by Ron McIngle
August 6, 1966
Kasandra lingered in the shadows outside the small grocery store, hunger driving her towards desperation. The body she had assumed control of, officially known as Emma Clark, was only 18 years of age but was in horrible shape, due mainly to the drug use background that had driven out the previous soul. The prior soul that had occupied the body had started using marijuana at the tender age of 11, had advanced to heroin by the age of 13, and had overdosed just before her 16th birthday. The tortured soul had let go of the body before it had officially 'died', leaving it available for a wandering soul to move in.
As fate would have it, such a wandering soul had been conveniently waiting.
Finding new bodies had become easier since 'emergency rooms' had begun proliferating at hospitals during Kasandra's last lifetime. After the untimely demise of her last host, she had simply latched on to the mind of the paramedic that had responded to the accident. That carried her soul to the emergency room, where she lingered until a suitable host became available. Finding this particular host had been the easiest of her millenniums of existence, and even the transition and learning to control the new body was made easier by the help from nursing facilities.
Attempting to start a new life with someone else's identity, however, was not so easy anymore. Back in 1917, when she had acquired her previous body, a savvy youngster could manage on their own. Many people didn't have birth certificates, and most of the states hadn't started issuing driver's licenses or any other form of identification. There were few laws regarding child labor, so Kasandra had been able to get a job and feed herself with relative ease. Now, the government was here 'to help', which only made things more difficult. Emma had been forced to live in foster care until she had turned 18, and now, finally, she was on her own.
While modern technology and ideas made finding a new host easier, it made for some challenges that she had never faced before. The skills that she had carried with her over the centuries were no longer of value. Knowing how to milk a cow didn't help her get a job at McDonalds. Her crochet and needlepoint skills would make a nice hobby but not a career. She could sew quite well but had never used one of the mechanical sewing machines. She knew her numbers and how to add but didn't know about these new cash registers. Midway through the 20th century it was essential that you knew how to drive, a skill that hadn't even existed the last time she had taken over a body. Now, the hunger and desperation were driving her to measures that she ordinarily would have avoided.
Emma waited until she spotted a woman with two children park their car and head towards the entrance of the small market. She stepped out of the shadows, following close behind them, hoping to be taken as just an older daughter. Once she was past the cashier, she went her own way, finding products that she could easily hide in her pockets. Every other item was opened immediately, the food going into her mouth as the wrapper was stuffed into her pocket. If she got caught, she would have at least had something to eat first.
She was reaching for a box of rice when a hand reached out and grabbed hers.
"Ow!" Emma gasped, attempting to pull her hand back. "Let me go!"
"Come with me!" the man said as he started to pull her along. Kasandra's instinct was to fight, and she had the basic knowledge to do so. This body, however, was weak and she still hadn't managed the dexterity skills with it.
"No, please!" Emma pleaded as the man pulled her to an office in the back.
"Empty your pockets. Everything!"
Emma began placing everything she had onto the desk: three empty lunchmeat wrappers, a block of cheese, a sausage of salami, a can of corned beef hash, two dimes and three pennies. She turned her pockets inside-out to show that they were empty.
Dale Petersen looked at the array of products, noticing that they were all high protein foods that didn't need refrigeration. He was used to children that might try to steal a toy from the toy aisle. A teenage girl might steal a candy bar or something from the cosmetic section. Young men were often caught trying to steal liquor. These were all luxury items. This young lady had been attempting to steal survival items.
He looked her over, considering. She was dirty, obviously hadn't had a bath in a long time. Her clothes were worn and a couple sizes too small. Her sneakers had holes in the sides and were only laced halfway down as the bottom two holes had been bypassed to compensate for the broken laces.
"Sit!" the man demanded, pointing towards a chair. He took a chair on the opposite side of the desk and stared at her.
"I'm sorry," Emma cried. She was sorry; stealing was wrong, and was something she only did as a last resort.
"How old are you?" the man asked.
"18," Emma mumbled.
"Do your parents know where you are?"
"My parents haven't known where I was since I was a little kid. I've been in a foster home for a couple years, but they kicked me out on my birthday. The state quits paying once you turn 18."
"I should turn you over to the police."
"Please don't," Emma begged. "I haven't got any money, but if you give me a chance, I'll pay you back. I'm not normally a thief. I was just so hungry."
Dale glanced towards the empty wrappers as the emotions raged inside him. Shoplifting was a constant problem and the losses cut directly to his bottom line, one that was already suffering. Independent grocers such as himself were being hit hard financially as the chain stores infiltrated the neighborhoods. He was known for being tough on the thieves he caught, hoping that the message would serve as a deterrent to others. Had those been empty candy wrappers, there wouldn't have been any question as to his next step.
