story is purely fictional. Any similarity between the characters
in this story and actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
(Yeah, right! ;-)
I didn't know how I got
assigned to the Bravo Team. I certainly didn't have enough seniority
in the service to deserve it. My record, while good, didn't contain
any "flashy" items. I was a logistics and communications weenie.
I hadn't done close-in security since basic training. It's a lucky
thing I still worked out and maintained my physical conditioning.
At 26 years of age,
it was still easy to stay in shape. My fiancee, Martha, appreciated
this aspect of the job, although she didn't like the idea that jumping
in front of speeding bullets was still officially part of the job
description. She eventually accepted my profession as I repeatedly
told her I was a "desk jockey." Now that had changed.
I caught up with Bravo
Team at the Westin Hotel in Seattle. I expected a certain amount
of excitement and comradeship among my new team members. Instead
what I observed was an almost funeral- like atmosphere. I felt like
I was being welcomed onto death row by my fellow inmates rather
than as a fellow team mate.
I was given a briefing
on the situation. She would be arriving at Boeing Field on Air Force
Two on Friday evening, rushed to the Westin with no fanfare, and
put up for the night. On Saturday morning, she would meet with the
Governor, one of the State's Senators, the Mayor of Seattle, and
a local Congressman stumping for re-election. Then it was off to
a rally at Westlake Park to try to drum up some support for a National
Health Care program. After the rally, it was back to the Westin
for a thousand-dollar- a-plate fund raiser for the Congressman,
and a dash back to Boeing Field. All on taxpayer dollars.
In addition to covering
the other public officials as well, we had another problem to work.
We expected about 500 demonstrators to show up at the rally. Great!
I was spared that part
of the problem. I was assigned into close- in security. It made
sense to make use of my logistical experience to have me work with
the hotel staff, local security, and the Seattle City Police. It
even made sense to have me do the room sweeps and check out the
ballroom for the fund raiser.
What surprised me was
that I was to be one of two agents on the front door. I thought
that a more senior agent would have been assigned that prestigious
job. I even asked my supervisor about this and he told me that it
was an order from "Herself." (I could hear the capital in the intonation
of his voice.) I felt flattered.
My elation didn't last
for long. Ed, another agent, who overheard the conversation, pulled
me aside. "Look, kid, you're new here. What have you heard about
the 'dragon lady?'"
"Well, nothing, really,"
"Well, you're not hearing
it now. This conversation is not taking place. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head to
indicate that I did.
"Have you ever met Herself
"Not officially. Of
course, I covered some events she attended. I think the last one
was about a month ago."
"That's about right,"
the agent told me, "It was about three weeks ago that we got the
word you were coming."
"Now listen to me,"
he went on, "What I'm going to tell you is second hand. It never
happened to me. Maybe I'm too old, or maybe I'm too ugly, but in
this case, I consider it lucky to be so. I hear rumors. Now that
I get a look at you, I can see why she picked you."
I was wondering where
this was going as he continued his conversation. "She likes them
young. She likes them strong, and in particular, she likes them
black for some reason. By the way, do you have any military experience?"
"Yes, sir! Navy SEAL."
"That figures. I wouldn't
mention it to Herself. If there is one thing she likes more than
ordering men around, it's ordering black men around, and if there's
one thing she likes even more than that it's making fools out of
military men. You poor bastard!" He ended sadly.
I waited in silence
for more, and after an unbearable wait I finally broke out with
"Do I have to spell
it out for you, kid? Look, we can tell who cooperates and who doesn't.
Those who don't are out of the service within two weeks, never to
seek Government employment again. Those who do -- well, they last
a little longer, and are usually 'put out to pasture' in some other
part of the Civil Service when she's grown tired of them."
My look of shock must
have been comical. He actually laughed. "Hey! Look around you. Even
those who she doesn't call into her den don't last long. Morale
is at an all-time low for the service, at least this branch. We
have people trying to get out all the time. I've only got a couple
of years to go myself, or I'd hang it up. She's not the best boss
in the world to work for."
