#88) A Trip to the Woodshed – mild sexual content

#88) A Trip to the Woodshed – mild sexual content

During the past two years of the corona virus crisis, I decided to be honest with myself. I came out as bisexual, and have been dating (when I can) women as well as men. I met a charming woman with the nickname of Betty; she closely resembles the iconic and sexy Bettie Page.
Betty and I are something of an anomaly. For one thing, neither of us assumes the dominant or submissive role consistently, it’s fluid between us. (We try to live a D/s lifestyle 24/7, but that, too, is fluid. Because I tend to fuck-up more often, what Betty calls my “innate silliness,” I’m usually on the receiving end, with Betty dishing out the discipline.) For another thing, although we’re both girlie girls, what used to be called “lipstick lesbians”, we like the outdoors, and not just sunbathing in cute itsy-bitsy bikinis. We like fishing together a lot, have tried a little hunting, too.
So we went out quail hunting together about two weeks ago. A friend of a friend knew an old farmer who had some prime quail pastureland about half an hour’s drive outside our Midwestern city. We drove out to his farm and asked permission to hunt on his property. He seemed incredulous, yet very dour.
“You two are really quail hunters?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “It’s great for our target-practice skills and delicious for dinner.”
“Sure, okay, for quail. But not for deer, understand? I don’t want the deer here disturbed!” he said, smiling slightly and shaking his head, still incredulous that women hunted, still looking terminally unhappy. But before he closed his farmhouse door, I asked one more favor.
“You have an incredible barn there. May we please look around inside it? I love old dilapidated barns, have since I spent my summers on my grandparents farm…”
“It’s empty,” he responded like the curmudgeon he was.
“It looks it, but it also looks cool. Can we please take a look?”
“If it falls down around your ears, it’s not my fault.”
“Agreed,” I smiled.
“Did you ever milk a cow or collect chicken eggs on that grandfather’s farm?’ he pressed.
“Yep, both, since I was about four years old. I loved doing chores!”
“Well, you were raised right. Yes, you can poke around inside it, just be careful.”
Betty and I hunted for a while, but without a dog’s aid, we couldn’t flush any birds too efficiently.
“Let’s go investigate that barn,” I suggested, taking the shells from my bird rifle.
“It scares me,” Betty admitted.
I took her by the hand. “I’ll protect you,” I smiled.
It was a massive, impressive structure, at least it used to be. Light filtered into the dark interior through some broken slats in its northern side. I showed Betty the chicken coop, the stanchions for a half dozen cows, the stalls for several horses. I was clearly enjoying the surroundings, how it reminded me of great childhood memories. Betty smiled at me.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“Very much!” I enthused. “Are you still scared?”
“Yes! But in a good way.” I looked at her, puzzlement on my face. “Do you know how some people, myself included, like scary horror movies because they like the thrill? That’s how I feel right now. I’m wet…”
“You’re kidding,” I smiled.
Betty unbuckled her camo pants and pulled them down along with her cute, frilly underwear. I put my hand on her warm pudendum and my fingers did, indeed, find her very wet. We kissed. I got my phone out and took some artsy photos, mostly black and white, some of just the barn’s interior, some framed with Betty’s nude form in the frame.
“I wish it were cleaner in here. I’d get down on the floor and let you eat my pussy,” Betty whispered.
“Oh please!” I begged, putting my phone away so I could finger her harder.
“No! Take me home and we can rekindle these fires. But not here!” She pulled her pants up. We wandered around the far side of the structure.
“Look at that!” I said, suddenly both breathless and panting for air.
“What?”

“Both a deer and an even cooler structure!” I walked closer. “Yep, an honest to goodness woodshed. Come on!”
I dragged Betty into the small out-building. She could see that, if I was excited before, now I was ecstatic.
“Yeah, cool,” Betty said. “If that sour old farmer talked with an antiques dealer, he’d realize that this place is a goldmine of distressed wood and valuable artifacts…”
When she looked back at me, she saw that I was the one undoing her camo pants. I stripped my leather belt out of the loops, doubled it, and pushed it out at Betty in my fist as I bent my bared butt over the cord wood pile.
“Strap me!” I demanded.
“What?”
