by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 15
The next day on my way to meet Alexa for lunch I found it very difficult to walk without twitching. My high heels and tight skirt didn’t help. I certainly ‘suffer’ from what is known as the spanked-walk, and my condition was subtly acknowledged by several women on the way. Particularly by one girl, about as tall as I, with neat short wavy blond hair. She smiled at me then tossed her head back and sweetly laughed.
I’ve been asked by several of you what exactly is a spanked walk. Mine has become a permanent mark of my comportment. Nevertheless, imagine me if you will: I’m 5’9″ with lovely long shapely legs that offer a lush tight bottom that a man could fill his hands with a little left over to squeeze. Now imagine that bottom thoroughly spanked, panties up, and legs astride.
The natural gate of a woman, especially when she wears heels, tends to throw out the alternate cheek of her bottom as each foot steps forward, sort of like a horse at the trot, which may explain one of the myriad reasons that girls love horses.
Now, if a women gets properly spanked on a regular basis that walk will be further accentuated. Her itching and burning bottom will force her to relocate each step to ease the little ‘ouches’. She may lift herself or squeeze her butt mid stride. Often, she closes her eyes until a sizzle goes away. Or she my suddenly shorten her stride and stand on one foot until a burn subsides. These are the general symptoms, and I suffer from them all, but who’s complaining?
I tried to get comfortable in the taxi cab on my way midtown. The sublime torture that my bottom had previously suffered was absolutely killing me at the moment. I had to endure the worn out shocks of that disgusting New York City cab while it mercilessly bounced my bottom down Park Avenue. In case you didn’t know, New York City cabs are made for convicts. How we decent citizens get them, one can only guess. (Go to London and you’ll see what I mean about proper livery service.)
After a while in that miserable cab my thoughts drifted to earlier that morning. Before I had left my building Mr. Farrelli called me several times to beg for forgiveness. He was crying on the phone because of his recent despicable behavior. I hung up on him.
On my way out the building, he approached me with a bouquet of the most expensive arrangement of flowers. I refused his offer. He persistently followed me down several blocks making a complete nuisance of himself.
Finally, I sternly and resolutely told him to get lost and not bother me another second. This time he got the message. He drooped his weary sad head and walked away with the exquisite flowers pointing to the pavement. Never had I seen such a decrepit man, sort of like a Roskolnikov in the New World.
I stood there and watched him trundle down the street. His normally neatly combed hair seemed to need a compass. Strands and licks wildly bunched in tortured tufts. His shoes were scuffed, and his tie hung inches below his shirt collar. His neck wilted and his head hung like a dead bulb. I was beginning to feel more than a little pity. I decided to give him another chance, not because I felt sorry for him, but because some people may be worth taking a risk. I called after him.
He turned around not sure whether I was about to further reprimanded him. I encouraged him with my hand to come back. He lifted up the lovely bouquet of flowers and approached me with a lightened step An attentive smile braved through his saddened face. He offered me the flowers again. I told him to wait.
We went over his behavior step by step. I gave him strict new guidelines that he would have to follow. He promised that he would abide by every word. He took my hand and kissed it – – a bit old fashioned, but nevertheless effective.
He then told me, ” My daughter greatly improved after I took your advice, but now it’s my wife who has become difficult to handle. She seems to resent my new self. I’m not as timid as before and she finds that she can’t boss me around like she used to do. ” I asked, ” Why don’t you just give her some of the same treatment?” He said, “I did and it has only made her worse. She beat me.” I almost laughed. How pathetic. I reassured his silly soul, “Let me think about it. I’ll come up with something in a few days.”
He thanked me profusely, but I had to cut him off. He didn’t know when to stop. I informed him that I would be stopping in again, and that he still had permission to spank me. He thanked me and held onto my hand for too long. I managed to pull it away and take the flowers from him. He apologized, slightly bowed and departed.
The cab dropped me off at Cipriani’s on 59th and 5th, just across from Central Park. Alexa was just coming down the street. She greeted me with the most sincerest of excitement. She took the bouquet of flowers, thinking that they were for her. We had a nice hug and kiss, and went inside.
* *
We found a cozy table and made ourselves comfortable. We had been there no longer than several minutes when a bottle of wine appeared. It’s one of the perks of being pretty. We accepted it, but sent an apocryphal note back to our admirers informing them that we were married with children, though we could use a man who knew how to diaper. We giggled and sent the note off and enjoyed the wine.
I promised Alexa that I’d come out to Fire Island the coming weekend. She said she had several wonderful parties to go to and that we should be best friends the whole time. I thought it was a great idea. We clinked our glasses and moved on to the next subject.
She brought up Daniel, “I hope you don’t mind; it’s terrible of me to get involved with someone else’s business, but I happen to know Daniel, and I just want to say that he got what he deserved. He’s a little prick, which is quite surprising since he comes from a good family.”
