April's Cruel Days

"So long, and thanks for all the fish"

ADVISORY: This story includes both involuntary and voluntary female urination.

-- -- --

APRIL'S CRUEL DAYS

by Emily Miller

It was early morning. I sat on the bus station bench, looking around me. I was nervous, unsettled. What had I been thinking? Was this really what I wanted? One call, and it could all stop. Assuming that my phone was still working, that is. I scrambled in my purse and found it. 'No Service.' Fuck, that was thorough. My credit cards had been blocked, I had precisely twenty dollars and two quarters on me, and now my phone was useless. Fuck!

That's when I saw them. A middle aged couple, unremarkable looking, just part of the crowd milling around the terminus. The woman was poking the man's arm and pointing at me. They appeared to reach some joint decision and started to walk in my direction.

She spoke first. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice that you look sort of lost, upset even. Can we help?"

I glanced from one to the other, trying to assess what might lie behind their open smiles. My heart beat seemed to drown out the hubbub around us. They looked OK, but appearances could be deceptive.

I stood, stuttering. "I... I don't... don't think I can..."

The man put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched at his touch. But he continued to smile, even as he guided me back down to the bench. "Take a seat. Tell us about it."

One sat on either side of me, and I just started to talk. It was weird; it was like I was on autopilot, playing a role, saying words written by someone else.

"I... my parents. They... well, they are very conservative. And... well. Well, on my eighteenth birthday, at... at the party they threw for me. Well..."

I looked from side to side, the couple continued to beam at me. I decided to just say the words. "They... interrupted me... me and my boyfriend... we were in my room... and..."

I couldn't go on, but the woman put her hand on my knee. "Were you fucking, or was it just a blow job?"

Despite myself, I laughed. "You're direct! It was..." I wondered what to say. "It was just a blow job, OK?"

The woman's smile became even more serene. "And what happened then?"

I took a breath. Might as well say it all. "Then they said that they were going to send me away for the summer. To... to this place... where they would teach me proper morals, save my mortal soul, or something."

I wondered if I was over-egging things, being too exaggerative, but the man responded, "That sounds terrible," in such a sympathetic way that I blurted out, "They have nuns!"

The man and woman exchanged a look and repeated, "Nuns," to each other in such a serious manner that - despite the awkward situation - I almost felt like laughing.

The woman asked, "So what are you doing here?"

I looked at my hands. "Well... I... I ran away. But... but my credit cards don't work, and my phone doesn't work, and I don't know what to do."

It was the man's turn to speak. "Can you not go home?"

My reply was firm. "No. They'll send me back. I... I just need some time... some time to figure things out. I was... I was going to get a hotel room, but..."

"But the credit cards, right?" said the woman.

I nodded.

She looked at her husband - I assumed that they were married - and asked, "Could we?"

He nodded, and then addressed me. "Would you like to stay with us, just for a while, just until you... figure things out, is that what you said?"

I was about to object when the woman added, "You'd be doing us a favor. Our daughter is travelling, and the house gets lonely. We have a pool..."

It was crazy. I couldn't believe I was agreeing to this. Yet I heard myself reply, "That's so kind, I'd love to stay with you." It was as if I was listening to someone else.

The woman continued, "Well that's settled. Do you have a bag?"

I shook my head. "No, I left it behind."

"Don't worry, you look about our daughter's size. I'm sure we can find you some clothes. And a bikini... for the pool."

"For the pool," I said.

"For the pool," the man repeated.

Again the woman spoke. "And, just like our daughter, I'm sure you won't mind helping us out, from time to time, would you?"

"Of course not," I replied. "Anything."

"Anything?" said the man. "Excellent."

We all stood, then the woman said, "But we didn't ask you your name."

"April, it's April."

T he woman smiled. "Such a pretty name, and such a pretty girl."

"Shall we?" The man gestured toward the parking lot exit.

Together we walked to their car.

-- -- --

The house was remote. The man told me it stood on ten acres, much of it wooded. We wound up the long drive and parked in front of a more modest property than I had anticipated. Substantial for sure, but not palatial. Though, on a second look, I noticed a first floor wing extending on the right side - the East I thought - which looked like a later addition.

