MOIRA'S TICKET
She asked for a private meeting to discuss going on my
show. Where we had met before, and radio stations are often
crowded, noisy and frantic, I set the appointment for five
at my home. My show finishes at four, but there's always a
problem, meeting or phone calls. "Five would be fine." she
said.
Moira was the Director of the Women's League political
organization and I do a local talk show on issues, so here
she is, coming up my walkway looking like a million bucks in
a tight black skirt, white blouse and tall black "heels." I
opened the door.
"Welcome."
Her smile flashed a thousand hellos as she jiggled ever
closer. Moira was from the generation that "Never to go out
without a pair of pumps." and her hair bounced nicely with
each "clop" of her cadence. She had a manila envelope, a
two foot long box and a big smile.
"How are you?" she said with exciting feminine modula-
tion as I took the box and envelope. Purely on impulse I
kissed her on the cheek while the immortal bard's great and
considerable truth, "A woman is a dish for the gods." burst
in my brain like dawn, I felt that I was drinking something
wet, wonderful, and risky.
"My God!" I exclaimed, "How impetuous of me! I..."
"How nice." she interrupted gracefully, "And, thank
you."
"Ladies always look so sharp." I attempted to recover.
"It's expected." she said the way a mature woman could
annunciate; with authority.
"And you enjoy it." I pronounced with a smile.
"I do." she said rising on her toe and turning grandly.
"Wowzo!" I gushed in sophomoric Walter Denton, cracking
high school intonation as she spun full turn and then
stepped into the living room.
"What a lovely new home." she observed as I closed the
door. She was like a cat, moving smoothly through the room
in a tight skirt with an inviting long zipper up the butt as
she strutted through the room on stilleto heels.
"Well thank you. I just finished it. It's been a year
in work."
How gracefully she moved, turning back to me as I drank
every move of her trim body.
"It needs a few things." She quipped as she slithered
to me, "From a woman's point of view..." pausing, turning
her foot presenting a profile of one tall pump with trim
ankle. This was a woman with authority, power and grace.
"Curtains?"
"Yes."
"Well, the lady will have to come first." and she
twirled, spinning to present herself frontally.
"Bachelor?"
"Divorced."
"y tu?"
"Si." she responded
We smiled longingly, and I wondered, "What would it be
like?" She broke the moment with a blink and a smile show-
ing lines of time, while I reflected with mine more than
hers by ten.
"Let us continue..." I said in my best "gallant," lead-
ing her through the house.
"Notice we don't really have halls. In my design all
space is used. This is the master bedroom. And, this..."
I started to point to the kitchen, but she had gone through
the door.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "What is that?"
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind as I wondered
if she were looking in my closet, the bathroom, not cleaned
in a week, or under the bed, but as I entered saw her point-
ing to the patio.
"Oh!" I exclaimed in relief. "That's a solar oven."
She went to the sliding door, opened it, and strutted
out to the patio, with sun highlights sliding on her shoes.
The way she moved on those heels was something to behold.
"How do they do it?" She flowed fluidly...
"Oh! There's something in there!" she exclaimed.
"Two squab. My favorite foul. It cooks them slowly and
renders all the fat. Very healthy."
"I'm sure." she observed, looking at me warmly and then
I saw the approval women have for men doing something domes-
tic. Why not? Everyone has to eat!
"Perhaps you'll stay for dinner?" I asked hopefully,
and she only smiled, a definite "Maybe..." so I took her by
the hand.
"How graceful you are." I said sincerely, struck with
the way she moved. A younger woman may have blushed, but
Moira smiled knowingly a monument to all that couturier,
chemistry and culture could complete, flashing her stunning
presence to a man caught in urges, tempered by training and
teachings of time. A ballet of genes, yens and cautions.
"How wonderful of you to say that." she said, pushing
herself to me, kissing with purpose and brushing closely
confirming my arousal. She was complete. Then she stepped
back.
"Well." she exclaimed as if to say, "What else?"
"Would you care for some wine?"
"Should I?" she asked, asking, and I smiled.
Without a word, and her hand in mine, I led her to the
bar where she hopped onto a stool, crossed one leg over the
other, presenting a long, magnificent work of nature. I
reached into the refrigerator where I kept two bottles of
champagne chilled, grabbed one, added another, and opened it
carefully.
