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Ladies in Charge

By: Rollin Hand
Published By: DT Publications
6 Stories / 41,187 Words
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A brand new, never before published collection of short stories and novelettes, this volume explores the dynamics of F/M and F/F spanking, domination and domestic discipline in a variety of settings. This collection includes six stories of lengths from 4,000 to nearly 10,000 words for a total of over 40,000 words. The stories are:

"The Woman Next Door" - When a captivating single woman moves in next door, a young tech whiz still living at home attempts to wire her house for video and sound, but in the process makes a stunning discovery that will change his life profoundly.

"After Church" - A slice of life in a conservative rural town in the 1950's, a time when corporal punishment is not only common, it is the accepted method of dealing with the folly of youth. As the story unfolds, two cousins sit nervously in church on a Sunday morning, knowing they must soon face the consequences of a bad decision the night before. "Gloria Denham" - Todd, an assistant tennis pro at a posh resort, fancies himself the consummate ladies man. Although he has been instructed not to fraternize with the guests, he cannot resist the gorgeous platinum blonde sitting next to him in the resort bar. He is about to meet his match in more ways than one.

"Sally's Mom" - A coming of age story in which a young college student dating a local girl in a conservative southern town learns a little about strict family discipline and a lot about the mysteries of women.

"Wrestling Ladies" - When Bruce is invited by his co-workers for a night of fun at a local ladies wrestling club, he has no idea what to expect. What follows is a mind blowing journey of sexual revelation that will test his limits in every way. "Whipping Boy" -- When Rory discovers his new neighbor is his grade school teacher from 15 years ago, the one who used her paddle to such great effect, he wonders if she still has it - and if after all these years, she still uses it.

The Woman Next Door

Today he stood in the corner, facing the wall. He wore a young girl’s negligee, a pink baby doll creation. Frilly pink panties with white ruffles encircled his knees. He’d been instructed to leave them down and not touch his inflamed rear end. His behind was throbbing and uncomfortably hot, having just endured a lengthy spanking with Mistress’s sturdy palm, the result of some imaginary fault. But she wasn’t done by a long shot. Now she was coming back. Curt hoped she’d want the attentions of his tongue, but she’d said something about his “naughty bumhole,” and he feared it would be another enema. How he hated that � the awful tube up his rectum, the pressure as the hot soapy water flooded his bowels until he couldn’t stand it. The only thing worse was that thick rubber strap-on. The humiliation he felt while offering up his behind for that horrible invasive thing was beyond awful. He knew she did it to break him down completely, and it usually did.

His reverie was interrupted by her return. He chanced a look and his blood froze. She had the strap -- the thick razor strap that burned like the flames of hell. And she was naked � except for that thing around her waist, bobbing obscenely as she approached. Curt began to tremble.


Six months earlier.

There she was again, sunning herself in the back yard. She had moved in that May, and now with the weather warming up, she spent a lot of time outdoors, sunning herself, gardening, puttering around in the yard. Today it was just sunbathing.

From his second floor bedroom window Curt gulped and took a long look through the binoculars. Their back yards shared a common corner so he could see her clear as day. She was face down on the towel and her top was undone, leaving her back bare. Good grief, she was sexy. A tall, long legged beauty, she had this animal grace to her. The way she moved reminded Curt of a big cat, all sultry and languid, but with the suppressed energy of a coiled spring. She had a gate that caused her hips to roll from side to side, and her calves and buttocks to flex lazily. A woman who appeared very comfortable in her own skin, she had the build and grace of an athlete and the body of a model. Add the broad shoulders, the deep blue eyes and the boyish close cropped blonde hair, and in Curt’s estimation, you had one very hot and sexy lady.

But so what? Living at home, even at his advanced age of twenty one, he had little opportunity to entertain the notion of trysts with the opposite sex. And regardless, he wouldn’t be entertaining any such ideas with his new hot neighbor. For openers, she was a lot older than he was. Mrs. Robin Whitehall (divorced, he had heard) was in her late thirties. The age difference alone killed it. Even if you take away the fact that Curt was a short slender guy, college preppy in appearance and dress, not the kind of BMW-driving, rich executive stud she was probably used to, he’d never have a chance and he knew it. But he could entertain the fantasy. And, he had no trouble looking. Nope. None at all. He shifted the binoculars to his left hand while his right stole toward his zipper.


He was at the desk at the Big Buy not a week later when who should walk in, but the object of his obsession. He looked twice and blinked. Yes, it was her. And she was approaching his station.