The woman said that she would find me some of her daughter's clothes, and the man poured me a lemonade, before giving me the tour. Five bedrooms, a living room and family room, a spacious kitchen, adjoining a large dining area, and three bathrooms. It was nice, despite the rather dated decor.

As I sipped on my drink, I could almost feel a wave of relaxation sweeping over me. "And the other wing?" I asked.

"That's closed," the man replied. "Maybe I'll show you it another time."

Something in his voice sounded off. I couldn't put my finger on what, but definitely off.

Then he mentioned the pool, and my silly concerns evaporated. It was to the rear of the property, nestling between the main house and the mysterious wing. I noticed, in passing, that the latter had no windows overlooking the pool, but the pool itself was of much more interest to me.

It was set into the ground, and surrounded on all sides by a broad deck, which led to French doors and thus the main house. It was large, and looked well-kept, with clear, chlorinated water. Its filter system buzzed quietly and efficiently.

"Want a swim?" asked the man.

"Yes, of course," I replied, "but I need something to wear. Your... wife?... mentioned a spare bathing suit."

The man didn't pick up on my question about his female counterpart, instead he just smiled at me.

I was about to ask again, when - as if on cue - the woman appeared. "I left some clothes out, but I thought you might want these."

Under one arm she held a large towel. In her other hand were two tiny scraps of bright blue material. Their daughter had obviously not been shy.

I took them gratefully. "Thank you, I'll go inside and change."

"No need," said the man. "We were heading in anyway. No one will be able to see you."

A little doubtfully, I said. "OK, thanks. Thanks for everything. But I don't know your names."

The pair smiled at me, then the man said, "We'll head in, as I said. Enjoy your swim."

They went through the French doors, and the man closed them behind him.

'Strange,' I thought to myself, 'people don't normally behave like that. Not outside creepy movies anyway.'

Still, the day was already warm, and the pool inviting. I was screened by trees on two sides, and the featureless wall of the East wing on another. Looking behind me, I could see no activity in the main house.

'Why not?' I told myself. Perhaps a little of the couple's somewhat eccentric behavior was beginning to rub off on me.

I got down to my bra and panties rapidly. Then, with one more quick look around, I removed those too. There was something freeing about my nudity. Not a sensation that I was accustomed to in my day to day life. I closed my eyes and felt the sun's warm rays on my skin.

Then a noise, and a movement. Perhaps nothing. Yet - for a moment - I thought that there was a figure behind the French doors looking at me. But no... no one was there now.

Nevertheless, I quickly stepped into the bikini bottom, then covered my breasts with the top, clipping its two ends behind my back and tying the halter around my neck. To be honest, the outfit was still super revealing, but I felt a little more comfortable.

I dove into the water, perhaps appreciating the cloak it provided.

-- -- --

I had done several laps, when I became aware that I was no longer alone. The man had joined me, holding a second glass.

"Hello, April. Is the water nice? I thought that you might like another lemonade. The day is getting hot."

"Thank you," I replied. "That does sound refreshing."

I pulled myself out of the water, aware of the man's eyes tracking me, and very aware of the skimpiness of his daughter's thong.

Still, he just smiled at me as I toweled. Taking a gulp of the drink, I told myself not to jump at shadows. Maybe I just reminded him of his daughter in her clothes.

"Your skin," he said, "it's so pale. Surely you need sunscreen. Let me fetch you some."

I was about to say there was no need, when - taking another sip of the lemonade - I thought again. 'Why not?'

"Sure, that's kind of you."

I was feeling tired, probably all the swimming, and arranged my towel on a lounger before lying on it face down. The sun continued to be bright, and maybe some protection was a good idea.

I had just closed my eyes when footsteps roused me. Both the man and the woman were there.

The woman held a tube of SPF 50. "Here you are, April. Look after that pretty pink skin, OK?" she said as she handed me the sunscreen.

It seemed a strange turn of phrase. But the sun was warm, I was feeling sleepy, and I decided not to worry about it too much. I fumbled with the lid, giggling at my own ineptitude.

"Let me help you," said the woman. "I could do your back, if you like, that is."

The idea of just stretching out and letting someone else slather me was appealing. What was the worst that could happen?

