The Carpenter's Surprise

The carpenter whistled a tuneless melody through his lips as he sat at his bench, his hand tracing the lines of the board in front of him. This deep red cherry wood was perfection. It was not too heavy, not too flexible, and the deep red hardwood could last almost forever. He smiled as he reached for his tools and the tune he whistled broke into a soft hum as he set to work.

It was evening by the time he had finished his task and the sweet smell of cherry sawdust filled the room. The carpenter ran a long calloused finger along the length of his creation, checking the smooth surface for any wayward splinters or sharp edges. Perfect. Gently, he wrapped the wood in a cotton cloth and set out for home.

She was waiting when he arrived, she stood in the front hall her eyes narrowed with unasked questions about why the carpenter whistled and smiled. "Later," he told her, "You'll see later after supper is done." And the gleam in his eyes made her heart beat a little faster and filled her thoughts with a hundred different possibilities.

As they ate the carpenter talked cheerfully of the village news and the week's weather, prognosticating and pontificating about the week ahead. She didn't hear a word. She could see his fingertips tracing the wood grain of the table he had built for them with his own strong hands and she wondered what he had been doing in the workshop all afternoon and why the hidden smile in his eyes made her whole body tingle and stirred a hunger that supper couldn't satisfy.

At last, the meal was over and he helped her clear the table, brushing against her as they passed each other in their tiny kitchen in a way that could have been accidental but wasn't. He was teasing her. He knew that as the minutes passed she could think of nothing but what was wrapped in that cloth and set on that little table in the living room purposely set where she could see it through the doorway and wonder what it was.

"All right," he said a last and pulled her close to him, his large arms encircling her and almost lifting her off her feet. "Are you ready?"

She only nods because she can feel her heart pounding in her throat and she doesn't trust her voice. The carpenter retrieves the bundle and she opens it with with unsteady hands. She gasps as the cherry wood of the paddle gleams in the lamp light. It's fully 18 inches long from it's smooth rounded handle to the curved top and in the center of the paddle is carved the word SLUT. The wood almost seems to burn her fingers as she runs her hands over it. Beautiful.

He lets her admire the paddle for a moment more then he takes it from her and turns her so that she faces the kitchen table. His powerful hands force her to bend so that hands are on the tabletop, her cheek pressed against its hard surface. He reaches down and lifts her dress, running his hands up the backs of her thighs until they reach the curve of her buttocks.

"Naughty girl." he says softly, leaning in close to growl in her ear. "What happened to your panties?"

"I took them off before you came home," she whispers back "I wanted you to find me naked."

He lifts her dress, pushing it high up on her back and tucking it in out of the way. His eyes and hands examine her rear, his craftsman fingers gently probing as if the cheeks of her ass are a fine piece of furniture that he's checking for workmanship. He bends forward and plants a soft kiss on her right cheek then immediately follows it with a stinging slap from his bare hand. She gasps, her backs stiffening and muscles clenching.

Without giving her time to recover, another slap lands and then another. Tears spring in her eyes and dampen her cheeks but she's keenly aware that her face isn't the only place that has begun to moisten. The stinging heat from her ass seems to radiate through her body and the heat rises between her legs as well.

"That was for not wearing your panties," the carpenter growls in her ear. "Now comes your punishment for being a slut."

His hands lift her briefly off the table as he slips her dress over her head, leaving her naked. She's shaking but she's not cold. Her body feels feverish, every nerve of it on fire. From the corner of her eye she can see him picking up the brand new paddle and running a loving finger over its surface. Then she feels his hand slip between her legs, feeling her wetness and the heat of her arousal.

"You're dripping." He says in mock disgust."Nice girls don't get their pussies wet when someone's punishing them."

"I'm sorry," she moans into the table. "I've been so bad."

"It's time to pay for that." he says and swings the paddle down.

Smack. Her ass is alive with delicious pain so intense that her legs are shaking.

Smack. She cries out in pain and ecstasy, her hands leave the table and her fingers find her breasts, squeezing her nipples between her fingers as if to match pain with pain.

Smack. The wetness from her pussy is now dripping out, forming a line down the inside of her thigh. She shudders and arches her back lifting her scarlet buttocks a little higher, still wanting more.

Smack. One last powerful blow and the carpenter tosses the paddle aside. He shoves his pants down, freeing his manhood and enters her in a single swift motion. His hands find her hips and he lifts her as he pushes deep inside her, his cock filling her and touching every part of her swollen wet pussy.

She loses all reason as the force of her climax washes over her. She's a whore. She's a dirty little whore. She's his dirty little whore. And then his cum fills her, affirming that she belongs to him.

After a time they stand embraced, her head on his chest and his arms around her. And the paddle lies in a corner. For now.