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What would you do for ten thousand dollars? A struggling actress is given an opportunity for a large payday and all she has to do to earn it is to participate in a game. The game is a variation of hide-and-seek, a hunt in the woods, and she is among several young, athletic women who have been offered ten thousand dollars to be "prey" for the hunters. Sounds easy. The catch? There are forfeits to be paid by the losers of the game and the forfeits will be humiliating and painful. Public spankings will be administered to some. For others, lots will be drawn to determine their fates. Those forfeits will include formal public punishments administered by a professional disciplinarian with implements and apparatus reminiscent of the 17th century including stocks, whipping posts and the birch rod. Against this backdrop Cindy Morgan, a young actress, meets Mark Hudson, a handsome and curious thrill seeker drawn to the game for reasons he does not fully understand. A romantic attraction quickly develops between the two, but Cindy is conflicted. She is drawn to Mark, but fears the fate that would befall her as one of the captured "foxes." Can she have it both ways? Let the games begin!
Chapter One - An Intriguing Proposal
"Drat!" said Cindy as she flipped through her mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. And the money was running out. Where was Rudy, her damn agent? Not a call in 3 weeks. Every time she called him it was all ways "things will open up soon; or, there is a new show starting and I know the producer". But nothing ever came of it. Cindy knew in her heart she was a first class dancer and a darn good actress, too. She kept up with her study at the Midtown dance studio and worked out religiously. It showed. Cindy was a honey-haired blonde, 5' 5", her 120 lbs distributed in all the right places. She had well sculpted dancer's legs and smallish but well formed breasts, creamy skin and a pert heart-shaped ass that wiggled deliciously in the short skirts and tight slacks that she favored.
She knew she had to find something soon or she would have to slink home to Texas and admit defeat. They would all say "I told you so", like she wasn't tough enough for the Big Apple. Well she would show them. Even if it took dancing as a stripper in some sleazy club, she would survive. She was tough enough, damn it!
She was still building up a nice head of steam about small town minds and nay sayers when she noticed the blinking message light on the phone. She hit the play button. Like a gift from the gods, Rudy Bannerman's thick “Brooklyn-ese” emanated from the message machine.
"Sorry it’s been a while, kid, but hey, I may have something for ‘ya. It's only a weekend gig but it pays well. I don't know much about it, myself, but do yourself a favor and call a Mr. Arcado at 456-9008. He's the one with all the details. Good luck!"
Great! Finally, a possible job. She wasted no time and dialed the number. A gentleman answered. He sounded cultured, and spoke formal and correct English with a European accent. She couldn't place it. Spanish perhaps?
"Uh, Mr Arcado? This is Cindy Morgan. My agent, Mr. Bannerman gave me your number."
"Ahh...yes, Ms Morgan. I am so glad you called. Rudy spoke very highly of you. Yes, we may have need of your talents. Let me explain briefly, and then if you are interested, we can meet and I will describe this situation in more detail."
"Yes, that would be fine". She was more than ready to hear about a gig.
"Good. I represent a company called Fantasies Unlimited. We own resort property all over the world, and we have a resort in the Carolinas. It's a full service resort and spa situated on a 2000 acre private preserve. We would like to fly you to our resort for a weekend to have you participate in a game, an athletic contest of sorts, a fantasy that we have prepared for some very wealthy patrons of ours."
A game? What was this?
"What sort of game, Mr Arcado? I'm a dancer and an actress, not an athlete."
"But you are an athlete, Ms Morgan. You are a dancer in tip top condition. You work out and run regularly, and you played varsity tennis in high school."
How did he know all that?
"You seem to know a lot about me, Mr. Arcado."
"We have done our homework, Ms Morgan. Let me be blunt. We would like to engage you, and we are prepared to pay you 10,000 dollars for one weekend of work."
Whaaaat? $10,000?? That was more than she would see in 3 months!
"Are you serious?" Cindy blurted, still not believing.
"I am very serious Ms Morgan. If you wish to know more about this opportunity, I would like for you meet me in the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton, tonight. I apologize, but our time frame is rather short."
"Yes...yes...I am very interested. What time?"
