Mrs. Harris Plays a Role

This is a a sequel to Chastised By Mrs. Harris, and also the various stories about Holly Sykes like Queen of Diamonds. This is taking place in the summer of 1976. The narrator is twenty-one and Holly and Tiffany are both thirty-seven.

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The following week I got a phone call from Tiffany. It wasn't a surprise, because she had told me to expect it. She was back in her Mrs. Harris mode. "Paul, I have a bone to pick with you."

I think Holly had once used the same expression. Neither one of them knew it, but that phrase always rankled me. My mom used it with me when I was a kid. Anyway, I knew whatever made-up story Tiffany had was merely a pretext for some game she had planned.

"Yes, Mrs. Harris, what can I do for you?"

"I told you to stay away from my daughter and yet you didn't. You've followed her around and tried to grab her. You even put your hands under her skirt and tried to pull her panties off."

That was completely unlike me; I would never touch a woman without consent. In fact, they had to touch me first. She continued, "Thus you need further harsh punishment to get the point across."

If it wasn't for the amazing rear-entry sex I had with Tiffany the previous Sunday, after my hairbrush discipline, I would have just hung up.

I said, "Ma'am, are you going to hire one of our cars again?"

"No, I'm just going to have you come down to my apartment so I can thoroughly thrash you there. What day can you do that?" I actually went along with her and told her Friday.

"Good. I decided to not use a cane on you; that's a bit much for a neophyte like you. Instead, I'm going to use a tawse."

I didn't know what that was. All I said was, "So that's less extreme than a cane?"

"That may be a matter of opinion among those who have actually been subjected to them. The tawse definitely has a bite to it." I figured I'd find out the details when I got there.

When I hung up, it struck me how improbable Tiffany's storyline was. This fictional Betsy daughter would be of legal age; thus she had no leverage over me. Why would I voluntarily go to her apartment to get beaten by her?

Nevertheless, I arrived at East 79th Street in the early afternoon. I had my jacket and tie on as usual. Tiffany opened her door and glared at me; then she beckoned me in. We stood there awkwardly for a moment. I briefly looked around at the part of the apartment I could see. It was very nice but not opulent either.

Then I checked her. As I had expected, my thirty-seven-year-old Tiffany Harris was well-dressed but tastefully so. She had a long-sleeved white pullover blouse and a short skirt with a red, purple and gray plaid pattern. Her stockings were a dark tan and she had dark purple shoes; her dark-blonde hair was combed back. The last thing I noticed was her pearl necklace, which I assumed had real pearls.

I also assumed that her stockings were held up with a garter and straps, but I hoped to confirm that eventually. My urge was to get into the lovemaking with her immediately.

She had another agenda first, and she got right into it. There was an object on one the chairs and she picked it up. "This, you disobedient young rake, is a tawse." I gazed at a thick leather strap that was divided into two flaps at one end. It looked impressive as a spanking implement.

She explained for me, "These originated in Scotland and then England, I believe." I wasn't surprised to hear that. "They also called it a 'school belt.' Sometimes, afterwards, boys would go and press their bare buttocks against a smooth stone surface, like on some gravestones, to cool off the burning in their behinds. Marble was probably the best for that."

"Mrs. Harris, do you have any marble in here?"

"Only the coffee table, and you can't use that."

"Of course, I wouldn't think of it." My behind twitched at the thought of that tawse thing coming down of me. As Tiffany approached me, I saw that her belt had a handle on one end so it could be griped properly. More bad news for me.

"Now, you won't stay away from Betsy, so you need further motivation. I don't know why you just don't go with one of those sluts up at City College. I'm sure they'll drop their panties for you."

I didn't like hearing the girls at my school being put down by this arrogant bitch. "Don't insult them; they're very nice girls up there."

"I bet. That's why you are after my Betsy. She's pure and you want to defile her."

It struck me that Tiffany, like Holly, was a pretty fair actress. She was actually getting me to dislike her. I knew this entitled East Side matron wasn't really her -- or was it? I remembered the theory of method acting that one could delve deep into oneself and find the feelings needed to create a character.

One thing I was sure of: that tawse was very real.

"Oh, I forgot my sherry. Let me get it." She retrieved it and set the glass down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Ma'am, may I have one of those too?"

"You most certainly may not. What you will do is bend over the end of the sofa and put your hands on the cushion."

I shrugged and did what she requested. I had better get something really good out of this afterwards.