I really didn’t want to talk about Daniel, but at least she saw him for what he was. Then she told me something that surprised me, “How long did he have his way with you?” I sort of shrugged my shoulders, hoping that she’d drop the subject, “Did you think of going to the police?”
I tried to shift the conversation, but Alexa wouldn’t, “He’s very vengeful.” I said, “What exactly do you mean?” Alexa said, “He talks big, that’s all.” And I said, “You mean when he’s with your whores?”
There was a moment of awkward silence. I had a feeling my new best friend was my new nothing. I said, ” He’s a pervert and a criminal. If he tries anything he’ll pay for it. If he thinks his father and his high profile law firm can do anything they want with me, then they better read up on the law. It’s criminals who go to jail, not people like me. Coercion and fraud are still illegal, and that’s what he committed.”
She said, “Then is it true?” I curiously asked, “Is what true?” She took a moment and thought over what she was going to say, “That you really enjoyed getting fucked?” I was stunned. I wanted to get my hands on that little bastard, ” What do you mean, did I enjoy getting fucked?”
Alexa apologized, “I’m sorry. Forgive me for being so nosey.” I said, “No. You’re a madam, Alexa, right? Or are you going to bullshit me and tell me that you’re in the travel business, because Marge doesn’t buy that line of shit either.”
She admitted that she was a madam. I said, ” Now, to answer your question. Did I enjoy it? I got fucked every day for a month by Daniel. He would walk right into my apartment before school, wake me up, turn me over, and fuck me. Did I enjoy it? No. But when someone fucks you for that long you run the risk of getting to like it.”
She asked, “You’re not saying that he was right?” I said, “Yes.” Surprised, she asked me again, ” So, you did enjoy fucking him?” I said, “Yes, but I didn’t enjoy him. There’s a difference. I enjoyed his cock, alright? He happened to have been good with it.” Then she said something that startled me, “That’s what my girls tell me.”
I dropped my fork and glared at her, “What are you saying?” She said, “Let’s talk about something else.” I said, “No. Let’s talk about this. What are you saying?” She said, “It’s too complicated for lunch, let’s wait till we get to the beach.” I said, “No. I want to talk about it now.” Alexa hesitated, ” Alright. Would you like to work for me?”
I couldn’t believe what she said. I looked at her in utter amazement. She continued, “I have two girls who are grad students at Columbia studying art history. I have one who is a mother of two kids and lives on Central Park West with her zillionaire husband, and another who is a thirty-two year old high priced attorney. And then there are my temps; gals who like to have a little fun now and then, but they’re all blue-blood first rate.
I was shocked, I never thought high class girls would want to be whores. And as if she had read my mind, “None of my girls are the trash you find with street pimps. They’ve all got class. For twenty-five hundred a ‘poke’, they’d better be. Anyway, I think you’d be a star. When would you like to start?”
When would I like to start? Our main course came and I turned my attention to my food, but I had a suspicion and I wasn’t afraid to reveal it, “So you asked me out to lunch not because you wanted to be my friend, but because you want me to be your whore.”
She was visibly angry and tried to set the record straight, “You don’t seem to understand. My girls are my friends. I love them all dearly. They are like my sisters. And that’s how I feel about you. I felt sorry for you when I heard Daniel mouthing off about you. He never touched one of my girls. I finally threw him and his father out.”
“He told me that he fucked them all.” Now she dropped her fork and knife, “His father, yes, but not him. You seem to get me wrong. You may not like what we do, but we are professionals and we have pride, and one day these jackasses will legalize our business as it has been done in Vegas.”
She tried to eat, but had more to say, ” And no, I didn’t invite you here to manipulate you into being one of my girls. I’m not dumb enough to think that I could manipulate someone with your backbone. I heard all about how you fixed Daniel. I hope you don’t mind, but I told my girls and they all hip-hip-hoorayed! They were sick of Daniel talking about you. They knew you from the papers and thought you were getting a raw deal from that prick. They’ve never even met you, but you’re a hero to each one of them for the way you handled yourself and how you resolved your terrible situation. If that bothers you, well, I’m sorry.”
I was amazed that all during my ordeal her girls were rooting for me. I was genuinely flattered, even if it came from a bunch of ‘whores’. “Well, tell your girls, thank you.”
Alexa smiled. Somehow those words diffused the tension. We were busy being friends again and tacitly agreed to move on. We talked about the coming weekend and what we’d do, and all sorts of other silly stuff that girls love to talk about when they’re alone.
On our way out I mentioned, “One of the wolves at your cocktail party last weekend has been sending roses to my office everyday of the week.” She laughed, “I know who that is.” I said, ” He doesn’t take no for an answer.” She laughed again, “He’s tried to marry two of my girls, already.” I said, “But I’m not one of your girls.” She said, “But he doesn’t know that.” “Will you tell him?” She teased, ” Only if you promise to be my best friend forever.” We gave each other a hug, “I promise.”
