Young Lady

[Sue DeNym]

Summary :

Marisa has broken her neighbor's antique stained glass window. Over her protests, Marisa's parents have agreed to let Mr. Barlowe punish her for a day. As she heads over to his house, Marisa is determined not to let the old man get the better of her ...

The general themes of my stories are forced (or at least reluctant) nudity, spanking, and bondage. There is also some non-consensual sexual contact (groping, fondling, and forced kissing), so reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 3 (Continued)

[Sue DeNym]

Cast of Characters :

Marisa Torres, 17
Daniel Torres, 15 (Marisa's younger brother)
Raymond and Elena Torres (Marisa and Daniel's parents)

Henry Barlowe (The Torres family's next door neighbor)
Riley Sullivan, 18 (Mr. Barlowe's grandson and Leigh's cousin)
Leigh Barlowe, 17 (Mr. Barlowe's granddaughter and Riley's cousin)

Brad Wilder, 18 (The Torres family's neighbor and Marisa's athletic rival)
Edwin Connor, 11 (The Torres family's neighbor and Marisa's admirer)
Pam Elliott, 17 (Daniel's girlfriend)

* * * * *

Chapter 1

"I tried to talk Mom and Dad out of it," said Marisa. "I argued with them until I was blue in the face, but they wouldn't budge."

The 17-year-old girl tied the belt of her thick, dark blue robe before walking out of her bathroom. Her younger brother, Daniel, was sitting on Marisa's bed.

"Mom and Dad told me I needed to 'take responsibility for my actions,'" said Marisa, in what Daniel thought was a very disrespectful but admittedly accurate imitation of their parents.

Marisa made a face as she added, "They called me 'young lady.'"

"Yeah, I hate it when people call me that," said Daniel absently. He fell silent.

"Look, Daniel, if you've got something to say, say it," said Marisa after a moment.

"I'm sorry, Marisa, but you kinda brought this on yourself," said Daniel seriously, ignoring the scowl on his sister's face. "You broke Mr. Barlowe's window."

"I had no choice," argued Marisa. "Brad Wilder challenged me to hit his fastball. When I swung my bat, I was aiming for the hedges. Can I help it if Old Man Barlowe's house got in the way?"

"Marisa," groaned Daniel, burying his face in his hand. With a sigh, he said, "Well, now, Mom and Dad have to come up with some way to pay for that window."

"They didn't have to," grumbled Marisa. "When Mom and Dad offered to pay for it, Old Man Barlowe told them to forget about it, it was no big deal. They could've just said okay and then I wouldn't be in this mess now."

"Sis, how many times do you need this explained to you?" said Daniel exasperatedly. "That antique stained glass picture window was really valuable. Mom and Dad didn't feel it was fair to expect Mr. Barlowe to eat the cost of it when you're the one who broke it. Can't you understand that?"

"Whatever." Marisa rolled her eyes.

"Oh, and by the way," Daniel went on, "you might want to start calling him 'Mr. Barlowe.' I don't think it will go over too well for you to call him 'Old Man Barlowe' when you're in his house today."

"Yeah, whatever," came the predictable response.

Marisa opened her closet and looked herself over in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. She started to reach for the belt of her bathrobe, and then paused, glancing at Daniel, who was still sitting on her bed.

"Daniel, if you don't mind terribly, I have to get dressed."

Daniel's eyes lit up.

"Oh, I don't mind at all," he said with an eager grin.

Marisa rolled her eyes again.

"Get out," she told her brother sharply, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him toward her bedroom door.

"Okay, okay, Sis, I'm going," said Daniel.

As Marisa slammed her door in his face, Daniel called out, "I was just kidding, anyway!"

For a long moment, Daniel stared at his sister's now closed bedroom door, and then murmured, "I was kidding ... Sort of. Kind of. Maybe."

He sighed and headed down the stairs to the kitchen.

In her room, Marisa was shaking her head. Her brother could be such a little creep sometimes. Well, he was certainly never going to get to see her naked, Marisa was sure of that.

She untied the belt of her bathrobe and started to shrug it off her shoulders ... She caught herself just in time.

Marisa quickly pulled the bathrobe back around herself as she walked to the window and yanked the curtains closed. That was close ...

* * * * *

"Couldn't I just pay for the window?" asked Marisa.

"We have been over this, young lady," said her mother as she poured orange juice into everyone's glasses at the breakfast table.

Marisa bristled. She hated it when anybody called her "young lady."

"That window you broke was an antique stained glass picture window, princess," said her father.

