From: ginger30@aol.com (Ginger30)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking
Subject: Tampering with the Other Woman
Date: 16 Apr 1995 03:18:27 -0400
Message-ID: <3mqgc3$pcs@newsbf02.news.aol.com>


Shortly after I posted "The Other Woman" on a.s.s. this appeared in my
email box.  Took me awhile but I finally convinced Jubilation Pangloss,
the author, to let me post it.  I hope you all find it as hot and
hysterical as I do.  

And those with good memories may notice that Mr. Pangloss took the liberty
of changing my heroine's name -- how very perceptive of him. ;)

Ginger

*************************************************

                      "Tampering with the Other Woman"



"So didja get things patched up with Ginger?"

The broad just sat there, purring, wide-eyed.  Not a smirk, but
almost.  She twisted a little piece of that wild, blonde hair of
hers around an index finger, around and around, next to her cheek.
It had taken me two weeks to track her down after I caught her in
bed with the redhead I called my Sugarplum.

"That's what I'm here to talk about, Jane."

She was sitting on the edge of her couch, smoothing her stretch
pants along her upper thighs, like they needed smoothing, and
tugging on the front of her thin, plaid shirt, like her tits needed
emphasis.  I knew better, and I wasn't gonna play the game.

I pulled up a wooden chair and sat down next to her, real close,
our knees almost touching.  We made eye contact, and suddenly she
seemed a lot less cocky.  That almost-smirk disappeared in a
heartbeat.

"Look, pal," she said, scooting back, "the only reason I agreed to
let you come here was to tell you that I didn't mean anything to
Ginger.  We had a fling.  A little, tiny fling."  She held up a
thumb and forefinger.  Quarter-inch gap to show me how small the
fling was.  "Get over it."  Her eyes narrowed.  "And two-thirds of
the shit she talked about was you and your damn dick."

Ginger had eventually told me everything -- the whole hot,
pussy-grinding story -- and I never could stay mad at Sugarplum
for very long.  But that didn't mean this freelance lesbo deserved
any favors from me.

"Jane, you oughta learn some better manners and better language.
First you love up on my honey, freestyle, and then you insult me.
If I was you, sweetheart, I'd try to talk nicer to people and keep
the dyke whoring where it belongs.  Just a little friendly adv..."

Never did finish that sentence.  The broad was quick.  And I know
slaps.  I've been slapped a time or three, and Jane was going for
a personal best.  Even then, it probably wouldn't have been all
that bad, but the heel of the chick's hand caught my nose sideways.
Louie had busted my nose -- again -- about three weeks earlier,
and it was still sore as hell.  Louie and I had just been horsing
around then, but I didn't move fast enough to get out of his way.

Or hers.

I bellowed and swore at the bitch.  I caught her wrist on the second
swing -- told you she was quick -- and twisted her arm.  Hard.
She was screaming at me before her face hit the cushions.

"You sonofabitch!  You're CRAZY!!  Let me go, GODDAMNIT!!!."

"Crazy?  No, honey, I ain't crazy."  Damn, my nose hurt.  "What I
am is real tired of broads screwing like minks soon as I leave
town, then telling me about it later so I'll whip their asses and
pound away in whichever hole is gonna do 'em the most good."

I had a firm grip on Jane by then.  Both wrists in the small of
her back.  One leg locked in mine and my knee holding down her
butt.  Jane could barely move, but she could still scream.

"You ARE crazy.  Look -- whaddaya want?  You want me say I'm sorry?
I'm sorry.  You want me to swear I'll stay away from Ginger?  Okay,
fine.  I swear.  I'll stay away from Ginger.  Now LET ME UP,
ASSHOLE!!!"  She bucked one good time there on the couch, just to see
if she could shake me loose.  It didn't work.  She got real still.

Damn, my nose hurt.  I leaned back and grabbed Jane's purse thing
from the coffee table.  Opened it mostly with my teeth.  Dumped
everything out on the couch beside Jane.  Yep, just like Ginger
said: silk stockings, vibrator, butt plug, the works.  Nothing like
a first-aid kit when you need one.  Damn, my nose hurt.

