Hi, y'all,
This is an "early Lily" effort which, to the best of my knowledge, hasn't seen the light o'day for a couple of years. It's a story involving a really lousy day and the M/F spanking of a young lady. Naturally, if you're under 18, you can go read Mother Goose's version of Miss Muffet. If you're older, and you like this kind of thing, I hope you enjoy this. Love, Lily
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet Eating her curds and whey. Along came a spider and sat down beside her And frightened Miss Muffet away.
If Little Miss Muffet had decided to tough it And opted instead to stay, The spider might well have asked her to tell What she sees in those curds anywhey.
It was Friday. Mary Anne Muffett looked disconsolately at her cottage cheese. She didn't believe she had enough will power to raise the spoon to her lips one more time, despite the colorful strips of papaya that decorated the lumpy white stuff. She was on Day 12 of the new Hollywood-Wilshire Blvd Movie Star Wonder Pounds Off Diet, all the rage in LaLa Land. It consisted of eating cottage cheese, the curds and whey of the 90's, for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the boredom punctuated only with the different exotic fruits one could consume with the bland fare. It was really hard to find good ripe mango this time of year in a northern clime, but Mary Anne was always very disciplined for the first two weeks of any diet, and paid the dear price at the A & P for the imported fruits the regimen called for.
The fashion industry and her bedroom mirror told Mary Anne she was a chubbette. But there were others who would merely have called her rounded, womanly figure "ripe." She carried ten or twelve pounds more than the height/weight chart might dictate for a 5'4" small-boned lady, but she carried them in all the right places. Her round, perfect bottom may not have been a size 4, but it was firm and jutted pertly out from her silky thighs. Generous breasts and smooth, slightly plump limbs would have made her a 50's goddess, but branded her chubby by today's anorexic standards.
Life wasn't always fair, she knew. She'd broken a fingernail this morning while prying the lid off the new carton of cottage cheese, a $25 silk nail job she'd have to repair. Her hair wouldn't cooperate as she tried to whip it into submission, the sink was leaking, and her car had been acting up. And she had to eat this bland mess instead of a maple bar smothered in creamy frosting.
She choked down more cottage cheese, and left for work, grumbling and feeling a bit light headed. Her job at the bank suited her well, as Mary Anne was a highly organized person who liked the perfect balance of her accounts at the end of the day. She considered the endless stream of customers a bit tiresome, since many of them came to her teller station quite unprepared for their transactions or with sloppily calculated deposit slips, but she understood the bank needed customers if she were to continue her gainful employment there. She managed to conceal her irritation with most of them, and took care of their banking business with her usual quiet efficiency.
And there was no other bank on earth where she'd rather have been employed, because that's where Roland Chambers presided as Branch Vice President. Miss Muffett was head over heels in love with the dapper young executive, and eagerly rushed to the bank each day to catch her first breathtaking view of him when he strode in precisely at 9 a.m. wearing a beautifully cut dark pin stripe and gleaming white shirt.
Today was no exception, and her heart skipped a beat when he nodded his usual good morning to her. Her expression darkened, however, when she noted the way his smile widened when he greeted Amber Johnson. Hussy! Mary Anne sniffed in irritation at the way the other teller simpered at Mr. Chambers and batted her long eyelashes at him. Amber was long-legged, sported a mane of thick curls that matched her given name in rich tawny color, and had a sexy way of moving that made Miss Muffett grit her teeth. "She'll have back trouble by the time she's forty, mark my words," Mary Anne often told her mother on the phone, when describing the roll of Amber's hips encased in her tight skirts.
By 3 o'clock Mary Anne's already grim mood had darkened considerably, as it seemed to her that Mr. Chambers was especially attentive to Amber throughout the day. Then her least favorite customer contrived to stand in her line and her vexation was complete.
