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It was the end of her first day on the job when Bridget got the message. Mr. Strickland, who had hired her only yesterday, wanted to see her at his headquarters right away. When one of the backstage doormen handed her the note, she was excited about the prospect, but she noticed the other dancers suddenly became very preoccupied with their costume and makeup routines. When she asked questions, answers were terse, and none would make eye contact. She was certain she saw some of the girls redden.
“What is this about?” she asked the driver on the way to Strickland’s mansion. She was furious with herself for being so nervous. She could not remove the quaver from her voice. The driver wouldn’t speak.
When they arrived, the driver opened her door and motioned her to follow him. The mansion grounds were dazzling: wild jungle in the Las Vegas desert. The walkway was hidden in shadows although the summer sun was still high. The long walk to the mansion was accompanied by squawks and screeches from unseen and undoubtedly rare creatures, mixed with the Victorian sound of Bridget’s high-heeled shoes clopping like horse hooves on cobblestone. At one point, a heavily armed guard passed: he had a LION on a leash! Bridget clutched her small purse desperately.
By the time they reached the huge golden doors, Bridget was near panic, and still angry at herself for being so jumpy. It did not help that she was exhausted after her first day on the stage. Those headdresses were heavier than they looked, and many muscles would be sore for days. She was not ready for this, whatever it was going to be.
The driver led Bridget through a stunning hallway, lined with statues, paintings and tapestries. He stopped at a set of open double doors and motioned her to enter. He closed the doors behind her. Inside were two huge bodyguards, each standing stock still. They faced the opposite end of the room where a huge, shiny mahogany desk sat before a gray marble wall. The high-backed chair turned around and Mr. Strickland was revealed. Bridget’s heart almost leapt from her body.
Mr. Strickland rose from his chair and slowly walked around the desk. His eyes bored a hole through her. She could not maintain eye contact.
“You were late for your shift,” he said without preface. “Why.”
Bridget jumped as if electrocuted and goose bumps swept over her. She felt her face and the exposed skin of her upper chest burst into flames. Her thighs, unprotected by her mini-skirt, went cold. To make things worse, she felt her nipples rise and strain against her thin T-shirt. Why would they casino oyna do that?!!
“I … I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t … know the city yet. I …”
“This was your FIRST DAY, Miss Bridget,” he interrupted. “I hired you to do a job. It is not a difficult one. I need ALL girls on stage for ALL shows.”
“Y … Yes sir!” she stuttered, “I … I got LOST. I …”
“There are no excuses for missing a show, young lady. None.”
He made a motion to the bodyguards. They left without a word, leaving Bridget alone with Mr. Strickland. She tried to catch their eyes, to silently plead with them to stay with her, but they were gone before she could even think.
Mr. Strickland walked right up to her, looking down into her face. He was three times her size. She could smell his faint cologne, as well as … HIM. She felt her knees would buckle.
“I hired you because I LIKE you, Bridget,” he began. “You’re young, you’re blonde, you have a beautiful face, large breasts. Those are a dime a dozen, but YOU had an energy and enthusiasm I liked when you auditioned yesterday. I hired you on the spot, although you have no experience or history in this town. I have done you a great favor. You will NOT disappoint me.”
He had stopped speaking. It had to be her turn. “Nuh … No sir …” she whimpered, her lower lip shaking uncontrollably.
“Now, now. No need to be afraid,” he said with no revealing emotions. “This will be over soon.”
Bridget’s eyes flew open as he began unbuckling his belt. “Oh, God! I’m going to be raped!” she thought, her stomach sinking into her rectum, a swimming feeling of unreality washing over her. But as Mr. Strickland folded the belt, a supple leather item seemingly meant for a horse, she saw it was less a belt than a … PADDLE.
“Miss Bridget, you will drape yourself over the arm of the couch, lift your skirt and drop your panties.” It was an order.
Now the dam broke. Bridget began sobbing, yet she could not make herself hide her face. She could not make herself do ANYTHING.
“You have your instructions,” Mr. Strickland said. “Do you need my bodyguards to help you?”
Bridget gasped for air as she slightly shook her head. With the slowness of a nightmare, she turned, walked to the couch and stood before the arm. “How did I get all the way over here?” she thought. She couldn’t remember walking across the room. Everything was washed in a red haze. Words would not form themselves into coherent thoughts. She was helpless.
