TITLE    : A Lark
STORYID  : a-lark
SUMMARY  : A dare brought them closer together--much closer!
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-07-17
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |spanking|paddle|lesbian|ass|buttocks|camera|punishment|exhibitionist|voyeur|


It started as a lark, as something to do to pass the time.



"I dare you!" Marilyn challenged me.



"I will if you will," I shot back, thinking that, surely, that would shut her up.



It hadn't. Marilyn was brassy. She always has been, and she said, "I will, right here, right now."



My eyes widened, and I gulped. "You won't," I answered lamely.



"Watch me!"



We were on Adams Street, at the Save-a-Lot Grocery. Steel grocery carts formed a sea, the front of each one rammed into the rear of the one ahead of it so that they formed long rows, teen deep. There was plenty of traffic, as usual, and shoppers went back and forth from their cars in the parking lot to the store and back, with provisions enough for a week or more. Most of the shoppers were women. Many had young children with them. Occasionally, a solitary man was seen among them.



Neither Marilyn nor I was wearing a bra or a pair of panties. We'd intentionally omitted underwear to facilitate our goal. I hadn't thought we'd really go through with it, though. I'd been all talk, and I'd figured that Marilyn had been just talking, too. There was no way, I'd thought, that she'd ever really expose herself, any more than I would.



She walked up to the side of a long file of the shopping carts, leaned far forward, so that her upper body lay across the tops of two of the interconnected carts, and, bent over in this manner, lifted her pink mini-skirt so that it was above her buttocks, showing not only the smooth globes of her firm derriere, but also the well-turned columns of her tapering thighs and calves.



She'd done it! She'd actually exposed herself in public!



She dropped her skirt, rose, turned to face me, and, grinning, announced, "Your turn, Peggy!"



What could I do? If I refused, I'd lose face. Marilyn had gone through with it. If I didn't do the same, I'd never live down the teasing she'd subject me to. We'd been best friends since kindergarten, and I didn't want to lose her friendship, but I didn't want to hear from her, every day, either, about how she'd lived up to our dare and I hadn't.



I'd do it, I decided. Just the way Marilyn had. She hadn't gotten caught. I wouldn't, either. I'd just be quick about it, and it would be over and done with, and I'd make sure I never put myself in such a position again, ever.



I stepped up to the shopping carts, intensely aware of the women--and the few men!--who paced back and forth, mere yards beyond the shopping carts that stood between me and the parking lot. Marilyn had gotten away with exposing her butt, but it would be just my luck to get caught. In my imagination, the police had already hauled my ass to jail, and my parents had been notified of their daughter's arrest for "indecent exposure."



"Hello!" Marilyn called. "We don't have all day."



My senses were on heightened alert, and everyone and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Sounds were incredibly distinct. I could hear birds singing in the small trees that grew in the far-flung islands in the midst of the parking lot's sea of asphalt, although, a moment ago, I hadn't been aware of them. I also heard the conversations of mothers and children and of the occasional couples who crossed to or from the store and their automobiles. I heard litter skitter across the pavement. I heard my own heart beating wildly.



"I knew you were chicken," Marilyn taunted me, the way she'd taunt me continuously and unmercifully every day from now on if I didn't follow through on her dare.



Quickly, I bent forward, over the shopping carts, the same way as Marilyn had done, hitched up my own mini-skirt, and showed my friend my ass. I felt the air, cool, on my bare skin while I counted to three. As quickly as I'd raised my skirt, I lowered it, breathing a deep sigh of relief as I stood up, turned, and looked the Save-a-Lot manager, Mike Myerson, in the eye. He was standing a few feet behind Marilyn, with an irate expression on his face. One eyebrow was cocked, his teeth were clenched, and he scowled, his brow furrowed. His feet were spread wide apart, and his arms were folded across his chest. My knees were wobbly, and I felt faint.



"You did it, girlfriend!" Marilyn cried. "I didn't think you would. I thought you'd pussy out on me, but you did it!"



"Yes," Mike said, "you both did it."