"Get your ass up higher." She pushed my jacket out of the way. "You're a bit thin -- and you didn't take it very well last time." I thought, fuck you, but I didn't say it. Then she tapped her evil tawse against me; I flinched a bit. "Okay, a few on the seat of your trousers. Are you ready?"

"Excuse me, Mrs. Harris, but we need a safe word."

"This is a punishment; there is no safe word."

"With all due respect, if you are going to use that, then there has to be one."

"All right, pick something."

I already knew, "It will be 'macaroni and cheese.' "

I was looking over at her and she cracked a smile. "That's a phrase, not a word, but okay. So, are you ready or not?"

"Well, sort of."

"Then here's a 'sort of' "

She brought it down on me, and man did it have a wallop. I tried to control myself, but a gasp came out of me. With the second one, I did cry out, "Jesus, Mrs. Harris!"

"Your soul may belong to Jesus, but your ass belongs to me."

I couldn't inhibit the reactions I was having, and I made a lot of noise and writhed around during the first part of this session.

She said, "You're such a pussy. Sailors in the Royal Navy endured the cat-o-nine tails on their backs." What did Churchill say about that institution; that it ran on "rum, sodomy and the lash?" That sounded more like a West Village club than a military, but the British had conquered the world with it.

After about eight hits, she bent over to touch me. "My, you're well heated back there. Take your trousers down; it's time for the bare."

I thought of just calling it off, but some stubbornness made me stay. I still couldn't help but make quite a commotion while getting it on my bare behind. I dreaded the sound of her belt swishing through the air each time she brought it down. But I wasn't going to say "macaroni and cheese" unless I really had to, and I wasn't yet at that point.

She said, "I think the standard sentence in Scotland was thirty-six strokes on the uncovered backside. I won't give you that many." I didn't keep track of the number, but it seemed to be adequate for her standards.

When she was done she dropped her tawse on the floor, picked up her sherry, and curled up at the opposite end of the sofa. I was still bent over and breathing heavily; I looked right into her face. She was quite close to me.

I wasn't feeling too kindly towards her. Man, she can be cruel. She looked back at me mildly. I wondered if she was still Mrs. Harris or just Tiffany at this point.

She said, "I bet you've been wondering if I'm wearing panties this week." She wasn't wearing any the week before.

"That hasn't been my biggest concern, but now that you mention it. . ."

She swung her legs up and pulled her skirt back. I wasn't surprised to see that she had a white garter and straps to hold up her stockings. And she did have white panties on top of them. These were of an ample cut, but they were sheer enough to be transparent. I could see right through them to her pussy.

I said something silly, "Those are certainly notable."

In a few moments she removed them and dropped them on the floor; she spread her legs. I was definitely interested, but I was wondering how long I'd have to remain bent over with my battered ass in the air. I surmised it might be a while; it seemed to be part of her game.

"So, do you like my pussy?"

"Yes, Tiffany, I do." I took a chance that I was now on a first name basis with her again.

"What do you like about it?"

"Let's see; it's bare, it's right in front of me, and I ejaculated into it a few days ago. I'd say it wins the Triple Crown."

She laughed out loud; I felt a little better that she had found that funny.

She said, "Dominating a man always makes me horny. I'm going to masturbate now and you can watch." The setup I was in seemed a bit peculiar; I was still bent over. She continued, "I see you have an impressive erection now."

I replied, "That can hardly be a surprise to you."

"I'm going to use only my hands on myself. Sometimes I do insert something in there, but I never use a vibrator."

"Well, bully for you."

"You've seen women do this before?"

"Yes, Tiffany, I've seen it before."

It went the way I expected. One of her hands fingered her vagina while the other circled and rubbed her clitoris. She got it done rather quickly. Her fingers became frantic and her voice went up.

At the peak moment she threw her legs wide open. Then she brought her feet back down and pushed her hips up and off the cushion. The noise she made sounded like a Rebel Yell.

She stretched out and breathed heavily. Her purple shoes were now right under me. When she could talk, she said, "I forgot to open my bra and fondle my nipples. Oh well, it went fine without that."

"You certainly are a classy lady, Mrs. Harris."

"Oh, you're joshing with me. Anyway, it's your turn now. I want to see how you handle yourself. I have some Vaseline here to help you along."

"Wait a minute; I could do the same thing at home while just imagining you."

"But you don't have to imagine me; I'm right here. Would you like to see my shapely behind again?"

I shook my head, "It's got to be something more than that."

She said, "Okay, what I had planned was that we'd go out to eat in a little while and come back here for more fun. Meanwhile . . ." She give it a bit of thought. "All right, I'll stroke you with my hands; how is that?"