I grabbed the stockings and starting wrapping wrists.  I think Jane
was more spooked by how fast I had her hands tied than she was by
anything else.  She looked wild-eyed, panicky.

"Look.  This...won't get...you...anything."  She was breathing
hard, almost gulping, between words.  "I...I...look, Ginger really
did...go on and fucki-," she caught herself, "on and on...about
you.  She's ass-over-teakettle in love, pal.  With you, not me.
I'm just like, uh, one of those -- you know -- those inflatable
dolls to her."

"Fine, sweetheart.  I'm gonna let your air out."

Damn, my nose hurt.

I wasn't about to tell Jane that Ginger had sent me right up the
stiff-dicked wall with her story about their romps together while
I was out of town.  For that matter, I wasn't about to tell Ginger,
either, but the hardfuck that Sugarplum gave me after all of her
I'm-so-sorry bullshit was the best I ever had.  Christ, it was the
best that anybody's ever had.

"What...what're you gonna do?"  Jane looked so scared, I almost felt
sorry for her.

I picked up the butt plug and held it six inches from her face.

"Hon, I am going to punish you -- for messing around with my lady
and for giving me a hard time just now."  I leaned down so she
could see the butt plug _and_ my face.  "And if you give me any
more trouble, it'll get a whole lot worse.  Your choice,
sweetheart."

"No, wait, I..." she started.

"Shut up."  My face was still inches from hers.  Close enough to
breathe each other's air.  Close enough to smell her jojoba
conditioner.  "You start screaming, and this butt plug goes in your
mouth.  I'll wrap your jaws so tight on this thing, your teeth'll
bend five ways at once, bitch -- you understand?"

Her lips drew back in a snarl.  Made her pearly-whites look like
fangs.  Something about halfway between resignation and hatred
settled on her whole body, like a canvas tarp settles on a big-block
Chevy going into storage.

"You understand me, hon?"

Jane just stared at me and nodded.

"Good," I said.  "That's real good."

Her eyelids narrowed to slits.

"Just do what you're gonna do, asshole.  Get it over with."

She sounded almost calm.  I grabbed a double handful of stretch-pants
waistband -- and whatever other waistbands there might be around
her middle -- and hauled everything down to her knees.  She ended
up kneeling on her own tights there on the floor, bent forward into
the couch cushions.  Gorgeous ass -- shame about the lezzie part --
and no panties.  Figures.

I stomped one foot between her knees, pinning her tangled stretch
pants to the floor.  She coulda been tied with bungee cord for
all the leverage she had.

I fished my pocketknife out of the hip pocket of my jeans and
flipped out the little blade, the real sharp one.  I was careful
not to let Jane see the knife.  I wanted her shirt off in a hurry,
and I was pissed off real bad, but I'm not a mean guy, you know?
No sense in terrifying the broad with the shiv if I can help it.

Ten seconds later, her shirt was a bunch of plaid scraps underneath
her chest and shoulders.  No bra.  No bra at all.  Jesus, don't
women have decency no more?

I took off my belt, folded it double and held it under Jane's nose.

"Smell the leather, hon."

She took a little sniff.

I grabbed a handful of her hair with my free hand and held her face
against the belt.

"I said smell it, hon.  Make it deep."

She did.  I watched her back swell as she inhaled.  I watched her
eyes hate as she exhaled.

"Ask me to punish you, hon.  Ask nice."

"Please punish me."

It came out in a monotone.  I had about a quart of that blonde hair
in my hand, and I yanked.  Rocked Jane straight up but still on her knees,
bellied against the front of the couch.  Her tits swung free then,
and I reminded myself to maybe forgive Sugarplum a little quicker
next time.

Huge, soft tits.  Ripe, delicious tits.  Okay, so Ginger had swell
taste in tits, but it was still a shame about the lezzie part.  I
dragged the rough side of my belt leather across her nipples.  Both
of 'em filled right out.  I did it again, just to feel the
difference with 'em already stiff.  Nice.

Damn, my nose hurt.

