Ramsey, waiting for
them. A tall powerfully built woman in her 40's, "Ragin' Ramsey", as she was
known, was a formidable disciplinarian.
She was too angry to deal with them then and told them to report to her office
after school on Monday. THey were stunned when, on Monday, a stern visaged Mrs
Ramsey presented them with permission slips... for a paddling! A six swat
paddling, no less--the maximum permitted. But the school could not administer a
paddling without parental permission. Since none of them wanted their parents to
know what they had done, they could not show their parents the permission slips.
And so they agonized and plotted over what to do. The alternative was suspension
for a week, and the cat would be out of the bag if that happened as well. They
decided to take the paddling, but in order to cover up the incident, they had to
forge their parents' signatures on the permission slips.
It had taken place on Wednesday afternoon after cheerleading practice. They went
to Mrs Ramsey's office and all three handed her the permission slips. She
perused the slips for a moment. They had looked nervously at each other.
Apparantly satisfied, she called in her secretary to witness punishment, and
pulled a solid looking wooden paddle from a drawer and tapped it against her
palm. They had all gulped in fear at the sight of the paddle. It was made of
some hardwood, maple or someting, 18" long and 4" wide and 1/2" thick. There
were two rows of holes down the length of it.
One at a time they bent over the desk, elbows flat, buttocks presented for
punishment. Mrs Ramsey had flipped up each short cheerleader skirt, rubbed the
paddle across the green satin panties they wore underneath and had drawn back
her arm. Then, crack! and a band of fire was felt across a wobbling schoolgirl
fanny. Each lick with that awful paddle had sounded a loud SPLAT! in that little
room. Each one had stung like blazes! She had given just one lick, then the next
miscreant would have to assume the humiliating position. The painful procedure
had been repeated: flip the skirt up, press the paddle against a firm
cheerleader posterior, then SPLAT! Another stinging swat. No one could stay in
position. With each hard swat each girl would yowl and shoot straight up
clutching her tender fanny. After three they were dancing and blubbering and
crying, but Mrs Ramsey had been unmoved. She would merely point with the awful
paddle and say, "Next". The paddle line went around all six times. Six painful
times to bend across that desk with only thin panties for protection from that
blistering paddle. Cindy recalled that as she had regarded her backside in the
mirror that night, her bottom had been red and swollen.
And that had not been the end. The forgeries were eventually discovered, which
led to the discovery of the whole incident. Her mother had been angry about the
deceit as much as the joyride with the boys. She even told Cindy that,
ironically, she would have let her do the suspension since she did not believe
in turning the corporal punishment chores over to the high school. No, she had
said, if there was any spanking to be done, she would darn well do it. Then it
had been off to the basement rec room where a tearful Cindy spent a painful next
five minutes across her mom's knee while she energetically wielded a ping pong
paddle on Cindy's jiggling nude behind.
It could have been worse. Betsy got a licking from her father with his belt. She
had had to lay across some pillows on the bed, pull down her jammie bottoms and
howl her way through 40 hard licks. Linda's mom sentenced her to 100 spanks with
a hard wooden hairbrush, but she wouldn't give them to her all at once. So every
Friday night for the next 4 weeks, just before the football game where she was
to lead cheers, she had to bring her mom the brush and go over the maternal lap
for 25 hard licks. Once she even had to remind her mom that it was time for the
next installment. She had to lift her skirts and lay across her mom's lap while
her mother sat on the bed. Her mom would slip down the little satin cheerleader
panties to her knees and deliver a stinging spanking to her naked bottom with
the hairbrush. The 25 crisp smacks were delivered evenly, slowly and hard. Linda
said later that she felt like her butt was glowing red through those panties and
hoped no one would notice while she did her twirls and jumps.
These thoughts came rushing back to Cindy as she contemplated Mr Arcado's offer.
But wasn't the possibility of a stinging backside worth $10,000? She could take
it if it came to that. She was tough, dammit!
"If you decide to accept our offer, I am prepared to present you with a
contract. If you sign it, a deposit of $5000 will be made to your account
immediately. The other $5000 will be placed in your account when you are on
board our corporate jet and on your way to the resort."
When it's too late to turn back, thought Cindy.
"If you need time to consider..."
"I'll do it."
"....our offer...you'll do it?" asked Arcado.
"I'll do it. Where do I sign?"
*****************
So it was that three days later Cindy found herself on Fantasies' private jet
winging her way toward North Carolina. It was a luxurious craft and she was
treated like royalty. An attendant saw to her every need. A girl could get used
to this, she thought. The only reminder of her possible fate that weekend came
when she remarked to the cute hostess about how much more comfortable the seats
were as compared with commercial flights. "Yes," she had said, "And we have
extra soft pillows too", and added with a wide grin".....for the ride home."