A mere handjob? But I said yes.

"First, I do insist on showing my lovely ass to you." She knelt on the cushions facing the back and raised her skirt. As she pushed her bottom out, she said, "Pretty nice, right?"

I lost my cool, "It's beautiful."

"I knew you'd think that. Now, you bad boy, kneel on the couch and I'll take care of that pesky boner for you."

She got the Vaseline out and did just that. I was impressed by her red fingernails that matched her lipstick. As she stroked me, I put my hands on her shoulders and then I ran my fingers through her dark-blonde hair. Just before I climaxed, I realized that we didn't have a handkerchief. I just swiveled to my left and fired a stream onto the carpet.

I felt chagrined, "Oh, I'm sorry." The floor now had the tawse, her panties and my cum on it.

She wasn't perturbed, "Don't worry out it. Please, sit with me." She leaned against the back and I got next to her, being careful with my sore ass. I put my arm around her and we started kissing. I couldn't stop myself from gushing, "Tiffany, you're such a sweetheart." I forgave her for the beating she had inflicted on me.

She said, "You're a real sweetie too."

In a little while she said, "Let's go out and have something to eat." She mentioned the name of a restaurant. "It's a simple place but it has good food."

I was reluctant to have her pay for it; I thought of Joe Gillis getting all those favors from Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. She seemed to guess what I was thinking. "Come on, we'll go Dutch. That's fine."

******

When we were at the restaurant, I told her more about my past romantic life than I would have with a woman my own age. Tiffany seemed impressed with some of my escapades, but to me they didn't seem that wild for the era we were in.

She told me, "My daughter Margery is fourteen and she's going to the Chapin School this fall. She spends some time with her father on the West Side. She's with me too, but not when you're around." She looked a little uncomfortable, "It's not anything about you. It's just, I'd say, my own privacy I'm trying to protect."

"I understand that."

"Actually, when Margery is older, I hope she meets someone as good as you are."

That really touched me and it embarrassed me too. Tiffany could see that.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have said that." She went on, "I guess you don't know that Holly also has a daughter, Geraldine, who is thirteen."

"You're kidding me; I've never heard about that. Where is she hiding this person?"

"Geraldine lives with an uncle and aunt in Connecticut -- Holly's sister actually -- so she can attend the Darien school system. She's in New York a lot, but again, not when you're around."

"I guess it's her business if she doesn't want to tell me."

"I'll talk to her, nudge her a bit. Maybe she should tell you that about herself."

I sat there thinking, so Holly really is a true MILF.

A few minutes later she said, "I've thought of another game we could play soon. This time we'll switch and I'll be the bottom."

"Gee Tiffany, it's going to be a pity to waste your talents. You'd make an excellent dominatrix."

I hoped she'd take that as a compliment, and she did. "Well, thank you! But I only do this for fun, not for profit."

"So what is this plan of yours?"

"Oh, I'll tell you when the time is right. It's fairly simple; we can do it right here."

I said, "That's good; our romp in Long Island City was a bit nerve-wracking."

"But we got away it."

"I just worry that someday a cop car will come around during one of these adventures."

"They'd probably laugh it off."

"Or maybe they'd arrest us for public lewdness or some such thing."

"But we were in a car."

"Yes, but on a public street. When I took Holly up to that Amtrak yard, we were definitely trespassing. Also, I'd probably lose my job."

"But you're still living at home. I mean, it wouldn't be that bad."

I thought that Tiffany was showing some social class blindness, even if it was inadvertent. "First of all, I do need the money. As for that other issue, I don't want to wind up in the Bronx House of Detention or The Tombs."

She went off in an irrelevant direction. "I always wondered, why do they call it The Tombs? Because the inmates are sort of buried in it?"

"No, that's not it. I do know, but it will take a bit of explaining." After I was done with that I said, "I just know you or Holly and maybe both of you will talk me into another risky stunt. Like maybe the Staten Island Ferry."

"That sounds like fun. You can take a car onto the boat, and there you have it."

"You haven't been listening to me. You're on the lower deck, but anybody could walk by. Plus, you have no more than a half-hour to get it done."

I could see she was considering what she could accomplish in thirty minutes. Then she put up her hands, "Okay, for the moment the next one will be right here in the safety of my apartment."

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For anyone wondering about The Tombs: the present Manhattan jail is the fourth one in the area. The first one, built in 1838, had Egyptian Revival architecture. Somehow people got confused and associated it with the burial of Pharaohs; thus the nickname.