The Woodshed, Back in Use!

Bantu grinned as Krynolyn motioned excitedly for him to follow her into her considerable back yard.

Krynolyn was sweet, but a little controlling for a girl who purported to be a submissive. She was from a big political family in Buttermilk Falls, a family with a considerable amount of money, and she herself worked as a yoga instructor.

"On personal yachts." she'd told him on their first date. "It's kind of a big deal to have an actual O'Mara--from the family, right--teaching yoga. And most of these people are very nouveau riche, you understand."

"I-I guess." Bantu had said, puzzled. But he'd enjoyed the first time he'd gotten Krynolyn to strip down naked, those tiny little breasts with the oversized nipples...

He'd whipped her the first time and she'd cried easily, but when he tried to lay off a bit, she'd mumbled, "No, no...more."

Perhaps her utter submission to him had something to do with her entitled past.

Although Krynolyn had some sort of dyslexic disorder that prevented her from reading much (and she couldn't count) she'd still been admitted to Harvard because she submitted a late uncle's body cast as an "art project."

But of course, being spoiled to death leads to all kinds of trouble.

She'd toured rehabilitation centers first for drug addiction, and then for anorexia and self-mutilation and bulimia. Very neurotic.

And she was a big beggar and demander. More than once, Bantu had been forced to distract her from these annoying habits.

He'd rubbed Tabasco sauce on her clit to break her frequent masturbation habits, and had insisted she blow the mail carrier when he'd discovered she'd neglected to give the guy a Christmas tip.

"But-but Nana says that we rob them of their pride when we tip them for services...

Shouldn't they be like dogs who do it for the hunt?"

Then, of course Bantu had required that Kryn blow the mail carrier, the garbage collector, and more than a few waiters, just to ensure that she was cured of her um, elitist egalitarianism.

He'd caned her palms after noting how easily she shot other drivers the bird in traffic, and had once dragged her out of a supermarket by the hair after she'd impertinently imitated a grandmotherly cashier.

Now Bantu looked at Krynolyn and how she was waving him into her large yard, and apparently she'd built some sort of little wooden building.

Or she'd paid someone to build it.

"Do you like it? What do you think?"

Bantu came a little closer. What the fuck was this? Bantu was an old fashioned black man who had grown up in a tenement in the Narrows slum of Buttermilk Falls.

But...

He'd lived for some time in Alabama, and was this a WOODSHED?

Krynolyn saw the recognition in Bantu's eyes and she beamed at him.

"Right! You see! It's a woodshed. Remember, you told me that I was too demanding and needed to be taken into a woodshed. I didn't know what you meant, but I did Google it."

Of course she did.

Krynolyn twitched her little bottom in the sundress and opened the door to the benighted thing and they went in together.

There was wood, and an axe...of course she didn't have a wood burning stove, or even much of a fireplace, but...

"See? I got real hot when I read about how they take the young'un out to the woodshed for a whuppin." Krynolyn babbled this.

"Yes. You are, of course thirty-five years old, but you are somewhat youthful in your uh, demeanor."

Krynolyn's long brown hair fell in her face as she stared at the floor. "You don't like it, do you, Bantu?"

"I-I didn't say that. Wow, and you have lots of straps and paddles up on the wall."

Up her face came, all forgiven. "Yes! I know you need punishment implements."

"Sure, but as I recall, the point of the woodshed was, my Granddad could just pick up a piece of wood, and--"

"Plenty of that, too."

Her freckled nose twitched and Krynolyn leaned over, her dress hiking up, and picked up a thin-ish piece of maple.

"I had lots of stuff imported, since Buttermilk Falls has kind of a shitty forest."

Krynolyn pointed a red nail at the sawhorse by the door.

"You can bend-um- me over that and look! I had handcuffs bolted into the floor, since you say I squirm too much sometimes."

Bantu smiled involuntarily, and Krynolyn, mistaking this for approval, giggled and jumped up and down, clapping her hands gleefully.

