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Reckless Disregard by Lizbeth Dusseau Ebook ordering Cover Image: www.samarelart.com

 

Copyrighted © 2001, all rights reserved.  

The house on Beach Hill was mute. Onerous. Of course that could be from its ponderous air filled with everything dreary and forbidding. The mood matched the surroundings. Weighty drapes covered the towering windows, while massive oakwood and cold granite columns supported its immense bulk. Thick carpets in a somber shade of burgundy appeared to grow like spongy turf, dampening the sound of voices, while the sound of whispers seemed to amplify in the immense hush. The rooms were filled with the fumes of the house’s ancient furnace, like the coal had become impregnated in the ceilings, and the damask wallpaper would carry the smell into another century. The grand scale of such ugly architecture inspired awe and quiet. It felt as if the walls would suck the life from those that waited in the dank foyer.

  In the main room, Geoff stood behind his wife, Bridget standing alone in the center of the gloomy room. The five men in their dark flannel suits hadn’t changed in eighteen months since she saw them last. Their faces were uniquely grim as though they’d been perpetually chiseled in stone. Only Andrew Lassiter seemed to have any life in his countenance—one that could go from grandfatherly to charming as easily as it could take an authoritarian turn. His complexion was hardly wrinkled, there was vitality in his step, and Bridget had seen a twinkle in his gray eyes when she’d twice met the man away from his sinister house.

       “Let’s review the facts, Mrs. Fox,” he began, now looking as solemn as the men to either side of him did.

       Bridget couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands. They seemed useless at her side, but when she folded them in front of her crotch, she nervously fidgeted with her fingers, which only reminded the watching tribunal how scared she was. She opted to leave them hanging loosely beside her.

       “We’d like to get the salient points clear.”

       “Yes, sir,” she responded respectfully.

       Andrew gave her one quick smile, then began to speak again, “Last night, you scheduled dinner with your husband, and told him you’d be arriving home at 6:30 to 7:00, perhaps 7:30?”

       “That’s true.”

       “And the reason for being so late was the need to work overtime at the museum,” he peered at her over his eyeglasses. Though there was a pad with notes in his lap, he apparently knew the information so well he didn’t need to refer to it.

       “Yes, that’s true,” she answered.

       “But…” he paused with his eyes narrowing, “that was a lie. Am I right?”

       “Yes, sir.”

       “Let me get this clear… you’d been persuaded by Alecia Morehead to withdraw from your bank account the sum of $1000 to pay off a portion of Mrs. Morehead’s debt to Lyle McCall. Instead of going home, or staying at the museum, you took the $1000 in cash and drove with your friend to a dangerous factory district to meet this well-known felon. Is all that correct?”

       “Yes, sir.”

       “Is it not true that your husband forbid you to socialize with Alecia Morehead?” the man seemed to gather steam as his questions became more pointed and the questioning took on the tone of an interrogation.

       “Yes, sir.”

       “And this act was a flagrant disregard of his wishes,” he probed further.

       “Yes, sir, it was,” each affirmative answer seemed to pound another nail in the coffin labeled guilt.

       “Perhaps, you have some explanation,” he suddenly sat back waiting for a justification that would, most certainly, be inadequate.

       “Only that I feared for Alecia,” Bridget said putting some compassion in her voice. “I knew this was risky, but I figured it was the only way I could help her, and hopefully keep her out of trouble.”

       “Help her? After the horrible debacle that awaited her with that blackguard?! Did it occur to you to dissuade her in this foolishness?”

       “Yes, and I tried. But Alecia’s mind was made up. She wasn’t afraid of Lyle, just interested in getting the debt taken care of as quickly as possible. I figured she might be right. It seemed simple enough.”

       “Obviously your ‘figuring’ was wrong,” Lowell Macombre accused her gruffly.

       “We had no way of knowing,” Bridget suddenly jumped passionately to her defense. “Ten minutes earlier we would have been gone…”

       “And your scheme would have succeeded.” The tribunal offered her a collective scowl, as Andrew spoke. “You’d have lied to your husband if the scheme had been a success. Is that not so?”

