Copyright 1998 to <>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

[horizontal rule]

This is a sort of odd post that grew out of an idea for answering Lily's question (below). It is an attempt at something rather different for me, an exploration outside my own kink (sorta). Hope it works for someone. Anyway, I enjoyed writing it. ;)

[horizontal rule]

[Image of Little Miss Naughty] The Town Square: Who's Doin' Whom?
by Mija

Lily wrote:
> Now, that having been said, I'm gonna go have a croissant
> at the bakery, park my cart, and see who's doin' whom in
> the town square!

Mija is busy cleaning her room (as usual) when she glances out her third floor window. From her window seat she can see a tall blond-haired woman, pulling a shorter brunette behind her. The blond strides erect and at a brisk pace, despite her tight skirt and high-heeled boots. The dark haired woman has to be tugged reluctantly, her head low, bare feet dragging in the dust.

Mija kneels on the window seat cushion, her nose and breath leaving smudges on the clean glass panes. She holds her breath and crosses her fingers as she observes them heading toward the raised platform at the centre of the square.

"Oh wow! Kewl!"

She turns to run out of the room and bumps smack into Pablo.

"Someone is gettin' punished in the square! No, I don't know who but it's two women. Let's go, please? I'll finish the room later! 'lita will understand. I wanna watch!"

Not waiting for his answer, Mija pounds down two flights of stairs and dashes out the front door. As she expects, she is not the only one who noticed the march to the platform. Still, she is early enough to get close enough to hear the conversation between the two women.

Sensing an audience, the blond woman stands in front of the smaller woman, hands on her hips, booted heels two feet apart, and raises her voice.

"Why are we here, my dear?"

The younger woman kneels, presses her forehead against the wood between the blond woman's boots. At the tap of the riding crop on her back she kneels up again.

The blond flicks the crop against her gloved hand impatiently. Mija imagines she can see the kneeling girl swallowing hard as she feels her own mouth and throat dry.

"becauseiwantit," murmurs the dark-haired woman.

"I can't hear you. You haven't a gag in your mouth. Speak up!"

"Because I want to be here." She flushes in shame, her hair falling forward over her eyes.

"That's right," comes the reply, "You like this, don't you? Like that all these people stare at you, like knowing they'll see you bare and punished as I think you deserve, as you know you need."

The younger woman lowers her head further, but the blond taps her chin with the tip of the crop. She lifts her head to look up at the woman towering before her. Mija feels her own hands perspire as she watches. The bright sunlight makes the contrast between blond hair and black leather stunning, electric.

"Yesss," she finally whispers in a hiss. "Yes, I need this. Please."

Mija feels her knees buckle at the yearning in the voice. Yearning she understands; that understanding causes her own stomach to flutter in sympathy.

The blond woman grasps the smaller's dark hair, roughly pulling it back and tying it in a ponytail with a black thong. With a tug on the dark ponytail, the blond pulls the smaller woman to her feet and leads her over to the high wooden stool bolted to the platform.

Seating herself, she yanks the smaller woman over her lap. The blonde's short skirt tightens further and pulls up, almost to her hips. Mija admires the shapely leg encased in a lovely stocking, held by tight garters. Her mind drifts to the Wildfire Shop. But the sight of the dark-haired girl being pulled further over the blond woman's lap pulls her forcefully back to the present. Her short-sleeved loose-fitting dress rises almost to the lower curves of her bottom, which remains covered more by shadow than fabric. Her legs part obediently at the light slap of a gloved hand.

The sound of the slap is enough to remind Mija to breathe. She looks up and to her right to see Pablo, equally transfixed. She notices the 'bird watching' binoculars in his right hand, and reaches out to take and squeeze his left. He looks down and smiles. They both look back at the platform.

The blond woman has unfastened her right glove, holding the other woman over her lap. Three sharp smacks sound, as palm meets thigh.

"Hands behind your head." The tone is strict and a bit cold. "Don't make me tell you such things!"

The dark-haired woman clasps her hands behind her neck. The blond nods in approval and grasps the hem of the apple-green velvet dress, pulling it all the way up, baring the girl's bottom all the way to the middle of her back. Safety pins are ready at hand and the skirt is pinned at each shoulder.