"What do I do?" I asked.
"Don't look at me. I've
never been behind closed doors with her. You'll have to make up
your own mind about what to do."
I did. I knew exactly
what I had to do.
The laundry staff was
treated to a brief glimpse of Herself as I met her at the 'back
door' of the Hotel. That's one of the ironies about being a very
notable public figure; you don't enter through the front door and
walk through the lobby. You get swept in the back way in secrecy
and brought up a freight elevator like a prostitute that's being
sneaked past the house detective.
I escorted Herself to
her suite and had her wait for a few seconds while I preceded the
bellboy in and did a final quick sweep of the suite. She sat in
a chair in the anteroom and kicked off her shoes. I watched as the
bellboy brought her suitcases into the bedroom. He went to draw
the curtains, but I told him to leave them closed.
He completed the other
items on his mental checklist with absolute efficiency and prepared
to leave. He stood a moment at the door. Ed nodded to me. I reached
into my pocket, pulled out my wallet and tipped him. Apparently
Herself didn't dirty her hands handling money or dealing with people
beneath her station.
I completed my final
sweep and said, "Is there anything you'll be needing, or would you
prefer to be alone now?"
"Yes, boy," she responded,
"unpack my things and make sure they're put away properly. She motioned
to Ed to close the door and take up his post outside. I looked at
Ed. Her eyes were on me. Ed rolled his eyes back in an "I-told-you-so,"
as he closed the door.
"I could get hotel staff
to do that for you, madam," I answered.
"I want you to do it,
boy!" she replied.
"boy!" I hadn't heard
that term since I *was* a boy. I didn't like it when those rednecks
in Georgia called my father that name. It wasn't the worst name
they called him, but hearing it now, in the iciness in which it
was delivered, brought all those other names to mind.
She seemed to delight
in making me perform a menial task. I swallowed both the lump in
my throat, and my pride as I quietly mouthed, "Yes, madam," and
went to the task.
"Good boy," she responded,
"I think you'll do."
I unpacked her bags,
hung up her dresses folded her underwear (the joke was she had a
cast-iron jock strap -- no, she doesn't, nor does she own anything
particularly kinky,) and put out her bathroom items. She was still
sitting in her chair when I came back.
"Pour me a drink," she
said indicating the champaign, "and pour one for yourself."
"I can't madam," I explained,
"I'm on duty."
"You're on duty for
ME!" she countermanded, "You'll do as I say. Everything I say. Do
you get that?"
I didn't answer.
"I asked you a question,
BOY! I want and answer. You ought to learn your manners in front
of your superiors."
"Yes, ma'am!" I said
with more hostility than I wanted to show.
"Don't take that tone
with me, you young buck. I can break you for insubordination." she
said, "Now, pour us those drinks."
I poured us both a drink
with no intention of actually imbibing mine.
She accepted her drink,
crossed her leg and casually pointed to the middle of the room.
"Stand there," she said,
twirling her index finger in a circle, "and turn around. I want
to take a good look at you."
I felt extremely embarrassed
as I did a slow pirouette in front of her.
"Nice ass," she said
as I got halfway through the turn. When I facing her again, she
stared me straight in the eyes and said, "Now let's get a look at
that big black cock of yours, boy. I hope you don't disappoint me."
"Madam!" I protested.
She laughed, "Oh, stuff
it. My husband has his hobbies. I have mine. You will obey me, or
you'll never work again. Now pull those pants down and let me see
As I started to take
off my jacket, there was a knock on the door. It was Ed.
"Shit!" she exclaimed,
and then barked, "What is it?"
"We have a security
issue. I must talk to Agent Dentin, madam," came the answer through
"Oh very well, but be
quick about it."
He waited a respectful
few seconds and opened the door. "Sorry for the interruption, madam,"
he said. Turning to me, "Hal, we've got a minor problem with hotel
security. I think a word from you can clear everything up."
Herself grinned at me,
"Hurry back, boy. We've got things to do."