       “I suppose I would have.”

       “And that’s not a problem for you? You find it easy to lie?”

       “No, no…I mean, yes,” she stammered, “Yes, it is a problem.”

       “I would hope so. I would hope you’d feel some remorse in this matter. Lies, schemes and reckless disregard for good common sense can only have one outcome—and you’ve proven that by this unfortunate matter. You’re lucky that the law intervened when they did. The meeting with McCall could have ended in total disaster for both of you. It was enough that your friend was raped, but you might have been as well.” His face was flushed, his speech almost apoplectic, his breathing labored. One of the tribe to his left wiped his brow as though the matter were exhausting. And all five members required a moment to rest before passing sentence.

       While the tribe gathered themselves, Bridget’s mind seemed to drift away, remembering the provocative sight of Alecia’s ass in Lyle’s office burning bright as a fat red bloom. The remembrance was strangely exhilarating. Perhaps no one would know, not even Charlie, that Alecia Morehead suffered little getting fucked. It was no rape. “Bridget Fox,” Andrew’s clipped rendition of her name jerked her back to the room. “The tribunal finds your behavior shameful, especially after so many months without an incident. Your unwillingness to steer Alecia Morehead in another direction suggests that you don’t yet understand the consequences of such foolish deceit.”

       Bridget sighed heavily as her whole body shook with fear. There were huge tears in her blue eyes, the look of a sad child on her face. The youthful cascade of blonde hair that fell down her back only accentuated her appearance of naughty innocence. And that was enhanced by the modest schoolgirl dress: a grey tweed knee-length skirt and white blouse. Such conservative attire was customary for a tribunal. At the moment, she seemed more a child of ten or twelve than a full-grown woman. “Yes, sir,” she whispered softly under her breath, though any reply at all was unnecessary.

       “It is the determination of this tribunal, that to atone for your imprudent behavior, you’ll yield over the punishment bench, where your bottom will be bared and you’ll receive the full weight of a spanking paddle to your ass and the back of your thighs. Following, you’ll suffer no less than twelve cuts of the cane—this to remind you of your error in the days to come, and hopefully inspire more prudent behavior for many weeks and months henceforth.”

       Bridget struggled to keep up with the formal jargon of Andrew’s rebuke. Though, what was clear when he finished the solemn sentence was that her butt would be hurting for some time.

       “It is expected that you accept this punishment with good grace and a submissive attitude.” Andrew suddenly looked beyond Bridget to her attentively listening husband. “Are you in agreement with the tribunal’s decree for your wife, Mr. Fox?”

       “I am, Andrew.” Geoff’s voice was deep and calm. He was the kind of steadfast, stable man who was usually quite at ease. This attitude was so vastly different from the angry one just twenty-four hours before! But in truth, both moods—his anger and his calm—were aphrodisiacs that made her body come alive hungering for sex. Both were dominant aspects of his personality, and for a submissive woman they were as potent as candlelight and roses are for a romantic one. Bridget wished she could turn around and leave this house on his arm. She’d plead with him if she thought it would do any good, but she also knew that pleading would be a useless waste of her time. His mind was made up and her fate clearly written.
 

 It was customary for submissive wives to attend a tribunal in clothes that were not only conservative, but that would make bare behinds easily accessible for corporal punishment, since that was the common sentence meted out by the five priggish disciplinarians. At such a time, she would never think to wear panties.

       As Bridget turned to face the punishment bench she could feel her unclothed behind tremble underneath the grey tweed skirt. Pushed to the apparatus, she looked to her husband for some moral support. But in a move that totally shocked her, Geoff nodded to her formally with a look on his face as grim as the other men in the room, and then turned on his heel and walked out the door. She was about to call to him, but immediately swallowed the anxious protest. Alone with these men, however, she was so scared that the wet tears forming in her eyes soon splashed down her cheeks.

       “Kneel,” someone ordered her from behind.

