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This story is a work of fiction. Do not copy anything in the story.
CHASTENING DAY Act II: A POOR GIRL, A RICH BOY
© smack magnet
Ch 8: Under oak
At last, he’d found an oak with a long horizontal branch and a snapped-off side branch sticking up and out at an angle. He'd been looking for the thing for twenty minutes as he coaxed a sultry Misha by the loop of rope. Her breasts, ballooned, were showing some colour.
The broken branch was too high. He could see he wouldn’t get the loop up and over it.
“I’m going to tie your shoelaces.”
“Think I'll be running away, Mister Joseph?”
“Well,” he said. “I don't know. Don't want to find out.”
“There's worse than you out there today.”
He tied the laces, checked her arms were still firmly cinched and went to drag some wood close as a platform. She didn't try to run. She hobbled after him.
“What you up to, then?” she asked.
He couldn't believe it, Jaxo was right when he'd said there's a lot worse things than a docile one.
And the priest, what the priest had whispered Joseph. The two of them, just him and Dominic, when Jaxo had gone to fetch Misha Spinnet. It had seemed so odd from a man of the cloth. “They are dirty,” he'd said. “These girls who must be chastened, they are temptresses. You must make them suffer! Like the filthy things they are.”
He found some wood, a fallen log, and dragged back it to the horizontal branch, back past the hobbling Misha. She turned to watch. He dropped it under the bough and ran back.
“You seem ever so busy,” she said as he passed.
He disappeared behind a fringe of trees.
“Mister Joseph?” she called. “Mister Joseph!” She shuffled towards the wood.
He grabbed a second log and began to pull it, in jerks, till it freed from a tangle of bramble. He pulled it out past Misha.
She said, “Don't go off like that and leave me!”
He dumped it under the oak bough by the first, then ran back for a third. She stayed still to watch, then turned to shuffle towards his wood pile. When he’d pulled a third up, he pushed the first two together and lifted the third up on top of the others.
“You want me on them, then?”
He couldn't believe it. She was coming towards him. Shuffling in mincing steps. He went to fetch her. She tipped her head in a question. Then his arm, emboldened by their earlier contact, went down between her legs, and he lifted her up onto his shoulders.
“Oh my,” she said, “aren't you the strong one, Mister Joseph?”
He put her down on the highest of the logs that he’d piled into a pyramid.
“So?” she said.
“Yes. So.” He undid her laces.
“I don't mind them tied.”
He looked up as he released her feet. She moved one leg out to take a wider stance. Above him was her naked mound, with its silky wisps of pale blond hair. The smooth curve of her belly was kissed by the trailing loop of rope which fell from between her reddening breasts. She had a teasing grin playing at her mouth.
“You seem to think I'm nice,” he said.
“Aren't you, Mister Joseph?”
He stepped up on the log pile and stretched the loop up to the stub of branch. It wouldn't reach. He tried to pull the bough down with his other arm. Still it wouldn't reach.
“Whyn't you lift me up a bit?”
“What?”
“Lift me up. Like just now. It might go over.”
“You're trying to help?”
She shrugged. He tutted. Balancing on the logs, he took her around her thighs with one arm, held the top of the loop with his other. He pulled the long bough lower with his stretching hand. Misha, who was high enough, leaned her body weight against the bough. At full stretch, he snagged loop top over branch stub. He wanted it to fall to the other side. She'd be held in place and he could put her feet back on the log pile below.
The triangle of logs shifted under him. Suddenly, he went down in a heap. But Misha didn't. She had no choice. The loop pulled taut, its top not yet fully over the stub, but stuck in a fissure. She screamed a shrill scream.
Joseph was flat on his back. Above him, Misha, naked but for shod feet and a pulled-down blouse, hands tied elbow to elbow behind her back, squealed and struggled and kicked thin air. She spun high above, held up only by her bulging breasts.
Joseph stared, open mouthed. Misha screamed. She kicked and struggled, trying vainly to reach the logs below. In a panic, he piled them back in place, but she still couldn't reach them.
He started to run. “I’ll have to get another log!”
She screeched, “Don't leave me!”
Panicking, she rocked and spun. The oak bough wavered up and down. He turned back.