"I can't just let you get away with this! It will be a disservice to me and other merchants if you're not held accountable."
"You are right," Emma agreed solemnly. "I have brought great shame and dishonor onto myself, and there should be retribution. You are within your rights to call the police; I only ask that you consider other options. I would only be a burden to the police and society and being arrested won't help in repaying you."
Dale was immediately impressed by the articulate and thoughtful way that she had spoken. He was used to belligerence and attitude, not humility and remorse. Absent was the slang and gutter talk he associated with the homeless, or the belligerence of the 'hippies' that seemed to be proliferating as of late.
"If you were my daughter, I would put you over my knee and blister your butt!"
The phrase had come naturally to him only because his father had used it countless times. Blister your butt. And his father had blistered his butt, a number of times. He hadn't ever blistered anyone else's butt, however. He didn't have a daughter, or a son. Nor a wife or even a lover.
"Okay," Emma said softly, her eyes downcast.
"What was that?" Dale asked, shocked at what she had seemed to agree to.
"Okay," she repeated, louder. "You can blister my butt, I deserve it."
Pain was something that Kasandra could handle, as she had countless times before. There was a plus side to the pain as well. Kasandra's talent for being able to detach her consciousness from her body was great, but on more than one occasion she had been unable to find her way back and had to drift until she stumbled across another empty host. Once she got 'tuned' to a body, however, pain could provide a beacon to guide her back.
Dale thought about it, but only for a few seconds. Just a month earlier, the twenty-sixth amendment to the constitution had been ratified by congress, lowering the age of adulthood to 18. She was an adult, and she had just given her consent. He pushed his chair back from the desk and pointed to his lap. Just to further validate the consent, he wouldn't force her into position.
Emma gulped as she looked at his lap. Talk is one thing, action is harder. She glanced towards the doorway, wondering if she could outrun him. She might, but then what? If he called the police, she would just end up a fugitive. She had been beat plenty of times before, so this wasn't exactly new. If the beating was limited to her buttocks, she was confident that she would survive. Every host body responded differently to pain, however, and she had yet to test the pain tolerance of her new host.
"Pants up or down?" Emma asked as she got to her feet.
"Off," Dale answered. He expected her to object and was surprised when she kicked off her shoes and removed her pants. He felt empowered, and somewhat sexually excited. Other than the Playboy magazines that he read off his store's magazine rack, he never got to see a woman's naked body.
"In fact, totally naked."
He was further surprised when she made no objections at all, but his shock turned to lust when her white cotton panties followed her denim jeans to the floor and then she peeled off her tee-shirt. His lust evaporated when he got a good look at her.
She wore no bra, which she didn't need as her breasts were tiny. He surmised that her breasts were so small because of the emaciated condition she was in. Every one of her ribs showed clearly and her belly concaved inward, leaving her hip bones prominent. There was a sizeable gap between her thighs. The skin around her shoulder and collar bone looked like it had been vacuum formed. She looked more like a skeleton than a human being.
Emma only hesitated for a few moments before she stepped forward and draped herself over his lap.
Dale raised his hand and brought it down sharply upon her buttocks, creating a satisfying smack sound. Emma made just the slightest mewing sound. He swatted her again, harder, but still no reaction. The next swat stung his hand.
"OW!" Emma cried.
"You should be ashamed of yourself!" Dale scolded, emboldened by his success. He established a rhythm of swats at that intensity, interspersed with his words.
"OW! I am Sir! OW!"
"You could have asked for a job!"
"OW! I've tried, Sir. OW! No one would - OW - hire me without references. OWW!"
Dale shook his head, finding that he had lost the desire to continue. He could hardly feel the weight of this young woman on his lap, she couldn't weight more than 80 pounds. She needed a meal, not a spanking.
September 23, 2013
Emma stooped, picked up a handful of dirt, and sprinkled it over the casket. She wiped a tear from her eye and stepped aside so the next mourner could follow suit. It was a small gathering, as they never had any children, and at 83 years of age, Dale had outlived most of their friends.
She had truly loved her husband, serving him loyally for the last 46 years. She would miss him, and the discipline he had always maintained. In these 'modern' times their relationship would be considered to be abusive, but it worked for her, and it was better than many of her past lives had been. 'Kasandra' had always needed discipline, to be kept on a short leash, and the periods where such control was not in place usually ended very badly.
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