It was Humphrey Wiggams. She couldn't stand the man. He was always smiling at her with his big happy smile, telling her she looked very nice, or mentioning her hairdo. He was a large, shy man who worked as a computer repairman, and did quite well at it, she knew, judging from his growing bank account and substantial weekly deposits. He became tongue-tied around Mary Anne, stuttering often, and getting his numbers mixed up on his paperwork. She was always just this side of snippy to him, refusing to acknowledge his compliments or his smile. All business, she was, the quicker to get the big oaf on his way.
There he was beaming at her, dressed in his usual wardrobe of blue jeans, plain oxford open-necked shirt, and tweed jacket with those patches on the elbows, too casual in her opinion to wear into the business offices where he plied his trade.
"Hello, Mi-Miss M-M-M-Muffett," he stammered. "And m-may I say you are looking very b-b-b-b- pretty today?"
"Please, Mr. Wiggams," she said crisply. "There are people waiting in line. How may I help you this afternoon?"
He blushed deeply and pushed his blue deposit bag at her. She let him know by a little tsk of her tongue that she would just have to rewrite his deposit slip because of all the cross-outs he had on his original. She hurried through the transaction, anxious to catch a glimpse of Mr. Chambers, who was just walking an important customer to the door of the bank. Humphrey Wiggams tried to venture a comment about the lovely spring weather, but she cut him off with a short, "Next, please."
Ralph, the security guard, had gone home ill that afternoon, and Mr. Chambers said he would handle the lock up procedure at the bank. Lingering much longer than was her habit at closing time, hoping to find some excuse to speak to him , Mary Anne took her deposit into the vault quite late. Normally she was the first one in each night, since her station was so efficiently run that she could balance her accounts very swiftly. She was such a creature of routine that her deliberate dawdling was clearly not expected by Mr. Chambers or he might never have been engaged in the terrible activity which Mary Anne stumbled across. There in a corner of the big vault, behind a bank of filing cabinets, stood Mr. Chambers, legs apart, head thrown back as though in exquisite agony. The cause of his expression was Amber, who was on her knees in front of his open fly, her mouth busily sucking away at Mr. Chambers' engorged organ.
So taken aback was Mary Anne, that she turned and flew from the vault, rushing out the door of the bank in tears. She could barely turn her key in the lock of her little Honda, her hands were shaking so badly. Blindly she drove from the parking lot, unable to stop the keening sound coming from her throat. She was furious, she was crushed, she was embarrassed, she was murderous, she was HUNGRY!
Three blocks from the bank she spotted a fast food place and pulled up to the drive in menu/speaker device. "Double Bacon Cheeseburger," she said fiercely, "a large order of fries, a single order of onion rings and a chocolate shake. And SCREW cottage cheese!" she added viciously.
"Uh, sure, lady," came the clearly teen-aged voice over the speaker tinnily. "Please pull up to Window 2."
She grabbed the white sack and threw it down on the seat next to her, driving faster than was her usual cautious habit, aimlessly moving down streets unfamiliar to her. At last she pulled off the street into a complex of industrial-looking buildings, and nosed into an area where she could eat in peace. If you've never been on a fad diet, you may never understand the way a hamburger can taste, especially with a chocolate chaser, after a long abstinence. But Mary Anne knew, and she savored every artery-clogging gulp, alternately reveling in the rich flavors and cursing the ground her treacherous boss walked on.
At last, sated, she decided to go pick up a cheesecake at the bakery, rent some tear-jerker movies so she'd have an excuse for her swollen eyes in the morning, and contemplate career moves. But before she could start the motor, she burst into tears and sat there sobbing for an hour. Finally cried out, at least till she got home, she wiped her reddened eyes, blew furiously into a sodden tissue, and looked around for the first time. It was dark, she noted with surprise, and she really had no idea where she was. Had she turned right or left to get in here?
She pulled out onto the street, straining to see the signs at the dimly lit corners. Run-down houses and outbuildings dotted the streets, separated by junk-strewn empty lots. She was in a very bad neighborhood, she realized, and had no idea how to get back to the part of town she recognized. Then her worst nightmare unfolded, and she knew she wasn't asleep. The engine sputtered, coughed, and caught again.
