The Secret Life of Amelia Journey

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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The Secret Life of Amelia Journey

(*****, M/F, Severe, Flogging, fantasy)

A female Walter Mitty finds comfort in fantasy. (Approximately 3,969 words. Originally published 1998-07.)

"Fetch me the whip."

The voice was like a brick falling, dull, unperturbed. It was calm, terribly calm, as though the whip was an ordinary thing for a husband to ask his wife at supper.

"Y-yes, sir," said Amelia. Her mouth had gone dry. She stood and found walking difficult. It was like her body was buried in sand. That was what filled her mouth -- sand! It invaded her, caressed her roughly, consumed her like a sucking mouth.

She reached the cabinet finally, tugging it open and taking down the black leather whip coiled on the hook at the back. It felt cold and slimy in her hands, like a serpent. Her heart pulsed as she stared at it. It was so hard, the leather strands bound so tightly. It felt heavy, too. Surely it would split skin open.

"Well?"

Amelia shut the cabinet. The blood roared in her veins so loudly she could scarcely think. Step by halting step she returned to the table. She laid the whip next to Rex's plate. He did not look up, his eyes on the newspaper on his right. He sipped at his wine.

"Sit."

Amelia sat, her face growing warm. He would make her wait, then. He wanted her to eat watching the whip. She stared at it, far on the other side of the table, yet so dreadfully near. She looked at the chicken and pasta on her plate and felt revulsion. She could not eat.

"Please..." she whispered. Tears stung her eyes.

There came a great sigh from her counterpart. He folded the paper back into its original compact formation and tossed it onto a countertop. He pierced his last bit of chicken and used his knife to push the final morsels of pasta onto the fork. He ate slowly, chewing carefully, watching the woman. She sat motionless, her dark eyes watchful.

"It is time," he said, rising and wiping his mouth with a napkin. He tossed it on his plate and took up the whip by the handle, uncoiling it so the slender tip dangled nearly to the floor.

Amelia shook her head, her chest heaving. "Please!" she gasped. "Have mercy!"

"Take off your dress."

"I beg you! Have mercy!" she cried. She'd risen, sliding her chair back from the table, and now she stood, wringing her hands and trembling. Her face was wild.

"Amelia," said the man. He did not raise his voice but the words were like steel barbs to the horrified girl. "You will take off your dress immediately, or I shall ring for the servants to assist me."

The blond girl screamed and fell to the ground weeping. She crawled across the floor to her husband's boots and began to kiss them, sobbing and begging for mercy.

"I love you!" she cried. "I love you more than life itself!"

"I know."

"Please, dear Rex. Let it go. Let it go this once, I beg you. I'm so sorry. I'll never disobey you again, I swear! Please, just this once!"

The pause was long enough that Amelia glanced up, eyes shining with desperate hope, but when she saw his face -- jaw locked with tension, eyes burning like a tiger about to strike -- she gasped as though struck, and collapsed on the floor.

Slowly she rose, as though pulled up by an invisible thread. She stood before him, head down, and began to undress. He said nothing, his heartless gaze tearing at her like a knife in her belly. She moved with a languid despair, every gesture one of aching reluctance. Sluggishly the dress tumbled from her body. She stepped daintily out of it, then took it and folded it carefully and placed it on the chair.

Naked now, except for her undergarments, she caught his eye cautiously. The coldness was still there, a hard wall she could not penetrate. Breathing deeply, she took down her slip and laid it over the dress. Her brassiere was next, a sturdy white halter whose protection she was sorry to lose.

But the most difficult remained.

Amelia couldn't look at him. Her cheeks flamed brightly as she bent forward and struggled with the material at her waist. It hugged her hips so tightly she knew she'd feel the loss acutely. But there was nothing for it. She had to obey. Timidly she began to roll them down, then shifting them from side to side as she brought them to her knees. They dropped to her ankles, finally. She carefully stepped aside, bending just a little more to pick them up.

