What would you do for a story? The big one that could make your career? The world is full of dark places and some of these exist in the haunts of even the super rich. To get that story you may have to descend into those very places....
Brenda Starling blew through the newsroom of the Tribune like a force of nature. The former red haired beauty queen (Miss Oregon runner-up 2006), was indeed a bona fide star in the newsroom----she was their top investigative reporter. George Smithson ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the wake she left, snapping orders at staff, demands for computer research, yelling for her assistants-not to mention observing the marvelous twitch of her hips in the figure hugging skirt. As her editor he often had his hands full with her And the problem was, she was good. She had a nose for a story like no one else, and an unflagging drive to root it out. Now she had a source on one of the biggest stories of the year if it was true. A woman who had confided in her, recounting a frightening and lurid incident.
She'd been abducted, but not by aliens, although it was so strange it might have been aliens. It was horribly embarrassing as well as scary and painful--- one reason she hadn't come forward, hadn't gone to the police. By chance Brenda had heard the story from a woman she'd met through a friend while drinking in a downtown bar. The woman had confided in her and had told her an unbelievable story about a friend of hers being abducted and then punished in a rather intimate and embarrassing way before being let go. Brenda pushed her for details and finally she had given Brenda her friend's name---and an introduction. With a promise to keep her name out of the papers the friend had agreed to an interview.
The woman, a rather nice looking young executive type named Carol, told Brenda she had been grabbed while walking to her car after a workout at her gym. She worked out regularly and had never felt that the parking lot at night was dangerous, but that is where they had grabbed her, bundled her into a dark van and thrown a hood over her head. She had been taken on a long ride to a dark cabin, a rough place with log walls and no windows. There was a heavy wooden door to the outside that was locked. It was quiet, like it was way out in the woods. No road noise. Except that she could hear the sound of running water, like the structure sat next to a babbling brook. For a day nothing happened. She screamed but no one answered. There was no one there in this place but her. There was food they had left for her---and water, but for an entire day she heard no one.
The next morning they came for her. There were two of them, wearing black leather and masks. One was a woman. The outfit made her look like some sort of weird Catwoman character, like from a comic strip. But it was all too real. She tried to fight but she was overcome. Her hands were bound behind her and a blindfold placed over her eyes. She was marched, one person on each arm, and taken to a different place. They walked. Into a structure. Up some stairs, down some stairs. She sensed being in a large room. Then they took off the blindfold.
She was standing in front of a bench, like in a courtroom. It was otherwise a just a room with dark wooden walls but she saw cameras set up like they were about to film something. There was scary looking apparatus. Frames that looked to be designed for restraint, like old time stocks and a block with fastening straps. A figure in a hooded robe sat high above her behind the bench. The figure looked menacing though she could not see his face. She remembered what he had said to her though, like it was yesterday.
"You are here," said the voice, "for retribution. Cooperate and it will all be over soon."
She'd said, 'wait a minute---who are you?---what is this?' but the hooded figure had commanded her to be silent. She'd been genuinely afraid. These people were obviously nuts.
He pointed at her. "You have wronged someone. You have committed a serious infraction against this person. For this you will be punished, just like the others."
"Who? What did I do?"
"If you think, you will remember," said the figure in the robe. "A rather childish act, I think. So in return you will receive a child's punishment."
He addressed the black clad woman. "Miss A," he said, "put this young woman across your knee and spank her--- hard. Make it very thorough. She should have trouble sitting comfortably for a few days."
The woman called Miss A had smiled at her through the mask. It had been chilling. She had watched her drag a chair over and sit down. Then she motioned, seemingly grinning. Carol had been frozen to the spot. But the man had grabbed her shoulders and pushed her over there and Miss A had yanked her face down over her knee. Then she had felt her pants and panties being taken down, baring her bottom. She remembered the feeling of lying over the woman's knees, bare and vulnerable. She had felt the woman's hands on her bottom, patting, squeezing, as if testing her bottom cheeks for what was to come. It was humiliating to be in such a childish position, but the woman was strong. Then crack! Whack! Smack! The black clad woman had commenced to spank her with hard stinging smacks. The spanks landed all over her bottom---right side left side, right across the crease. It stung. Her eyes watered up. The woman had been wearing leather gloves that had made her hand feel like a paddle. The woman was powerful and could really spank hard. It was a hot sting that grew hotter with each smack. The pain took her breath away. She had cried and shrieked. Tears had rolled down her face. Carol was handcuffed and helpless. It went on and on---the samck of the woman's hand and Carol's wails. She had struggled but to no avail. She admitted that finally she had broken down and bawled like a child who'd been spanked by mommy. It had just been too much. Afterwards they had put a hood over her head, shoved her into a car and had dumped her out in an industrial area of town. She'd finally made it to a phone and called a friend-the one in the bar.
"Do you know why anyone would want to do this to you?" Brenda had asked. The woman, Carol, had said she didn't know. None of it made sense. Brenda persisted. "Have you made someone angry lately? A jilted boyfriend? A co-worker?" All that seemed a bit extreme for the typical dust ups that occurred between people all the time. And the punishment---a spanking, just like you'd give a recalcitrant child. It seemed calculated to humiliate as well as hurt. A blow to one's pride. And she remembered something else.
"Wait. You said, 'just like the others'. That's what he said, right?"
"Yes," said Carol. "But I don't know what it means."
"But you still don't know why they kidnapped you?"
Carol shook her head. "I've tried to think of everything. I mean, I did cut someone off in traffic last week. He honked and I shot him the finger, but..."
"That's pretty much of a stretch," acknowledged Brenda.