"Champagne?"
"It's all I drink, and a bottle a day keeps the doctor
away."
"A bottle?"
"It's only three cups, but I have more in case we
prefer." Her smiling silence suggested we would as she
continued to twirl her pointy pump pensively but provoca-
tively.
"What a magnificent leg."
"I have two."
"I know."
"You're a leg man."
"And, a pump man. I love plain pumps on women. Taste-
ful simplicity."
"Thank you, they're my preference too?" she said
twirling her foot delightfully.
"Now, to business." I paused, "I am at your service?"
"Oh," she flashed, "Yes..." and she turned to the box
opening it to reveal a paddle! I hadn't seen one since
college or felt one since junior high school, but the sight
was slightly alarming.
"This is why I wanted a private meeting." she began and
I felt some warmth on my cheeks. "You know about SB 221, the
Campbell bill?" she continued.
"The corporal punishment bill?"
"Yes. Well this is a paddle legally defined in the
bill. I had it specially made for me." she said opening a
copy of the legislation, putting on glasses to read.
"Listen to this:"
"Said paddle must be 18 to 24 inches long, have a six
inch handle and a 12 to 18 inch working surface. "Working
surface?" she interrupted herself, looking over her glasses,
as I smiled, then she continued. "It is to weigh no more
than one pound. And, then it goes on to describe the number
of swats per offense, and so on..." She put down her glass-
es.
"I would guess you're against this." I offered.
"Well certainly!" she exclaimed, "It's barbaric."
"I don't think so."
"Well!" she huffed.
"Have you ever been paddled?"
"Me?" She was shocked.
"Yes."
"Certainly not." she said with a toss of her head.
"Then you don't know what you're talking about."
"I was told you might be like this."
"I'm professionally contrary, but really I think it's
OK.
"Well," she huffed again, "have you ever been paddled?"
"Certainly." I answered, "I grew up in the middle west
in the 50's. That's all they did was paddle our butts when
we had it coming."
"Had it coming?"
"Usually over something we'd done to girls." That gave
her pause and she sipped from her glass.
"What does it feel like?" she asked and then I knew the
wine was working faster than usual.
"It stings, but it's not all that bad."
"What do you mean?"
"Bend over and I'll show you."
"You'd really do it, wouldn't you." she frowned slight-
ly.
"Sure, but only in the name of education."
"Are you daring me?"
"No, I just think if you're going to get mad about
something of which you have no knowledge and that's foolish.
Try it, then you'll know."
"OK." She stood, handed me the paddle, took a position
in front of me and bent over. I grabbed her by the belt and
then:
"WHAP!"
She straightened up with wide eyes.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Oh my!" and she grabbed her butt,
"What a strange sensation!"
"You're wearing too much clothing to really feel it."
"You mean..."
"The real swats are done bareback."
"Hardly."
"Yes." I said as she sat.
I took the moment to tend to the music, picking a New
Age CD blend of sitar, tambla and synthesizer.
"I feel I've known you a long time." I said as I opened
the second bottle.
"Is that a line?"
"Yes, but true. You're very relaxed and you're right
at home."
"You're the only man who ever laid a hand on me."
"How does it feel?"
"Oh," she said wistfully, "I can feel it."
"If it's done right you'll feel it for a couple of
days."
"You mean bare."
"Yes, or almost..."
The sky was yellowing and the room turned to gold as
the music set the mood and I poured the wine. She was such
a celebration of life lived well and intelligently. So
together in so many ways and so gloriously beautiful.
"I really think this is a stupid bill and we shouldn't
start spanking people for breaking the law."
"Well, the jails are full and too often misdemeanants
get off without any real penalty. They don't pay fines.
What can we do? They're just trying to reduce crime."
"Well, the Women's League is against this 100% and I
would like to present our arguments on your show."
"OK," I agreed, "but we do have a few things to talk
about."
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, inhaling deeply as she present-
ed her ample chest, "It's getting late."
"That means you'll have to stay for dinner."
"Only if I can make the salad. Do you have an apron?"
"OK, but if you're going to stay, I'll have to change
into something more appropriate." I was wearing a casual
polo shirt and the lady was in heels. It seemed a little one
sided. "What would you prefer?"
