The Loan Shark (Part 1)

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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The Loan Shark (Part 1)

(****, M/F, Severe, n/c, spanking)

A spoiled model gets herself into debt and only a strict loan shark can rescue her. (Approximately 4,186 words. Originally published 1996-04.)

Modeling is a fickle business. I started when I was fourteen. By the time I graduated from high school I was making six digits a year. I thought I had it made. Against my parents wishes I chose not to go to college, but pursued my career. By twenty-one my face was on the cover of national magazines and I was a hot property. Then I made the first of many mistakes.

I let it go to my head.

I got an attitude, and I started spending money all over the place. There were rumors of multi-million dollar contracts with Revlon and others right around the corner so I wasn't worried. I rented apartments in London, Paris, New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. I threw lavish parties and invited only the top celebrities and designers. Things were wonderful. Then they began to unravel.

First my long-time agent grew worried and advised me to be careful, so I fired him. Then my engagement to a famous actor (for his sake I'm not going to name him) broke off when he found me with another man. Then there was that highly publicized incident in Milan where I threw a tantrum and broke a famous photographer's camera. He sued me for half a million dollars.

But I still wasn't worried. I was rich and healthy and very, very beautiful. I had it all, right?

A couple of months later my accountant asked me if I had quit working. "Of course not! I'm just taking a little break," I said. Then he told me I couldn't afford to take a break. I was astonished when he showed me the books. I was in debt, deeply in debt. Apparently, I had been overspending for some time. I hadn't invested any of my earnings into tax shelters, so taxes had taken a big bite. The photographer's lawsuit was eating over ten grand a month and my monthly expenses for transportation, residences, clothing, parties, security, management, and other necessities were more than double what they needed to be.

And I wasn't working more than a couple of shoots a month, barely enough to pay the interest on my debts. But I still hadn't learned. I fired him and got a new accountant who told me the same thing. He had the gall to suggest bankruptcy. I threw him in the pool.

Three months later I found myself hounded by angry creditors. Everyone wanted their money. One by one I was evicted from my various apartments, my credit cards frozen, my Jaguar repossessed.

I tried desperately to find work only to find that I wasn't much in demand. My face was "passˇ" and I had developed a reputation for being "difficult." Suddenly I found myself at twenty-three, horribly in debt, my career on the rocks, everything I had worked for gone.

In desperation, I threw myself at the mercy of my new accountant, a ancient wizard by the name of Arnold Walderman who should have retired about fifty years ago. He was truly a financial genius. He came up with an elaborate plan to stall my creditors and rebuild my career. All I needed was some financial stability to get started. A consolidation loan. But the banks refused me. Too much risk. They worried that I would declare bankruptcy at any time.

But Mr. Walderman had another option. A certain "Liquid Credit, Inc." The firm was only pseudo-legit, Walderman told me. "If they would loan me the money I don't care," I said. It was a small firm located in the upstairs of an old warehouse on the outskirts of industrial Chicago. Not the best neighborhood but I was desperate.

Inside I was surprised to find it well-decorated and efficient. The secretary had my appointment scheduled and in moments I was sitting in Mr. Devoreaux's charming office. He sat behind a huge mahogany desk and watched me for a long time. He did not speak.

He was incredibly handsome, I thought. Crisp blue eyes, short blond hair, well groomed. Sport coat and slacks, casual yet elegant. Nice. I couldn't see his body very well behind the desk but he appeared to be fit and lean. His eyes showed he was very intelligent, too. Sometimes that's a good thing in a man.

There was a folder on his desk and he leafed through it occasionally, reading something and looking at me as though double-checking. I waited with growing impatience. Finally I couldn't stand it any more.

"Well, Mr. Devoreaux? Are you going to lend me the money or aren't you?" I snapped. His expression did not change. Slowly he opened his mouth, smiling slightly as he spoke.

"Impatient words, Miss Williams."

"Well I'm too busy to just sit here and be stared at!"

"Oh? And just who are you busy for? I thought Vogue had turned you down?"

I blushed and stared at the shuttered window. How had he known? Oh, of course! He wouldn't lend me money without knowing every financial detail of my life. He had all my records, right there in front of him. He probably knew more about me than I did.

"A hundred thousand dollars is an awful lot of money to lend to a young woman," continued the man.

"I need it for--"

He held up his hand. "I know why you need it. I even admire you for trying to get back onto your feet of the mess you made of your life. But how do you expect to pay me back? What kind of guarantee do you have? What kind of collateral?"

"But Mr. Walderman said you didn't require collateral. I mean, that's why the banks wouldn't help me. He said you could."

Mr. Devoreaux looked at me with those gorgeous, unblinking, unpenetrable blue eyes for the longest time before responding. "Miss Williams, Mr. Walderman is not entirely correct. I _do_ require collateral. It's just that's it's not the kind of collateral normal banks require."