"Meet me at 9:00. I'll have a table."
"How will I know you?"
"I'll know you, Ms Morgan."
Cindy entered the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton precisely at nine. She did not want to be late. She wore a cocktail dress, having decided to go for understated elegance. It was a short little black dress that displayed her lithe body to perfection. As she walked in and looked around, she saw a tall distinguished looking man in an expensive suit rise from his table and approach her, smiling. He was tanned and had a thin moustache, his hair graying at the temples. He looked to be in his late forties.
"Ms Morgan, it's a pleasure," he said, extending his hand, "Thank you for coming. I'm Alex Arcado. Please sit down."
"Thank you, Mr. Arcado," said Cindy, smiling as he pulled out a chair for her.
"What will you have to drink?"
"Thank you. I think a white wine, Mr Arcado."
They chatted pleasantly, killing time until the drinks arrived. Arcado was an international traveler, Cindy learned, and a charming host. He asked her about her career and seemed genuinely interested in her experiences in the New York theatre scene. She had started in on her recent difficulty finding work when Arcado interjected.
"That's where we may be of some service, Ms Morgan. As I mentioned, this job pays $10,000 for one weekend."
"It sounds so mysterious, Mr. Arcado. Why me and what do I have to do?"
"Let me explain. Fantasies Unlimited is in the business of setting up and facilitating fantasy adventures. We cater to a select and extremely wealthy clientele. The resort property in the Carolinas used to be a game preserve for hunters. We have turned it into a game preserve of a different sort. We use this private preserve to play a very sophisticated game of fox and hounds, or if you prefer, hide-and-go-seek. When we set up a weekend adventure like this, about 100 guests arrive on a Friday, along with the "foxes" who will be hunted. On Saturday the game begins. Six young women such as yourself, are the ‘foxes’, the guests are the ‘hounds’. You are transported to remote areas of the estate and are given an hour head start. The ‘hounds’ if you will, wait one hour and then set out to find and capture you. If you evade capture until 4pm when the siren sounds, you have won. If you are captured, well, you are captured."
Wow! How bizarre! I guess it's true, the rich are not like the rest of us.
"It sounds so simple. A game of chase in the woods. And you will pay me $10,000 to play? What's the catch?"
"These are very wealthy and sophisticated individuals, Ms Morgan. Thrill seekers I may say, and in order to make things more exciting for all, the game has been, well... spiced up a bit. You see, if you are captured there is a forfeit to be paid. Whether you are captured or not, you still get the $10,000, but the possibility of the forfeit keeps you on your toes. It adds extra incentive for you to evade capture. After all, the easiest way to earn the $10,000 would be to simply sit down under a tree and wait to be found. We wouldn't want that. It would be boring and pointless."
"So what is this forfeit? Do I have to push a peanut across the floor with my nose or something?" giggled Cindy. "Like some sorority initiation stunt?"
"Not exactly, Ms Morgan, but it is embarrassing and a bit painful."� Arcado's eyes bored into hers. " You see, Ms Morgan, if you are captured you will be soundly spanked by the man or woman who captures you. Then later, you’ll be chastised again... quite publicly, I’m afraid. It will happen that evening, after supper, for the entertainment of all the guests."
Cindy jerked upright. "Spanked? In public? Are you serious?" Now she understood the reason for the large amount of money for a seemingly innocent bit of fun.
"Yes, if you get caught, your capturer, as a reward, gets to administer a somewhat humiliating but hopefully mild spanking in front of the others. Then later that evening you will be led into the ballroom, stripped naked, tied to a post or other device and given a formal flogging. I can tell you that it could sting a bit, but it is not a brutal punishment. Specially made implements are used, by a professional trained in that use, that do not damage the skin. In a week there will be no sign that it ever happened. We have a doctor on duty who will dispense special healing salve afterwards to alleviate the momentary discomfort."