Now she had to rise. Cool air flooded her body. She was exposed! Worse, she had to walk to the chair and lay the undergarment next to the brassiere. She could feel his eyes on her body as she moved. She was never so self-conscious, never so aware of every nuance of her body. When he looked at her like that she wanted to curl into herself and swoon. She felt like she was being devoured.

The undressing complete, Amelia stood awkwardly next to the chair. Her hands were at her side, per the rules. She was truly naked now, wearing only her high heeled pumps. He liked her to wear those. They reminded Amelia that she was a civilized being and she felt ashamed by her nakedness. It wouldn't have been so bad without the shoes -- she could have pretended she was a nude African princess, dancing in the long grass. But the shoes meant she was part of society, and classy women did not dance in the nude.

"Shall I whip your top?"

The world spun around crazily. The man with the whip grinned evilly, snapping it with dire intention. His eyes were locked onto her chest.

Amelia shrieked. She clutched at her breasts with her hands. The nipples were guiltily stiff and huge against her palms.

"What -- what did you say?" she asked, aghast.

"I said, whipped topping, madam?" said the black-tied waiter, his expression mild at the distress of the woman before him.

Amelia stared at the plate of shortcake dripping with crimson strawberries as though she'd never seen it before. The waiter politely held a metal bowl of fresh whipped cream at the ready.

With a start, Amelia released her bosom. She flushed as she realized she'd been hugging her breasts as though she'd feared they'd be stolen.

"Amelia? Have you gone deaf?"

The young lady turned to her husband, the gentleman's blue eyes frowning with concern.

"No. I'm -- I'm fine," mumbled Amelia. She smiled prettily at the waiter. "I'll take some, yes, please."

As the man spooned the white cream on top of her shortcake, Amelia sighed and looked around. The restaurant was noisy and crowded -- no one had noticed. She sighed and picked up her fork.

"I'm sorry," she said to Rex. "My mind was elsewhere."

He grinned. "I'll say. The way you jumped when that waiter came over-- you seemed terrified..."

Amelia flushed again. She filled her mouth with shortcake and strawberries instead of answering the implied question. After she'd swallowed she murmured, "This is a nice. Thanks for bringing me, Rex."

Uncertainty flashed across the young man's face. Then he smiled. "Sure."

* * * * *

The tall man looked at his watch. "It's almost eleven. I'm going to turn in." He stood and looked at his wife expectantly. She was curled in her favorite chair next to the flicking flames of the fireplace, a wool blanket wrapped around her slender body from neck to toe. A paperback book was open in her lap and she read silently, urgently.

"Dear?" asked Rex patiently. "Aren't you coming to bed?"

Amelia shook her head. "Not now. This is getting good. It's very exciting. The Nazi's have just discovered Evelyn is a double-agent!"

"I don't know how you can stand those silly spy thrillers," said the man with a shake of his head. "Do what you want. I'm going to bed. Good night." He knelt at Amelia's side and kissed her cheek. She responded vaguely, barely noticing.

When he was gone, she glanced around, smiled, and settled into her chair, wrapping the protective blanket tighter. The fire had died down from the roaring blaze of early in the evening. Now it was just glowing embers and few flickering flames that cast strange shadows around the still room. Amelia dove into her book with a vengeance.

"Strip the bitch," growled the Nazi Captain, the dark string moustache above his upper lip tilting in a lustful snarl. Amelia felt dread as the men approached. She had her years of training in the martial arts, but there were three men, and she was chained hand and foot. How had they broken her cover? Everything had been perfect. She had fooled everyone, she was positive of that. Someone had to have betrayed her -- it was the only explanation.

The lead soldier took out gleaming knife, the tip curved into a deadly point. Amelia prayed he would plunge into her heart, but instead he began to slowly cut through the buttons of her uniform top. As the buttons popped, the garment slowly opened, revealing Amelia's substantial bosom. She shuddered. Her brassiere was of "modern cut," meaning it supported her flesh but concealed little.