"Most banks require property of equal or larger value than your loan, Miss Williams. I do not. I require your _cooperation_."


"Yes. If you cooperate with me I take it as a sign that you are working to pay back the loan. If you are uncooperative, I assume otherwise. If I decide that my loan is not going to be repaid there are _serious_ repercussions. I do mean serious, Miss Williams. Serious as in accidents. A fire, for instance. Your beautiful face burned. Or perhaps your dog is hit by a car. That sort of thing. Do you understand my meaning?"

"I think so," I said slowly, trying to keep the shake out of my voice. He was a loan shark! This bastard in the fancy clothes and handsome body was nothing more than a sleazy loan shark!

"Now that kind of thing is rarely required, Miss Williams. In fact, I can only think of one client in twenty years that required anything out of the ordinary, and it was nothing so dramatic. I merely tell you these things so you understand the seriousness of your undertaking."

I nodded, my mouth dry. How could Mr. Walderman have done this to me? I felt betrayed. But then as I thought about it, I realized I didn't have that much choice. Perhaps a loan shark was better than nothing. I mean, there wasn't any danger unless I didn't pay him back, right? Besides, he _was_ cute.

"As I was saying, Miss Williams, if you 'cooperate' with me on a regular basis there will be no need for violence. In fact, I will not even require payment on the loan. As long as you cooperate."

Suddenly my heart dropped. I had not been born the day before. I knew what this guy was saying and there was no way I was stooping that low, regardless of how attractive he was. I stood up angrily. "Mr. Devoreaux I will not have sex with you! That kind of 'cooperation' I can live without!"

He looked at me, shocked. "But that's not what I was talking about, Miss Williams. There's no sex involved at all. Unless you want it, perhaps, if I am also so inclined. But only if you request it."

I was confused now. "You are not saying I have to sleep with you to 'show my cooperation'?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. No, Miss Williams, here is how it works. I will loan you the money, no strings attached. According to these plans drawn up by Mr. Walderman you will be back on your feet in one year's time. At that time you can begin paying me back. As long as you cooperate there will be no financial payment required until that time."

"And what exactly is this 'cooperation' you speak of, Mr. Devoreaux?"

"Every week until the loan is completely payed back you will visit me here. No, it is not what you are thinking. We will meet for exactly one hour for each session, Miss Williams. And during each session you will cooperate completely as I give you a sound spanking."


"Yes, Miss Williams. A spanking. Just like when you were a child and your father took you across his knee."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Absolutely not. We will begin slowly. Your first few spankings will be with you clothed, perhaps wearing a pair of thick jeans. It will not hurt much at all, I warrant. I'll use my hand. As time goes on the spankings will become more severe. Soon you'll be taking bare-bottom spankings, and then I'll start using a leather belt, and then a wooden paddle. This will all be drawn out and specified in the contract, of course, in every explicit detail. There are dozens of leather straps and paddles and whips of increasing severity so that by the time you have paid off your loan in two years time the spankings will be extremely severe and painful. And that is the point: as long as you cooperate and take your weekly spanking, you can take as long as you need to pay back the loan. But the longer you take the more spankings you receive and the harder they become. Simple and elegant, no?"

To say I was flabbergasted was a gross understatement. I was floored. I collapsed in the chair and stared at the man. Was he crazy? A sex pervert? A crazy pervert?

I finally found my voice. "But why? Why spanking?"

He smiled, a warm friendly smile, like a father explaining a simple problem to his son. "It's a beautiful arrangement, Miss Williams. I imagine you cannot see the beauty right now, but trust me--it is beautiful. Everyone wins. You receive the money you need. Your willingness to accept pain in return shows me your commitment. The pain you experience will help you learn to be responsible; it will give you a foundation upon which to build the rest of your life."

"And you? What do you get out of it?"

"Ah, that is the best part of all. I receive pleasure from it, pure and simple. I enjoy punishing naughty young ladies, and I love to watch them grow and mature into intelligent, compassionate women--women who are even more beautiful on the inside than the outside. That kind of beauty does not come easily, Miss Williams. It must be earned over a long period of time. But when you are beautiful inside you will radiate loveliness regardless of your physical charms."

I swallowed and realized I was having difficult breathing. I understood very little of what the man was saying, but his voice was comforting to me. He didn't sound like a pervert at all. He sounded like a doctor or psychology professor.

I began to seriously consider what he was saying. A spanking every week. It couldn't be that bad, could it? I'd been spanked a few times as a child and it hadn't really hurt. It had been more embarrassing than anything. I didn't like the sound of paddles and whips but that was a long ways away, right? He said first it would be over my jeans, with his hand. That couldn't hurt. Might even be kinda sexy.