It reminded Bantu of Kryn's cousin, Townsend McClay, who was a State Senator. When Townie had still been a City Councilman, he'd rubbed and clapped his hands the same way when announcing a new housing project.

Later, of course, when it was discovered he'd taken very, very shoddy bids, the clapping had stopped a bit, but this family...

When Bantu's little nephews, Toot and Bang, had nearly died as the crappy ceiling of the Townsend McClay Luxury Apartment fell on them, Bantu had caned Kryn for nearly an hour.

Finally, she had used part of her trust fund, and the proceed royalties from a TERRIBLE book on Pilates to buy a little cottage for Bantu's sister and her kids...

But still, how annoying can people like this get?

"Well, it's great looking, and we must try it out, Krynni." Bantu said with a gleaming smile.

"Well, I didn't really mean now." Krynolyn said, biting her lower lip.

"No time like the present, Princess." Bantu took Kryn by the arm and bent her over the sawhorse, snapping the cuffs from the floor on her lowered wrists.

"B-but Bantu, I thought we'd get something to eat--"

"Well, I have your Visa. I might go get something afterwards."

Bantu pulled up Kryn's paisley sundress to her waist, and then he dragged her panties down. Oh, what a luscious rear end she had!

It wasn't very big, but the cheeks had plumpness to them, and a few freckles. Bantu noticed that the scars he'd left there after the supermarket debacle had not quite faded, but no new pimples had grown where he'd reduced them to bloody zit-mess.

And of course he saw that Krynolyn was already aroused, rubbing herself against the sawhorse as she argued with him.

"I don't think it's fair, since I just got back from a business--"

"Yes, of course not." Bantu examined the maple stick carefully and then dropped it on the floor, and picked up a thick wooden paddle that Kryn had hooked on a wall.

He watched in honest pleasure as Kryn bit her lip, trembling

"Now we'll see who the big girl is, the bossy girl...who does me a favor of building a shed where I have to work like a damn field hand to see to your malfeasance."

WHACK! THWACK! SMACK! Red crescents rose on the dead white Irish cheeks.

Krynnie pulled against the cuffs in vain, and bit her lip, trying not to cry.

SMACK! CRACK! SNAP!

Now Krynolyn screamed and began weeping loudly.

"P-please, Bantu, please--I'll be a good guh-girl!"

Bantu delivered a bit more attention with the paddle, before carefully replacing it on the wall, and taking down a short stick with a leather lash attached to it. He had seen one like it in one of those fabulous Russian BDSM videos.

"So I've not heard a safe word yet, Kryn."

"You won't." Kryn's voice came with defiance in it. She would show him.

SLASH! SWACK! The stick-lash thing made a nice red line just under Krynnie's right buttock, in the sensitive spot before the lower thigh.

CRACK! SMACK! Bantu replaced the stick-strap thing on the wall.

"How 'bout we take a break, and you suck Bantie's cock a bit."

"Y-yes sir."

Bantu dropped his pants and jammed his considerable member into Krynolyn's ready lips. He grabbed her by the ears and slammed his penis home as the girl coughed and snot rolled out of her nose.

Finally Bantu relaxed, and enjoyed the fellatio.

There was a knock on the woodshed door, and it opened just as he came all over Krynolyn's face.

"Hey there, cousin. what the fuck's this?"

A pretty russet haired girl of about twenty-two stepped in. It was bitchy Shea McBride, who, according to gossip magazines, had been feuding with Kryn over Kryn's appropriation of a boyfriend, a film star some time back.

Now, Sheaf's mouth dropped. "Jesus, what's going on? Is this guy kidnapping you?"

Shit, I'm still on parole with bench warrants out in four states, Bantu thought. He looked down at Krynolyn, who of course was still pulled over the sawhorse, her hair in her face.

"Um, It's okay, Shea. It's a-a sex game."

"Really?" Shea pulled out her cell phone. "This--Aunt Girt was telling me I had to get good pictures for the family reunion..."