"Sure, just let me finish my drink first."

I downed the lemonade as the pair of them looked smilingly on. Then I lay back down.

The woman was gentle, but thorough. I liked her touch. I began to feel dreamy. But in my dream I still heard her voice. Soft, soothing, understanding. "That's a good girl. You just relax. I think you like this, don't you?"

She applied more cream, using it like massage oil. Now she had worked her way down to my naked butt-cheeks. The way she kneaded my rubbery flesh was nice. It was really nice.

Again I heard her voice, as if she was inside my head. "Such a pretty backside. So squeezable. Do you... do you ever dream of someone touching it? Not softly like I am now, maybe more firmly?"

I wriggled. I was aware that I was feeling even warmer. Warmer than just the summer sun could account for. I felt safe, cocooned, and pampered. And, I noticed with a little surprise, aroused. I could feel dampness in the crotch of my bikini, something the woman's touch was only increasing.

I realized that I hadn't answered her question. "More firmly?" I said lazily. "How much more firmly?"

"Like this, April."

With that she spanked me. Not hard, yet enough to make me startle. But then she just went back to massaging my ass. And it felt OK, it felt natural. Of course it was OK for her to spank me. Why not?

"Mmm... I... would you think I'm a bad person if I said I liked that?" I asked. Again it felt natural, as if I had always wanted to say those words.

"Really?" she asked, slapping the other cheek a little more harshly.

I yelped, then giggled. "Really. I used to... well... I used to masturbate thinking about being spanked. Is that bad?"

"I don't know. What do you think?" The question was addressed not to me but to the man. I'd almost forgotten that he was there. But then, that was OK too.

"I think," he answered, "that young ladies should be careful what they wish for."

Before I quite knew what was happening, he had lifted my body, and placed me across his knees, my face to the deck. Quickly he pulled my bikini bottom down, and - before I could object, or even say a thing - he spanked me hard. Hard on one cheek and then the other. This was different from the woman's more restrained blows. It hurt, it really stung. But... it also felt good. Good and bad at the same time.

Was I a really bad girl to have such wicked thoughts? He spanked me harder, and as I bit my lip, trying to deal with the intensity, I thought that maybe I was.

As the blows continued, I found myself reaching for my pussy. It seemed imperative for me to find my clit. But a hand restrained my wrist, and the woman said softly, but firmly, "None of that now, April, or the punishment will be more severe."

The man stopped and I looked up at the woman rather blurrily. I tried to stand, tried to comfort my sore ass, but found my head spinning.

The woman caught me before I fell. "Poor thing, too much sun, let's get you inside."

-- -- --

I woke. Checking my otherwise defunct phone, I saw that I had slept for a few hours. The sun was past its zenith in the sky outside the bedroom window.

In something of a panic, I leapt up and tried the door. The handle turned and it opened smoothly toward me. I told myself I was being silly. Everything was OK. Gingerly I slipped a hand inside the band of my PJs and touched my butt. It felt warm and tingled a little. Sitting down on the bed, I immediately wished I had done so more carefully.

What had just happened? I'd been relaxed, like super relaxed, and the woman had been nice to me. Then... Then what? Then she'd spanked me and I had said I liked it. But then... then the man had taken it to a whole new level. That had been a proper spanking. How did I feel about it?

I felt... OK. I thought back to my fantasies. Fantasies of giving up control, of submission. I stroked my butt again. It felt nice. I felt used; yes used was maybe the word. But... but I liked the feeling.

'Wait a second, Missy,' the sensible April chided me sternly, "you just had a man you don't really know, essentially a stranger, pull down your panties and spank you. And you're fine with this?'

But I was, I really was. Not just fine, I wanted more. Wanted to act out some of my other fantasies. Some more extreme ones.

Then I noticed something. On a dresser sat an object, circular and black. An object made of heavy leather, with a buckle on one side and a large ring on the other, both steel by the looks of them.

I stood, picked up the collar - it was obvious what it was - and walked to a full-length mirror lying at an angle against the wall. The girl in the reflection had bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

I put the collar on, fastening it behind my neck. Then I took off my PJs and stood in bra and panties, the metal ring hanging a little above my breasts.