       The order came as a shock with her mind still dazed. The punishment bench loomed like an angry dragon before her and she hardly knew what to do. The device had been expertly designed and well-built to last through thousands of rituals like this one. Though it had not been used at Bridget’s first tribunal, Alecia gave her a complete account of her wretched battle with the miserable thing. Although a punished wife was forbidden to talk about the circumstances of their trial and the following sentence, Alecia loquaciously revealed every detail of her ordeal while Bridget listened to her account in awe. Though she vaguely knew what to expect, real life was much more vivid and rich with distress than her imaginings.

       The punishment bench was a good eighteen inches off the ground. At knee height there was a padded bar to rest her knees as she knelt over a broad flat board that angled downward. In this position a submissive’s ass would be exposed high and wide for maximum punishment. A bar at the far end of the board was available to hold on to, while the unfortunate woman’s ass was spread to its maximum degree, the cleft parted to show her private parts from her tight rear bud to the purple folds of the womanly home below.

       Once Bridget took the desired position, her skirt was quickly raised so the target of her snowy skin lay out resplendently for all eyes to see. As if that wasn’t bad enough, to prevent a tormented submissive from struggling, a broad strap was secured around her waist, and two smaller ones bound her knees and thighs below. Bridget felt as helpless as she’d ever been, and her tears were on the rise.

            “This will likely be as sound and painful a punishment as you’ve ever received, Mrs. Fox. But as with all sentences we mete out here, you are advised to keep your cries to a minimum. The tribunal does not think highly of undue screams, or useless pleading. Your punishment has been decreed, and to think we’ll veer from the form is a pointless waste of time on your part. Is that clear?”

       “Yes, sir,” she whispered so quietly no one was sure they heard the answer, but the question was only rhetorical to begin with.

       Though the air was hot around her, Bridget’s body seemed frozen with fear. She could feel the eyes of the five men boring into her chilled behind and imagined them admiring its pristine appearance. Geoff had always said that her ass was flawless, the skin pale but with a soft rosy glow that seemed to shine from underneath the surface—especially in such a mellow light as this one.

       Her eyes were closed, her head beginning to ache, as it seemed blood rapidly flooded her eyes and ears. The seconds ticking unmercifully by, she turned from cold to hot without a strike to her ass. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth parched, and she thought her whole body would boil dry from the heat.

       The first smack of the paddle thundered against her ass with a startling bite. And then others followed in a regular cadence one would expect from this formal group. The man delivering the paddling was sternly efficient, taking his task quite seriously. He’d doffed his suit coat and rolled the sleeves of his crisp cotton shirt to his elbow, revealing surprisingly manly arms, muscled and robust for his age. After leveling a dozen smacks to Bridget’s ass, he paused to let the men who’d gathered around see the color rising on her skin. Though the punishment was only beginning, her bottom was already quite pink, the surface looking warm. Pleased with the first results, the somber fellow continued on, laying a second dozen and then a third while Bridget moaned and struggled fitfully with the straps that held her fixed in place.

       The color of her skin deepened, like a sky changing hues at sunset when the hot orb slips beyond the horizon. At the next pause, the observers could see that her sex pouch had moistened with a delicate layer of dew disclosing the muted but very obvious arousal her body enjoyed. Certainly none of the men considered this a conscious act. No, this young wife was growing more agitated and vocal with each strike that jiggled her scalding behind. Though it was quite apparent that Geoff Fox’s saucy wife relished this punishment on a deep level of her submissive psyche. They almost smiled at the discovery, and of course, their cocks were throbbing, some fully erect inside their pants. None would have the benefit of Mrs. Fox’s other fine attributes, but they could regardless enjoy what was obviously a very arousing picture.

       While admiring the lovely sight before them, the inspired disciplinarian delivered round after round of smacks, making Bridget’s bottom acutely raw. His aim drifted downward for a time, as he lay a potent dozen on the more tender flesh of her thighs. With this, Bridget let out an angry howl, “Oh, my god, no please!” Her voice rocked the air with a passionate plea for mercy that fell on deaf ears.