Startled, Marilyn spun around, looking as scared as I felt, which was plenty. "Mike!" she cried. "What are you doing spying on us, you pervert?"



I had to admire her. It was a brave, inspired effort, her trying to turn the tables on Mike that way. Unfortunately, it didn't work.



"I came out to get a shopping cart for one of my customers, Mrs. Douglas, as both she and my assistant manager know full well," he said, glaring at Marilyn. His eyes passed from her to me, and I knew how Perseus must have felt when he saw Medusa turn one of his men into stone. "I never imagined I'd see you girls exposing yourselves outside my store."



"You saw nothing of the kind," Marilyn challenged him. "Did he, Peg?"



Before I could back her lie, Mike nodded toward one of the cameras installed beneath the eaves of the Save-a-Lot's massive roof. "I did, and the camera did, too," he declared. He cocked his head toward the grocery. "Inside," he ordered. When we hesitated, he barked, "Now, unless you want me to call the cops!"



He led, and we followed, past the cash registers and well-stocked aisles, to his private office at the rear of the store, entered through a pair of swinging doors marked "Employees Only." On the way, I heard the words "shoplifters," "thieves," and "five-fingered discount." The employees had assumed that we'd been caught stealing from the store and were being taken to the manager's office.



I was scared shitless, and I knew Marilyn was, too, despite her bravado. By the time we'd reached Mike's office, I was crying.



He stood aside at the door and let us enter his office before him. Then, he closed the door behind him, locking it, and took a seat in the executive's chair behind his desk, leaving us standing before him. I stared at the rounded toes of my shoes, feeling sick and weak. My tears were warm on my face. They came thick and fast, spilling off my jaw and onto the carpet at my feet. Unable to look at him, I asked whether he was going to call our parents. Even though Marilyn and I were both eighteen, we still lived at home, having graduated from high school only a week ago, and neither my parents nor hers would be any too pleased to hear of the sluttish behavior of their teenage daughters.



"What do you girls think I should do?" he demanded.



It annoyed me that he referred to Marilyn and me as "girls" when he'd graduated high school only a couple years before we had, becoming the manager of his uncle's store as soon as he'd earned his associate's degree in business administration from the local community college. We'd known him as a student, although not well. He'd been a senior when we were sophomores, and he'd even asked Marilyn to go with him to the prom. She'd refused, thinking him a geek, and I wondered, with a sudden pang of fear, whether he remembered her rejection of him and whether, if he did, he was vindictive. If so, he had a perfect chance to get even with her, and I'd suffer the collateral damage of his ire.



In the bigger scheme of things, though, I told myself, worrying about his calling Marilyn and me "girls" wasn't all that important. In fact, it wasn't important at all, not compared to whether Mike would call our parents--or, for that matter, the police.



"Your parents may be the least of your worries," Mike said, his voice stern, like my Daddy's always got when I was in deep, hot water. I gulped, hazarding a glance at Marilyn. She'd lost a lot of her bravado. She looked scared, just like, I knew, I did. Mike would have no trouble detecting our dread. "You'll be lucky if I don't call the cops. What you did out there, in front of my store, in front of my customers--well, it's just unbelievable!" He paused, letting his words sink in before he added, "I doubt the police would be any happier to see the tape of your little exhibition than your parents would."



I heard Marilyn sniff, and I stole a glance at her. A tear coursed down her cheek, and the sight of her in this state, she who'd always seemed fearless and bold, was as unnerving as Mike's veiled threat to call the cops. "What are you going to do?" she asked the manager.



"You acted like children, so I intend to treat you as such. It's your choice, though. What's it going to be, a spanking or a couple of 'phone calls?"



My head jerked up as I stared at Mike in alarm. "A spanking?" I repeated, the words trembling upon my quivering lips.



The store manager's true nature showed as he leaned over, sideways, in his chair. It swiveled slightly. He reached down, between his desk and the wall, and laid a long, thick paddle on his desktop. Three rows of holes had been drilled through the paddle to cut down on the wind resistance as the heavy blade was swung through the air. Although he was a handsome guy in his own geeky way, Mike looked ugly enough with the malicious grin that had appeared on his cruel face.