Marisa clenched her teeth. She hated being called "princess" almost as much as she hated being called "young lady." Knowing that she was already in trouble, however, she managed to keep her tongue.

"That window cost a fortune. The only way you could pay for it is out of your college fund, and there is no way in the world that we're letting you dip into that." Mrs. Torres finished pouring the orange juice and sat back down.

"I still don't know why you two didn't just let Old Man Barlowe ... Okay, MISTER Barlowe ... pay for the window himself like he was going to."

Marisa's parents looked at each other tiredly. They knew that there was no point in trying to explain it to their daughter yet again.

"I can't believe you're really going to let that creepy old man punish me for an entire day," continued Marisa sourly. She made a face as she said, "Have you seen the way he looks at me? He's going to want to SPANK me, or something like that, I'm sure of it."

Daniel snorted at the thought.

"It's not a laughing matter, son," said Mr. Torres. He looked at Marisa seriously and said, "Actually, princess, your mother and I have spoken to Mr. Barlowe about just that sort of thing, and we all agreed that - "

"Whatever, Dad." Marisa rolled her eyes, something that she was doing far too frequently lately for her parents' liking.

"Do not speak to your father that way, young lady," said her mother sternly.

She leaned across the table, fixing a glare on her daughter.

"Let me tell you something, Marisa. If we do not receive a glowing report about your behavior from Mr. Barlowe at the end of the day, your father and I will reimburse him for the cost of the window ourselves, and then YOU, young lady, can work it off by spending the entire summer helping out in your uncle's sushi bar."

Marisa froze. She would probably have to eat the sushi, too, all summer long. Just the thought of it made her gag.

"It was Brad Wilder's fault," grumbled Marisa, stabbing at her breakfast with her fork. "I was just minding my own business, tossing around a baseball in our front yard, when he came out of his house and challenged me to hit his best fastball."

"Well, here's a crazy thought, Marisa," said Mrs. Torres. "Why don't you just ignore him?"

Marisa stiffened.

"Mother," she said fiercely, "I have a reputation to uphold. They will be serving iced drinks in hell before I let any MALE get the better of me. As a woman, I would think you'd understand that."

"Sweetheart, I - "

"Like that nub I beat in the championship track meet last year," recalled Marisa smugly. "I ran that loser into the ground."

"Ran him into the ground?" echoed Daniel. "Marisa, it was a photo finish."

"And get this," said Marisa, as if her brother hadn't spoken at all. "After the meet, he actually asked me for a date. I guess he wasn't satisfied with just being humiliated once that day."

Her lips curled into a smirk as she said, "I told him that if he couldn't even keep up with a girl on the track, then I wasn't about to expect him to keep up anywhere else, either."

Marisa giggled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was the only person at the table who found the story amusing.

"That is hardly something to brag about, young lady," said her mother reproachfully. "There was no call for you to be so rude to that young man."

"Marisa never mentions what happened after she said that," commented Daniel.

Marisa suddenly stopped giggling, and her face turned slightly red. She got up from her chair, dropping her fork onto her plate, and started toward the stairs.

"Princess, where are you going?" asked her father.

"I have to change," said Marisa as she disappeared up the stairway.

"Somehow, I think that will never happen," murmured her mother.

"Marisa, it's your turn to do the dishes," said Mr. Torres, getting up. "Princess - "

He was cut off by the sound of his daughter slamming her bedroom door shut.

"Young lady," said Mrs. Torres, rising from her chair, her voice rising even faster.

"Forget it, dear," sighed her husband. "Arguing with her won't do any good, you know that."

"I'll do the dishes, Mom," said Daniel.

"Thank you, honey." Mrs. Torres shook her head. "You know, there are times when I wish I could just stuff a towel in Marisa's mouth. It would make things so much more peaceful around here."

"I doubt that will ever be an option, dear," said her husband.

* * * * *

"I just wanted to say congratulations." The teenaged boy sounded nervous. "You ran a great race, Marisa."

"Thanks." Marisa smirked. "I wish I could say the same to you, but I don't like lying."

The boy reddened slightly, as a wave of small snickering came from the teenagers nearby.

"Well, I'll work on it, and hopefully I'll get better," he said. "Um, listen, Marisa, I was just wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go see a movie or something some time."

Marisa's eyes widened, and she let out a piercing laugh. The boy visibly winced.

"You expect me to go out with YOU?" said Marisa, chuckling.