“Hold me up!” Her panic scared birds into sudden flight. He tried to catch her struggling legs. In her fright, she kicked him. He climbed back on the branch pile. Again it gave way.
She squealed, and squealed.
He got up, straddled the logs, put his hand up under her buttocks.
She was not a tall girl, and her backside jutted out from the top of her thighs, curving out and back in a slope towards her spine. Anja and her crowd had mocked its size, though in truth it was merely proudly curved, not fat and ugly as their jibes cruelly claimed. But Joseph had never heard those cat-calls. And even if he had, he would not have agreed. Joseph had wanted to stroke Misha’s bum, to squeeze it and hold it. Her breasts, her cheeky face, those quivering globes. Those were what he thought of when he looked at her. Her fantastic, curvy cheeks sang his libidinous song.
He tried to lift her up by them.
“Help me! Joseph!”
The priest had said, “You must make them suffer! Like the filthy things they are.” He’d added in a mumble, “For they are all sluts.”
But Misha wasn't a slut, not to Joseph.
With one hand below her buttocks, he braced the heel of his other palm into her crotch. He pushed her upwards to relieve her breasts.
He could see how the rope was snagged in a groove.
“Pull it up!” he said.
She squealed. Her hands were tied.
“Do it with your teeth!”
She actually tried, but she couldn't reach.
“Hang on,” he said. “Please, hang on a minute!”
He let her down a little, then strained to boost her as high as he could. But her body fell backwards, taking most of her weight on her breasts again. Joseph tried standing on the single shifted log, but he still couldn't get her high enough.
The log was wet, and his foot slipped off. She swung unsupported, kicking out, rotating chaotically. Her squeals shrilled out truly terrified now.
“Hang on just a minute!”
Leaving her struggling. He fought to reposition the logs. The central piece he lifted out. The other two logs, he picked up and pushed close.
She was panting, hyper-ventilating. He glimpsed a gleam between her parted legs when she kicked and strained. Her breasts looked swollen. He hoisted the third log back on top of the others. He prayed they wouldn't shift again.
He grabbed her again by bum cheek and crotch. Then pulled his crotch hand back in shock, afraid she must be bleeding.
His palm was clear. It glistened wet.
“Please, Joseph!” she squealed.
How could she be wet between her legs? He hadn’t seen her piss herself.
“Hurry, please!”
He pressed his palm back into her crotch. Shoved her upwards with a jerk. She squealed.
He moved his bum hand. His palm heel sat right against her back passage now. Her weight shifted back, caught between it and her breasts. He shifted the crotch hand, tried to grab again.
He'd turned his hand. His thumb, against her glistening slit, was suddenly inside. She gasped. With his fingers, he gripped her pubis. There had been no resistance. His thumb was buried as deep as it would go.
“Sorry!” he said. “Shall I…”
“Push!” she said.
He pushed her upwards. “Try to get the loop with your teeth!”
She was panting. Her weight now leaned forwards against the ropes, her breasts pressed against the long oak bough. She turned her head sideways, breathing heavily. “Push me higher.” A hint of gravel was in her voice.
He lowered her slightly, then jerked her up. Arms straining, he held her at close to full stretch. She grunted. She groaned.
She rested her chin against the up-pointing stub, trying to bite for the rope. “Can you go any higher?”
He made another jerk like a weight lifter till his arms fully locked.
“There’s no higher left!” he panted.
With her breasts still against the big oak branch, she snagged the rope between her teeth. She lifted it clean. Then she spat it out. It fell behind the branch stub.
“Mister Joseph,” she said. “Let me down please, Mister Joseph!”
He did so carefully, expecting the rope to be still in her mouth. It wasn't. His arms shook as he rested her toes on the topmost curve of the triangle of logs.
She said, “You've got a big thumb there, Mister Joseph.”
He looked. Her purpling breasts pulled the oak branch lower. She stood with her legs apart. She even bent her knees, lifted a foot again and put it down a touch wider than before.
“Fuck,” he said.
She made a nervous smile.
“I thought you'd pull it off.”
“It slipped,” she lied. She smiled again, nervous. “I thought it’s what you wanted? No? Mister Joseph?”
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