The knife moved on and Amelia closed her eyes to narrow slits. In the shiny flat of the blade she could see the grinning face of the soldier. He was handsome and blond like all of them, virtually indistinguishable.

Her sleeves were cut and removed, and with that support gone the rest of her top dropped to the floor. Amelia tensed as a hand grasped her ass. It was the other soldier, attacking her from behind. The one in front leered and flicked his tongue at her. Amelia couldn't bear to watch. She felt the deadly tip of a knife pressed against her right buttock, slowly traveling upward. She tried not to move lest it cut her.

The knife began to saw through her leather belt at her waist. In seconds the belt was cut and the soldier began cut out the back of her pantaloons. She felt cool air across her backside as the pants opened, the heard the quiet "zzit" as the knife slit the cloth of her left leg all the way down to the ankle. Her right immediately followed, and then her pants tumbled off.

Amelia groaned and struggled against her bonds. The chains were thick and heavy and she knew it was no use. Her arms were stretched high and wide above her head, her ankles pulled wide and bound to the floor. Amelia now only wore her skimpy brassiere and pale blue cotton underwear. The men were laughing at her, but she ignored them, concentrating on revenge and other pleasant thoughts of extreme violence.

The brassiere took only a single snip to abandon her. The panties were more loyal, holding on for two cuts. Kneeling between her legs, the first man reached up and put his hands on her inner thighs. His face was at her crotch, the expression disgusting Amelia. She looked up at the ceiling as the man forced his fingers between her legs, drawing downward a handful of the cloth that covered her sex. He held it for a moment, the back of his thick fist rubbing her crotch in a manner that frightened Amelia, because she enjoyed it. She tried to crouch down to get him deeper into her, but could not.

The second man approached from behind, his hands playing with her ass as he slipped the knife into the back of her panties. When the knife was between her legs, Amelia gasped at the touch of the cold metal against the lips of her opening. The men laughed and proceeded to cut the slender cloth that formed the bridge between her front and back, exposing Amelia from below.

"Just get it over with, you fuckers!" screamed Amelia. She shook her body in furious rage. Her sex was juicy and tingling from all the slight touches. Why couldn't they hurry up?

But the men were in no rush. For five long minutes they played with her underwear, moving them up and down, cutting slits into the cloth, but never cutting through. Amelia groaned with despair as the panties were lifted high, nearly to her breasts, the fabric straining at the increased girth of her chest.

As the men teased and taunted her, Amelia felt ridiculous and foolish. She hated that feeling. She was a secret agent, one of America's best, trained for two years just for this mission, and here she was being treated like a common whore dragged in off the streets for the soldiers to rape and torment.

"That's enough," came the dull voice of the Captain. The two soldiers and Amelia looked over at him in surprise. They'd forgotten he was there.

The first soldier shrugged and calmly ripped the tattered cloth off Amelia's chest. She shuddered and hung quivering. Her body felt violated. But it was the sight of the approaching Captain that made her belly tremble. In his right hand was the long stalk of a black leather riding crop, square flap at the tip. He pointed it at her left breast, tapping it from below.

"You are a beautiful woman, Miss Evelyn," he said stiffly. "You have a beautiful body. It would be such a shame to see such a beautiful body injured. Oh, such a shame."

Amelia filled her mouth with saliva and launched a missile directly into the Captain's greedy face. "Go fuck yourself!" she roared. "Give yourself V.D.!"

The Captain's expression did not change, though he stood taller and the crop moved away from Amelia's breast. He placed the crop under his left arm to hold it, and calmly fished a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his face.

"Gag her," he said to the man at his left.

The man quickly snatched up the torn panties and wrapped them around Amelia's face, fitting them securely into her mouth and binding them at the back of her head. Amelia tasted the sour cloth and wanted to vomit. She moaned and cursed, but the sounds were muted and useless. The Captain smiled.

"How will she talk gagged?" asked the more intelligent of the two soliders.

The Captain shrugged, smiling at the nervous spy. "That's not my problem," he said, lifting the crop and approaching Amelia. "We shall just torture her until she does."

