Friendly Fire

Chapter One Alison Amundsen sighed as she returned from escorting her last client of the day to the door of her perfectly appointed legal office. She knew she had a text waiting from her husband Avery, and she suspected it was going to be another one of ‘those’ communications. Meaning, cryptic alerts that the remainder of her evening was going to be hijacked down some intensely erotic pathway that was going to leave her totally and blissfully sexually sated but with certain key parts of her anatomy quite inflamed and sore. Unfortunately (at least to the part of her that was an appalled liberated powerful woman who would cheerfully have sued every last penny from anyone who treated his wife’s body so sadistically without her consent), the second circumstance seemed to be a prerequisite for the first. And in the five years of their marriage, such experiences were her absolute favorites. This was regardless of (well, let’s be honest, precisely because of) the amount of physical and emotional challenge she was subjected to along the way to their soul-shattering conclusions. Our heroine and her adored spouse had met shortly after she had become the youngest associate ever to make partner at her highly prestigious law firm. Barely 25 years old then, she was a whip-smart gorgeous blonde of well above average height with a body that served advantageously to distract her male colleagues enough to throw them off their game and give her an extra professional advantage. This came about from an auspicious combination of genetic good luck (both of her parents were gorgeous narcissists) and her avocation as a yoga teacher (which enabled her to work her way through college and law school after she declared her emancipation from her family at age 18). Her lithe, preternaturally flexible physique was endowed with firm B cup breasts and the perfect taut bottom that was the product of hundreds of hours in the yoga studio. And Alison’s natural aggressiveness made her more than willing to use these attributes to distract her legal opponents from the strategic machinations of her keen mind until it was far too late for them to win. But it seems that Mother Nature has a thing about balance. And for the highly sexed 31-year-old lawyer, that had been struck in her private life. She had become sexually active in her late teens once she had escaped the suffocating religious dominion of her fundamentalist parents. And for someone as pretty as her, willing boys to meet her erotic needs were hardly difficult to come by (so to say). But even then, the assertiveness she developed in order to break free from her family seemed to require a contradictory force in her life. And for our heroine, this manifested in bed. This twist in her erotic makeup no doubt had its roots in the way she was brought up. Her father was the handsome charismatic pastor of their large extremely conservative fundamentalist congregation, and her mother was his beautiful blonde assistant pastor. They expected their only child to hew to their rather exacting requirements for proper behavior, and were of the firm belief that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. Thus, from earliest memory, our temperamentally rebellious Alison would all too frequently find herself bent over one adult lap or another with her skirt up and panties down as her wriggling bottom was subjected to long bouts of painful attention. This persisted until she was well into elementary school, when her native intelligence (and emotional maturation) enabled her to overcome her spirited personality well enough that her spankings rapidly declined towards zero by the time she entered middle school. In fact, it had been over half a decade during which not a single blow had been visited upon her now quite blatantly feminine posterior that our heroine had the experience that would send her life in a radically different direction. It all centered around her developing sexuality, which had manifested itself when she had started having periods as a high school freshman. It turned out that Alison was blessed (she often ruefully thought, cursed) with a powerful libido, especially around the middle of her menstrual cycle when she was ovulating. During those few days, her thoughts constantly drifted rather obsessively and explicitly towards cute boys. As well, at that time of month her highly secretive self-pleasuring activities increased from their usual once every night before sleep to several times each day. Dating was out of the question in her parents’ strict world, so her only contacts with boys tended to be at school or church, the later being where she spent much of her free time doing the service activities expected of a pastor’s daughter. And it was at the mega-church when she was just starting her senior year in high school having just turned eighteen, after hours one Saturday night, that the incident took place which sent Alison’s life on a radical new trajectory. Her parents had gone ahead home, leaving her to some paperwork for the Sunday school program she had led for the past several years. She was working with an attractive young Youth Pastor on whom she had developed an enormous crush over several years. Apparently, he returned the feeling, naturally enough given what an ideal young specimen of female desirability she was. One thing led to another, and the couple found themselves kissing in the darkened sanctuary. This progressed to a fumbling session of mutual groping as they lay on the thinly padded pew. Our heroine’s blouse became unbuttoned, and her brassiere unhooked, and her paramour’s hands were freely sampling her firm young breasts when, quite literally, all Hell broke loose. The sanctuary lights suddenly blazed, and Alison’s outraged parents appeared striding down the aisle as the frightened couple frantically tried to reassemble her clothing to cover her naked décolletage brazenly revealed in the bright illumination. The young man was firmly ordered to pack his things and leave the building forever, and the hopping mad couple confronted their wayward daughter. Her Father dragged her to her feet and bent her over the back of the next pew, as her feeble protests echoed in the vast empty space. They were ignored as her pleated plaid school uniform skirt was raised and her demure white cotton panties (whose crotch was notably stained by the liquid evidence of her enjoyment of her time with the Youth Pastor) were dragged down around her knees. The bottom so