"Oh, oh!" she thought.
The car shuddered a little and she saw she was losing speed. Ahead she could see the bright neon of some kind of cafe or bar, and she nosed the car toward the lights. She could see no other sign of a business that was open at this time of night, and had no wish to approach one of the ramshackle houses, where she could see the flickering blue of TVs through grimy windows. Once more the motor cut out, and then....silence. The car drifted to a stop as she fought the sudden loss of power steering and brakes.
"Oh NO!" she cried. "Damn!" She pounded the steering wheel ineffectually. Wishing she'd bought that cellular phone after all, she finally grabbed her purse and got out, locking up her car carefully, and picking her way in her high heels down the remaining block and a half toward the cafe.
"MAMA GEORGE'S BAR & GRILL" the garish sign declared, and the windows were awash in neon beer logos. It was the sight of at least 20 huge motorcycles parked out front of the establishment that caused Mary Anne's heart to lodge in her throat, however. She had read about Hell's Angels, and had seen movies about big ugly bikers, like the ones with Clint Eastwood and the ape, and was terrified to walk into the place in her bank-teller outfit. Looking desperately around for an outside phone booth, however, she could see no choice but to step inside and see if she could call for a tow truck. "Somebody up there HATES me!" she wailed to herself.
Raucous laughter blended with the gut-stirring bass backbeat from the stereo as some country rock song blared out the front door. She could smell the cigarettes clear outside, and could see the air was blue with smoke inside. Gulping timorously, she took a deep breath and walked through the door. Every head turned to look at the arrival of this alien creature in their habitat.
She took in the array of men and a few women, all dressed in what she considered to be the stereotypical biker uniforms. Several wore denim vests with the logo "Road Warriors" stitched on the backs. There were more tattoos in evidence than on a Singapore back street, displayed in all their glory on chests bare save for open vests, and arms in shirts with the sleeves torn away. Two pool tables were surrounded by players and onlookers, and the bar was lined with drinkers lifting heavy mugs of brew. She asked a man standing near the doorway to direct her to a phone, and he politely pointed at a pay phone in the corner.
Her mouth gaped open when she saw the big biker nearest her turn to see what everyone was staring at. The look of shock and recognition was mirrored on his own large features.
"HUMPHREY!" she cried.
He quickly grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her off to a corner of the bar, Mary Anne stumbling dumbly behind the leather clad giant. "H-humphrey! Mr. Wiggams! What on earth...?"
"In here it's Spyder," he told her. When he saw her confounded stare, he added lamely, "We all have biker names in here. Mine's Spyder. See?" He showed her the tattoo of a huge black widow clinging to a web which decorated the bicep of his right arm.
She noted with one part of her confused brain that Mr. Wiggam did not stutter at all. She, on the other hand, seemed unable to control her tongue. "B-b-but..."
"I can see you're surprised, Miss Muffett, uh, Mary Anne," he told her. "I only do this on the weekends. Actually everyone in here is just a weekend biker."
She recovered her senses enough to look around the room, and saw several faces she almost recognized. Was that Ed Harper, the hardware store owner? Surely not, he had a big bald spot, and this man had shoulder length hair. Following her amazed stare, he said in a lowered tone, "It's a rug."
"I can't believe you came in here, tonight, Mary Anne," he told her. "It's like a dream come true! Every time I see you in the bank I wish I could take you out for a ride on my big bike. I have one of the best Harleys made."
Eyes wide, she looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"It's a Harley FLHT--you must have seen it in the parking lot. It's the one with the big side bags. Midnight blue, lots of chrome? I took the liberty of airbrushing 'Miss Muffett' on the fairing."
Something in her snapped, and she suddenly jumped to her feet, regaining the icy disdain she regarded him with at the bank. "I don't give a rip about your stupid old bike," she shouted. "Get away from me! I just came in here to use the damn telephone! My car, my car..."