The beating that followed was fantastically cruel. Her breasts, especially the sensitive nipples, were thrashed until they bled. Her belly was whipped, her legs, even her sex. All Amelia could do was weep bitter tears and moan. Her screams of agony and frantic struggles against the chains were meaningless.

The men did not neglect her buttocks. The striped them sixteen different ways, giving her weals upon weals upon weals. Amelia moaned and shuddered, her asscheeks burning with violent heat. It was nearly unbearable -- the burning, the incredible burning. Oh, if only they would stop, no more, enough, but the burning was growing hotter, more intense, more --

"Amelia? What in God's name--"

The shouting awoke the woman, and she discovered Rex dragging her. She was naked, the blanket set aside, the book fallen and forgotten. Amelia's buttocks ached from the whipping and she moaned for real now, reaching back to touch the blistered flesh.

"Amelia, don't do that! Listen to me! Listen to me!" The violent shaking startled Amelia and she stared blankly at her husband. "What is wrong with you?" he cried. "The fire was burning you and you were just standing there, ass to the fire like you couldn't get warm!"

"I -- I don't remember," said Amelia. "I was reading, and then... then you were there. Oh, my bottom hurts!"

"Of course it does! You nearly got a serious burn. Looks like a bad sunburn, but we'll have to get you looked at. If I hadn't come down when I did--"

Overcome, Rex clutched his wife to him, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. Tears stung his eyes and dripped down onto Amelia's shoulder. "Oh, my dear, my dear," he kept saying. "What am I going to do with you?"

Amelia stood there in her husband's embrace, wondering what he was talking about.

* * * * *

The young couple entered the building and made their way to the fourth floor and into an office. The receptionist confirmed their appointment and asked them to wait.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," she said pleasantly.

Rex squeezed Amelia's hand comfortingly as they sat. The girl fidgeted nervously. She watched the closed door with wide, fearful eyes. She knew what awaited them behind that wooden structure.

Inside was a man, a very tall man, formally dressed in a black suit. He was a grim man without a sense of humor. Rex and Amelia would be led to him like lambs to the slaughter.

"I am disappointed to see you two here," he would say, his black eyes flashing cold heartless cruelty. "I think a _severe lesson_ is in order."

With those ominous words he would head for a particular cabinet and remove an enormous wooden cane. It was thick and heavy but extremely flexible, as he would demonstrate by grasping the ends and bending it into the shape of a capital U.

"You first," the headmaster would say, pointing the tip of the weapon at Rex.

Rex would stand and bend over, grasping his ankles with his hands. His slacks would tighten over his narrow buttocks. The cane would whistle down, again and again, each stroke bringing grunts of unbearable agony from between Rex's clenched teeth.

Amelia shivered in terror. It was too much! Rex could never endure such torture. And why? It was all her fault to begin with! Rex was being punished for her sin, not his. He was pure and innocent. Amelia was the one who needed thrashing.

"The doctor is ready for you now," said the receptionist pleasantly. Rex nodded and stood, Amelia at his elbow, and started forward. The ominous wooden door slowly rotated open.

Amelia bolted.

She did it without conscious thought. She just panicked and ran.

The elevator wasn't ready so she darted down the staircase. Her heels echoed loudly as she hurried. Above her, the door opened and she heard Rex shouting. She ran on.

High heels may make a woman more attractive, but they definitely don't help her run faster. Amelia had just reached the door to the lobby when she felt a hand grab her shoulder. She was whirled around by a furious Rex.

"How dare you run away!" he shouted. "How dare you! Do you care nothing about our marriage, about me? We _need_ this therapy! We _need_ it! I just don't know what to do with you."

Amelia could do nothing but weep in shame. She wished -- oh, how she wished -- her husband would take charge, sweep her off her feet and deliver the thorough punishment she craved. But he would never do that. He was much too much the gentleman.

But what was this? He was taking her by the hand. He was far too calm. Illogical. He was leading her through the doorway into the lobby. Whatever for? He was guiding her to a large leather sofa. Ah, he wanted to sit and talk. Ever the gentleman!