Another thought had occured to her. Would there be rich single men attending as
"hounds"? It stood to reason that there would be. This thing did not sound like
woman's sport. Indeed would such a man be intrigued by a beautiful woman willing
to bare all and suffer the indignity of the lash for some sport? Possibly. So
she had packed some of her most attractive (and provacative) outfits.
Her reverie brought to mind another encounter in which a playful spanking had
played a role. It was after graduation. She was 18 then and had a summer job at
a lake resort for tourists. Steve was one of those summer romances. He had been
staying with some friends in one of the lakefront cabins. They met and there was
a mutual attraction, in fact, Cindy really liked Steve a lot. They went out a
few times, but Steve was the perfect gentleman, never making a move.
This began to irritate Cindy and she decided to see if that gentlmanly demeanor
could be cracked. One Saturday they went on a picnic. They had layed out the
lunch by a stream and Cindy, feeling mischevious, surrepititiously filled a
water gun in the stream. She had stripped down to a daring bikini, declaring
that she wanted to take a swim before lunch. Steve demurred, since it was well
after noon and he was hungry. She didn't miss the look in his eyes when he
beheld her in the skimpy bikini. Now we're getting somewhere, she thought.
She took the toy watergun and started squirting Steve with it who laughed at
first but then protested that she was getting the food wet. Cindy didn't care.
She wanted to provoke something. She laughed and teased, squirting the gun at
Steve who tried to catch her to wrestle it from her grasp. Steve finally told
her that she'd better stop or he would "paddle her little caboose". In the time
honored tradition of teases everywhere, she taunted him with a "you wouldn't
dare", and, putting a tree between her and Steve, squirted him right in the
face.
That did it. She tried to run but Steve caught her around the waist. Lifting
her up he carried her over to a fallen log. She was held under his arm, kicking
and squealing. He seated himself and laid her across his muscular thighs.
Telling her that he had warned her, he raised his hand and brought it down
squarely across the crest of both bottomcheeks, barely contained in the brief
bikini bottoms. She had screeched and demanded to be put down. Steve had just
laughed and told her she had it coming. He then proceeded to give her a very
sound spanking while she wiggled and squirmed across his lap. He spanked her
steadily for 2 or 3 minutes then put his fingers in the waistband of the tiny
bikini bottoms. She had squealed even louder at this new indignity, but Steve
had just chuckled and yanked them down, baring her curvy fanny. Then he resumed
with loud crisp smacks that echoed through the remote glade. She had wriggled
and kicked while he had spanked her bare fanny with gusto. He smacked from cheek
to cheek, building a fire in Cindy's curvy hiney. Finally he stopped and Cindy
felt him rubbing and kneading her inflamed buttocks.The sting of the spanking
became a hot glow in her buns.
Then she felt another fire building, this time in her pussy. And she could feel
Steve's hard penis through the rough jeans as she sprawled over his lap. He let
her up then kissed her passionately, rubbing her bottom, then his fingers
seeking the spot between her legs. He laid her on her back on the picnic blanket
and proceeded to take his own clothes off. Kneeling down he had pulled her to
him and plunged his hard manhood between the wet lips of her quim. They had made
love all afternoon. Him on top, her on top, from behind, every way they could
think of. Later she would reflect that the spanking had been a catalyst. He had
manhandled her gently, but in a way that left no doubt of his dominance. Being
pulled over his knees and spanked had turned her on like nothing she had felt
before. The gentlemanly facade had been cracked. Sadly, he had left not long
after, and she had gone off to school.
Her thoughts drifted back to Arcado and their meeting.
There was, said Arcado, to be a Friday night cocktail party and dinner to be
attended by "hounds" and "foxes" alike. The next morning the participants would
be fed breakfast separately. The "foxes" would be transported by jeep to remote
areas of the property and given an hour to hide before the "hounds" were loosed.
At 4:00pm sharp the all clear would sound and the game would be over. If
captured before then, a fox would be taken back to the hotel to await her fate.
Arcado was less than forthcoming on the details of capture and custody and even
less so on the "ceremonies" later that evening. He did say, however that the
captured would dine in their quarters before the events that night. Sunday
morning she would be returned via private jet to NYC.
Cindy's thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of descent of the plane. She
asked the hostess about it.
"We are landing in DC to pick up a passenger," she said, "We'll be underway
again shortly."
The plane touched down and Cindy a woman standing just outside the private
hanger to which the plane had taxied. When the plane stopped, the woman strode
briskly to the jet. Cindy could see that she was a blonde in her mid to late
30's, tall, with well muscled legs in a short skirted business suit. Her blonde
hair was pulled back into a woven plait that fell to well below the middle of
her back. Her bags were carried by a male attendant, all except a long thin
case, flat, about three feet long. An odd piece of luggage, Cindy thought.