Mija gazes almost rapt at the delightful contrast between brown leg and bare white bottom, at the beautiful canvas of smooth, unmarked skin, which shows only newly-made reddish finger-marks on the left inner thigh.

A smooth hand rubs circles on the bottom, as the dark-haired woman quivers, almost squirms, while lying still. She moans very low and quiet, her bottom lifting to meet the massaging hand.

When the first slaps land, her back arches and she gasps loudly.

"Be still!"

And the slaps fall faster as her feet struggle to hold still, her legs sliding slightly apart to find her thighs spanked hard and parted again.

"You aren't following directions, are you, dear?"

The blond woman's words are punctuated by hard stinging slaps. Mija has lost count minutes before. The brown-haired woman's bottom is now bright pink with a red basket-weave of finger marks.

"I'm trying . . . I . . . can't!" comes a soft wail.

The spanks come harder, faster, landing with loud smacks on the fleshy lower curves. The kicks begin, first slowly, then wild squirming. The blond woman gives a smile that Mija finds both chilling and affectionate as the spanks stop and the slow circles begin again.

"'Can't'? Is that what you said? 'Can't'? Shall I help you?"

The other woman gives a moaning answer, her face low and flushed red. Lotion is rubbed into the red skin, the hand massaging deep, fingers disappearing then reappearing from within the flesh. She replaces the lotion bottle and reaches to the table behind for a flared cream-coloured object, which, like her fingers previously, vanishes into the reddened flesh, yet unlike the fingers, does not reappear. Mija hears a mechanical insect buzz just as the device is pressed home. She watches as the dark-haired woman jerks her legs reflexively apart, perspiration beginning to bead on her forehead.

"B-bur-rning!" she chokes out.

"Indeed?" says the other, with an attitude of indifference. "It does seem to be helping, doesn't it?"


A sharp smack to each cheek causes Mija to grasp Pablo's hand.

The blond woman reaches behind her again for some small shiny clamps. Her hand gently brushes low on the reddened bottom as she slides it lower and between the girl's legs. Mija longs both to look away, and to take the glasses from Pablo and see more closely.

The spanking begins again, the punished woman first gasping then tears crying out her discomfort. A minute passes. Two. The spanks continue, getting harder and harder, their sound ringing across the silent but crowded square. Finally the spanking ceases.

The girl lies in place, her hands gripped tight behind her neck, her face wet with tears, forehead slick with sweat. Mija sees the sheen of moisture on her bottom, on the red flesh of her punished thighs.

"Have you been punished enough, my dear?"

A male voice from the crowd interrupts the tension with a shout of:


Mija thinks she recognizes the voice (voices?) of friends murmuring the same, but isn't sure. Her own brain whispers, "Don't stop yet."

A soft voice from the platform says,

"Whatever you think, miss."

The other woman clicks her tongue thoughtfully.

"'Whatever I think'? I think my hand is sore. I think you need further discipline. Is this the case?"

A soft voice from very low:


Again the voice, aching with yearning, speaks to Mija's soul and she feels her knees tremble with a need she cannot, has never expressed.

The blond woman picks up a short riding crop from the table and brings it down with a flicking snick. Mija watches as a purple-red welt paints itself across the deep red bottom. She flinches, but does not look away.

"Oh nooo!" comes the wail. The dark-haired woman's back arches and her hands fly back to cover herself. The blond woman's reaction is immediate as she drops the crop onto the table, pushes the girl off her lap and stands, moving to the opposite side of the platform. The dark-haired woman staggers slightly, stands, and then immediately kneels, her forehead pressed to the wood. Her brightly-punished bottom presents a happy contrast to the yellow-green fabric. The blond woman cannot see the kneeling woman because her back is turned, yet she speaks to her nonetheless.

"You've humiliated yourself. Don't you want me to punish you?"

"Yessss. Please."

And Mija hears the yearning again.

"Then make sure you are still. Or you will continue to displease and disobey."

There is a long pause as the blond woman does nothing but stare into the distance. Mija is transfixed by the sight of the punished flesh, the knowledge somehow it isn't over. She hears herself sigh as she looks up into the dark-haired woman's tearstained face, feels their dark eyes lock. She is close enough to hear the whisper:

"Help me?"