“This is something that’s ALWAYS been on my bucket-list. Give me a memorable leathering in an actual woodshed, please! Hard!”
Betty giggled, but took the belt from me and gave my backside a series of licks with it. I answered each one by thrusting my ass out all the more obscenely and crying out, “Harder. Please!” After I had a butt-full of red welts, I touched a fingertip to my erect clit, and immediately orgasmed, my knees buckling, my mouth moaning.
My lover helped me back on my feet, and reciprocated the passionate kiss I gave her, but as soon as she could, Betty admonished, “We can’t do this here! We could get caught! Pull your pants up, silly!”
We picked up our rifles outside the barn. Betty was walking back to our car, but I steered her toward the farmhouse.
“We have to thank the farmer for his generosity.”
“Then clean yourself up a bit,” Betty scolded.
“Why? Don’t I look okay?”
“You look beautiful, absolutely radiant, like you just had a series of orgasms.”
“I did! That was so fucking phenomenal!”
“But Ol’ MacDonald doesn’t have to know!” Betty chided.
I knocked, he answered right away.
“Have good hunting?” he smiled.
“No,” we answered in unison. “But your barn is a treasure trove,” I continued. “Could we come back sometime to take photos with my big camera and lens?”
“Anytime,” he replied jovially. “Just check in with me first, so I won’t think you’re some vandal kids, or damned deer hunters, or I might shoot your butts full of rock-salt with my shotgun.” He chortled at this
“Yes, sir,” we smiled, and he smiled as he closed the door.
“Wanna fuck right here?” I gasped as soon as we were back in the car.
“NO!” Betty said red-faced. “It’s not safe. And I think that farmer suspects something. Maybe he saw us, me with my pants down in the barn, or you in the woodshed. He was totally changed…”
“He changed when he found out that I was raised on a farm,” I countered.
“Maybe, but I think he suspects something…”
Betty brightened on the drive home, so by the time we got back to my place, we were giggling as we raced indoors, peeling off clothing the whole way to the bedroom. We tried sixty nine. Has this position ever worked for anybody ever? The sensations are so sweet, I can’t keep my concentration. So I let Betty lick me, and then I reciprocated with enthusiasm. That was satisfying (which is an understatement).
As the next weekend approached, I reminded Betty that I wanted to drive out to that old barn for photography. Apparently, I reminded her of this often.
“I KNOW, Jeanie! Do you want to hunt, or just shoot some photos? Or do you really just want another strapping in the woodshed?”
I could see that she was upset. I approached her submissively. “I would like to shoot some photos. I don’t care to hunt. If you think it’s safe, I would LOVE to have you strap me in that woodshed again. I would LOVE to have that commemorated on film, if you think it’s safe. I don’t want to flaunt our sexuality. I do find what we do, especially in that setting, extremely sexy…” I kissed Betty. It turned into something more. Betty started to steer me toward the bedroom. “No, let’s do it right here,” I whispered hungrily. “I love sex with you everywhere, on the floor here in the kitchen or in our bedroom or in some old woodshed or on your prudish mother’s living room couch…” And Betty laughed, as we got down on the tile floor by the butcher block, and spanked each other and kissed, and fingered and licked…
Saturday morning finally arrived, we woke up in one anothers arms, and it was obvious that the photo-shoot was on both our minds, but affecting us differently.
“I wish I owned a pair of those old fashioned bloomers, the kind of underwear that covered a girl from waist to knees. That would be so perfect for our photo-shoot!” I said from the closet.
“The kind that have a slit down the back all the way to the crotch, so that one didn’t have to take them down to go to the outhouse,” Betty added, coming up behind me and massaging my backside.
“Exactly!” I enthused
“Or so that an authority-figure could open them up as you bent over to make punishing your naughty bottom all the easier,” and she pushed my nightie up and bent me over at the waist.
“Yes, mistress,” I sighed.
Betty began to spank me with real intent. “Maybe if I caned you right now, you wouldn’t be so fixated on this fool’s mission in the woodshed…”
“If you wish to cane me, mistress, you need only say the word,” I said sincerely.