"Thanks, Ed," I said
as soon as we got out in the hall. The interruption was no accident.
I had prearranged a signal with Ed, a couple of surreptitious clicks
on the radio, to bail me out if things got too hot.
"Yeah, it worked for
now, but what are you going to do later? I can't keep barging in
on you two all evening."
"Leave that to me,"
I responded, "I can take care of it from now on.
"Yea, though I walk
through the shadows of the valley of death ..." Ed chided. I gave
him a punch in the arm.
I was back in Herself's
room about 20 minutes later.
"Well, that certainly
took long enough," she growled, "I don't like to be kept waiting.
I'll make you pay for that indiscretion."
"I think not," I replied.
"You're making a big
mistake, boy. You'd better think it over."
"No , ma'am!" I said
"You listen to this,"
I cut her off, "No!
YOU listen to this ...'Now let's get a look at that big black cock
of yours, boy. I hope you don't disappoint me ... "Madam! ... (laughter)
... Oh, stuff it. My husband has his hobbies. I have mine. You will
obey me, or you'll never work again. Now pull those pants down and
let me see it.'" I clicked off the tape recorder.
"This is just a copy,
of course. The original is already in safe storage in the event
of my demise." I let it sink in and took a deep breath before continuing,
"Now, that's a clear-cut case of sexual harassment if I've ever
"You won't get away
with this," she said, "This won't hold up in court. I'm a lawyer,
I know what's admissible as evidence, and what isn't."
"Oh, this isn't a matter
for the courts," I assured her. "This trial is going to be held
in the media. It might even knock OJ off the front page. I know
full well that people of political power such as yourself are above
the law. I wouldn't presume to fight you on that level."
"I've looked at the
polls. Your husband can't survive another scandal. He might not
be re-elected as it is. If he goes down, you loose all your power.
You won't be center stage anymore. You'll be just another rich bitch."
"Ah," she said changing
tactics rapidly, "I see. You're looking perhaps for an out-of-court
settlement. Something monetary, and very discrete. In fact, maybe
so discrete that even the IRS won't know about it."
"My sentiments exactly,"
"How much are we talking
"First things first,"
I told her, "I need job security. You will keep me on staff in my
current position indefinitely."
She laughed, "I'd think
you'd want to escape my clutches. Don't be a fool. I know what people
say behind my back." She paused, "OK, it's a deal. You have your
job. I can always get other boys."
"No madam. By 'current
position' I mean that there will be no other boys."
"You mean?" she left
the question hanging.
"Our relationship may
be modified to some extent. but I will be your 'boy.'"
"OK. Now, how much are
we talking about for a settlement?"
"Fifty thousand dollars!"
"No, your punishment
will be a little more personal than that. I mean fifty swats. I'm
going to give you an old-fashioned spanking, girl. It's obvious
that it is long overdue."
The hard features of
her face contorted, and her mouth moved as if she was going to speak,
but no words came out.
"You have no choice,"
I reminded her.
She glowered at me in
anger, but she knew that physical resistance, at least, was futile.
She hissed out her words, "OK, let's get this over with. What do
you want me to do?"
I walked to the door,
opened it and stuck my head out to talk to Ed. We wouldn't be disturbed
for the rest of the evening, and Ed would swear that nothing out
of the ordinary ever happened. He saw nothing, and would hear nothing.
I could see his ear splitting grin as I closed the door.
I sat down in the opposing
wing-back chair from Herself. I pointed to the spot on the oriental
rug where she made me stand about a half hour prior and said, "Turn
around, girl. I want to get a good look at you."
Her normal peaches-and-cream
complexion was a lot ruddier than usual. I couldn't tell if it was
from embarrassment or anger. I suspected the latter. There was nothing
but full-fledged rage in her eyes when she finally stopped turning.
"Tsk, tsk," I warned
her, "I'll have to teach you some manners. Wait until you feel my
hand on your ass. You'll change your tune, you little bitch."