I let go of Jane's hair and shoved her back to where she had been,
doubled over the cushions with her ass high, wide and handsome.  I
reminded her one more time that I didn't want any noise out of her,
and then I stepped back and swung, hard as I could.

"UNNNHHHHH."

I'll give her credit -- she didn't scream.  Over and over again,
I whipped the belt into her ass cheeks, her thighs, her pussy lips.
I'm pretty good with a belt, if I do say so myself, and the one I
had on that day was new and pretty stiff, and easy to control.

At some point I realized that Jane's grunts had changed.  I had
fallen into a rhythm, and she didn't seem to be fighting it the
same way she had been.  Didn't seem to be -- something -- I don't
know what.  It was just different.

She was sure as hell still hurting.  Every blow dragged a moan and an
animal cry from her throat.  Tears and snot ran down her face and
smeared the cushions on the couch -- made that gorgeous blonde hair
stick to her face like shredded sheets of wet, golden Kleenex.

I paused.

"Jane.  Listen to me.  Say `I'm sorry I fucked Ginger.'"

"I'm sorry I fucked Ginger."  She was crying softly.  "Please.
Please, no more," she said, choking.  Her sobbing grew louder.

I swear I don't know how I missed the canes.  There were rattan
canes in the umbrella stand.  Over by the bookcase.  One, two,
three, more.  Jesus, there must've been half a dozen.  Couldn't
believed I'd overlooked 'em.  Must have been the pampas grass in
there with the canes that made me miss the things.

I shoved the coffee table up against Jane's ass.  Not any kind of
permanent trap, just something to slow her down if she tried to bolt.
She didn't look like she was going anywhere, but you never know.

I found the cane I wanted -- medium length, thin, uniform.  I
slid the thing out of the umbrella stand and turned to face Jane.
Tried it out for feel.  Short, bursty, whistling sound.  Whippy
feel to it.  There is a God.

I walked slowly back to the couch, punctuating my steps with the
airborne hiss of the cane.  Every time I'd swing at air, Jane
would flinch.

I slid the coffee table out of the way and admired my earlier
handiwork.  Jane's ass and thighs were lit up like Times Square on
New Year's Eve.  I placed the tip of the cane against Jane's tight
little bumhole and pressed.

"Jane, I want you to understand everything I'm gonna tell you.  If
you are listening to me -- real careful-like -- say yes."

"Yes."

Jane was breathing hard, like a quarter horse in the home stretch
at Pimlico.

"I am going to give you twenty cuts of this thing.  You give me
any trouble, and I'll make it thirty more.  I'm gonna pause between
every one of 'em, and I want you to think about what you did to
me, what you almost did to me and Ginger.  Comprende?"

She was still sobbing, but she nodded.

I laid the cane gently across Jane's ass, at the spot I intended to
hit on the first swing.  I let it rest there for a while, rocking it
slightly, letting her feel the thing, its size, its texture.  I
didn't say a word.  But she did.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry," she moaned.  It was a litany
of regret, straight from the heart and the cunt.  Tears poured out
of her, and she was gulping again.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."

I let fly.  Hiss.  The abrupt, harsh, nasty sound of cane on flesh.
Jane's high, keening shriek -- almost a hiss of her own.  I remember
thinking, hell, maybe this _will_ let her air out.

That was one.

More swings, more babbled apologies, more tears, more hisses and
snaps from the cane, more shrieks.  But when I was between the
eleventh and twelfth cuts, her words changed.

I couldn't hear what she was saying, and the change threw me off.
I stopped and leaned over, closer to her face, trying to hear her
words.  At least my nose had quit hurting so much.

"Fdkl mmj."

Ah, hell, this was useless.  Couldn't make out any of it.

"Jane, hon, do we hafta work on your diction, too?  Take a deep breath,
take your time, and tell me what you just said."

And so help me God -- turn me into a Republican and drown me in
fairy piss -- what the girl said next made all the hurt in my nose
go away.

"Fuck me," she gurgled.

It was barely audible.  I thought I was dreaming or going crazy.
Couldn't be, not this one.

"I can't hear you, hon," I said, in what I hoped was a calm and clear
voice.