“It’d only make you all the hornier,” Betty returned with exasperation, and slapped my bottom hard, then rubbed the red hand-print. “But, Jeanie, if it’s not safe…”
“I know. It’ll be completely chaste, demure, professional,” I answered. “And if it is safe, it’ll be a sinfully decadent fuck-fest!” Betty spanked me again, this time harder.
“You’re incorrigible!”
“I know,” I teased, waggling my stinging butt at her. “Cane me for it…”
About thirty minutes later, we stood at the farmhouse front door. “Ready?” I said, smiling at Betty before knocking sharply.
“Well, I wondered if I’d see you two again…” the farmer said with a sly smile. “Got your camera this time, I see. Say, that’s a nice one. Take some good shots, girls…”
“See? All’s well,” I gloated as we walked to the barn.
“I’m not convinced,” Betty said with a sidelong glance.
The light inside the barn was perfect with just a little flash. I took a lot of shots. Betty seemed to get into the mood. It was clear that I was really enjoying myself. But I wanted to show my consideration of her feelings.
“How you doing, lover?”
“It’s just as scary as before,” she whispered, then yanked her jeans and panties down, “so, of course, I’m dripping wet,” she fairly screamed.
We giggled and kissed and I grabbed her and started frigging her sex. She wriggled out of my grasp.
“Let’s go to the woodshed, young lady. You’ve earned yourself such a hard strapping…!”
I pulled my pants and underpants down quickly. “Promise me!”
And we ran outside with both sets of drawers down around mid-thighs. The sunshine on our butts felt so liberating. (There’s a reason for that idiomatic phrase about the sun NOT shining on that portion of the anatomy, I guess.) We ran into the nearby woodshed.
Taking the thick belt I’d worn especially for this occasion out of my pants loop, I said, “Do you want to feel a leathering, or just want to do me?”
“We’ll see, once I’m finished with you, if it still feels safe.” This was said matter-of-factly. Then, in her most dominant tone, Betty added, “Bend over, Jeanie. You’re in for it…”
I shivered slightly as I put the camera down on the stack of cord wood and stuck my bared bottom out. Betty really gave it to me. She blistered my butt with all the energy she’d pent-up for the past week. Each strap stroke stung like hell, as the loud report ricocheted off the wooden walls. Tears sprang to my eyes, too numerous to blink back. My butt jumped under the sharp strokes; I couldn’t help but yelp as every lash burned into my consciousness.
“Want to take some pictures?” I gasped, hoping for a little break to let my butt rest. She’d taken me to the brink of my tolerance. I bent over deeper as Betty picked-up the camera and focused it on my southern exposure. She clicked off a lot of provocative shots in color. “If ANY of those turn out well, I swear I want to blow them up and plaster them all over our bedroom walls…”
“You develop your own film, I trust,” a deep masculine voice behind us rumbled. Betty nearly dropped the camera. I gasped and reached back to cover my red bottom as I tried to stand. The farmer stood in the doorway of the woodshed, his shotgun cracked open over the crook of his left arm, a thick razor strap dandling from his right hand. We were too startled to speak. He continued, “In my day, you had to develop your own film if it depicted anything nasty. And you girls sure have been nasty…” Betty was trying to pull her pants up, I was busy thinking how to explain. Coming up empty, I just stood there, covering my engorged pussy with both hands. “You needn’t pull those britches up, you’re just gonna have to pull them down again,” he said to Betty, and to both of us he smiled, “And if you try to run, I’ll fill your beautiful big butts full of rock salt shot. If you think a belt whipping hurts, you have no idea how much a blast of salt in the butt burns.” We just stood there, stock still and trembling, both of us ashen-faced, me with a bright red fanny. “Like I said, you girls have been very nasty. You need a good stropping, each of you. You’ll go first,” he nodded toward Betty, “So that her butt can cool. She’s the ringleader, I think,” he said, nodding toward me, “so she’s gonna get stropped worse.”
Without another word being said, Betty undid her pants and pulled both pair down, then assumed the position in which I’d just been posed. But what happened next was nothing like what I’d received at her hand. I winced when I saw the old man reach back to put his full force into thrashing poor Betty’s butt. He might have had some age on him, but it had made him strong. It was a merciless and unrestrained and punishing beating, whereas what she and I shared was playful and sexy, and most of all, consensual. To her credit, Betty held still and took the beating well. She was fairly howling when he muttered, “I think that might be enough,” to her, then nodded, “Your turn,” to me.