But no! He was pulling her across his lap. This made no sense at all. He was lifting her skirt -- in public, no less! This couldn't be happening. But there it was: a cool breeze across the seat of her panties. Amelia was now fairly positive that she was about to have her bottom bared before all in the lobby of the Renkin Building.

Her guess was one hundred percent accurate. With a flourish, Rex slid her panties down to her knees. His large hand grasped the silky white flesh of her buttocks and squeezed. Amelia gasped in alarm.

WHAM! SMACK! SLAP! The palm struck hard and struck fast. Instantly Amelia began to kick and struggle as her bottom tingled with rapidly-increasing sting. In a moment it was pain, and a minute later, undisputed agony.

Amelia writhed and moaned. She arched her back, wiggled her bum, rolled back and forth, kicked, screamed, and begged for mercy. It was all for naught. Rex gripped her with a strength she had scarcely dared to imagine he possessed and his palm pounded out a musical anthem of suffering across her swelling cheeks. Her flesh went from pale pink to crimson, and then to deep scarlet. The stinging of her bottom became an ache, and then a throbbing. No, wait. The throbbing was lower, more like between her legs. That meant... oh shit!

With a fantastic cry Amelia's entire being erupted with positively the most astonishing orgasm of her young life. She forgot about the hot pain flooding her tender rear cheeks. She forgot that she was half-naked, draped over the lap of a stern and furious husband. She forgot about the dozen people in the lobby who were staring at her, jaws agape and cheeks flushed. She forgot everything except the joyous, mind-blowing, unadulterated pleasure that engulfed her every sense. She quivered and shook uncontrollably, gasping desperately for oxygen as she rode down the high.

She soon became conscious that despite her momentous experience, the spanking had continued unabated. Her buttocks trembled with every harsh slap. Her skin was hot and sore, and the pulsing between her legs had eased considerably. Amelia suddenly became conscious of all the people watching.

"Oh, please!" she gasped. "Have mercy!"

SPANK! SLAP! WHAP!

"REX! PLEEEEASE!"

WHACK! SMACK! SLAP!

"Are you going to act like an adult!" Rex snapped, angrily smacking Amelia's backside several more times.

"YESSSS!" she howled, reaching back to protect her scorched derriere.

Rex stopped. The silence was deafening. Amelia could scarcely hope. Was it over?

"You will come back upstairs and we will talk to the doctor now."

Rex's voice was firm. There was no arguing with a voice like that.

Amelia nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir!"

"All right. Get up."

Amelia rose and carefully tugged her panties up over her red, swollen buttocks. She touched the skin gingerly. She couldn't believe how hot she was back there.

With Rex leading, the couple escaped via the staircase. As they made their way up the several flights of stairs, Amelia turned to her husband. She felt warm and comfortable inside.

"Rex, dear?"

"Yes?"

"We can visit the doctor if you want to, but I don't think we need any counseling."

"What are you talking about?"

Amelia blushed slightly. "Your 'counseling' method seems quite efficient to me. I don't think the doctor would understand or encourage it, however."

"Look, Amelia, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spanked you like that, I know. But you drove me over the edge. You don't know how worried I've been about you these last few months!"

"No, Rex... it's okay. It's more than okay. It's what I needed, it's what I wanted. It's what I've always wanted. I needed to know you cared about me enough to do that."

Rex stared at his wife in disbelief. "You mean... you're not mad at me? You understand why I spanked you?"

Amelia smiled weakly. "Understand? Rex, that's all I DO understand."

Rex gave his wife a tender hug. "You're really okay?"

"I'm wonderful! I've never been happier. In fact, I think we'd better be getting home. I'm feeling a little naughty...."

Comprehension dawned on Rex's face. He gave Amelia's pretty backside a firm squeeze.

"Just wait until we get home, young lady. I believe you've got a date with hairbrush!"

Amelia sighed. Her fantasy had at last become reality.

The End

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