by Frank Martinet
Faith
Faith was a married woman and looked the part. Nearly twenty years, three children, a busy life, and a husband who adored her no matter what she looked like, had allowed her to neglect her body. She was no longer the slender college co-ed that had caught Brian Cutten's eye on the quad that fall afternoon. She'd filled out and age had taken its toll, and nothing was as firm as it used to be despite her occasional yoga sessions or jogs around the block.
Still, she had been stunning and now she was pretty. Some might have thought she was even more attractive now. The stern dark-haired man with the bronze skin and narrow oak paddle gripped in his right hand certainly thought that was the case. He felt she was more approachable, less intimidating, and he preferred his women with a little excess weight.
Faith certainly had that, especially in the seat area. She wasn't huge, but her hips were wide and fleshy and she had quite the load in the trunk. Her waist, though no longer the slim twenty-two inches she'd maintained in college, was definitely narrower than her broadest section, and that gave her hips a pleasing roundness and an hourglass shape. Unfortunately, the chubby buttocks Anton was so eager to see were covered by a tight sheen of black cloth.
"You know the dress must come off," he growled, patting the paddle against his left palm in a slow tap-tap-tap.
"Oh God, it's so much worse on the bare," whimpered the woman. She flashed her grayish-blue eyes at the man. "Can't you make an exception?"
"It'll be double the dose. Ten on the bare. Or..."
Faith groaned, shaking her head. "You're a bastard, Anton. A real prick."
"Come on, let's see 'em."
With her eyes warily on the ominous paddle, Faith slowly hitched up the bottom of the dress until it cleared the bulge of her bottom. Matching ebony panties clung to each meaty orb, pale flesh popping out at the sides and below. Anton swallowed hard as the buttocks wobbled to her movements. He waited patiently. The woman hesitated for as long as she dared, until the silence told her there was to be no reprieve. Choking back a shudder, her fingers clawed under the dress, found the waistband of the panties, and pulled them down.
Acres of pale moon appeared, the skin smooth and full of life. It quivered, fatty shivers running through the frightened meat. The cheeks widened, rounding as the woman bent forward and drew the panties down past her knees.
"Keep going," whispered the man, and it wasn't a request. "There. Hold it right there. Don't get up."
Faith held her breath. She was awkwardly bent, her hands gripping her inverted panties which were clustered around her ankles. Her ass was thrust out and felt absurdly huge, the alabaster cheeks spread so open she could feel a faint breeze through the exposed cleft tickling the thick, moist lips of her sex. Just thinking that the man could clearly see this part of her, not to mention the even ruder hole a few inches higher, made her weak inside and stirred her juices.
"That's the perfect position for paddling," said Anton. "If you let go of those panties or get up, we'll start it over from one. Got that?"
"Yes sir." Faith's response was so faint it might have been the wind outside sighing. The polished and well-waxed oak board rubbed sternly against her rump. It patted warningly.
"I said, 'Got that?'"
"Yes sir!"
Then the paddle was gone. When it returned, it was at speed, smashing into the opulent cheeks with all the violence of an explosion. Faith gave a high-pitched screech and then her voice dropped to a throaty growl as she groaned out sounds of suffering.
"Ah! Oh my God, oh God, oh that stings so bad!"
The cheeks wobbled furiously, bouncing like bobbing balloons, a bar of vivid blush spanning both halves. Faith's pretty face scrunched up in glorious agony, her mouth twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a grin. When the second pop caught her, not long after the first, her lips made an "O" as she panted heavily.
"Your ass is made for the paddle," said Anton as he worked the solid wood into the lower curves of the projected butt. The devastating spank made the woman shriek and then groan as the pain soaked through her being. She shuddered, wavering on the narrow points of her ankles, her hands clutching desperately to her panties as though they were her savior.
"Oh God, not so hard!"
The response was an even firmer blow, rocking the woman on her heels. Tears flowed. By the time the fifth smack had tried to flatten her rotund rump both cheeks were blazing hot with a fierce ruby coloring. Faith was gasping like a fish on land, her face brick-red with the effort to stay obediently bent.
"I usually prefer the elegance of the cane, but with buttocks as generous as yours I'd need to thrash you two dozen just to get you to feel it. Maybe three, with all that padding you've got. Can you even feel this board?"
"God yes!" cried Faith, starting to sob. The delay before the next swat was both a relief and a torment, sparing her the rapid increase of heat and sting, yet prolonging her punishment. Her bottom did a little dance, swaying in the air, either begging for mercy or eager for more.
The wood responded with a loud splat! as it smashed across the swollen globes. The ruby balls bounced and shook as the woman bellowed her agony. Anton laughed curtly, grunting, "After this little tenderizing, perhaps you'll actually feel the rattan this time!"