My bottom was already sore. As he’d promised, he gave it to me worse, both with harder strokes and with many more of them. He worked both my bared butt and the backs of my thighs with his thick strop. I didn’t take it as stoically as my girlfriend. I danced and cried and pleaded and begged, mostly just convulsed in wracking sobs where tears poured forth, as he poured the pain onto my backside.
Still bent over and balling, I heard him say to Betty, “Bend back over next to your friend. We need to take some pictures of these two red butts.” Betty obeyed. He clicked off a bunch. Then, with both of us displaying ourselves indecently, he lectured, “If you ever come back here, either of you, I promise what I just gave you will seem like patty-cake. I’ll wear your bottoms out, then I’ll call the police, and have you arrested red-assed and red-handed for trespassing. You hear?”
We nodded and sniffled, “Yes, sir!”
He picked up his gun and handed Betty the camera. (My hands were full gripping my fiery fanny cheeks.)
“Then git,” he ordered.
Because he didn’t give permission, we race-walked to the car holding our pants by the waistbands, but kept them lowered instead of pulling them up. The cool air felt better on our bums than having the clothes chafe. So we sat our bare butts on the cool car seats and didn’t pull the pants up until we got home in the driveway. Every time I looked as though I might start to say something, Betty just forcefully whispered, “Don’t you dare say a thing!” She stared straight ahead and drove with a heavy foot on the gas pedal.
I DO develop my own film, as the mean farmer guessed. The shots of the old barn turned out beautifully. The shots he took of our post-punishment display turned out smoking hot. I let about a week go by before showing Betty the art shots.
“They came out really well,” she admitted. “Where are the ones of us?”
I pulled out the ones she requested to see. She looked at them silently for a long time. Her eyes teared-up.
“That strapping really hurt! The shots are as erotic as fuck, but it really, really hurt! It was humiliating and PAINFUL!”
“I know,” I agreed. “…But, be honest, did the punishment excite you at the same time…?”
“I hate to admit it, but, yes. It was so pure. It was unfettered, unfiltered punishment, like I’ve never experienced before. It was raw. I felt my body was betraying me, ’cause I got super excited. I was so scared when he spoke up, and then ordered me to submit, I could’ve shit. But, yes, it aroused me intensely.”
“Me, too,” I said softly.
“There’re other things that should be said,” Betty told me, “now that enough time has passed to digest our whippings. We play at D/s, but it’s mostly made-up scenarios. This was real. That farmer thought he was administering justice. He could’ve had us arrested for indecent exposure and public lewdness. Instead, he took matters into his own strong hands. He probably strapped his children and wife just as hard, that might be why he’s all alone now. It was absolutely a justified consequence in his mind for him to razor-strop us so hard. That’s what made it so scary. For another thing, I feared he might rape us after the strappings, maybe even anally rape us…”
“He was an old man!” I scoffed.
“He could’ve done it with the barrel of that shotgun, silly girl!” Betty spat all this out with conviction. I sensed that Betty’s feelings hadn’t healed as thoroughly as our backsides.
“Do you still hold a grudge for me getting us into it?” I could feel the power dynamic asserting itself, where Betty would soon be punishing my “innate silliness.”
“I participated willing, my pants were down, too,” Betty said evenly.
“But I instigated it all. Do you hold a grudge? Do you want to punish me as a ‘justified consequence of my silly choices’?”
She took me by the hand and led me to the guest bedroom. “I’ve been thinking about this space,” she said by way of answering me. “We have it all ready for guests, but never have any. I think we should add some furniture to the bed, like a spanking bench and a whipping cross. We should display all of our combined implements on the wall. We could make it into our own special ‘woodshed space.’ I mean, even as stupid as that movie, “Fifty Shades of Grey” was, we both got off on the concept of a well-equipped ‘red room of pain.’
Betty looked into my face, she could see that I was turned-on.