Cindy thought carefully. It sounded like madness. A perverse Fantasy Island. The possibility of being whipped stark naked in front of strangers! Not to mention a childish spanking! But it was $10,000, guaranteed! It would pay the rent for quite awhile. As she pondered, Arcado added,
"If you do evade capture, you will attend the evening banquet as a guest, with the other guests. But because you escaped, someone else must take your place at the whipping post or the frame. Please understand, these are thrill seekers and risk takers. So they have elected to put themselves on the line as well. For each ‘fox’ that escapes, two names are drawn by lot, and each of those pair will be chastised in your place. Each one will have to disrobe before the assembly and assume the position you would have taken and accept your forfeit. So you see, the stakes have been raised to make the game interesting, and quite a bit more exciting. Any one of the hounds could find him or herself bound to the post awaiting the lash. And, incidentally, since the paying guests put themselves in the same jeopardy as the paid "foxes" you know the lashing is only moderately severe, not overly so."
"Who..who actually does the... er whipping?"
"Experts on contract, specially trained and brought in for this event. You see, you will not be flogged everywhere on your person. The lashes, like the spanking, are to be administered only on the backside, primarily to your naked �bottom where there is the most ah... padding, if you will. Tell me, were you spanked as a child? Do you know what that feels like? Perhaps you were caned at school, or, I suppose here in the states I should say, paddled?"
Her blush answered his question.
She most certainly had been paddled. She flashed back to an incident that had occurred when she was in high school. She had been 17, a senior on the cheerleading squad. Like all new seniors they started out the year thinking they could get away with anything. After the afternoon away game at East High she and Betsy and Linda had hitched a ride with some cute boys instead of going back on the bus like they were supposed to. Much later, after a few stops, they arrived back at school to find a very angry assistant principal, Mrs. Ramsey, waiting for them. A tall powerfully built woman in her 40's, 'Ragin' Ramsey', as she was known, was a formidable disciplinarian.
�She was too angry to deal with them then and told them to report to her office after school on Monday. They were stunned when, on Monday, a stern-visaged Mrs Ramsey presented them with permission slips -- for a paddling! A six swat paddling, no less--the maximum permitted. But the school could not administer a paddling without parental permission. Since none of them wanted their parents to know what they had done, they could not show their parents the permission slips. And so they agonized and plotted over what to do. The alternative was suspension for a week, and the cat would be out of the bag if that happened as well. They decided to take the paddling, but in order to cover up the incident, they had to forge their parents' signatures on the permission slips.
It had taken place on Wednesday afternoon after cheerleading practice. They went to Mrs. Ramsey's office and all three handed her the permission slips. She perused the slips for a moment. They had looked nervously at each other. Apparently satisfied, she called in her secretary to witness punishment, and pulled a solid looking wooden paddle from a drawer and tapped it against her palm. They had all gulped in fear at the sight of the paddle. It was made of some hardwood, maple or something, 18" long and 4" wide and 1/2" thick. There were two rows of holes down the length of it.
�One at a time they bent over the desk, elbows flat, buttocks presented for punishment. Mrs Ramsey had flipped up each short cheerleader skirt, rubbed the paddle across the green satin panties they wore underneath and had drawn back her arm. Then, crack! and a band of fire was felt across a wobbling schoolgirl fanny. Each lick with that awful paddle had sounded a loud SPLAT! in that little room. Each one had stung like blazes! She had given just one lick, then the next miscreant would have to assume the humiliating position. The painful procedure had been repeated: flip the skirt up, press the paddle against a firm cheerleader posterior, then SPLAT! Another stinging swat. No one could stay in position. With each hard swat each girl would yowl and shoot straight up clutching her tender fanny. After three they were dancing and blubbering and crying, but Ragin’ Ramsey had been unmoved. She would merely point with the awful paddle and say, "Next". The paddle line went around all six times. Six painful times to bend across that desk with only thin panties for protection from that blistering paddle. Cindy recalled that as she had regarded her backside in the mirror that night, her bottom had been red and swollen.
These thoughts came rushing back to Cindy as she contemplated Mr Arcado's offer. But wasn't the possibility of a stinging backside worth $10,000? She could take it if it came to that. She was tough, dammit!
"If you decide to accept our offer, I am prepared to present you with a contract. If you sign it, a deposit of $5000 will be made to your account immediately. The other $5000 will be placed in your account when you are on board our corporate jet and on your way to the resort."
