The old Bellamy farm was merely his retirement home, where he hid more or less comfortably from the world and its reminders of his failures. Allan didn’t bother much about the field or the barn. When the mood struck him to be outside, he invariably went to sit on the front porch. Traffic on NY 231 was too sparse to annoy him, and the Compton farm across the way was as idle as his own. That morning, he’d been sitting on his porch for about an hour, musing indifferently over a mediocre fantasy novel, when the girl ambled into view. Foot traffic on NY 231 was unusual in the extreme. It was a truck route, a bypass for the city of Onteora. It had no sidewalks, and was flanked by no consumer-oriented stores or places of employment. It connected to US 90, forty miles to the west, but those who traveled it eastward were seldom Onteora bound. At a distance the girl was ordinary-looking: medium height, a broad-shouldered but bosomy build, shoulder-length blonde hair. She was probably in her. You can see your mistress's eyes turn almost black..I take your belt off, this will come in good use... I unbutton your pants and pull them down, leaving you completely exposed. I put the belt around your neck and lead you to the kitchen table. I tell you to bend over and spread your legs as I take the belt off your neck. I tie your legs to each table leg. You can feel the coldness of the table on your chest as I tie your hands to the other table legs. You are completely helpless and I smile... But your cock is rock hard...I smile again..I touch your pretty ass as i tell you I am going to make that pretty ass bright red...I can feel you tense up as I prepare to spank your ass. Whap!! Whap!! You jump with each smack. Don't say a word, or it will be worse. Whap!! Whap!! Each time is harder and i tell don't move..And you don't, you know better. I stop and disappear for a moment and you are wondering where I went. I reappear with massage oil, which I pour all the way down.
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