Someone had unplugged the juke box, and Mary Anne realized she had the undivided attention of every person in the joint. Caution should have shut her mouth, but she had had a reeeeally bad day. Went off her diet, broke a nail, car quit, Roland getting head from... God!
Her anger erupted like Mt. St. Helens and she blew smoke and hot ash over anyone near her.
"What in the hell are you all staring at?" she demanded angrily. "What's that matter with you people?"
Smirks were exchanged by several of the patrons. Eyes watched Spyder for his reaction. One of the girls in cut-offs so short you could see the rose tattoo on her left buttock cheeks, whispered to the short, thick-bodied biker next to her, "She's gonna get her ass beat, wait and see."
"I just came in this, this DUMP to use the phone because my car broke down. Look at you. 'Weekend warriors.' You look like a bunch of kids playing tough guys. You're pathetic, you know that? All of you! Big deal! Big hairy deal!"
Spyder stood up and towered over her. "You know something, Mary Anne?" he said, with an ominous note in his voice. "I have always thought you were the prettiest little thing whenever I come into the bank. You always treat me with that high-handed attitude, but I've never minded. But you're going too far when you talk like that to my friends. We're not hurting anybody. We have a great time on our bikes, and we help motorists in trouble. I think it's time you learned some manners, little lady."
"What are you talking about, you ugly dweeb?" she said, unwisely. "Just get out of my way and let me get out of here!"
But Spyder wasn't having any of it. He easily hoisted the squirming girl out of her chair and dragged her over to the nearest pool table, where the patrons of the bar and grill respectfully got out of his way. "Mama George," said Spyder to the heavy, hirsute woman behind the bar, "let's introduce Mary Anne here to the Adjuster."
Mary Anne was awash with confusing impressions. She was completely outflanked and knew it. Adjuster? Was there an insurance man in the bar? She was mad, but she already knew she had been out of line to insult the people here. They hadn't menaced her in any way, and she had no right to judge them. Clearly Humphrey was angry at her, and he had always been so nice even when she was not. She was vaguely ashamed of herself, but also desperate to get out of there.
Something was being handed across the bar and passed along from patron to patron. To her rising alarm, Mary Anne saw that it was a lengthy leather implement with a leather-bound grip. "Mary Anne," began Spyder. "We call this the Adjuster. When one of our babes gets out of line, we just turn up her butt and give her a few licks of this, and she settles right down. Isn't that right, ladies?"
Several of the girls nodded, one leggy brunette unconsciously rubbing her bottom as she evidently recalled the Adjuster's kiss.
"I think your unwarranted rudeness is cause for an old- fashioned, bare-bottomed spanking, Miss Muffett. As far as I'm concerned, it's long overdue. We'll be rectifying that situation right now."
"You, you! Don't you DARE even THINK about touching me. I'll sue you within an inch of your life!" she sputtered, trying to loosen his vice like grip on her.
"Well, you'd have to prove something first, wouldn't you?" he said, meaningfully. "I think you'd have a tough time getting anyone here to say they saw a blinkin' thing, isn't that right, guys?" She saw answering nods of confirmation.
He didn't waste any more words, but instead pushed her down across the pool table. "Killer," Spyder said to a bearded man in a dark tee-shirt, "hold her hands." The man grabbed Mary Anne's wrists and held them firmly in his strong hands. This had the effect of stretching her out taut across the table, its height causing her to stand on tip toe and raising her plump little buttocks high in the air.
Spyder flipped her pleated skirt up over her back, and she shrieked in rage. "Get your hands off me! What are you doing?"
He was implacable, however, and pulled her pantyhose down to her ankles where they lay in a diaphanous heap, followed by her white waist-high "sensible" panties. She stood in the center of the smokey bar, her bared bottom lifted up at the edge of the green felt pool table for everyone to see. She sputtered, threatened and pleaded to be let up. Her humiliation was more than she could bear.
"Mary Anne, I think you're the prettiest little thing," Spyder said, "but you need to learn some manners, missy. I'm going to spank you right here in front of everybody until you admit you were rude and promise not to act like that anymore."