revealed had not been bared to be punished for over five years, and it was markedly different from the girlish one her parents had last subjected to this ritual. Clearly, their daughter was now a fully developed woman, with perfect large firm feminine buttocks that frantically clenched to hide the sparsely blonde-furred p***y revealed between them. The scent of its arousal was clearly evident to both grownups, whose rage seemed to be amplified by this indubitable testimony to their daughter’s wickedness. The Pastor was appalled to find himself reacting as any normal male to the erotic spectacle of his daughter’s naked backside. He said a quick self-serving prayer that his suit jacket would hide from his scowling wife the erection that suddenly tented his suit pants. He reached beneath the concealing garment to unclasp his belt and draw it free from his pants, as the beautiful enraged mother voiced her approval, “That’s right, this time she’s going to get a proper whipping on that wicked bottom! Clearly it’s been long overdue, and we shouldn’t have stopped disciplining her the old fashioned way when she started Middle School!” When Alison realized she was about to be spanked with the belt, she began to struggle, breaking free of her submissive trance. Her vengeful mother, no doubt even more incensed by her awareness that her husband was turned on by the sight of a younger and prettier rear end than her own, grabbed the struggling teen’s hands and held them tight against the small of her back, holding her skirt in place so it would not interfere with the impending activities. The older woman ordered, “Spank the little slut as hard as you can, Alfred! I’ll see to it she doesn’t wiggle out of a single stroke, and we’ll teach her wicked bottom the lesson of her life!” The belt was drawn back and made an audible swoosh as it swung through the still air of the sanctuary to impact with a loud crack across both of the perfect ivory teenage moons. Their owner shrieked, and the blow was repeated many, many times as she squirmed and struggled and yelled and wept. After the fiftieth spank, both buttocks were uniformly bright red and already starting to bruise from the repeated fierce kiss of hard leather against soft skin. The Pastor stopped, catching his breath and starting to be a bit dismayed at the havoc his punitive rage had wrought on his daughter’s behind. But his furious wife ordered, “Give her another dose, Alfred; I want you to spank her ‘til she bleeds this time!” He complied, his reluctance overcome by his guilty feelings about his own erotic pleasure in what he was doing. And indeed, by the hundredth spank, two welts intersected in just the right (or wrong) way, and a drop of blood appeared. A halt to our heroine’s torment was finally called. Both of the parents suddenly felt a bit appalled at the damage they had inflicted to their wailing daughter’s horrifyingly marked rear end. The somewhat mollified Mother dragged up the panties, which had been pushed even further down Alison’s legs by her struggles during her ordeal. The contusion that had started to bleed caused a crimson spot to seep through the white cotton, further alarming the suddenly regretful parents. The mother said, “Leave her to think about her wicked ways and drive herself home when she’s fully contrite.” The Pastor complied, in his own trance of submission to his vengeful wife combined with his fierce arousal from having delivered the punishment she demanded. It turned out that Alison’s mother had also found the goings on to be quite a turn-on. The couple basically tore each other’s clothes off when they reached home and had the best s*x they had experienced in years. In their sadistic passion, they failed to notice that their daughter had not shown up at home. In fact, she had driven directly to the police department where she had sworn out a complaint against her parents and had pictures taken of her poor abused backside. The guilty couple was just finished with their ill-gotten pleasure when a patrol car arrived and they were dismayed to find themselves arrested for child abuse. Over the next few days, the Pastor’s prominence in the community (and the fact that the Chief of Police and District Attorney were congregants) caused a deal to be worked out where our heroine was granted her emancipation in return for dropping all charges. Her now contrite parents agreed to support her in an apartment and later in college and to give her ownership of her car, and she was set free of them for life. This incident inspired in Alison a fervor to fight unfairness wherever it manifested. But she especially longed to see to it that ‘good old boy’ networks such as the one that had gotten her parents off the hook would not interfere in other vulnerable people finding justice. The law was the obvious pathway toward this end, and she took on her studies with a white-hot intensity that blew all competition out of the water. By age twenty three she had graduated Law School first in her class, and two years later she was the youngest partner in history in a highly prestigious liberal law firm that specialized in representing the downtrodden in individual and class action suits against more powerful exploiters. When the sympathetic female police officer in charge of her case failed to persuade Alison to prosecute her parents, the concerned adult at least succeeded in referring the traumatized young woman to a competent psychotherapist provided by their Victim-Witness Program. In that office the newly emancipated young woman was gradually enabled to come to terms with the abuse and neglect she had suffered at the hands and mouths of her self-involved mother and father. Over time, this healing process enabled our heroine to feel better about herself, and eventually to engage in normal relationships with appropriate young men. What her years of therapy failed to do, however, was to rewire her erotic circuitry from the distorted pathways that had been laid down early in her life and then reinforced by the beating that led to her liberation. And as a result, no matter how hard she tried to enjoy regular (what is termed in the b**m world ‘vanilla’) s*x, it seemed pallid and barely interesting. Because in her deepest heart, Alison’s volcanic s****l potential was only unlocked when she was thinking about being taken over some strong man’s knee, having her skirt raised and panties lowered, and having her bottom paddled just as she had so many times when a little girl.