July 08, 2004
Fiction
What Really Happened
“It’s all ridiculously Freudian,” Papa Bear said, slamming his cup down onto the Sunday New York Times in such an alarming way that cappuccino slopped out onto the headlines. Papa was quite enamored of their new cappuccino machine, which Baby, who was a trial lawyer in Miami these days, had sent for their anniversary. Papa was positive none of their friends had an Italian model of comparable quality. “I mean,” he continued grumpily, “this one’s too big, that one’s too small. Ridiculous, I tell you.”
Oh, not this again, Mama Bear sighed to herself. Heaven only knows what had set it off this time. “If it were Freudian,” she said, “there’d be no such thing as too big. He was quite penis-centric you know, dear.” She glanced over at Goldie who was doing the dishes in her leather body harness, her pert ass cheeks a vivid red. Papa had started the day out by spanking her with the wooden paddle for a small impertinence, then ordering the sobbing girl to her knees for some cocksucking. It was almost an hour later, but her bottom still glowed an almost comic-book red.
Mama smiled at her mate. He might be a crank on this one subject, but the bear did know how to give a proper spanking. “Papa was quite penis-centric this morning too, wasn’t he, Goldie?” she asked smoothly.
“Ma’am?” the girl stuttered, the dish towel quivering almost imperceptibly in her hand.
Mama suppressed an evil smile. She too would be taking the paddle to the girl at some point today for misbehavior real or imagined, and the little slut knew it. She always recognized the glint in Mama’s eyes that meant she was in for a . . . difficult . . . day.
“All I’m saying is,” Papa grumbled, “all I’m saying is, we’ve been slandered all these years with these ludicrous stories and I’m the only one in this family who seems to care.”
Mama thought his fine figure of moral outrage was somewhat undercut by the milk foam on his muzzle. “What makes you think anyone believes any of it, darling? It certainly hasn’t affected Baby’s career.” She looked back at Goldie. Maybe instead of the paddle, she’d use the thick strap. It had been ages since she’d worked the girl with that, but she still remembered her pitiful mewls and whimpers from last time, the way she’d begged mercy as Mama cracked the leather down again and again and again.
“My coffee’s getting cold,” she said, though it wasn’t. The girl instantaneously exchanged the dishcloth for the coffee pot and pattered across the room. Papa might like those six-inch locking heels he kept her in, but Mama thought they slowed her down unconscionably. She put a paw on Goldie’s burning butt cheek as she bent prettily to pour. “I want my coffee kept as hot as your bottom, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said miserably.
Mama’s eyes sparkled. Maybe the switch. Maybe she’d send the girl out into the forest to cut a few switches.
Papa had opened the paper, but he wasn’t reading it, and if he wasn’t going to read it, Mama wished he’d at least pass her the Arts section. “Baby was just a child then,” Papa argued. “Of course no one attaches any responsibility to her. But I was a laughing stock at my club. A laughing stock!”
Goldie was terrified of the switch and totally humiliated by having to cut her own. The first time Papa had sent her to do it, she’d tried to run away and hide in the woods. They’d sniffed her right out, of course, with their superior bear noses, and then taught her just how naughty that behavior was. She’d screamed so long and so loudly she’d lost her voice. Ah, me, Mama thought, those were fun days.
“Porridge, can you imagine? Maybe, just maybe, I’d be eating steel-cut Irish oats and Devonshire cream instead of my usual bagel and Nova, but porridge?”
The problem with the switch was that if she sent Goldie to cut two or three, Papa would surely want to join in, surely want to break at least one over the girl’s squirming, blistered ass. “Dearest, you know no one in your club really believed you ate porridge,” Mama murmured. “You drive a Lexus, for goodness’ sake.” And even if Mama were gracious and let Papa have a turn, he’d end up hot and bothered, and the girl, face swollen with tears, would soon be gagging and choking on that big bear cock again. Well, Mama meant to be hot and bothered too, and she could think of better uses for Papa’s penis.
Speaking of which, she couldn’t even remember the last time they let Goldie have an orgasm, yet the girl didn’t seem all that distressed every time Papa said no yet again. That could only mean one thing.