Mija raises her eyebrows and points to herself. She receives an answering nod, and looks up at Pablo, who also nods. Heart pounding convulsively, Mija climbs onto the platform, transfixed by the sight of the bare, red bottom and legs, which stand and walk over to the table, pick up some heavy objects and return to the stool. The blond woman stands statue-still, back straight, feet apart, her back to both Mija and the girl.

"What do I do?"

"Tie me," comes the soft reply.

Mija looks wildly around her and flashes crazily to her own school tie and hair ribbons. She's ready to offer them, just as she realizes the woman in green is holding heavy black leather cuffs. Mija reaches out and takes them in her own hands, feeling their slick weight, smelling leather, sweat and desire. The girl nods and walks with Mija over to the stool. As the dark-haired girl lays herself over the stool, Mija stands, hearing her own heartbeat, considering if it's possible to hear blood moving in her veins. The girl's stomach is pressed against the seat of the stool. Her legs and arms stretch, fingers and toes reaching for the platform inches away.

Mija trembles as she takes the other woman's right hand. Her fingers feel thick and clumsy as she unbuckles the first cuff, slipping then fastening it around the other's wrist and the stool. The left is done in half the time. As she rises to go behind the girl and cuff her ankles, Mija gives into her urge to stroke the woman's soft face. She kisses her, tasting the salt of tears and sweet sweat. A soft linen from Mija's pocket wipes the other's face.

As Mija kneels and fastens the woman's left ankle, she fights an unusual desire to touch her forehead to the platform wood, to see from the inside this expression of submission, so like and unlike that which she desires. As she kneels between the girl's legs, Mija sees the glint of the silver clamps, smells the peppermint oil of the lotion, the scent of the girl's submission and yearning. She hurries and fastens the last cuff, eager finally to get off the platform and back to the safe ambivalence of voyeurism.

She stands, resisting the desire to pat the other dark woman's bottom, and stumbles off the town square platform and into Pablo's arms.

"Miss, I'm ready, miss."

The tall blond woman dressed in black crosses her arms and does not move.

"Miss? Please, miss?"

The yearning trembles in the woman's voice. Pablo feels Mija's body tremble in response.

"Yes? Do you want something?"

"Punish me, miss. Pleasssse."

The girl's voice breaks with longing and submission. A smile crosses the face of the blond woman as she strides across the platform. She runs her hands over the exposed bottom and legs, which wait expectantly.

There is a motionless hush over the crowd as the blond woman picks up a 21-inch black crop from the table and taps the back of the girl's knees, watching her squirm and struggle, both women reassuring themselves that the bonds are tight. The tip of the crop caresses the sore flesh.

The whipping begins so gently Mija can hardly tell the moment the caresses become little flicking strokes. They look so very gentle, yet are inside the girl's spread thighs, get harder as they get higher. The girl struggles, moans and seems to offer herself, raising her bottom slightly with each stroke.

Mija wonders if the girl's bottom is being offered as an alternative to the strokes on the legs. Those stinging flicks become brisker and faster, stopping just as the girl's moans turn to low screams. The blond woman's arm pulls back - back far - far and slashes down straight across the crown of the girl's bottom. A screaming sob comes from the dark-haired woman. Mija feels a clenching sensation in her stomach.

Five strokes land inches apart, each lower than the previous. The girl's crying is steady sobbing, punctuated by screams as the weals criss-cross. Mija tells herself to look away as the girl's voice rises to screams, yet she watches as the blond woman runs fingernails over the welts, her ears hearing desire within the sobs. A final slash of the crop and the air is split by a low scream of pain and fulfilment. Mija feels echoes of the girl's straining vibrations pass through her own body.

The blond woman begins again to caress the girl with the crop, causing closed- then open-mouth moans. Another low scream, this one of pleasure. The girl trembles as the blond woman releases her bonds from the stool, leaving the cuffs attached to wrists and ankles. The girl sinks to her knees as applause begins in the crowd around the platform.

The blond woman bends and touches the dark hair of her companion.

"Do you want to go home, dear?"

"Yessss," comes the answer.

And what Mija hears is no longer yearning, but fulfilment.

[horizontal rule]

Back to Mija's stories

Back to the treehouse