I took a deep breath and made a decision. I removed my remaining clothes, retained the collar, and went to go find my hosts.

-- -- --

I found them seated in the living room, the man reading a newspaper and the woman drinking coffee. They looked up as I entered the room, but neither commented on either my nudity, or my new neck wear.

"Hello, April," said the woman. "Feeling any better?"

"My head is a bit muzzy, and my ass is

very

sore. But otherwise I'm fine, thank you."

The woman smiled, and I wondered whether I was over-acting.

But then the man stood and approached me, and said, "Very sore? Let's check."

He indicated that I should turn around and I presented my butt to him. He ran his fingers over my flesh in an assessing sort of way, and I felt a thrill run down my spine. "Hmm... not

very

sore. Would you like me to do something about that?"

I turned to face him, swallowing hard, far from certain. Yet somehow I felt impelled to say, "Yes please, Sir."

"Good," he smiled. "Let's show you the East wing."

The woman joined us, and we walked down a short corridor, with a padlocked door at its end. The man retrieved a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked it. "After you. First door on the right."

My sense of trepidation growing, but also with a tingling pussy, I opened the door. The windowless room contained just a low, wooden table with short chains hanging from the far end.

"I find that it helps a girl to get a

really

sore ass if she is restrained. Please bend over the table."

Knots forming in my tummy, I did as he said. The woman brought padded leather cuffs from another table and fastened them around my wrists. Then she clipped each to one of the chains and I was attached to the table.

Panic suddenly rose in me. I shook my chains, I turned my head looking from the man to the woman. "I... I'm not sure... I don't think I can..."

The woman came and stroked my hair gently, soothingly. "It's all OK, April. It will be fine."

"You'll let me out then?" My eyes were filling with tears as I spoke.

She didn't miss a beat in replying, "Oh no, I can't do that. It's much too late for that."

With that she went and stood by the wall to one side of me, her arms folded.

While I had been focused on her, the man had found an implement. He stood before me and held it up. It looked like an oversized table tennis racket, but all in black. It smelled of leather.

"This is a paddle, April," the man said, "and you are about to become intimately acquainted with it."

"No!" I trembled. "Please no."

He walked behind me, and stroked the soft skin on my butt with the paddle.

"Now this is how you get a

really

sore ass." With that he swiped my butt hard. Stars exploded in my head as a wave of torment pulsed through my flinching body.

I had no time to fully adjust to the first blow before the second landed. As the third and fourth tortured my aching flesh, I began to get lost. The stinging turned into burning, and - miraculously - the burning became a deep throbbing that I felt in the walls of my vagina and, more than anywhere else, my pulsing, aching clit. Part of me wanted the paddle to slap between my legs, to give me the release I so craved.

Instead, the man systematically beat my now glowing ass from all directions and angles, until he was sure that no patch of pink remained. As he did, I screamed and wailed and wept. But still my clitoris told me a different story, one in which bad girls live only for their sweet punishment.

-- -- --

The East wing had a windowless cell, and this was now my new room. The woman told me to get onto the bed, then fastened my collar to the wall via a short chain.

She disappeared, only to return carrying a tray holding a bottle of water and an insipid-looking salad. "A late lunch," she said, "and then the next stage."

"The next stage?" I blurted.

"There is a process," she answered, a slight smile playing across her lips. "You will follow the process."

"But..." I pleaded.

"No more questions, an hour to recover, then we start again." With that she left.

My hour had not been so pleasant. My ass stung horribly, and I was fearful of what she had called "The Process." It seemed like an eternity before the door opened again.

The woman unfastened my neck, and the man commanded me to stand.

He examined my backside critically. "A good start, but we can do better. Also, you promised to help us. The house needs cleaning."

The woman walked out the door and returned carrying something black with white, lacy sections.

"Get dressed," The man commanded.

I did what I was told, stepping into the silky garment. The woman pulled my hair into a ponytail. There was a white cap for my head, and a feather duster. Finally I put on black hold ups and matching stilettos.

"You make a good maid," said the man, "now get to the cleaning."

I noticed that he had something in his hand. He held it close to his leg, which is why I had not seen it before. It looked like a crop used for horse riding. My breath was coming quickly now, my heart beating against my rib cage.