“Can I help you?” he said, not believing his luck.

“Yes, you can. I want to buy one of those wireless security systems you advertise. I just moved in to this new neighborhood and I feel like I need something. You probably think me silly, but I have the oddest feeling. Like someone is watching me.”

Curt blushed beet red, and for a moment he was nonplussed. “I�uh�sure we have those,” he stammered. He managed to recover long enough to tell her all about them. Then, in a snap decision he would regret later, he told her where he lived and that he had seen her in the neighborhood.

“You live where?” she said.

“At 1247 Cedar. Just around the corner from your house.”

She regarded him with a puzzled expression. “How in the world would you have seen me? I haven’t been there that long.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just seen you here and there, that’s all.”

“I see,” she said slowly. Then she favored him with a smile. “Well, how nice. We’re neighbors. Small world, isn’t it?”

She bought a system, and she also requested that he install it personally. Curt was only too happy to oblige. She wanted motion detectors and window and door sensors to monitor her perimeter. They would set a date for the installation. His last sight of her as she walked away down the aisle, was of that sexy backside swaying in that figure hugging skirt.

What an opportunity. He could be fired for what he was even thinking. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind wandered into places where he knew he shouldn’t go. Yes, it could be done, he thought. He wasn’t a computer and electronics expert for nothing. So the idea of rigging Robin Whitehall’s home with wireless mini-cameras became an irresistible idea.

The obsession took hold and he convinced himself that he should do it. Why not? His folks were on a long vacation, leaving him in sole occupancy of the house. Besides, he was bored with the stupid job at the Big Buy. It didn’t pay enough to allow him to move out of his folk’s house, so as long as he was stuck at home, and Ms. Hottie lived practically next door, he might as well make the most of it.

A week later he did it. She let him in at the appointed time, and he brought in the system along with all his gear. It was like a gift from heaven. Here he’d been thinking about actually sneaking into her house to install a spy camera and serendipitously she’d invited him in. Even better, she left him alone, telling him she had to run some errand or other. He watched her pull out of the driveway and he got to work. He did install her system, but along with that he installed some very special equipment. A few hours later she returned. He briefed her on how to use the system, she thanked him, and he was on his way.


At home he fired up his computer and logged in the remote fiber optic mini cameras he had planted. The bedroom, BR 1, 2 and 3? Check. The family room, FR 1and 2? Check. Den/library L 1 and 2? Got it. The bathroom? (He was almost ashamed of himself for this one, BA 1. Almost.) Check. There was nothing more to do but to wait.

It wasn’t long in coming. He logged on well after dark and was treated to the sight of her puttering around. He figured she must have gone into the kitchen for a while, but eventually she entered the family room for a time and turned on the TV. He kept one eye on the monitor, waiting for her bedtime ritual. At around 10:30 she turned off TV, and went into her bedroom. He hit BR 1 and watched goggle-eyed as she stripped down to bra and panties, revealing that gorgeous figure � the trim waist, the long legs, the flaring hips, the high set tits . She was a ten, no doubt about it. BR 2 and 3 popped up in separate windows. Then the bra came off allowing those wonderful breasts to spring free. Then the panties. She padded around the room in the buff, giving Curt all that he could possibly ask for.

It became a nightly ritual, the bedtime routine. To Curt’s utter delight he discovered that she slept in the nude, so he could also catch her in the morning when she got up. He could not decide which he liked better, evening when she stripped down or morning, complete with shower. What she did for a living, Curt didn’t know. He had to leave for work before she did.

A few days later, there was a change. Curt was at home and had logged on. She entered the house. Someone was with her. Another woman. This woman was younger, a short cute brunette. They prepared dinner, sat at the table, ate and chatted. Curt watched with one eye. Nothing really to see, just some friend of hers invited over for dinner. They got up, went into the TV room. The young girl left for a moment. Robin sat, waiting.

The girl reentered the room. Curt sat straight up, stared at the screen. She was different now. Instead of casual business attire, she was now dressed like a schoolgirl. She wore a plaid skirt, very short, bobby sox, and a white blouse. Her hair was in pigtails. She looked years younger. She stood at attention in the middle of the room. Robin rose and walked around her, saying something while the girl put her hands behind her back and dropped her chin, eyes downcast. Robin was talking, wagging her finger. She appeared to be scolding the girl. Damn! He wished he could hear what they were saying. There was something incredibly erotic about this. Something sexy was going to happen.