“Take your pants down,” she softly but emphatically ordered, “I want to initiate this space as our woodshed by giving you a well-deserved paddling with our biggest wooden sorority paddle. Go fetch it and bring it back to me to paddle your butt hard,” she said, rolling up her right white shirt cuff like a father-figure might.
With that potent image in mind and my jeans and underpants down around my thighs, I tried to run for the requested implement. As I suspected, when I raced back to the guest bedroom/woodshed with it, Betty was counting aloud.
“Twenty two, twenty three… You’ll receive twenty three hard swats with the wooden paddle for being the instigator of a situation that could’ve gotten us in serious trouble. Is that clear, young lady?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I responded, getting on the low bed on my elbows and knees, with my ass elevated and presented for the frat-like big paddle. I tried to think about how sexy it would be to have a leather-padded spanking bench in here, how it’d put me in just the right position. I knew that my cheeks were parted obscenely, that my lover was looking right up my gaping anus right now, and that my pussy lips were similarly exposed to the cruel wood.
“Your bottom just has a few pale yellowish-green bruises from the farmer’s strap,” she remarked. “After this, it’s gonna be purple, black, and blue for another week…” She tapped my butt with the solid oak to take aim.
“Count the swats out loud, Miss. An uncounted spank won’t count toward your sentence of twenty-three, is that understood?”
I barely got my, “Yes, ma’am” out of my mouth before the paddle hit my bared bum for the first time…
“Twenty-three! Thank you, ma’am!” I hollered.
“Now go display my handiwork from the corner for twenty-three minutes.”
“No, please…! I hate corner-time as much as I detest that dreadful paddle!”
“That sounds like a lot of attitude, young lady. Do you need another set with the paddle?”
“No, ma’am,” I whimpered contritely.
Betty came back into our woodshed exactly twenty-three minutes later. “Come sit on my lap,” she instructed, and although it stung mightily to do so, I obeyed. She cuddled me for a small taste of aftercare while she shared more bad news.
“You’re going to sleep in here tonight, alone. No sex. Then tomorrow morning, I’m going to spank you again, this time with my hand. Only then will we make love, and I’ll comfort you properly. Now, lie down on the mattress, I’m going to tie your wrists and ankles to the bedposts.”
I looked at Betty quizzically.
“I said ‘no sex’ and I meant it. You won’t be able to scissor your thighs together, rub off against a pillow, or masturbate. Do you want to be face-up or face-down, Jeanie?”
My mind was reeling, but I thought for a minute. “My butt’s on fire! I don’t want it rubbing against the sheets. Face-down, please.”
When I was suitably restrained, Betty wandered over to one of the bedroom walls.
“I envision displaying all of our implements of ass destruction on this wall. I’d like to invest in a selection of whips, both stingy and thuddy. We can use them when one of us is tied to the cross for punishment…”
I liked Betty’s interior design ideas. I wished I could’ve touched my pussy to her vivid description. Then Betty crossed to the opposite wall, and I turned my head on the pillow to follow her.
“Over here, I think we should blow-up some of the photos taken at the farmer’s, frame them, and put them on display…”
“The black and white ones of the barn?” I asked.
“No, those should go downstairs for everybody to see. I mean the color ones I took of your strapped bottom, and especially the ones he took of both of us. They’ll set the right tone for the room, this is where consequences are answered for. Sleep tight, lover,” Betty said, and turned off the light and closed the door.

21 responses to “#88) A Trip to the Woodshed – mild sexual content”

  1. In a weekly brunch hosted by the wonderful Hermione (check-out her blog, Hermione’s Heart) a few weeks ago, I was amazed at the outpouring of interest in old woodsheds (for playful purposes). Here’s a story to cater to that interest; enjoy!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I did like this story Jean Marie, very much. Nice also that nora gave you a reference on her blog. I would like to have been watching the two of you in the barn! Maybe be caught…

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Yes, merksmith, I think I’ll set-up a booth at our next state fair. It’ll be like a kissing booth, but instead I’ll hang my bare butt over the edge of the booth and let the public take a swat. Thank you so much for always being there to help, merksmith!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Really fun to read and imagine. Wish it could happen in real life. Love to be the farmer, or your partner for the adventure, or maybe twice, on different weekends, with a different role.
    bottoms up
    red.

    Liked by 3 people

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