"It was one of those black limos---you know, all tinted glass. He seemed pretty upset. Followed me for a while. It was starting to creep me out."
Brenda raised her eyebrows and made a mental note to herself. She told Carol to call if she remembered anything else. Anything at all.
"I don't know," said Cole. "It sounds like a tall tale to me."
Brenda was relaxing on the couch with Cole. She purred while he massaged her feet. It had been a long day. "I think she was serious-and scared. Like they might snatch her again. And I want to find out who---and why."
"You watch yourself," said Cole. "If you go poking around by yourself, you'll be the one getting a spanking."
"I'll follow the story and you have nothing to say about it," she said.
Cole shook his head. "Wrong attitude, Brenda." He released her feet and rose to his feet. "Whoever these people are they sound serious. And dangerous."
Brenda pouted, but she shrank back as she regarded Cole standing there. At the same time a little shiver shot up her spine. Cole was more than her photographer. He was also her de facto bodyguard...and, on occasion, her lover. The relationship was complicated, admittedly. He accompanied her on some of her investigative assignments and generally tried to keep her out of trouble, but despite his best efforts she had a habit of landing in hot water. He was a lean six footer and an ex marine. Now, that threat of a spanking. Why did that seem exciting?
"You wouldn't dare," she huffed.
"You don't want to test me on this, Brenda. You make sure I'm along if you need to meet someone in any seedy dives."
"I'll go wherever I need to go to get the story." She glared at him and stamped her foot petulantly.
"Maybe I should demonstrate my concern," said Cole, rising. Brenda gasped and pulled back, but she was stopped by the couch. Cole just grinned and grabbed his girlfriend's hand, pulling her into him. He wrapped her in his arms, bent her backwards and planted a big kiss right on her lips. This was a move that never failed to make Brenda a bit weak in the knees and she responded as his tongue found hers. After a clinch that seemed to last forever and left Brenda churning with desire, Cole straightened up. But then he abruptly sat down on the couch and pulled Brenda face down over his lap.
"Cole! What are you doing?" she sputtered.
"Just a little demonstration," said Cole with a light chuckle.
"Coleman Hardy, you let me go this instant!" She floundered around, but he held her down.
Cole wasn't listening. He raised Brenda's tight skirt, tugging it up over her hips to reveal her sumptuous bottom clad in brief black panties that were framed by a matching garter belt and stockings. He whistled under his breath at the sight of Brenda's shapely derriere propped up over his knees and awaiting his attentions. He wasted no time and before Brenda could react he whisked the flimsy panties to mid thigh. Her bare bottom was breathtaking-two jouncy, rounded ovals that jutted upwards saucily from the junction with her thighs.
Brenda felt his masculine palm patting her bottom and kneading the wobbly globes. As it went on, she almost purred, but then remembered what he had threatened.
Splat! The first spank fell with a sharp sound that echoed around the living room.
Splat! Smack! Two more landed in quick succession. It stung!
"Cole, stop that! Let me up!"
Cole chuckled and applied a brisk volley of smacks that made her bottom cheeks wobble deliciously.
With Brenda yelping in protest, Cole landed a dozen light but noisy smacks that covered most of the area of her bottom. He paused then gave her a dozen more, a bit harder.
"Ouch! Cole, stop!" Her behind was getting warm. The heat suffused into the junction between her legs and she began to feel something else.
He alternated the smacking with frequent rubbing and patting. Brenda wanted to protest more, but the problem was that this treatment was arousing her to a fever pitch. She was squirming like bitch in heat, grinding her pelvis into Cole's knee.
"Stop, Cole! Stop! Ooooh!" she bleated as Cole peppered her bottom with noisy spanks. But she didn't mean it, she was just trying to salvage some dignity. Because arousing as it was, it was also very undignified to be in this position, upended over her lover's lap, bare bottom on display, while he spanked her as you would a naughty child who had broken a vase.
But then he stopped and allowed his hand to rest on her bottom. Her behind was a bright pink. Being a redhead she colored fairly quickly, Cole noticed. She moaned as his fingers found the slit between her legs. It was slick now with lubrication from her vagina. She moaned as Cole let his fingers slide in and out, eventually finding the little button that caused intense waves of pleasure to shoot through her body as he fingered it.
Cole sensed a climax coming and stopped his manipulation. He lifted her up and pulled her to her feet. Feverishly they stripped each other's clothes off and Cole tumbled her back onto the couch. They were both ready. He guided his penis into her fully lubricated slit and slid in to the hilt. Brenda gasped with pleasure. They began rocking with a slow grinding thrust and counterthrust that made Brenda want to scream with pleasure. She was close, Cole could sense it. But he wanted to try one more thing. He pulled out and lifted her up. He spun her around until she was on her hands and knees, that gorgeous pink bottom level with his groin. He reentered her from the rear and began to slam his torso hard against her soft quivering bottom cheeks. She responded by jerking like a wild woman, matching his every thrust by grinding her bottom against his belly, impaling herself on his hard manhood. He slapped her bottom with his hand, left side, right side, over and over as he rode her to climax, spurring her on with smacks that made her bottom cheeks jiggle.
"Oh...Cole. Yes! Yes!" She bucked and heaved even as the smacks rang out loudly. All of a sudden she writhed furiously as her climax overcame her and Cole likewise let go, permitting himself to come in a paroxysm of blinding pleasure.
Later, lying in bed in the afterglow of their furious lovemaking, Brenda's brain wouldn't turn off. She understood Cole's concern, but she was determined to find out who had done this thing--- and why.