A man of few words, but true to the ones he did speak, Spyder lifted the leather paddle and brought it whistling down with a crisp smack on her bared left globe. "AYYYEEEEE!" Mary Anne screamed, as the bite of the leather stung into her tender bum.
THWACK! "Waaaaaahhh!" she bawled. SMACK! CRACK! Over and over he brought the paddle expertly down on her bottom, painting it a wonderful crimson hue. She bucked and sobbed and thrashed, trying to move her poor stinging bottom out of the path of the inexorable paddle, but Spyder never missed a stroke.
The heat was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Her bottom was on fire, yet the flames were licking at the core of her sex at the same time. Unbidden thoughts of Amber's head bobbing up and down on the engorged shaft of Roland's big cock flooded her tortured mind, causing her slit to become more and more slippery. She thought about the size of the big man who had turned up her white bottom in front of all these people and how nice he'd always been to her at the bank and how rotten she'd treated him. Maybe she'd misjudged the man. But how can that be? Here he was paddling her poor exposed bottom with a huge paddle in front of a bunch of bikers and their chicks. Oh God, how had this come to be?
Finally, she knew she could bear no more and screamed, "Pleeeeasse! I'm sorry! I'm ssoooooorrreeeeee!"
He left off the rhythmic spanking, and rubbed his large hands over her well-spanked cheeks. "Do you have something you'd like to say to my friends here and to Mama George?"
"P-lease!" she cried. "I shouldn't, shouldn't have been rude. Please don't spank me any more. I'll be good!" She almost added, "I'll be good, Daddy," feeling for all the world like she had when her Dad had decided she needed a good licking.
"What do you think, guys?" asked Spyder.
"Ten more!" came the response from several of the spectators.
"NOOOOOO!" she begged, egging the crowd to form a chorus.
"Ten more. Ten more. Ten more." The chant went on.
"Sorry, Mary Anne," said Spyder, though his voice held no trace of regret. "You're going to get ten more spanks."
And get them she did. One. Two. Three. Her bottom was blazing, giving off an incandescent ruby light of its own. Seven. Eight. The crowd called the strokes. Nine. TEN!!!
Mary Anne was on fire. She had a burning need deep in her core to be filled with that bulge she could clearly see on the front of Spyder's leather pants. She felt utterly wanton, her tears cleansing and emptying. If her years of repressed femininity hadn't gotten in the way, she'd have begged him to take her right on the spot. As it was, she barely knew how to act when her wrists were released and Spyder helped her to stand up.
She stepped out of her pantyhose and left them in a heap on the floor, but slid her panties up over her throbbing buttocks. Her face was covered in a wall-to-wall blush, but she managed to sputter, "I, I'm truly sorry for behaving like that. I..."
The crowd erupted with a jolly cheer, and several people gave her heavy-handed pats on the shoulders, almost knocking her off her shakey pins. Spyder swooped her up in his big strong arms, taking care to hold her by the backs of her thighs instead of her bottom.
"I'm gonna give Mary Anne here a ride home. She can call a garage tomorrow. Have a great weekend, everybody!" he called out cheerfully.
The bikers all waved good-naturedly at their long-time friend as he stomped out of the bar with Mary Anne clinging weakly to his neck. He put her gently on the back of his huge 1340CC Harley, noting with satisfaction her wince as her hot spanked bottom connected with the cool leather of his passenger seat. He put his big helmet on her head.
"I'm going to take you home, little girl, and teach you some more about manners," he yelled, firing up the powerful motor.
The vibration from the cycle sent thrilling signals into her sensitive, wide-spread slit, adding to the delicious heat her hard spanking had created there. She leaned forward to yell back to him. "Let's go to my place. But we have to stop at the store first. All I have to eat is cottage cheese!"
Little Miss Muffett needed a tuffet Because her bum had been spanked on. As she sat astraddle Spyder's big leather saddle She knew she'd get more than she'd banked on.