I stole a glance at Marilyn. She looked terrified. She wept openly, tears continuing to stream down her lovely face. I felt the same way she looked, and I was crying, too.



"What's it going to be, girls?" Mike demanded. "The paddle or the police--and your parents?"



When I tried to answer his question, I found my throat too dry, and I was unable to get the words out. Swallowing, I managed to croak, "The paddle."



Mike turned his gaze from me to Marilyn. "What about you?"



She was looking down, at her feet, as I had been, and she didn't meet his gaze. The woman who, two years ago, as a high school student, had rejected the manager's request to be his prom date said, her voice shaky and her lips trembling, "The same."



Mike grinned again. "Very well, then, a spanking it shall be." He pointed the paddle at Marilyn. "You, bend across my desk."



My eyes widened as I shot Marilyn a cautionary glance. If she assumed such a position, her skirt would lift as she bent over, and her bare ass would show. Inwardly, I shrugged, though, thinking that Mike had already seen our naked butts; that's why we were in this predicament. Still, I didn't relish the thought of the bully seeing my uncovered derriere again, nor do I think Marilyn was too crazy about him seeing her bare butt.



Nevertheless, she complied with Mike's directive, bending over the front of his desk. Her skirt rose, like a curtain, as she leaned forward, offering full disclosure of her lovely, firm bottom. If I were a lesbian, I would certainly have been enthralled by the sight of her lovely buttocks.



Mike, having arisen from his throne-like executive's chair, rounded his desk, and positioned himself behind my friend. He looked down, for a long moment, at the full moon of Marilyn's sleek, round ass. I noticed that, at the crotch of his slacks, there was the telltale bulge of a burgeoning erection. The sleazy bastard was enjoying his dominance of Marilyn and me.



"Lift your skirt," he instructed Marilyn.



Why? I wondered. The son-of-a-bitch could already see all but the very tops of her buttocks.



"Throw it completely up, around your waist. I want your whole ass exposed, the way it was when you had the audacity to show it in public, in front of my store."



"Your uncle's store, you mean," I wanted to say. "Without him, you'd still be the nobody you were in school." Of course, I didn't say any such thing. Marilyn and I were in trouble enough without angering Mike any further than he already was.



Again, Marilyn did as she'd been told, flipping her skirt up, around her waist, so that Mike and I had a completely unobstructed view of her entire bottom.



He raised the paddle as high as his long arm allowed, but, as he was about to bring it down upon Marilyn's bottom, he noticed that I'd shut my eyes, and he paused. "You watch, Peggy. I want you to see every single swat, knowing, all the while, that you're next."



I shook my head. "No! I don't want to see."



"You'll look, or it will be the worse for your friend--and you."



I had no way of knowing whether his threat was real, for, whether I watched or not, he seemed intent upon giving us both an intense spanking, but I didn't want to risk making matters worse for my friend and me, so I opened my eyes. Tears spilled from them, watering my already-wet cheeks, and Mike smiled. "That's better, Peg."



He raised the paddle again, his fingers coiled tightly around its handle, and brought the heavy timber forward, in a flashing streak, as if he were Alex Rodriguez, intent upon hitting a grand slam. The thick wooden blade landed with a tremendous whack against Marilyn's bottom, flattening the round mounds of her creamy, smooth buttocks beneath its mighty impact, and Marilyn screamed as her hips were driven forward, into the edge of the desktop.



I hoped that her cry would be heard, summoning employees who'd put an end to our nightmarish predicament, but then fear lanced my heart, for, were we discovered, the police might be called, after all, and our parents would probably be notified or we'd have to call them ourselves, to get them to bail us out of jail.



Mike put my fears to rest, sort of, when he told Marilyn, "Go ahead, scream all you want. My office is soundproof; no one can hear you but Peggy and me."