"Fuck me," she repeated, still sobbing but speaking more loudly.
"Fuck me.  Please.  Now."

I gotta admit that my cock ran away from my brain.  This big, blousy
blonde -- just the way Ginger likes 'em -- tied up, ass-whipped and
begging to be fucked, was plain more than I could take.  Here I was,
giving this broad hell for screwing Ginger, and I was suddenly ready
to kill to screw her myself.  Go figure.

I still had nine cuts to go with the cane, though, and I couldn't
back down from that.  I needed time to think.

I reached down below Jane's hogtied hands and grabbed her cunt
lips.  I must've broken some kind of surface tension or something.
It was like the broad just opened up and dribbled pent-up juices
all over the place -- my fingers, her thighs, everywhere.  Wet to
her knees.  I'll never understand how that stuff works.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, shoved a handful of underwear
down and hauled out my assets.  I let my balls hang out, wedged
into the bottom of the open fly.  At that point, I didn't much
give a damn what might get caught in the zipper teeth.

Cool air hit my cock.  I thought I was gonna lose my mind.  Might
as well go for broke.  I rubbed slow, slick circles on Jane's clit
with my middle finger, and her sobbing turned to gasps.

"I'm gonna finish what I started, hon, but I want you to tell me
after every one of the cuts you still got comin' to you the same
thing you just whispered to me."

I laid the twelfth cut straight across her ass, halfway between her
asshole and the bottom of her pussy lips.

"FUCK ME," she screamed.  It was choked and pained, but she got it
out.

Number thirteen went midway up her thighs.

"FUUUCK MEEEE.  FUUUCK MEEEE, PLEEEEEEASE."

I barely remember fourteen through twenty.  I was near-insane by
then.  My cock felt like a superheated steam boiler, ready to
explode.

I knelt down behind Jane and sank into her pussy in one big, wet
push.  Ahhh, God, that was heaven.  I could feel the heat of her
whipped ass on my belly.

I grabbed my pocketknife from where I'd left it on the couch and
cut away the stockings on Jane's wrists.  I kept a close eye on
her when her arms freed up, just to make sure she wasn't gonna
go nuts on me.

She didn't.  One hand went to a nipple, the other to her puss.  If
anything, my balls were getting the worst of it from her frantic
crotch-hand.

I threw one arm around her waist, grabbed her hair with my free
hand and pounded like a piledriver.  Her sobs and moans and shrieks
all kind of ran together about then, and the pitch of the sounds she
was making started rising.

On impulse, I pulled out of her.

"NOOOOOO!!!!!" she screamed, still with all that mixed-up sobbing and
stuff.

Just as quickly, I nestled my cockhead -- still sopping from her
juices -- at her back door.  Her reaction was like a reflex.  She
hitched her ass up, just a little higher, and pushed and wiggled
against my dick, still moaning, still rubbing her pleasure parts.

I felt her ass muscle relax and open up.  Slick as I was, it was a
piece of cake to get in.

I started sliding, slowly at first, then picked up speed, pounding
away again.  Jane started rubbing and bucking, and I swear I might
have lost consciousness a few seconds later.  I don't know what
kind of state Jane was in at that point, but I do remember hearing
these weird, inhuman, wounded-animal grunts and howls from her as
she thrashed around like a damn maniac, writhing, still impaled
on my cock.

Lord.

Jane collapsed there on the couch, shuddering like a Studebaker on
washboard gravel, wheezing like a busted accordion, sweating like
a glass of ice water in New Orleans in August, babbling, gurgling,
moaning, sobbing.  I lay on top of her back, doing all the same
things, for all I know.

Slowly, she started to calm down.  We must've stayed like that,
sharing my dick, for ten minutes.

Finally, I stirred.  And I noticed Jane's smile for the first time.
It was literally the first time I had seen the broad smile.  She
spoke first.

"Ginger was right," she said.

"Huh?"

"Ginger was right.  She told me this was how I should play it."

Sonofabitch.  Sugarplum's done it to me again.

At least my nose didn't hurt any more.

                             *  *  *