       In answer to that desperate plea, at least a half dozen more strikes snapped rudely on her thighs before her tormentor changed his aim again. Bridget was only too happy to have the treatment return to her padded behind.

       As the scene evolved, the paddling finally came to an end. Only after the paddle was retired for the night did the penitent woman note the fire on her ass. The warmth that spread across the surface expanded to the insides of her body, into her quivering thighs, and up her spine. She could feel the warmth reach the center of her crotch where her pussy was moist and blood pulsed in an erotic frenzy. The empty cavity clenched involuntarily, but she halted the reflex knowing what that would communicate to the men around her.

       “The cane, Mrs. Fox, is all that remains,” she heard Andrew speak. For just a second she looked back to see one solemn disciplinarian step away while another took his place. Jacketless, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looked like a clone of the first in attitude; the only difference was the implement he carried in his hand.

       Bridget shuddered seeing the sleek, slim cane he grasped so tightly, and with the sight too painful to watch, she closed her eyes as if she could close the next few minutes from her mind.

       The only good thing about a caning is its swiftness. To Bridget’s relief, this one was no different than the others she’d suffered—those previous all administered by her husband. In a strange moment just before the first shocking blow, her mind sailed free to somewhere outside the chamber doors, to Geoff waiting for the punishment to end, and Alecia who was, as far as she knew, languishing in an upper room of the massive house. She worried over her friend’s fate, a thousand questions all at once appearing in her head centering around the question, ‘why?’ Why was she taken to the top of the house? What awaited her there? Why was there no punishment, no anguished cries of woe from Alecia’s lips reaching out beyond the chamber earlier that night? What horror was behind her friend’s sad eyes…

       Thwack! With Bridget suddenly jerked back inside her body, the hot pain seared her skin and her mind went blank.

       “Ahhhuugh!”

       The old man delivered several more cuts, each one seeming to rip her apart—pain shooting like arrows everywhere. A pause and the worst of it subsided briefly. She wondered if the tribe was inspecting the results—perhaps they would decrease the twelve they promised, seeing how badly she must be wounded. That hope was only momentary, however, as another several cuts tore at her poor behind.

       She moaned loudly, pleading in a nonsensical language no one would recognize but a human heart—except that these hearts were cold and disconnected to the travail of the young woman on their bench. Another cut, and then two more, Bridget waited for the rest to follow, afraid the trial would never end.

       But then, as briskly as it commenced, the caning stopped and her ordeal was over.

       Without comment or ceremony, Bridget’s skirt dropped over her punished ass, and a pair of warm hands unbuckled the straps. Lifted from the punishment bench, her legs were wobbling and she had to lean against one of her despicable judges in order to maintain her balance. With a deep breath and steady determination born of what remaining pride she might enjoy, she forced herself erect and moved away from the hands that steadied her.

       Then, in a move that seemed wholly extraneous, she was made to stand before the tribe for a final upbraiding.

       “It is my prayer,” Andrew Lassiter began in a soft-spoken voice, “that the marks we’ve left on your buttocks will stay with you some days.”

       “Yes, I’ve already heard this,” she thought to herself. Her whole brain and body were screaming, “Let me out of here!”

            “Do not shame yourself like this again. You certainly know what is right, Mrs. Fox. Now, let’s have the courage to do it! I don’t want to see you here again.”

       “You’re damn right I don’t want to be here!” she silently agreed.

       “You’re dismissed. I’m sure I don’t have to say this, but I expect you’ll give your husband a full accounting of what you’ve just endured.” With a nod of his head, she took her cue to leave.

             Still shaky and weak Bridget walked from the room into the foyer where Geoff waited. She turned, baring her ass so he could see the results of the paddle and cane. She could hope for a little sympathy, but she wasn’t surprised when he offered her none. Instead, he turned her around so her skirt dropped back over her punished cheeks, and they left the house without exchanging a word.