The paddle had left a wide pink swath across both of Marilyn's buttocks, and she continued to moan and whimper. I shuddered, knowing my turn was coming soon enough, and I would feel the same mortification and pain that my friend was suffering at Mike's hands.



The manager lifted the paddle again, and I cringed as he struck, the paddle walloping my friend's bare, defenseless bottom again, leveling the full, firm cheeks under its fearsome impact. Marilyn gasped, and her hands rubbed her pink bottom.



"Take your hands away!" Mike ordered.



Reluctantly, perhaps fearing she'd prolong her punishment if she disobeyed the manager, she did as he'd instructed her to do, but she couldn't help but to whimper. Between her thighs, I noticed moisture. At first, despite the air conditioning that kept the office comfortably cool, I thought that it must be sweat. Then, I realized that it was my friend's pussy that was wet! On some level, despite the pain that Mike was inflicting upon her bottom, Marilyn was getting off on being paddled; as impossible as it seemed, she was enjoying it! I wondered, when my turn came to trade places with her, whether the paddle would have the same mixed effects upon me. I certainly hoped not. I couldn't imagine anything more mortifying than wetting myself like that in front of Mike.



A third time, the paddle rose and fell, a loud report filling the small office, and Marilyn gasped, moaning. Her bottom was beginning to deepen from pink to red, as if her nether cheeks were blushing. I saw Mike smile as he studied his handiwork, admiring the beauty of Marilyn's rosy buttocks for a long moment before he returned to work on them.



He administered two quick, but devastatingly powerful, swats, the paddle crushing Marilyn's buttocks beneath the collisions of its flat, broad, thick blade as it slammed into her bottom, and, as before, she cried out, shrieking, gasping, and moaning. "Please," she begged, "stop. I've had enough."



He brought the paddle down again, with even more savage force, and Marilyn, screeching, was driven hard against the front of the desk. Her nails scrambled against the surface, knocking over a container of pens and pencils. The writing implements scattered over the blotter. "I'll decide when you've had enough, young lady!" he told her.



Not only had Marilyn's bottom deepened to a cherry red, but bruises had begun to appear in her buttocks. She was sniveling and sniffing and weeping, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. She was a total wreck, I thought, this girl who'd been as fearless and strong as Wonder Woman for as long as I'd known her, a heroine, of sorts, to whom I'd looked up with admiration and respect. I'd loved Marilyn as a friend since preschool. She was, in fact, my dearest, best friend, even now, and my heart broke to see her spirit crushed. She'd been reduced, in a few minutes' time, to a shadow of her bold and sassy former self, and Mike was to blame. I hated the bastard's guts.



He raised the paddle again, and I interceded for my friend. "Stop!"



He looked at me, anger in his fierce, cruel eyes. "Shut up!"



"Please," I implored him. "Stop, Mike. Please."



He considered, the paddle high overhead. Smiling, as he lowered the instrument, he nodded at me. "Okay, Peg. Since you asked so nicely, I'll stop, for you."



I waited, expecting some condition.



He didn't disappoint me. "If you're willing to take the stroke for her."



Despite her pain and humiliation, Marilyn managed to blurt, "Don't so it, Peggy!"



Meeting his eyes with my own, I nodded. "All right, whatever, just don't hit her again, please."



To Marilyn, he said, his tone contemptuous, "Trade places with your true-blue friend."



It was painful to watch Marilyn grimace and wince as, moaning, she managed to rise. Her skirt fell back into place, hiding Mike's handiwork, and, except for her agonized expression, her wet, shining face, and her haunted eyes, it would be hard to know that she'd received anything more than a tongue lashing from the manager.



"It's your turn to be paddled," Mike told me. "Assume the same position as your friend assumed before you." He glared at Marilyn, who looked away from him. "You watch, if you know what's good for your friend here."



"Get your skirt up, around your waist," Mike ordered me.



Reluctantly, my hands trembling, I complied, feeling the cool air of the room upon the exposed flesh of my backside.