"Okay," I said softly, "let's say I do this. You said every week. What if I can't make it. I mean, what if I'm in Europe on a photo shoot."

"You simply make it up the next week, Miss Williams. Plus a little interest, of course. In fact, if you wanted you could come every two or three weeks instead of weekly. The minimum to not put your loan on default is one visit per month."


He must have sensed the hope in my voice because he deflated my eagerness quickly. "I wouldn't be so excited, Miss Williams. We have very few clients who choose to come so infrequently. A month's worth of punishment at all once is extremely severe indeed. You probably would not be able to work for several days afterward. In your case I'd suggest a weekly regime initially, and perhaps go to a biweekly schedule after you get into the swing of things."

"Just how severe are these spankings, anyway?"

"Like I said, the severity will increase over time. There is no real reference point for you to compare. What might seem unendurably painful to you now will seem routine in six months. The key is that you will never be subjected to punishment you are not ready to receive. Also, there will be no permanent damage to you physically--no cutting of the skin, no scars. You may have marks but they will quickly fade."


"Sure. Welts and bruises are common once we begin using implements."

"Oh, but I can't have those! I'm a model!"

"We service a number of models, Miss Williams. Trust me--you will learn to work it into your schedule. Most marks fade within a few days. If you wish we will concentrate your punishments on your buttocks--normally we punish the back of the thighs also, but we make exceptions for actresses and models."

I shook my head, stunned. "It sounds horrible," I breathed.

"It isn't." He reached across the desk and took my hand in his. His hands felt strong and masculine, hands of confidence. "Trust me, Miss Williams. I will not lie to you: it is a difficult experience. It will hurt very much. But it is not unendurable. You will not be permanently harmed in any way. And you will become a much better person through the process."

"How does you getting your jollies smacking my bum make me a better person?" I snapped, pulling my hand away, irritated at how soothing and convincing I found the man.

He smiled patiently. "There's a perfect example. You have a smart mouth. I bet it gets you into all sorts of trouble."--I blushed at this and tried to look away.--"The promise of a bottom-warming for an attitude like that will make you think several times before you open your mouth."

I shrugged. "Well, I just need the money."

"All you have to do is take your initial spanking and the money's yours."


"This isn't exactly a legal transaction, Miss Williams. We sign no papers. We will accept your verbal promise."

"But you want to spank me right now?"

"Absolutely. That's all you need to do to let us know you are serious."

"Do I have to decide right now?"

"No, you can come back and take your spanking later. But there really isn't much a point, is there Miss Williams? Do you really have any other option?"

His words hit in the gut. He was absolutely right. I had no other option. Bankruptcy would ruin me. My career was an expensive one--I couldn't afford to give up all my possessions. I needed to work if I was ever going to get back on my feet.

"All right," I snarled. "Let's get it over with."

Mr. Devoreaux nodded. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes piercing me. He stood and motioned toward the door behind him. "Follow me."

The door opened into a large room all decorated in white. The walls were white, the thick carpet was white, and all the furnishings were white. There was a narrow white sofa in one corner, a petite coffee table in front of it. A white queen bed was in the opposite corner, and I could help but notice white leather collars dangling from short chains from the head and footboard, obviously designed to restrain a person spread-eagle on the bed. My stomach twisted at the thought.

In the center of the room was a large wooden chair with no arms. Behind it, spread across the entire wall, hung various instruments of torture. Most I didn't recognize but there was a blazing assortment of whips, paddles, canes, belts, riding crops, and even hairbrushes. I saw each device hung on its own hook and there was a small white label with a number on it next to each weapon.

Mr. Devoreaux nodded. "Everything is categorized," he said, waving at the wall. "Each instrument is labeled and ranked according to how much pain it generates. Do not worry: it will be a while before you graduate to most of these. In time, though, you will become intimate with each of them."

He sat down on the chair and motioned for me to approach him. "Spankings are always performed in this room. All sessions are taped." He pointed at a video camera above the doorway we'd come through. "This is for your own protection as well as ours," he said quickly. "We want it recorded that you have come freely and willingly. The tapes prove that we did nothing you did not request. The tapes of all your sessions will be returned to you when your loan is paid off."

Mr. Devoreaux patted his lap. "Please come across my lap. This is how most of your spankings will be given. When you graduate to the cane and other implements, you will be required to assume other positions."

Nervously, I laid myself across his lap. It was awkward and felt very strange. I was extremely tense. His hand gripped my bottom and lifted me up and forward until my hands reached the floor on the other side, my feet and legs sticking up behind me. Blood rushed to my face and I felt hot. My bottom was incredibly vulnerable in this position. I was helpless. I couldn't believe I was doing this.

