by Jack Crawford
The tall and beautiful woman looked at the young soldier now trussed up in the parlor of her New England home. The young man was in a panic, not knowing exactly how he came to be in this position, but instinctively knowing he was going to regret it. Despite the tight knots of rope around his wrists, he looked around for a way to escape, but all he saw were numerous young women with determined expressions on their faces. He could not say if or how he knew them, but they were all familiar.
The young man was wearing the grey uniform of a Confederate soldier and the women were dressed in mid-19th century dresses. He knew he was smack dab in the middle of the American Civil War.
"Haul Johnny Reb up to my room, ladies," cackled the dark-haired woman who wore her hair in a tightly wound bun. "We'll show him what happens when lowly scum slave-traders venture north. We'll give him the licks Mr. Lincoln advises ourselves!"
The soldier felt hands pushing and prodding, guiding and forcing him up the stairs to the first room on the left at the top of those stairs. The door opened to reveal a tastefully feminine bedroom decorated in a soft blue hue. He could smell the melting wax of the candles that were all around him, the light flickering ominously. Some candles were in sconces, others in the hands of various women whose numbers seemed greater due to the multiple shadows cast on the walls.
He watched in fascinated horror as the women's hands began unbuttoning his uniform trousers and yanking them down. His drawers quickly came down, too, and the women cackled with amusement as his male organ sprang into view. He felt himself blushing and looked to find the imperious woman with the dark hair; she was the one who was clearly in charge.
Somehow, he knew it before he saw her and felt the inevitability of his situation: she stood sneering at him and his naked lower half as she tapped a large, ebony hairbrush in her hand. Just seeing that oval-backed brush caused a panic in the young man and he immediately began to struggle against all the women in the room. His own mama, long since buried far away in the South, had used a similar brush on his bottom and he didn't want to suffer that familiar fate here in enemy territory! He especially did not want to have that experience with so many eager young women surrounding him to witness what was about to happen.
His efforts to escape did him no good. The women seemed delighted with his panic and they roughly held him as they pushed him to the edge of the bed where the dark-haired woman now sat. He was pushed over her lap, his naked bottom uppermost over her thighs. He knew his bottom was in for a world of hurt.
"How many times did you whip a slave girl, Johnny Reb?" taunted one woman.
"How many slave girls did you abuse?" asked another.
Yet another woman demanded, "How many did you take into your bed?"
The questions and taunts seemed unending until the young man suddenly felt the portentous tapping of that heavy ebony brush on his upturned bottom. It seemed as if it was a signal to the women clustered around him, all eager to watch him get the whippin' of his life. There was a sudden and ominous silence in the room.
"It doesn't matter, ladies," remarked the very strong woman over whose lap the soldier sprawled. "He's about to get all that he's given and then some! He'll think twice before ever coming north again!"
The women all cheered and the soldier could feel the brush lifting from his bottom. He squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the hairbrush spanking that was forthcoming, and he hoped he could maintain some dignity in front of all these women, but he suspected that was just wishful thinking.
SMACK!
That awful and heavy brush came crashing down on his bottom; the sound of the spank thunderous in the crowded room, rendered a cheer from the onlooking crowd. Mercifully, the spanking was as it had been countless times before: young Garrett MacQuillan awoke from this dream upon the first powerful spank. He sat up gasping for air in his bed as he realized it was just that... a dream. A dream he had experienced many other times and one that still perplexed him. He wasn't living in the mid-19th Century; no, he was a man of modern times who should not be tormented by these kinds of thoughts.
A new school year was just starting at Meadowcroft College. Meadowcroft is a small, generally Liberal Arts school located in New Hampshire and has been on the same venerated campus for over 150 years. Garrett MacQuillan was marveling at his situation and good fortune as he strode confidently up the long walkway to the main library at Meadowcroft.
Garrett had been a pretty good swimmer as an undergraduate; he qualified for the finals in the last Olympiad. In fact, he just missed out on an Olympic medal in his best event, the 500-meter Breaststroke, placing fourth. As a swimmer, Garrett was obviously in excellent shape but he had parlayed his swimming talent into scholarships and a few lucrative endorsements which now provided him the chance to complete his PhD in History. His special area of interest was the American Civil War, particularly the 1st New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry.
Doing research was particularly dry work as was teaching some undergraduate History classes. His class work was a little better than the research considering all the young hottie coeds that tended to flock around young Mr. MacQuillan. They had ulterior motives to improve their grades, but MacQuillan was to them, in a word, a hunk. He stood 6 feet 2 and his sculpted body tipped the scales at a firm and compact 190 pounds. It was not hard for anyone to appreciate his sinewy musculature beneath whatever he wore, and his wavy dark hair was almost always rakishly unkempt. He always turned heads when he walked into a room full of women.