“Darling, you need to stop getting so worked up over ancient history.” She slipped the editorial section from beneath Papa’s cappuccino mug, though she didn’t intend to really read it either. “But I will remind you that you were the one who wanted to advertise for a slave over the Internet. It wasn’t the best of your ideas, my love.” All these years and Mama had never reproached him for it, but really, it was time to face facts. It was time for Papa to just let this go.
The girl had to be masturbating on the sly. Mama pictured her grinding against the sheets of the “just right” bed, sticking those little fingers into her greedy cunt. Well, that was certainly a very strapable offense. And not just across her ass. Ass, thighs front and back, and then right down on her nasty little clit.
Papa raised his napkin to his mouth, finally wiping away the milk residue. “I don’t see why you say that.”
“Goodness, dear, she was a newbie. She hung around in chat rooms, for heaven’s sake.” So. It was definitely going to be the strap. The only problem was, where on earth had she put it after that last session? The punishment paddle hung on its hook on the kitchen wall so that Goldie had to look at it multiple times every day, but both she and Papa were hopeless about keeping the rest of the equipment in one place, and Goldie knew better than to touch any of it. “Her little chatroom cronies heard that we weren’t allowing her a safeword or any limits, and then they saw the webcam shots of her after you disciplined her that first time—”
Was it in the china cupboard with the ball gag? Maybe she ought to gag her today, not let her get away with all that whimpering and begging. Ha, and screaming. If Mama whipped her cunt, there’d be screaming.
“Raw hamburger!” Papa sputtered. Maybe, Mama thought, it hadn’t been the best of all possible ideas to give him something else to be outraged over. “Do you remember that? They said her ass looked like raw hamburger. None of those fakes had ever given or taken a real whipping in their lives! I’d have liked to show them raw hamburger!”
Mama glanced over her shoulder at Goldie again. The girl was attempting to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as she put away the dishes. How cute. Not that it was going to do her any good. Honestly, it was time to calm Papa and get down to more enjoyable pastimes.
“I’ve thought for years that that’s where all those ridiculous stories began, my darling. They were all intent on portraying Goldie as some sort of abused innocent, and it snowballed from there. It’s nothing to get yourself so upset about. Who in their right mind ever believed Internet gossip?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And it’s all water under the proverbial bridge, anyway. No one remembers any of it.”
“Well, maybe you’re right . . .”
“Why don’t you go for a little walk, steady your nerves, my sweetest,” Mama suggested in a soothing voice. “I need to ‘talk’ to Goldie anyway.”
Papa, she noted, had heard the quotation marks around “talk” as had the girl. She’d gone white beneath that impossible mop of blonde hair, and any hint of agitation on Papa’s face had been replaced with an altogether different expression. “You’re sure you don’t need me to stay around here?” he asked.
“No, darling. You take a nice walk. It’s good for your heart. You know your doctor is always after you to get more healthy exercise.” Mama fluttered her eyes coyly. “And then when you come back, perhaps you and I can, uh, lie down for a bit while Goldie fixes dinner.”
Papa pushed away his cup and folded his newspaper. Obviously, the crossword could wait. “The strap’s at the bottom of the linen chest, in case you’re looking for it, Pookie.”
Mama walked him to the door, stroking the fur on his arm enticingly and letting him nibble at her ear. “You forget all about Freud and porridge and rumors, dearest, and have yourself a lovely stroll. Why don’t you come back in, say, forty-five minutes? I’ll be ready for a . . .nap . . . just about then.”
As soon as the door clicked closed, she pivoted around to the girl. “You heard your master,” she said sharply. “Fetch the strap from the linen chest immediately. And perhaps on your way there you can explain to me just why you think you can touch yourself in secret and get away with it.”
The girl’s pallor was immediately replaced with a deep flush, and Mama smiled, eyes gleaming with pleasure and cruelty. So, she’d been absolutely right. It was shaping up to be a most excellent Sunday. Perhaps she’d overstated her case to Papa just a bit. Advertising for a slave on the Internet had worked out just fine. The linen chest’s lid creaked as Goldie opened it, and Mama smiled even more. Just fine indeed.
Who needed to waste a thought on porridge?
is a health care professional and writer who has published erotica, horror, fantasy, and miscellaneous dark fiction in various places. When not taking long walks on the beach, knitting badly, or arguing with strangers on the Internet, she usually can be found attempting to teach the American public the difference between “your” and “you’re.” It's a losing battle.