The woman entered the cabin and smiled at Cindy. She had a generous sparkling
smile and deep blue eyes, with a presence about her that suggested a powerful
personality. A corporate executive, perhaps?
"Hi", she said, taking a seat across from Cindy and extending her hand, "I'm
Julia Marsden."
"I'm Cindy Morgan. Pleased to meet you."
Cindy found Julia a pleasant and charming travelling companion. As the jet
climbed through the cloud cover at National, they chatted about the good fortune
of being able to travel in such luxurious surroundings. Cindy learned that Julia
frequently did work for Fantasies Unlimited, but she basically had her own
company. Julia wanted to hear all about the tribulations of a struggling actress
in NY. She was a good listener and Cindy felt curiously drawn to Julia's warm
personality, as if she were a big sister. At a lull in the conversation, Julia
asked Cindy if she was going to the Carolina Resort.
Cindy acknowleged that she was.
"As a guest or...." ventured Julia.
"No. I am a "fox" as they call it," admitted Cindy.
Julia eyed Cindy reflectively and nodded.
"So why are you going?" said Cindy, now very curious.
"You might say I'm one of the..ah..facilitators for the weekend."
"Oh really! What is it that you do?"
"Well...oh dear, I suppose I must tell you," Julia said with a rueful smile,
"You might call me the 'company's disciplinarian' or maybe 'bosun's mate', might
be more appropo."
Cindy's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "You don't mean..."
"'Fraid so, dear. I dish out the, ah, forfeits on Saturday night."
Cindy now understood the reason for the strangely shaped case. "And that case
you brought on board....?"
"The tools of my trade."
Cindy was quiet for a moment. Could it really be? This warm, engaging, big
sisterly woman with whom she was sharing girl talk would be the one to wield the
whip on her naked bottom if she were caught?
"Whew! I...I...don't know what to say," stammered Cindy, "It's so bizzare, I
mean here we are talking like just normal people and you are the one who might
have to...to..."
"Whip your cute fanny on Saturday night?" queried Julia with a light smile. "I
know", she sighed, "But, listen it won't be so bad, you'll get through it. Lots
of girls have. Some, no, many have even come back to play again."
"You're kidding!" said a wide-eyed Cindy. "Why?"
"One reason is that they find it sexy and exciting. They come back for the
thrill; and, of course, the money. And last but not least, there are some
unattached men at these events, you know, and, they are very wealthy. I can see
you don't believe me," said Julia, regarding Cindy, who seemed flabbergasted.
"It's true. The whip can be very sensual. The spectacle is exciting. Whipping
actually releases endorphins and amplifies the tactile senses, especially in
the erogenous zones; and, there is something about a woman under the lash that
inflames hot passions both in herself and her partner. Also there is the thrill
of not knowing. Who will get it? If a fox escapes, which of her pursuers will
find herself or himself conscripted for sacrifice? It has the allure of some
pagan ritual. All of this is an adrenaline rush."
"But doesn't it hurt?" asked Cindy. Even as she said it, she remembered the
intense arousal that had resulted from the episode with Steve.
"Yes, it does...but let me show you something," said Julia, rising and fetching
the case. Julia opened the case to display several implements of fustigation.
There was a long handled whip with a single 4' thong, a thing like a
cat-o-nine-tails only it had 6 long lashes, a bundle of what looked like green
switches only Cindy couldn't tell if they were real or synthetic, and a
familiar-looking wooden paddle, only thinner than what she remembered. There was
also a thin cane, a large oval-shaped hairbrush, an 18" ruler, and a wide
leather strap attached to a handle.
"These are my basic tools," said Julia. "I have others, too, but I won't need
them for this weekend". Cindy just gaped at the fearsome looking collection.
"They look intimidating, don't they?" Cindy nodded. "But let me explain how each
one works and how I use it."
"This bundle of green switches is called a birch. It looks real but actually
these 1/8" switches are artificial, made from a special resilient plastic.
Unlike a real birch these switches won't fray or break. I typically give 3 dozen
strokes with this. They produce at first, a light surface sting that builds and
builds to quite an exquisite burning sensation. Real birches like this were used
as late as the 19th century in homes, schools and reformatories. They were
favored by lady's whipping clubs for their ability to impart a healthy red flush
to the seat that aroused the libido."
"There were ladies' whipping clubs?" asked an astonished Cindy.
"Indeed there were--wealthy, bored society wives with much time on their hands
and not much to do, they would meet and and draw lots or play games--the losers
were birched. If you "lost" it was skirts up and drawers down for a good
stinging session with one of these while you bent over an footstool. Later the
next week the ladies would gossip about the passionate sex with their husbands
afterwards. Poor men never knew what hit them, but they probably weren't
complaining.