Sure enough, Robin must have issued a command because the girl lifted her skirt. Underneath it she had on plain white cotton panties that hugged the luscious contours of her pert bottom. Curt’s cock surged. He held his breath. The girl blushed under the relentless scolding. Robin sat down on an ottoman in front of a leather couch, made to girl come around to her side. She pointed at her lap, and the young woman lowered herself across Robin’s knees, face down. It was obvious to Curt that she was going to be spanked. He couldn’t wait to see this.

He could see but he could not hear, as Robin began spanking the girl with her open palm. But he could see the flesh wobble underneath the panties. She spanked alternate cheeks briskly. It went on for several minutes. The spanks looked real, not like play taps. That was confirmed when she slipped the girl’s panties to her knees revealing a flushed pair of bottom cheeks, made red from the spanking. The young woman squirmed.

The spanking resumed, picking up in tempo at times, at other times slowing down. FR 2 gave him a full-on view. The young woman’s bottom was positioned perfectly, jutting upwards, the fleshy mounds jiggling as they absorbed smack after smack. The girl squirmed but did not try to get away. In fact it looked as though she was grinding her pelvis into her tormentor’s knee. Robin began to let her hand linger after each full spank, rubbing the punished globes that now� glowed� a bright red, like a pair of stoplights against a white background. Then Curt saw her hand stray to in between the girl’s legs. She stiffened, then began to jerk and lurch. Robin was stimulating her sex and the girl was being driven toward an ecstatic release. When it came, the girl shook all over, humping up and down wildly, then slumping over the older woman’s knees, spent as the climax subsided.

But it wasn’t over. Robin stood her up and undressed her, stripping her nude right there in the family room. Then the young woman returned the favor, unzipping Robin’s dress, helping her out of it. The women repaired to the leather couch where the young woman knelt between Robin’s legs and pleasured her orally. Then they traded places. But before the young lady had come again, Robin lifted her up and pointed to the couch. The girl bent over the back of the couch while Robin walked over to the wall and opened a cabinet. Curt could see that inside were whips and paddles hanging on pegs. She selected a whip of short strands and positioned herself behind the girl who now looked over her shoulder, almost eagerly it seemed, ready to be whipped. And whip her Robin did. For several minutes she flogged the twin bare cheeks of the girl’s behind, painting darker red weals against the red-suffused flesh of her spanked bottom.

Then she put the whip away and took the girl by the hand, leading her to the bedroom where they made love, their bodies writhing and grinding together as they caressed and licked each other in every way imaginable. Curt’s eyes grew big when, at one point in the evening, Robin strode out of camera coverage only to return with a large black dildo strapped on to her mid-section like a belt. The young woman knelt on the bed on all fours and Robin reamed her sex from behind, banging her roughly and slapping her ass while she did it, until the girl shook with another orgasm.

Eventually they had spent themselves. The lights went out and Curt saw no more.

The episode with the cute girl had whetted his appetite. Not only was his neighbor hot, she was sexually kinky as well. He could only hope she had more friends like that one. The spanking and whipping had excited him more than anything he could remember. Seeing it was one thing, but what if he could hear too? The thought intrigued him. But how?

Before he could figure that out, she had another guest. The interlude with this one was even more eye-opening than the first. He had logged in at around 8pm and was treated to the sight of her in a tight black skirt that came well above her knees. She wore a white blouse with a choker collar and six inch heels. Odd attire for an evening at home. She made herself a drink at her wet bar and sipped it slowly, lost in thought. Then she turned her head as if she had heard a sound, and left the room. When she returned, a young man was with her. Ah, finally, the boyfriend, thought Curt. But this guy looked younger, maybe in his late 20’s. He looked more her type though. Nice suit. Polished shoes. Very buttoned down. He could be a lawyer, maybe. Or a stockbroker.

They talked. He looked sheepish, like he was explaining some failure or offering some excuse. Suddenly her hand flashed out and she slapped his cheek, hard. He did not try to defend himself.

She looked him up and down while he stood there rubbing his injured cheek. She slapped the other cheek. The guy just stood there, dazed. Then she pointed at him and gestured. The guy nodded nervously then took off his jacket, then his tie and shirt. She watched with her arms folded as he stripped right in front of her. The pants came off, then the undershirt, and finally his boxers. She barked some order at him. He snapped to and stood there at attention, stark naked.