"Oh, I love men in tuxedos!" she smiled. "Do you have
a tuxedo?"
"Do I look Mafioso?"
"No," she laughed. "I'll settle for white shirt and a
nice tie. I just love men in white shirts and ties, but let
me pick them." she said hopping off the stool with a quick
leap "clopping" to the floor and a clatter of heels.
We went to the bedroom and I pushed open the closet.
Her eyes passed quickly over the shirts on hangers and she
touched one in a plastic storage bag.
"My Fiesta shirt?"
"Yes. Please...."
"Oh Lord." It was a 19th century high collared costume
shirt I only wore during our annual "Fiesta." Local celeb-
rities, dignitaries and characters were expected to play
parts in the annual celebration and the shirt was uncomfort-
able, but I had offered and she was grinning widely.
"I just love these shirts. I wish men wore them now!"
She was dancing in anticipation.
"OK, you do the salad and I'll change." She left the
room with a quick turn and a great "going away" strut worthy
of an erection. I took a quick shower, got into the shirt,
stretching upward to get the stiff, high collar closed. The
tie felt more like a noose than a cravat, then into some
fresh pants.
"Excellent!" she announced as I entered the room,
giving her a "matinee idol" profile side view.
"Now we're both slaves to fashion." I observed. "My
neck, your feet, and God-only-knows-what-all, are in pain-
producing, ridiculous garments."
"But we're exciting." she whispered loudly, wrapping
her arms around me and kicking her right foot into my view,
kissing me again. Then she rubbed up against me firmly,
running her fingers over my collar as we kissed. Suddenly,
I felt like I had just discovered girls!
"Oh, I love these collars." she said as she tapped the
starched tube gracing my neck. Then she moved away, got on
the stool and picked up the copy of the bill.
"Listen to this!" she exclaimed, "Speeders will get one
swat for every two miles per hour they're over the speed
limit. If the number exceeds ten swats the misdemeanant may
arrange to get one spanking per week until all swats have
been given. This is barbaric!" she exclaimed.
"Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket?" I sensed this
issue was close to home.
"As a matter of fact," she began slowly, "I did just
last week over by the Adams school. They're so silly with
that 25 mile per hour business."
"And how fast were you going?"
"35"
"Five swats."
She grew quiet as I continued to prepare dinner.
"I'll get the squabs."
As I took the birds from the oven she emerged moving
more fluidly than ever, as if she had just left the ladies
lube rack, a flawless picture of style and grace. She was
the perfect mature woman and I no longer felt silly in that
old style stiff collar. It seemed right for the occasion
"It's ready."
"I know." she said as the approached and we kissed
again.
"The energy that cooked these birds boiled of the sun
only eight minutes before we used it."
"I love it when you talk dirty." she said and then I
knew the jewel of her charm was humor. She had real humor -
a rare item in young women and a skill in those who dare.
Finally all was ready and I asked, "Shall we sit?"
We began eating in silence, affirming our comfort with
each other and completeness with ourselves.
"How's yours?"
"Perfect." she answered and I lifted my glass.
"To my friend."
"How adorable." she affirmed and we touched glasses,
put them to our lips and drank of the wine and its bubbles.
I've had some strange dinners: seasoned with emotion,
meaning or promise, but this was one for the books. The
whole world stopped as we celebrated, gazing at each other,
the room, the sky, and the emerging stars. My penis was
throbbing and I could feel that she wanted me, and here was
the beautiful side of maturity: We could build the moment.
"How should we do the show?" she asked, adding, "I
don't want to come off like some shrill witch on a crusade."
"If we were going to do this show right," I began in
measured tones, "we would paddle you on the air for your
speeding ticket and then you could talk about it."
"What a scandal!" she laughed.
"Yes, but great radio."
And what a scandal it would be. Not only was Moira
politically prominent, but she was in "The Old Money" bunch
and knew everyone in the town.
"I cannot imagine what would happen if we did it." I
said without a clear thought of where this was going. It
was just too bizarre and then I noticed her glass was empty.
"I'll open another bottle." and she smiled.
We continued going over the details of the bill, but no
show concept was developing.
"I know now why they say you should never watch sau-
sages or laws being made." she commented
"It's a pretty boring bill once you get past the idea."
