SSC: The Woodshed

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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SSC: The Woodshed

(****, M/F, Serious, Cons implied spanking, fun)

A couple make a delightful real estate discovery. (Approximately 456 words. Originally published 1999-07.)

"Look, Roger," cried the girl, her finger pointing westward. Her husband slowed the Mercedes and stopped, then put it in reverse. He parked in front of the old country farmhouse. A "B&B Realty" sign hung next to the dented green mailbox.

"It does look as if it's for sale," he began doubtfully.

"It's perfect! Let's go take a look."

"It looks deserted," said Roger, but he dutifully placed the car in drive and eased up the dirt driveway.

"It's beautiful! Look at that country porch. I can just imagine sitting on that swing bench and sipping lemonade in the summertime, can't you dear?"

Roger shrugged. "You're the one who wants a country retreat. I'm the city boy, remember?"

"Well this is scarcely an hour from New York -- it's perfect." She opened her door and climbed out, running to the house and pounding on the door. "No one home," she mused as her husband marched up the steps.

"So much for that. We'll have to call the realtor and make an appointment."

"Let's look around while we're her," said Jannet, racing around to the back of the house without waiting for her husband.

"It's got a barn!" she shouted. "And a pond! And oh! Look!"

Roger trotted up behind her, his eyes following her line of sight. Nestled near the back door of the farmhouse was an old-fashioned woodshed. "That's a woodshed!" gasped Roger.

"Yes, it is," winked Jannet. "Care to make a trip?"

Together, they opened the creaking door and blinked in the darkness. The air was musty and stale, and tiny beams of sunlight crept through cracks in the paneling. A half-cord of wood was stacked in the far corner. A rusty axe lay staked in a cutting stump. The place looked like it hadn't been disturbed in years.

Roger gave a low whistle. "Would you look at that."

Jannet turned, and her knees went soft. She staggered. "Oh my God!"

Hanging on a nail by the door was a well-worn razor strop.

"Well, we can't pass up an opportunity like this," said Roger.

Jannet licked her lips. "Of course not."

The man took down the strop, fingering it carefully, then gave an experimental swing against the doorframe. The sound was loud and startling against the peaceful morning. Jannet staggered, a hand slipping to her crotch. She rubbed her dress furiously.

"Better hurry," she whispered. "This is just _too_ exciting!"

"Get over that sawhorse, young lady," growled Roger sternly. "You've been sent to the woodshed for a good reason." He grinned and snapped the strop again.

"Oh my," gasped Jannet weakly. "If we buy this place..."

"Exactly, my dear. Out in the country, no one can hear you scream."

The End

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