"Yours is even prettier than Marilyn's," Mike said, as if I cared to hear his "compliment." "I really wanted to ask you to the prom," he confided to me, "but you were so beautiful then, as now, that I knew I didn't have a chance with you, so I asked Marilyn instead."



"She's every bit as pretty as I am," I replied, "prettier, actually."



Mike snorted. "You may have told her that shit, good friend that you are, but everybody in school knew who was the better looking of the two of you, and that's you, Peggy."



"I wish."



"You more than wish; you know, and, deep down in her soul, so does Marilyn, don't you, bitch?"



From behind me, I heard my friend's answer, soft and pitiful. "Yes." I felt utterly sorry for my dear friend, for, the truth of the matter is that I am better looking than Marilyn, pretty though she is. For some reason, we'd always maintained the fiction that she was the more beautiful, although, as Mike had cruelly revealed, we both knew better, deep down.



"You bastard!" I cried, hoping to anger him so he'd turn on me and leave poor Marilyn alone. She'd suffered quite enough, I thought.



He chuckled. "I settled for second best."



Marilyn sobbed, his words as painful, maybe more so, than the whacks of the paddle he'd delivered to her bare behind.



He returned his attention to me. "And now, bitch, it's your turn."



The first blow was so intense that I thought I wouldn't be able to take another. The paddle smote my backside with tremendous force, a loud report seeming to reverberate off the close confines of the small office's four walls, and a searing pain claimed my bottom as if the impact of the blade had ignited a fire deep inside my buttocks. I gasped, cried out, and bounced upon my toes, the cheeks of my derriere flexing and relaxing repeatedly.



Behind me, I heard Mike's cruel laughter and Marilyn's sob.



Whack! The paddle slammed against my bottom, and I wailed. My poor butt screamed with pain, and I trembled, as the fiery warmth swept through my ass. Tears had gathered in my eyes after the first swat, and, now, they trickled down my face, my eyes smarting from the salt. I held my breath, counting, to distract myself, as best I could, from the agony that had taken up residence, as it were, within my bottom, and waited for the pain to become bearable, if ever it would.

<hr pg="2" />Of course, I never got the chance, for, in rapid succession, two more swats, even more powerful than those which had preceded them, landed upon my derriere, and my knees wobbled, all the strength seeming to pour out of my thighs and calves as new pain, even worse than the fiery agony that the previous strokes of the paddle had ignited inside my bottom, filled my quivering buttocks, and, I screamed. Please don't hit me again, I wanted to beg, but I knew, if anything, my implorations would only incite more cruelty in the sadistic bastard who wielded the paddle. Instead, I, who had never been especially religious, prayed, Dear God, let me endure this punishment, and let it be over soon!



The paddle crashed mightily against my butt again, and a wildfire of unbelievable pain swept through my tortured bottom as, behind me, Mike chuckled. "Look how red her ass is, Marilyn! Another swat or two, and your friend will be wearing welts as well as bruises."



"Why don't you leave her alone?" Marilyn responded. Her love for me had overcome her fear, and she'd interceded for me, as I had for her.



"Say anything to me again like that, and I'll double the number of swats I deliver to her ass," he warned Marilyn.



He punctuated his warning to Marilyn with two rapid-fire whacks of the paddle against my derriere that left me howling. I sobbed uncontrollably now, mucus flowing from my nose as tears streamed from my eyes, and I was horrified to find my pussy had flooded, sending a stream of its thick, warm fluid down my inner thighs. The torrent seemed so heavy that I had little doubt that Mike must have seen it, or would notice it soon enough, and I was mortified by the thought that he would know that, on some level, I was sexually aroused by the pain he'd delivered to my backside, just as my own knowledge of the same thing humiliated me.



The paddle's strike knocked all thoughts out of my head as my ass filled again with the agony of the blade's tremendous blow, and I screamed again, my cries coming one after another, in a long, undulating keening that filled the room above all sounds but the series of reports that additional blows to my buttocks caused: Whap! Whap! Whap!



"See what I told you?" Mike called to Marilyn. "See the welts and bruises?"