"The multi-stranded whip is a modified cat-o-nine-tails. You can see it has a
foot long handle and 6 long strands of smooth leather. No knots or braiding like
Captain Bligh's. This gives a more solid sting with each lash."
"Er, how many...?"
"20 lashes is the normal dose. It's designed to have the same overall intensity
as the 36 with the birch, but there is a longer delay between strokes. The
sensation of each separate lash must be...appreciated before the next one is
given."
"The last one I'll be using Saturday is this single thong lash. As you can feel,
here... hold it, it is a smooth single thong. It's braided snakeskin, in a
tight braid, very smooth. This one is yet more intense than the 'cat' so its
only a bakers dozen for the lucky lads and lassies who get this. The lashes are
spaced even farther apart."
The whip felt positively alive in her hands thought Cindy, and she flicked the
end against her palm. Ouch! it hurt!
" I'm using the ones I showed you because the guests attending wanted it that
way. They requested a "17th century" experience, simulating something much like
the punishments that were actually given in those days. At least they want the
same ambiance.
"I don't want you to worry Cindy, I know exactly how hard to use these, and my
aim is true. The stripes will go exactly where I want them to, which will be
mostly across the cheeks of the bottom."
Cindy felt the cheeks of her own bottom involuntarly clench at this news. This
would surely be more painful than the school paddle! Or the playful spanking
from Steve!
"But how did you get into....?...I mean how did you learn all this stuff?"
"It's a very long story, but you should know that I have a degree in psychology
from Temple University, and that I am a liscensed clinical psychologist in
several states."
Wow! Thought Cindy, this was too much. She couldn't believe that this smart and
articulate woman with a psych degree was moonlighting as some kind of
whipmistress.
Shaking her head, Cindy asked," What are the rest of these for?"
"Well, they're not for this particular event but I do tend to use them at one
time or another. For example, Fantasies Unlimited has a "Little Red Schoolhouse"
in Nebraska. Sometimes I play the schoolmarm for a group who want to play at a
"return to schooldays" fantasy. The paddle, cane and ruler figure more
prominently there. And incidently", she chuckled, "I do have an appointment with
rather naughty lad who attended the last "Schoolhouse" weekend I did. Seems he
has been remiss at doing the follow up 'homework' I gave him. He will be here
this weekend for a make-up 'tutoring session' Friday evening after dinner."
"At least he won't have to eat dinner off the mantlepiece," laughed Cindy, "And
if I hear smacks and squeals that night, I'll know why."
Both women laughed. "Yes, I'll tell you," whispered Julia conspiratorially,
"He's going to spend some quality time over my knee getting reacquainted with my
ruler."
They laughed again, then Julia's expression turned more serious.
"Cindy, I want you to know, I think you're a lovely girl, but I've been given a
job to do. I hope you understand. The Arabs have a saying,'Flog her gently, but
make it sting'. That's my approach to this too. I hope we can still be
friends...even after Saturday night."
Cindy could only nod. And somehow the thought that it would be Julia doing the
whipping made the thought easier to bear.
************************
In another jet winding its way across the country sat Kath O'Leary, another fox
recruited by Mr Arcado. With her was Margo Ruger, also an Arcado find. Kath was
fiery Irish collen with long curly red hair to match her temperament. She was
something of an adventurer. Whether it be sky diving, hang gliding or bungee
jumping, Kath was game. She consumed life rather than lived it. There was no
dare, no bet, no experience that she would turn down, and woe betide any would
be admirers who could not keep up. And there were plenty of those. Kath was a
slender 5' 7" with ample breasts, a slim waist, and boyishly slim hips with a
pair of teardrop-shaped bottom cheeks that jutted deliciously from the deep
hollow at the small of her back. Arcado's offer had challenged her. It was a
dare that she could not resist. Even the thought of the forfeit had sent her
blood racing, for she was adventurous in sexual matters as well, and there was
no doubt that the evening described by Arcado would likely end in sexual excess.
Margo Ruger was an altogether different sort of woman. Also an adventurer, Margo
was very much her own woman. She was a journalist who had spent time in any
number of global hot spots: Bosnia, Honduras, Afganistan, Lebanon. To handle the
rigors of her job, she trained. She did triathlons and swam. She had learned
techniques of survival in hostile environments. She was a black belt in judo.
And she needed $10,000 in a hurry. Gambling was her weakness and she owed some
unsavory people a bit of money. Margo was tall, 5' 9" with jet black hair that
fell in ringlets to the sides of her classically sculpted face. And she had a
figure to boot. Her curvacious body had caused heads to turn all over the world.
The prospect of the forfeits had not fazed Margo. She had been in plenty of
tight places. Besides, she didn't figure on getting caught.
End of pt 1