While he stood waiting, she went to her cabinet of whips. When she turned and came back she was brandishing a thin yellow cane. Now Curt understood the clothing. She was playing a sexy schoolteacher and he was her naughty charge. She talked and walked around him in circles, lecturing, making her points with the cane which flexed and quivered as she wagged it his direction. His expression drooped. A naughty schoolboy called to task. Again, it was some sort of scolding. The man had done something to displease her. Then she stopped and stood in front of him. The man was trembling but his cock had risen and was standing straight out, pointed at her. She flexed the cane between her two hands, bending it almost in a circle. Then she walked over to the couch and slapped it down on the back, causing the man to jump.

She must have issued a command because the man came around the back of the couch and bent over it, gripping the front cushions and offering up his buttocks for what Curt imagined would be a severe caning. He was right.

She tapped his rear cheeks a time or two then sliced the vulnerable flesh with full arm swipe that made the man flinch and rise halfway up. A thin red line bisected the nude cheeks of his bottom. He danced from toe to toe on the carpet, maybe trying to shake off the awful sting. It looked for all the world that it hurt like crazy. Curt counted twelve strokes, each one apparently given with the full strength of her arm. The guy’s body reacted to each stroke. He squirmed, his arms flailed, he rose up part way only to have the cane tap him on the back, no doubt a signal to bend over again. He imagined she said ‘Get back into position, boy. Stick that naughty bottom out. We’re not done yet.’

It was harrowing and exciting all at the same time. So his neighbor was some sort of dominatrix?

Curt imagined himself in the guy’s position � or the girl’s. He found that either thought made his dick hard. How could that be? He had not been spanked since he was a kid, and that had been no fun, but this looked sexy as hell.

After she had given him twelve harsh strokes, she took his hand and led him into her bedroom where, like the girl from the other night, he pleasured her with his tongue. She guided him, encouraging him with a riding crop applied judiciously to his tender rear as he lay on his stomach, his head between her thighs, his mouth in her crotch. He kept it up until she threw her head back in a climactic frenzy.

The next part made Curt break out in a cold sweat, spurred on by both horrid fascination and arousal. The guy did not get to fuck her. Instead Curt saw him assume a position on the bed, on his knees and elbows, ass up, his buttocks rudely exposed and vulnerable. Robin left the frame. When she returned she was wearing the strap-on dildo. Kneeling on the bed behind him, she guided the phallus into his anus. He must have resisted because she slapped his bottom hard several times, before he was able to relax and take it, all the way in. Then she began to stroke in and out, slowly at first, then faster. He reached back and curled his fingers around his erection. She rammed him, banging him like he was a rag doll. He tossed himself off as he took Robin and her strap-on dildo up his anus, pumping away at him like a jackhammer until he spewed his seed in great jutting arcs all over her bed sheets.


The whole thing was beyond belief. His neighbor lady was a dominant sadist? Dominatrix? He didn’t know what you called it. He didn’t care. He was beside himself with lust now. He wanted to hear what was going on, not merely see it. He’d record these sessions and have hours and hours of prime stroke material.

�But how to get into her house? The wireless mics were relatively easy. They were independent stand-alone units that just had to be placed correctly. It would take less than five minutes. Then it came to him. When she went into the back yard to sunbathe he’d slip into her house. She was usually out there for an hour at a time, and that was plenty.

So he bided his time. In the meantime two more women and one more man showed up on various nights. The scenarios varied. One slender blonde lady was a naked slave led about by Robin on a leash attached to a collar. She leaned against the wall halfway bent over as Robin whipped her buttocks with a multi-thong lash. A second guy was a middle aged man who put on a woman’s abbreviated maid costume and waited on Robin hand and foot. He made mistakes, and was scolded, and spanked on his bare bottom, hard across her knees with a big wooden hairbrush.

One Saturday morning when the sun was shining, Curt saw her go out into the back yard with a towel and some lotion. This was it. Now! He was ready. He’d had the mics unpackaged and sitting ready right by his front door. Taking a deep breath he grabbed them and hurried down the block. Her side door was unlocked. He slipped in and quietly as he could, made his way into the den where all the action usually started. A unit went on a bookcase, hidden behind a picture. Then it was back to her bedroom. It was a ranch style house, everything on one level, so he had no stairs to negotiate. He placed one unit behind a flat screen TV that faced the bed. He had positioned it just so and was about to get out of there when he felt something. It was a subtle sensation, maybe just the movement of air. He spun around. Robin Whitehall stood in the doorway glaring at him.

“Perhaps you would care to explain this?” Her face was an angry mask.

Curt froze. His heart leapt into his throat. He tried to think fast.