Faith couldn't even respond she was weeping so profoundly. The two-foot long paddle was nearly an inch thick and as heavy as stone. Swung by the strong man's mighty arms, every thump was blisteringly hard and left her ass throbbing with the heat of a thousand suns. With so much surface area to cover, she didn't even get the benefit of growing numbness that gradually came from a blunt instrument like a paddle. Every lick hit on fresh territory and reignited the pain.
"That's ten," said Anton, grinning as he pressed the blade of the board against his face so he could feel the steamy warmth the wood had picked up from repeated contact with the fleshy buttocks. "Stay down until I let you up. Unless you want more of the board, that is."
"No sir!"
For several endless minutes the man admired the presented buttocks. The stout woman was bent in half, her widest portion now her peak. The snow-white cheeks of moments earlier had been replaced by crimson mounds so scarlet they seemed to be smoldering. He was particularly intrigued by the deep gap between the meaty hams, where swollen pink lips oozed dewy moisture.
Such a naughty girl, he thought with a smile.
Eventually he retreated, exchanging the long board for a thin rod of fire-toughened rattan. The cane flexed like stiff rubber in his strict hands, and when he whipped it through the air it whistled a warning like a distant train. Faith shivered, gasping despite her resolve to be stoic. Her back stiffened, thrusting her rump higher, and through her closed lips she groaned out a sound like a stepped-on cat.
The lean stick clawed its way across her hindquarters, sinking deep into the abundant tissue and leaving behind a purple spoor that reached from left edge to right edge. The atrocious sting bit right through the woman and she yelled loudly, bitter curses emerging from her clenched lips.
"Such language!" exclaimed Anton. "Tut tut. We'll just not count that one. I don't mind a little noise, but let's keep this PG, shall we?"
He laughed at the irony as he prodded the stick between Faith's solid thighs and brushed the tip along the widely exposed X-rated genitals peeping below the wagging bottom. He slid the tip up higher, wiping off the moisture gathered through her cleft. The tickling nature of this touch, especially when he briefly nuzzled the brown star at the base of the butt, sent her into paroxysms of torment, though it was completely unclear from her whining whether it was due to pleasure or pain.
Then the beating began in earnest. Anton flexed his muscles, extended the cane, and proceeded to cut the offered fat into ribbons. The well-paddled cheeks, already scarlet, were soon decorated with a grill of horizontal lines the color of bruises. Faith squawked, moaned, and shook as though she'd stuck her fingers in an electrical socket. After one particularly frightful stroke, so loud it sounded like a gunshot in a small room, she actually tore her panties in two during her agitated wiggling.
"Please," she begged, sobbing. "Don't start over! I didn't get up, I swear I didn't!"
"No, you were a good girl," agreed the disciplinarian. "Just hold on to those ankles and stay bent over. Just three more left."
The strokes whistled in, landing in heavy thumps like dropped sacks of rice. More gory lines blossomed across those magnificent buttocks. The hips swayed and danced frantically, and never was there a more relieved figure than that of Faith Cutten when she was finally permitted to rise. She stepped out of the tattered ruins of her underwear and slowly unrolled her dress so that her welted backside was once again covered.
"That was pure hell," she said hoarsely, but oddly, she did not seem displeased. Rather, she had the satisfied look of a cat walking away from an empty dish.
"That is the entire idea," said Anton gravely. "It is why you come." His sharp eyes flashed to hers to see if she got the pun and she blushed as she did.
"You can throw those away," she said, pointing to the black panties in shreds on the floor. "They're a lost cause."
"Their sacrifice was not in vain, I trust."
"They died valiantly."
"I shall award them the Purple Heart and give them a military funeral."
Faith giggled, went up on tiptoe, and gently kissed Anton on the cheek. "Thanks, Anton. You're the best."
"And the worst."
"Of course!"
"Same time in two weeks?"
"I'm not sure. Brian's been talking about us going camping, but you know how he gets caught up in work. I probably won't know until late. I'll text you."
"Sure. Take care."
The woman in the tight black dress slipped on her jacket and then out the door at the back. It was dark in the alley between the house and the garage, but that was the whole point. She trotted along in her black walking flats until she reached her sedan parked discretely several doors down the block. Easing her body into the driver's side she winced as her weight pressed her buttocks into the leather seat. She wiggled a little, relishing the tender feel of the welts and bruises throbbing beneath her. Then she started the engine and drove off.
Breanne
Faith had not been gone more than forty minutes when Anton's phone suddenly chirped. He checked it casually, then responded with a quick few characters. Within a minute the back door to his home opened and footsteps marched quietly up the hall. The woman who appeared was similar in age to Faith, but of a completely different appearance. Whereas Faith looked like a former high school cheerleader with her glory days somewhat behind her, Breanne Raiden had always been stout. She was short and round and plump all over. Her dark hair was cut short, pageboy style, and it looked cute on her circular head. Her broad smile was infectious, though the grim-faced man seemed immune to it.
"You're late," he snapped, without preamble.
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