"Yes," she answered him. "Now will you stop? Please, before you cause permanent damage?" Marilyn had chanced upon an effective deterrent to Mike's delivery of further blows to my purple, red, bruised bottom, and she must have sensed this, because she added, her tone cold and harsh, "You wouldn't want her to have to see a doctor, would you?"



Behind me, after a moment's hesitation, he said to me, "Get up."



Gratefully, I struggled to a standing position, as best I could, relieved to feel my skirt fall back into place around my tortured buttocks, although even its touch hurt my pain-filled bottom.



I winced, as I stepped past the manager, standing alongside Marilyn. The room looked blurry, as did Marilyn and Mike, and I realized that I was looking through a watery curtain of my own tears. Marilyn was still teary eyed as well, although she no longer wept.



Although I was sill sobbing and sniveling, the backs of my hands came up, of their own accord, wiping my tears from my wet face.



Marilyn, wincing herself, managed to put her arm around me, and she drew me against her soft shoulder. I felt the welcome press of her warm body and the contact of her ribs and hip against my own as she drew me close, her protectiveness and courage reasserting themselves now that our ordeal was done.



"I hope you girls learned your lesson," Mike said.



His cock, fully erect in his trousers, showed, beyond a doubt, that teaching us a "lesson" had been the furthest thing from his mind.



We said nothing.



He nodded at the mop bucket in a corner of his office. A mop handle protruded from it. "Before you leave, wipe up the mess you left on my floor."



He meant our pussy juices.



"Mop it up yourself, pervert," Marilyn said.



"Get the hell out of my office, and don't ever let me catch your faces--or your asses--around here again."



Still crying, we managed to walk, without hobbling, past the staring employees who waited outside the office. As we made our way down the aisles, between the canned goods and bagged merchandise, I heard an employee say to his coworkers, "Judging by their looks, whatever Mike said to them sure seems to have put the fear of God into the little thieves!" Harsh laughter greeted the idiot's quip.



Outside the grocery store, as customers continued to walk empty-handed into the store and return to their cars with their arms full of bagged groceries or pushing a shopping cart before them, Marilyn paused before the lined-up carts.



"Marilyn," I groaned, reading her thoughts. "Don't do it!"



"I am going to do it," she told me, "and so are you. We're not going to let that rat bastard get away with intimidating us."



"Have you forgotten about the police?" I asked her, looking at my friend as if she'd suffered not only a terrible spanking but brain damage as well. "Do you want to be arrested? Do you want your parents to have to come down and bail your ass out of jail?"



"Sure, because then we can file a complaint against Mike for assault and battery, maybe even felonious assault and battery, and our beaten asses, caught on his own surveillance tape, will be the evidence that nails him if he's dumb enough to press the issue, which he's not."



I considered my friend's reasoning. It seemed sound to me, and, like Marilyn I didn't want Mike to think he'd gotten away with breaking our spirits. "Okay," I agreed. "Let's do it!"



Giggling, we stood side by side, hip to hip, bent over the shopping carts, and revealed our spanked fannies to the camera mounted below the eaves of the Save-a-Lot's massive roof.



"On three, lift your skirt around your hips," Marilyn instructed me, and we did, disclosing our complete assets to the camera.



That afternoon, our friendship deepened. We became closer than ever, much closer than even best friends. We also became exhibitionists. Between sessions of lovemaking, we indulge our hobby of flashing in public. We're careful, though, to reveal our charms only to whichever of us happens to be holding the video camera. Although, to date, we've shown ourselves in parks, in alleys, on the beach, in fields, in woods, and in each other's backyards, we've been the only voyeurs to benefit from our exhibitionism.



We're as faithful in revealing our bodies only to one another as we are in making love exclusively to one another. If you're lucky, though, maybe, one day, you'll get a glimpse of Marilyn's tits, twat, or ass, or my own. One thing's certain, though: even if you do happen to catch a glimpse of us showing off to the camera, you'll never spank us.



That's something that Marilyn and I reserve for each other alone.