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
"I still think we should spank you for your speeding
ticket, especially since it was in front of a school, and
you can tell the world what it's like." She looked straight
at me with two bleary eyes.
By now the lady was plain drunk and horny. All she
could do was produce a lusty laugh and breathy belch. She
only had to fart I would have heard all the sounds she could
make, but I wasn't far behind her inebriation.
"Let's do it!" she announced and stood up taking my
hand. "Where should we do it?"
"Probably the bedroom, if you don't mind."
"Not at all, but shouldn't we have a trial and a sen-
tencing?" she asked.
"Certainly." I agreed and led her to the front of my
bar area, placed her on a low seat. Then I took the paddle
in hand and sat on a high stool behind the bar. She crossed
her legs and looked at me with a smile.
"And how do you plead, Madam?"
"I'm guilty your honor."
"For speeding by the Adams Elementary School, ten miles
per hour over the limit, it is the sentence of this court
that you shall be given five swats with this paddle. May
God have mercy on your butt." and we both began to giggle.
"Take me away, your honor." she announced putting her
wrists together in front of her and then she said, "Do you
have any handcuffs? I've always wanted to be in handcuffs."
"As a matter of fact I do. I keep them in case I catch
a prowler or burglar." and I reached in the drawer where my
"bracelets" were stored.
"Behind" she instructed as she placed her arms behind
her and I shut the clamps around them.
"Oh God," she said, "it's hard to walk like this." as I
led her to the bedroom and she wobbled noticeably.
When we entered I led her to a position in front of my
full length mirror so she could view her own spanking.
"I think we should remove your skirt, if you don't
mind."
"I'm wearing pantyhose."
"That doesn't matter. I spray a little water on them
and they'll help."
"Help?"
"They do that in England when they cane schoolgirls.
They wear a "spanking dress" made out of sheet cloth and the
wet the butt area. Just wait here." and I left the room to
get my fern atomizer from the bathroom, but stopped to pour
some alcohol in it.
"I'm sure you know how to undress a lady." she offered.
"Of course." and I grabbed the zipper pulling down to
open the skirt. It fell and she stepped out of it. The
pantyhose preserved her modesty and presented to me a won-
derful, exciting fanny to paddle.
"I'm getting a little scared." she said in a small
voice.
"All in the name of education and the show. Now bend
over." and she did.
With a few quick squirts of the atomizer her butt was
wet and the pantyhose seemed to disappear.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "It's cold."
"Not for long." I said grabbing the links between the
handcuffs. "Bend farther." and quickly.
"WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!"
I delivered all five in as many seconds and she didn't
have time to scream, but immediately went into a low moan
with tears gushing from her eye.
"OOOHHH!!!!" she moaned.
"Oh God it stings!" she wailed and I unlocked the
handcuffs taking her in my arms and I had an enormous erec-
tion.
She sobbed as I held her close to me and then she place
her hand on the lump in my pants.
"You see!" she exclaimed, "It's sexual."
"You're very sexy." I countered and she smiled.
"Oh God does it sting. I had no idea. I'd never speed
again if this is what happened." she said.
"There you see."
"You should know what this feels like."
"Oh I know." I quickly covered.
"That was a long time ago." she said still crying
tears, but arguing clearly.
"Come on..." she said with handcuffs in hand.
"Turn around..." and I was just drunk enough to do it,
feeling the clamps shut coldly on my wrists sobered me a
bit, but by then lady was in charge.
"Now you stand in front of the mirror." she ordered and
I said nothing, but moved. Then she opened my belt, un-
zipped my pants, with tears still emanating from her eyes,
yanked my pants and then my underwear down.
"Bend over." she ordered and I saw myself in the mir-
ror.
In a moment it was like being back in elementary
school, out in the hall, bending over to be paddled by a
lady teacher. All I could see was ankles and high heels,
but then I felt the spray and regretted I had added alcohol.
"Here we go!" she warned and:
"WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!" "WHAP!"
The stinging was incredible and she was right about one
thing, my recollection was not that vivid, but did I feel it
now! The tears just flowed and I moaned.
"Oh!!!" and she unlocked the handcuffs.
"Now what do you think?"