Bridget felt herself bend over the arm of the couch, her shivering hands canlı casino hike up the skirt, the cold air paint itself over her bottom. Then there she was, exposed. Something she would never have imagined. Something she had never done for ANYONE.
Her sobs began anew as Mr. Strickland took her left wrist, the one pinned against the back cushion of the couch, and pulled it to the middle of her back. The grip was not resistible.
“I will give you 30 strokes. You will count each one aloud and recite after each, ‘I am sorry Mr. Strickland. I will not miss another show.’ “
“Y – yes,” Bridget mewled.
She felt a shift in the weight on her back as he raised the belt, then …
Her vision failed. Like staring into the sun. She had felt a tremendous impact, but no pain, and as her vision corrected from the multicolored static she was seeing, she realized that a howl like she’d never heard before had escaped her throat. Panic ensued and tears choked her eyes.
She thought silly things. Embarrassment at what the guards outside must think of her. At what — Oh, GOD! — at what her FATHER would think. She had not thought about him more than twice since she left home years ago, or ever once cared about what he thought, but OH! how she wanted to be with him right now.
She realized she was being spoken to: “I said, aren’t you forgetting something, Miss Bridget.”
“Wuh … One!” she forced out through the tears.
“Something else,” he pressed.
“I … I … I don’t remem … “
At this point, stroke number two fell.
“TWO! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
“That’s better,” he said gently. “You have earned only 20 more strokes.”
With stroke number three came the pain. Fire in her buttocks and a vibrating numbness in her legs. And as each of her successive strokes fell, the burning flared.
“Three! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
“Four! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
“Five! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
“Six! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
“Seven! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
“Eight! ImsorryMisterStrickland Iwontmissanothershow!”
As the punishment continued, Bridget moved into another state of mind. She had vision, but she saw nothing. The sound of her own heartbeat rushed in her ears. She did not get USED to the blows, but she handled them. She had no choice.
At the 30th blow, Mr. Strickland paused. It was a shock! Such peace! But it was short-lived.
By the time kaçak casino it was over, Bridget was cried out, her mind blank. Her bottom a gigantic numb spot at the base of her spine, her legs and shoulders one great ache. She breathed heavily and deeply, feeling the wet spot on the couch below her face for the first time. She was actually relaxed. She wanted to sleep.
“What do you say,” Mr. Strickland asked.
She knew.
“Thank you, Mr. Strickland.”
“That’s a good girl.”
Then he left. Just like that, he was gone. Bridget didn’t move. She didn’t dare. She didn’t WANT to. And the hurt was only beginning to come back to her upturned rump.
Suddenly, he was back. She could not see what he was doing, but she could tell he was not alone, and whoever was with him sounded terribly unruly. Without warning, the staring face of a curious lion cub was directly in her face, it’s great sniffs warm on her eyes in the one instant before it was pulled away. With a panicked grunt, and with reflexes she didn’t think she could have under these conditions, Bridget tried to get up. But she was held in position.
“Hold still,” she was told quietly.
A new shock: there was a horrible coldness spilling onto her sore buttocks! OH, how it stung her reddened welts, whatever it was! Then she smelled it. Honey.
After a few moments of Mr. Strickland’s giant hands spreading the ooze thinly over her hindquarters, there was a moment of uncertainty as to what was going to happen. Then it came. A tongue like sandpaper!
“Ahhh!” Bridget husked. In many ways, this hurt more than the spankings. Her bruises were tender, and the rough sting of the lion’s tongue aggravated them. And he was SO thorough. Not a drop was missed, not an inch of raw, stinging skin unexplored. Bridget could feel the creature’s contented purring vibrate her spine as she squirmed under the pressure, her delicate skin rippling in the wake of each lick.
When the honey was exhausted, the cub was not satisfied. He sought more by exploring hidden areas. Bridget’s barely controlled breathing caught as a hard lick sliced across her crotch, and in that blink of a moment … she orgasmed.
Mr. Strickland had pulled the animal away even as it happened, but it was too late. All the blood that had seemed collected in her bottom now flooded Bridget’s face. How could she have done this? Surely Mr. Strickland had to know. The humiliation was complete.
“Dress yourself,” she was now being told.
As she wobbled out of the office, her legs barely supporting her, she thought only of her new orders: to pack her things and move into Mr. Strickland’s suite at the hotel.
=XXX=
(cc) 1995-2009 Lisa M. Hayes
This story may be reproduced as long as credit is given and nothing is changed.
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