“I, er, needed to make an adjustment to your setup. We got a tech notice and�”

She put her hand up. “Stop. Bullshit. You snuck into my house. Why?” She came forward, her eyes on the mic in his hand. “What is that?” she said, snatching the mic from his hand. “This looks like a microphone. Just what do you think you are doing?” Curt just stammered something unintelligible. “Explain this!” she said, sticking the mic in his face.

Curt could not think of a thing to say. The jig was up. He quailed in the face of her justifiable anger. He was in deep shit and he knew it. His knees literally knocked as he admitted the whole thing. He watched her expression as he explained it, hoping against hope for some sign of mercy. She went from astonishment to anger to a cool appraisal as the story spilled out.

Then she pointed to the bed and said, “Sit.”

Curt obeyed.

She stood in front of him, ticking things off on her fingers. “The way I see it, you have a big problem. You set up spy cameras, which has to be a felony. You snuck in my house, another felony. You are a peeping tom, surely another crime. One word by me to anyone and losing your job is the least of your worries. You are looking at jail time, my boy.”

Her words washed over Curt, soaking him with fear, a nightmare come true. He trembled as he pleaded with her.� “Look. Please don’t. I’ll take it all out. I swear. I’ll move away. You won’t ever see me again. Just�let’s forget all this. I’m just, you know, your average horny guy and you’re, well, gorgeous.”

“Hmm,” she said looking around. She made him show her the cameras. Made him tell her all about what he’d seen. “Very interesting,” she said. “So you saw all that, hunh? Saw what I do with my friends?”

Curt nodded.

“And all of this was recorded? You hit a button and it records?”

Curt nodded again.

“Say ‘yes ma’am’ or ‘yes, Ms. Whitehall.’ That’s who I am to you now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy. Now to business. Let’s go into the family room.”

She put on a covering wrap and ushered him into the family room. Told him to sit on the couch. Curt walked on shaky legs, but now he saw he had a glimmer of a chance to get out of this. She obviously had something in mind.

“I have friends who I see in person, Curt, and friends who would like to see me but can’t. They live too far away. But if I could illustrate some of their fantasies about me, they would be very happy. Do you see?”

Curt didn’t see, but she continued.

“What I need is a partner, sort of a co-star who can help them live vicariously, someone whose reactions will be very authentic, very in-the-raw, as it were.” She went to the cabinet that housed the correctional implements. She selected a few. “Ever had an honest-to-gosh spanking, Curt? Did mommy ever put you over her knee and give you a real ass burner that stung like ballyhoo and made you cry big salty tears?”

“No, ma’am.”

She held up a big squat hairbrush. “Look at this. The classic hairbrush. Are you saying your mommy or aunt never spanked your little bottom with one of these until you cried?”

“No, ma’am.” Now Curt was beginning to worry. What did she have in mind?

“How about this? Leather strap. Ever lie over the end of the bed while mom or dad whaled your butt for lying? Or this---regulation school paddle. Ever take licks from the principal for tardies?”

“Yes, ma’am. I did get paddled once at school.” This one had happened to him. In junior high. Some youthful high-jinks had landed him in hot water. He remembered the summons to the office of the assistant principal. His friends Nick and George were already there. They sat on benches outside, waiting, not daring to talk. Curt could not even remember what they had done.

Then Mrs. Harlowe had come out. She was a big woman, heavyset with calves like piano legs and shoulders like a stevedore.� It was to be six swats a piece, she told them. Curt had shivered at the news. Six paddle swats from a woman of her size was something to be feared. All the other kids said so.

George went first. He and Nick strained to hear. Then a loud ‘pop!’ A few seconds went by, then they heard a crack accompanied by a faint yelp. The next four swats were equally loud and the cries, though muffled were even louder. George emerged, furiously rubbing his butt. Tears ran down his red face. He was about to lose it.

Curt had gone in next and it was as bad as he’d been told. He bent over a desk supported by his forearms, his butt stuck out like a big target. The paddle burned like a hot iron. He never forgot it. It was one thing to be fascinated by the punishment of others, but quite another to get it yourself, he realized. He handled the first lick. It was a shock to feel that swelling wave of heat engulf his butt, but he could handle it. But then came the second and the third. The pain took his breath away. Each swat look the last one to the next level of pain. By the sixth he wanted to break down and cry. It took a superhuman effort to hold back the tears. He described the incident.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said. “My clients have all these fantasies and more.” She put the implements down. “And you are going to help me bring them to life.”

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