When it's too late to turn back, thought Cindy.
"If you need time to consider..."
"I'll do it."
"....our offer...you'll do it?" asked Arcado.
"I'll do it. Where do I sign?"
So it was that three days later Cindy found herself on Fantasies' private jet winging her way toward North Carolina. It was a luxurious craft and she was treated like royalty. An attendant saw to her every need. A girl could get used to this, she thought. The only reminder of her possible fate that weekend came when she remarked to the cute hostess about how much more comfortable the seats were as compared with commercial flights. "Yes," she had said, "And we have extra soft pillows too", and added with a wide grin".....for the ride home."
Another thought had occurred to her. Would there be rich single men attending as "hounds"? It stood to reason that there would be. This thing did not sound like woman's sport. Indeed would such a man be intrigued by a beautiful woman willing to bare all and suffer the indignity of the lash for some sport? Possibly. So she had packed some of her most attractive (and provocative) outfits.
Her reverie brought to mind another encounter in which a playful spanking had played a role. It was after graduation. She was 18 then and had a summer job at a lake resort for tourists. Steve was one of those summer romances. He had been staying with some friends in one of the lakefront cabins. They met and there was a mutual attraction, in fact, Cindy really liked Steve a lot. They went out a few times, but Steve was the perfect gentleman, never making a move.
�This began to irritate Cindy and she decided to see if that gentlemanly demeanor could be cracked. One Saturday they went on a picnic. They had laid out the lunch by a stream and Cindy, feeling mischievous, surreptitiously filled a water gun in the stream. She had stripped down to a daring bikini, declaring that she wanted to take a swim before lunch. Steve demurred, since it was well after noon and he was hungry. She didn't miss the look in his eyes when he beheld her in the skimpy bikini. Now we're getting somewhere, she thought.
�She took the toy water gun and started squirting Steve with it who laughed at first but then protested that she was getting the food wet. Cindy didn't care. She wanted to provoke something. She laughed and teased, squirting the gun at Steve who tried to catch her to wrestle it from her grasp. Steve finally told her that she'd better stop or he would "paddle her little caboose". In the time honored tradition of teases everywhere, she taunted him with a "you wouldn't dare", and, putting a tree between her and Steve, squirted him right in the face.
�That did it. She tried to run but Steve caught her around the waist. Lifting her up he carried her over to a fallen log. She was held under his arm, kicking and squealing. He seated himself and laid her across his muscular thighs. Telling her that he had warned her, he raised his hand and brought it down squarely across the crest of both bottom cheeks, barely contained in the brief bikini bottoms. She had screeched and demanded to be put down. Steve had just laughed and told her she had it coming. He then proceeded to give her a very sound spanking while she wiggled and squirmed across his lap. He spanked her steadily for 2 or 3 minutes then put his fingers in the waistband of the tiny bikini bottoms. She had squealed even louder at this new indignity, but Steve had just chuckled and yanked them down, baring her curvy fanny. Then he resumed with loud crisp smacks that echoed through the remote glade. She had wriggled and kicked while he had spanked her bare fanny with gusto. He smacked from cheek to cheek, building a fire in Cindy's curvy hiney. Finally he stopped and Cindy felt him rubbing and kneading her inflamed buttocks. The sting of the spanking became a hot glow in her buns.
�Then she felt another fire building, this time in her pussy. And she could feel Steve's hard penis through the rough jeans as she sprawled over his lap. He let her up then they kissed passionately. He kept rubbing her bottom, then his fingers found the spot between her legs. She remembered he laid on her back on the picnic blanket and proceeded to take his own clothes off. Kneeling down he pulled her to him and plunged his hard manhood between the wet lips of her quim. They had made love all afternoon. Him on top, her on top, from behind, every way they could think of. Later she would reflect that the spanking had been a catalyst. He had manhandled her gently, but in a way that left no doubt of his dominance. Being pulled over his knees and spanked had turned her on like nothing she had felt before. The gentlemanly facade had been cracked. Sadly, he had left not long after, and she had gone off to school.