In short, MacQuillan could have any lady on campus. It was said he often had several at a time including a few faculty, faculty wives and even administrators. Guys on campus wanted to hang out with him just for the women he rejected, he was such a magnet to the female of the species. This was one factor in his confidence that morning: life was good when it came to the fairer sex and Mr. Garrett MacQuillan.
Being the first day of a new year, MacQuillan knew that incoming students would be familiarizing themselves with their campus. One of the important stops was the library, a facility he knew intimately from all the research he had done there. (It was the repository of 1st New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry enlistment and other records.) He planned to hang out and watch the new crop of coeds and hopefully discover a few delectable morsels he might steer into his bed. Indeed, once he settled down at one of the large tables in the center of the first floor, Garrett quickly concluded that this was going to be a fine crop of young ladies from which he could graze.
Just as he reached that conclusion, he saw her. She was different than the others he had just scoped out. This woman was a bit taller, but as he looked closer, he realized she was wearing a pair of classy high heels. The four-inch heels made her seem startlingly tall, though he quickly surmised she was probably about 5 feet10. A close examination from his viewing location also suggested that this woman was just as athletic as Garrett and was probably aged in the mid-30's compared to his mid-20's.
She wore a fitted black pencil-skirt that tightly sheathed a very enticing bottom. Its length extended to just below her knees and had a tantalizing slit up the back that allowed her to walk. Clearly, she was wearing hose of some type and Garrett wondered if she was a student or someone else. Students didn't wear hose, panty hose or otherwise. He looked closer and appreciated the billowing white silk blouse that tried, but utterly failed, to conceal a marvelously firm and large bosom.
Then she turned and he was smitten immediately. Her jet-black hair had been pulled back into a severe bun, but it could not hide the beautiful face of this woman. Nor did her black framed glasses conceal her penetrating blue eyes that sparkled brightly from across the big hall. Quickly, Garrett had to avert his own eyes as this woman tilted her head and peered over her glasses in his direction.
Having been caught ogling the woman, MacQuillan did the only thing he could: he got up from the table and walked confidently towards her. The fragrance of some unknown perfume assaulted his senses and he noted how instantly arousing it was.
"Good afternoon," he said as he extended his hand offering to shake hers, "my name is Garrett MacQuillan and I work here." He felt a bit light headed with his hand extended as his nostrils detected a light, alluring scent that was obviously her perfume.
The woman looked down at his offered hand with disdain, then back up at the gregarious young man whom she rightly assessed was very full of himself. She did not take his hand. Instead she said, "How odd. I work here, too, yet I am not familiar with that name."
Awkwardly, Garrett pulled his hand back and said, "I teach History." And it was in that moment that he realized he was flummoxed by the woman. Normally glib with easy quips to fall upon, he had been limited to the very mundane. Silently, he chastised himself for being so unusually inept.
"I'm the new Head Librarian," the woman said. "Please let me or my staff know if you need any assistance. We are here to help." Then she turned brusquely and walked away.
"Excuse me!" Garrett called after her. "What is your name?"
She didn't even slow down. Instead, the new Head Librarian pointed with her left hand at a name plate on the front desk. Apparently, her name was Lillian Fouet, but she disappeared before he could confirm that with the librarian herself.
Women were normally drawn to Garrett like cats to catnip, but the roles were different in this situation. The apparently disinterested woman had instantly become a powerful magnet to the man everyone considered to be the campus playboy. Garrett MacQuillan was well and truly smitten.
Ensconced out of sight in the librarian offices, the new Head Librarian turned to one of the other women that worked in the library. Lillian huffed as she noticed the woman gazing dreamily in MacQuillan's direction and asked, "Who is that?"
The other woman shook herself out of her daydream, faced Ms. Fouet and replied, "That was the Emperor of Meadowcroft College himself, Garrett MacQuillan, and he just introduced himself to you!" The woman's excitement was lost on the librarian.
"The 'Emperor' you said?" the librarian asked as she cocked her head to consider the statement.
The other woman tittered and leaned in as she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "It's a nickname he's earned. Every woman on campus wants to be with him," she said breathlessly. "And there are very few who have not shared a bed with him either." A cold penetrating gaze from Ms. Fouet caused the woman to fluster and quickly add, "Well, not me, of course!" Her protestation rang hollow.
They considered the man as he continued to stand at the front counter, Lillian a bit perturbed by the brashness of her recent encounter and the other woman once again lost in dreamy thoughts.
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