I think the words "little
bitch" pushed a button in her. She threw herself at me in a rage,
landing on top of me and ineffectually pounding my muscles with
her fists. Her words were incoherent, and trailed off into a series
"Temper tantrums, too,"
I remarked, "How much like a spoiled little girl you are. I was
going to do this in a civilized manner, but fuck that!"
I twisted her body around
until she was prone over my lap, and pulled down her pants. She
had on a pair of bikini type panties and that suited me fine.
She knew what was coming
as she was wiggling like a snake in the midst of a seizure. I used
my physical superiority to subdue her. I had her in the most preposterous
position: her waist was over my left knee and my left arm held her
torso in place; my right leg was over both her legs pinning her
body in a scissors hold. This left my right hand free for spanking.
My only previous experience
with spanking was as a recipient. There wasn't anything erotic about
it. I was about eight years old, and my father gave me a good walloping
for giving my mother what he called "some lip." It was enough. I
haven't talked back to mama ever since.
This was entirely different.
I felt a kind of excitement I'd never experienced before. I had
planned to have her get undressed, lay over my lap and paddle her
in a very calm and controlled way. The way it turned out was much
more satisfying. Having her behave like a brat and resist me was
giving me a hard-on.
I have naturally large
hands. I could palm a basketball when I was ten. I hadn't even begun
my growth spurt at that point. Working out on a regular basis made
them very muscular as well. I also have a set of hard, leathery
callouses on my palms. I never thought of my hand as a spanking
instrument, having never used it as such before. Now that it was
time, I was surprised at how ideal it was for the purpose.
I brought my arm back
into a backswing like I was going to smash a serve playing handball.
I looked at my target. A lily-white rump with a light blue band
of lacy silk outlining its lower portions.
I brought my arm down
with all the speed I could. I learned from playing baseball that
you don't hit a home run by trying to kill the ball. Home runs are
hit by meeting the round ball with the round bat squarely with a
lot of speed. My huge hand collided with what little bulk she had
on her left cheek. It was the irresistible force meeting a very
She stopped sobbing.
In fact, she stopped breathing. I looked at her ass. There as a
perfect impression of my hand on it. I could also see small red
spots where I had broken capillaries that were close to the surface.
I had forgotten that I could probably drive railroad spikes barehanded.
I had to ease off.
I asked her if she was
OK. She shuttered, started breathing again and hissed through clenched
teeth, "yes." She was still defiant. I liked that. It was going
to be a challenge taming her. I love a challenge.
"That's one," I told
her, "From now on, you will count each spank as I deliver it to
She obeyed. Each time
I hit her, she yelled out the number. Sometimes all she could muster
was a grunt. I let her get away with it. Each time I hit her, my
hand made a very loud clapping sound. By the time the first dozen
spanks were delivered, she ceased direct resistance although she
was kicking her feet uncontrollably.
I have no doubt that
Ed could hear everything that was going on. She knew it too. Somehow,
that made it even better. By the time I was close to two dozen swats
she had become much more submissive. She was meekly whimpering.
Her blonde hair laid scraggly across her sweaty face, her makeup
was smeared, her eyes red. She was not at all like her picture on
"Get up," I growled.
She obeyed without hesitation.
I noticed that she stuck out her lower lip and lowered her head.
She couldn't look at me. I looked at her panties. There was a wet
spot in the front. It was probably the most honest sexual excitement
she had in ages.
"Stand there. Turn away
from me. Bend over. I want to see if you've had enough."
She did everything I
told her. Her ass was a mess. It was entirely pink, and had red
marks in splotches everywhere.
"Stand up," I ordered.
I pointed to her chair, "Sit." It was like commanding a dog.
"Have you learned your
lesson? Will you behave like a good little girl?" I asked.
"Y-yes" she said.
"You're not going to
fuck with me or anyone else in the service anymore are you?"
"Good." I said finally
softening my tone. "Have a drink of your champaign."
"But don't you owe me
25 more?" she asked. It sounded almost like disappointment.
"Indeed I do, but that's
for the next time."