Her thoughts drifted back to Arcado and their meeting.
There was, said Arcado, to be a Friday night cocktail party and dinner to be attended by "hounds" and "foxes" alike. The next morning the participants would be fed breakfast separately. The "foxes" would be transported by jeep to remote areas of the property and given an hour to hide before the "hounds" were loosed. At 4:00pm sharp the all clear would sound and the game would be over. If captured before then, a fox would be taken back to the hotel to await her fate. Arcado was less than forthcoming on the details of capture and custody and even less so on the "ceremonies" later that evening. He did say, however that the captured would dine in their quarters before the events that night. Sunday she would be returned via private jet to NYC.
Cindy's thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of descent of the plane. She asked the hostess about it.
"We are landing in DC to pick up a passenger," she said, "We'll be underway again shortly."
The plane touched down and Cindy saw a woman standing just outside the private hanger to which the plane had taxied. When the plane stopped, the woman strode briskly to the jet. Cindy could see that she was a blonde in her mid to late 30's, tall, with well muscled legs in a short skirted business suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a woven plait that fell to well below the middle of her back. Her bags were carried by a male attendant, all except a long thin case, flat, about three feet long. An odd piece of luggage, Cindy thought.
The woman entered the cabin and smiled at Cindy. She had a generous sparkling smile and deep blue eyes, with a presence about her that suggested a powerful personality. A corporate executive, perhaps?
"Hi", she said, taking a seat across from Cindy and extending her hand, "I'm Julia Marsden."
"I'm Cindy Morgan. Pleased to meet you."
Cindy found Julia a pleasant and charming traveling companion. As the jet climbed through the cloud cover at National, they chatted about the good fortune of being able to travel in such luxurious surroundings. Cindy learned that Julia frequently did work for Fantasies Unlimited, but she basically had her own company. Julia wanted to hear all about the tribulations of a struggling actress in NY. She was a good listener and Cindy felt curiously drawn to Julia's warm personality, as if she were a big sister. At a lull in the conversation, Julia asked Cindy if she was going to the Carolina Resort.
Cindy acknowledged that she was.
"As a guest or...." ventured Julia.
"No. I am a "fox" as they call it," admitted Cindy.
Julia eyed Cindy reflectively and nodded.
"So why are you going?" said Cindy, now very curious.
"You might say I'm one of the�ah�facilitators for the weekend."
"Oh really! What is it that you do?"
"Well...oh dear, I suppose I must tell you," Julia said with a rueful smile, "You might call me the 'company's disciplinarian' or maybe 'bosun's mate', might be more apropos."
Cindy's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "You don't mean..."
"'Fraid so, dear. I dish out the, ah, forfeits on Saturday night."
Cindy now understood the reason for the strangely shaped case. "And that case you brought on board....?"
"The tools of my trade."
Cindy was quiet for a moment. Could it really be? This warm, engaging, big sisterly woman with whom she was sharing girl talk would be the one to wield the whip on her naked bottom if she were caught?
"Whew! I...I...don't know what to say," stammered Cindy, "It's so bizarre, I mean here we are talking like just normal people and you are the one who might have to...to..."
"Whip your cute fanny on Saturday night?" queried Julia with a light smile. "I know," she sighed, "But, listen it won't be so bad, you'll get through it. Lots of girls have. Some, no, many, have even come back to play again."
"You're kidding!" said a wide-eyed Cindy. "Why?"
"One reason is that they find it sexy and exciting. They come back for the thrill; and, of course, the money. And last but not least, there are some unattached men at these events, you know, and, they are very wealthy.” Cindy seemed flabbergasted. �“I can see you don't believe me," said Julia.
"It's true. The whip can be very sensual. The spectacle is exciting. Whipping actually releases endorphins and amplifies the tactile senses, especially in the erogenous zones; and, there is something about a woman under the lash that inflames hot passions both in herself and her partner. Also there is the thrill of not knowing. Who will get it? If a fox escapes, which of her pursuers will find herself or himself conscripted for sacrifice? It has the allure of some pagan ritual. All of this is an adrenaline rush."