"No more speeding for me either."
"And no more erection." she observed.
"You didn't have to hit so hard."
"Do unto others...." she said as she moved close to me,
and on impulse I grabbed her and kissed her. She grabbed me
and began to work with knowing hands. Then she did some-
thing remarkable: She ran a finger across her labia and
then under my nose and me penis became rock hard. In a
moment we were on the bed and I was kneeling between her
legs. She led me to her with her right hand and I entered.
Moira was as beautiful inside as out. There was no
resistance. All was welcoming warmth and slickness. She
responded to my every move, but occasionally jerked when her
butt hit the bed.
"Ouch!" she said on one occasion and pulled back from
my too energetic thrust.
I don't know whether she faked it, or we came together,
but it was a splendid first time and I fell to the bed,
spent. In the morning I awakened with her beside me and she
only smiled slowly as she met the morning, pulled me to her
soon we were at it again.
"How's your fanny?" she asked.
"Mine still stings." I answered.
"Do you like to talk during sex?" she asked.
"I think it helps me perform better."
"You mean longer?"
"Yes."
"But is it distracting." We were silent as we built
the rhythm and I kissed her neck.
"No hickey, please."
"You can wear a scarf."
"What if I bite your nose?" she asked, continuing, "How
will you explain that?"
"I will tell the whole truth on the air."
"You'd be fired."
"Doubtful." and then we both grew silent, entering the
intimate dimension of physical communication. It was just
pure sex.
"Oh!" I groaned as my several urogenital glands manu-
factured yet another semen potion and sent the whole load to
Moira's interior.
"Uh!" she arched her back to get the last tickle out of
my throbbing penis soon to go limp and then she quivered in
either the best "orgasm on command" I have ever seen or one
very fortunate occurrence of good timing. Again I fell to
the bed.
"I'm going to get dressed." she announced, bounding
from the bed as if I had been pumping up her inner tube.
I faded into sleep as the water ran, the toilet
flushed, it was quiet, but soon high heels were heard in the
house and she came to the bed.
"Thanks for dinner the paddle and coitus; all first
class. See you at the station..."
I managed to open one eye to see her "quite'," as the
matadors call a retreat from a bull with me playing the dead
animal with her stilletto "talcones" flashing in the rays of
morning light as she "clippty-clopped" out the door.
"They know exactly what they're doing..." I mumbled as
I felt yet another erection building.
Like most radio pros, I get to the station five or ten
minutes before air time just to avoid station BS and dis-
tractions. There is no way you can get around all the
political, personality and business distractions by being
there.
"Hi!" she said cheerily as I entered. I took her hand,
helping her rise from the couch.
"Come on back." I said, "We've got a few minutes to
air time, but I'll do an intro and you'll have no problem."
She followed me down the hall and into the studio where
I outfitted her with earphones and took my position at the
board.
"Good afternoon, Santa Royale. This is The Afternoon
Show at 967 - 4567, and we have a guest, Moira Thomas,
Director of the Women's League, who has come to discuss the
Campbell Bill on corporal punishment. I understand you're
opposed to this bill, Moira."
"Not at all..." she began, "I was opposed until you
showed me how it really feels to get paddled, and I can
still feel it now. I think it makes a lot of sense."
"I want our listeners to understand that I did this for
demonstration purposes only..."
"Yes and you got the same..."
"Quite right." I had to admit.
In many years of doing talk radio I have never seen all
phone lines light at once, but that is exactly what happened
after these words and the calls were hilarious.
"Do you mean he paddled you?" asked an elderly lady.
"Yes, and I enjoyed it."
"Did I hear that she paddled you?" asked a man of me.
"Yes, but I wouldn't call the experience enjoyable, by
any means. It was rather like being back in junior high
school."
The calls never stopped and the show was a riot. The
front office was besieged with calls from women leaving
their names and numbers.
"That's it for today. Tune in tomorrow and we'll do it
again." and I turned down the mike "pot," punched the news
satellite feed on and nodded to Moira. We left the small
studio, hand in hand to be met with the applause of the
entire staff as we exited the building.
"Your place or mine?" I asked as we came out and into
the brilliant sun of Santa Royale.
"Where is the paddle?" she asked.
"Mine."
"Then it'll be yours...."