Mr. Devoreaux's hand rubbed my butt gently, doing little circles with the tips of his fingers. The massage felt good and I gradually relaxed. I was glad I was wearing jeans, but surprised at how sensitive my bottom was. I could feel his every touch, the individual fingers, even the fingernails as they drew intricate patterns and designs on my rump.

How long this lasted I don't know. I was hypnotized by it. Soon I was limp and practically purring. Warmth flooded my pussy and I was very conscious of Mr. Devoreaux's muscular legs underneath me. I wiggled closer to him, snuggling.

Then he palmed my bottom and squeezed. I sensed a change and stiffened. His hand left my butt and rose into the air--I could feel it going higher and higher and I could almost see it coming down as fast as a mousetrap.

But he paused. "You must ask me for your spanking," he said.


"You must ask me. It must come from you willingly. You will do this during every session. You say, 'Please spank me,' and I will do so."

"P-please spank me," I said, my voice catching as I did so.

"Certainly." His voice sounded entirely reasonable, as though I'd asked him to open a window because I was too warm.

He caught my right cheek with the first blow, right at the plumpest part of my ass. The sound hit me first--it was loud and very solid. It didn't sound like a slap at all but like a punch. Then the pain hit me. It started out fuzzy, like a tingling, and then it bit in hard, a sharp, intense sting that took my breath away.

Before I could move or make a sound his hand walloped me again, this time on the left cheek. I felt the pain quicker this time, a sudden rush of warmth and feeling. Neither blow had hurt especially--but I felt a stunned shock at the force of the blows. That must have hurt his hand immensely, I thought.

But Mr. Devoreaux did not seem to mind hurting his hand. He lifted it again and brought it down with what felt like even more force. Again and again, up and down, his hand moving like a piston, he spanked my bottom hard. He alternated between my left and right cheeks, a process I found disconcerting. It kept me on edge, out of balance some how. One cheek was always burning more intensely than the other.

After maybe a dozen blows I found myself. Tears stung my eyes and I gasped for breath. My bottom was pulsing and throbbing and still the spanking continued. I felt hot and uncomfortable. I wiggled and tried to get into a better position but it did no good. My bottom was too perfect of a target for the hand to miss. Waves of heat poured through me and I began to fidget and whine in distress.

Mr. Devoreaux spoke to me then, though he did not cease to spank me. The pace and volume of the blows continued unabated. "So, how does it feel young lady? Are you enjoying your first spanking? This is just a taste, you know. Nothing like the real thing. I can see you are feeling it, though. I can feel you wiggling. It hurts, don't it? Your bottom is getting warm, isn't it? Doesn't it feel good, all hot and alive?"

He continued like this, spanking me the whole time, and I barely understood a word he said. I certainly didn't have any breath to waste on responding to his questions. I sensed most were rhetorical anyway.

Finally it was over. I lay there panting, the echoes of his hand smacking me still echoing in my mind, my bottom jerking as though he continued to connect with my ass. He placed his palm on my rump and helped me to my feet. Then he spread his legs and let me sit on his right leg.

I didn't particularly want to sit--my bottom felt rather sore--but I discovered sitting felt rather good. I could feel my bottom throbbing all the better, and the warmth of his leg felt good. I sat politely as he lectured me and told me what my future spankings would be like.

Starting this weekend I would show up at 9 a.m. every Saturday and he would have one hour for our "session." We would start with a series of spankings just like the one I'd gotten. He thought three sounded like a good number, with about ten minutes of corner time between each spanking. For the first couple of weeks I'd be allowed to wear my jeans during the punishment, but from then on it would be panties and then bare bottomed. As we moved to new implements I might be allowed to keep a layer of clothing on at first, but gradually all implements would also be used on my bare bottom. He stressed that I had to remain cooperative and obedient throughout the process or I'd receive extra punishment. I was also expected to be punctual.

"Some of my girls get a stroke of the cane for every minute they are late," he said with a serious nod, and I shivered. It sounded awfully strict!

"Do you only have female clients?" I asked.

"No. But I only handle the women. My partner Jessica manages the male side of the business. You will meet her someday."

We didn't say much else. Soon I found myself on my own, walking rather stiffly toward my car. In my purse was a rolled up copy of my contract--basically rules and regulations--and a fat check for $100,000 made out to Arnold Walderman.

It was weird. I'd just been taken across a strange man's knee and spanked like a baby and yet I was incredibly happy. I felt hope bursting inside my chest for the first time in months. Saturday loomed before me but I felt more excited than fearful. The thought of Mr. Devoreaux peeling down my jeans and spanking my bare bottom filled me with a fantastic thrill--it was so unconventional, so naughty. I liked it very much.

"Here's to the loan shark,"" I said rubbing my butt as I stood by my car. I knew I'd feel every bump on the way home. Suddenly I wished I lived on a dirt road!

The End