"But doesn't it hurt?" asked Cindy. Even as she said it, she remembered the intense arousal that had resulted from the episode with Steve.
"Yes, it does...but let me show you something," said Julia, rising and fetching the case. Julia opened the case to display several implements of correction. There was a long handled whip with a single 4' thong, a thing like a cat-o-nine-tails, only it had 7 long lashes, a bundle of what looked like green switches, only Cindy couldn't tell if they were real or synthetic, and a familiar-looking wooden paddle, only thinner than what she remembered. There was also a thin cane, a large oval-shaped hairbrush, an 18" ruler, and a wide leather strap attached to a handle.
"These are my basic tools," said Julia. "I have others, too, but I won't need them for this weekend". Cindy just gaped at the fearsome looking collection.
"They look intimidating, don't they?" Cindy nodded. "But let me explain how each one works and how I use it."
"This bundle of green switches is called a birch. It looks real but actually these 1/8" switches are artificial, made from a special resilient plastic. Unlike a real birch these switches won't fray or break. I typically give 3 dozen strokes with this. They produce at first, a light surface sting that builds and builds to quite an exquisite burning sensation. Real birches like this were used as late as the 19th century in homes, schools and reformatories. They were favored by lady's whipping clubs for their ability to impart a healthy red flush to the seat that aroused the libido."
"There were ladies' whipping clubs?" asked an astonished Cindy.
"Indeed there were--wealthy, bored society wives with much time on their hands and not much to do, they would meet and draw lots or play games--the losers were birched. If you "lost" it was skirts up and drawers down for a good stinging session with one of these while you bent over a footstool. Later the next week the ladies would gossip about the passionate sex with their husbands afterwards. Poor men never knew what hit them, but they probably weren't complaining.
"The multi-stranded whip is a modified cat-o-nine-tails. You can see it has a foot long handle and 6 long strands of smooth leather. No knots or braiding like Captain Bligh's. This gives a more solid sting with each lash."
"Er, how many...?"
"20 lashes is the normal dose. It's designed to have the same overall intensity as the 36 with the birch, but there is a longer delay between strokes. The sensation of each separate lash must be...appreciated before the next one is given."
"The last one I'll be using Saturday is this single thong lash. As you can feel, here... hold it, it is a smooth single thong. It's braided snakeskin, in a tight braid, very smooth. This one is yet more intense than the 'cat' so it’s only a bakers dozen for the lucky lads and lassies who get this. The lashes are spaced even farther apart."
The whip felt positively alive in her hands thought Cindy, and she flicked the end against her palm. Ouch! it hurt!
"I'm using the ones I showed you because the guests attending wanted it that way. They requested a ‘17th century’ experience, simulating something much like the punishments that were actually given in those times.� At least they want the same ambiance.
"I don't want you to worry Cindy, I know exactly how hard to use these, and my aim is true. The stripes will go exactly where I want them to, which will be mostly across the cheeks of the bottom."
Cindy felt the cheeks of her own bottom involuntarily clench at this news. This would surely be more painful than the school paddle! Or the playful spanking from Steve!
"But how did you get into....?...I mean how did you learn all this stuff?"
"It's a very long story, but you should know that I have a degree in psychology from Temple University, and that I am a licensed clinical psychologist in several states."
Wow! Thought Cindy, this was too much. She couldn't believe that this smart and articulate woman with a psych degree was moonlighting as some kind of whipmistress.
Shaking her head, Cindy asked," What are the rest of these for?"
"Well, they're not for this particular event but I do tend to use them at one time or another. For example, Fantasies Unlimited has a "Little Red Schoolhouse" in Nebraska. Sometimes I play the schoolmarm for a group who want to play at a "return to schooldays" fantasy. The paddle, cane and ruler figure more prominently there. And incidentally", she chuckled, "I do have an appointment with rather naughty lad who attended the last "Schoolhouse" weekend I did. Seems he has been remiss at doing the follow up 'homework' I gave him. He will be here this weekend for a make-up 'tutoring session' Friday evening after dinner."
"At least he won't have to eat dinner off the mantle piece," laughed Cindy, "And if I hear smacks and squeals that night, I'll know why."