"I, uh - "

"Gee, sorry, pal, but if you can't even keep up with a girl on the track, then I'm not about to expect you to keep up anywhere else, either," said Marisa dryly, giving the red-faced boy a meaningful look.

The boy's face turned even redder, as the giggles and sniggering among the teenagers became louder.

"I'm sorry," said the boy after a moment. "I'm afraid I made a mistake here."

"Yeah, loser, you made a real big mistake, all right, thinking I'd ever go out with you," snorted Marisa.

"No." The boy fixed a level gaze on Marisa. "The mistake I made was thinking that you might actually be worth going out with."

* * * * *

Marisa opened her bedroom closet again. This time, though, she avoided looking at the mirror inside of it.

She could feel her face reddening at the memory of how that boy had turned and walked away from her, as the laughter and snickering from the teenagers nearby grew much louder ... except now, it was no longer directed at the boy.

Marisa ground her teeth. If there was one thing she couldn't take, it was a boy - any male, really - getting the better of her. She did not intend to ever let it happen again. She didn't with Brad Wilder the previous day, and she wasn't going to with Mr. Barlowe today.

"I'm not going to let him get to me," she quietly vowed. "I can take whatever he dishes out."

She gazed at her closet.

Marisa had been a tomboy for almost as long as she could walk. She had never worn a dress in her life. When she went to church on Sundays, she wore a blouse - under protest - with her black slacks.

Her underwear drawer was filled with men's boxer briefs. If it wasn't for the sports bras, you would never be able to tell that her closet and dresser didn't belong to a teenaged boy.

Probably the biggest argument Marisa ever had with her parents happened when she was graduating from junior high school. Marisa had been offered a scholarship to a good private high school in their city ... which she rejected upon learning that the school's dress code required girls to wear skirts.

She had always been a passionate sports fan. In her high school, Marisa had quickly become the star of the track, baseball, and swimming teams, and often blew away the competition in other sports as well.

When she was younger, the only thing about her that ever seemed feminine was her long brown hair. Marisa had considered cutting it short, but found that she liked making sure that the boys she bested in sports knew that they had been beaten by a girl.

To Marisa's annoyance, as she grew older, her body blossomed a woman's curves, although she remained slim and wiry.

She always wanted to wear as little clothing as possible when she was outdoors, working out and practicing, especially in the summer heat. But with the figure she had developed in her teens, wearing anything even moderately revealing inevitably drew a lot of very persistent male attention when she wanted it least, something that she quickly grew to loathe.

Still, it wasn't all bad. Every time Marisa was paired up with a boy in any sporting competition, she smiled to herself at the way he openly ogled her, knowing that his lustful gazes would soon be mixed with the bitter resentment and humiliation of having been beaten in an athletic match by a girl.

Marisa glanced at the clock on her dresser. Very soon, she would have to go over to Mr. Barlowe's house for the day, to let him punish her for breaking his window.

Her first instinct had been to dress in the most conservative clothing she had, the kind of stuff she normally only wore to church. The last thing she wanted was to have that creepy old man leering at her body all day long.

But now she was discarding that idea, feeling sure that covering herself up any more than she usually did would come across as a sign of weakness, a sign of fear. Marisa had never allowed any male to think that she was afraid of him, and she wasn't about to start now.

Soon, Marisa was nodding in satisfaction as she checked herself out in the full-length mirror. A form-fitting, midriff-baring white top that left very little of her ample breasts or her flat stomach to the imagination. A pair of figure-hugging, very short cutoff jeans. Not a thing to cover up her long legs except for her sneakers.

This was the sort of thing that was always guaranteed to drive every teenaged boy who saw her wild, and was seldom any less effective on males of any other age, either.

"It's time to go, young lady," came her mother's voice, accompanied by a knock on the bedroom door.

"Coming, Mom," she said.

Marisa gave herself one more look, and then smiled confidently. She wasn't going to let Mr. Barlowe get the better of her. She was not.

* * * * *

"Is there a fabric shortage in the city or something?" Daniel wondered aloud.

Marisa ignored her brother's question, but she purposely walked right past the sofa he was sitting on, to satisfy what she knew would be his curiosity as to whether or not she was wearing a bra.

"I didn't think so," muttered Daniel, his suspicions confirmed.

He could not, however, refrain from sliding his eyes up and down his sister's body, admiring the view.

"Thank you very much, Edwin," came Mrs. Torres's voice from the kitchen. "Be sure to give this to your mother and tell her thank you for me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Edwin Connor, the 11-year-old boy whose family lived in the house behind the Torreses', came walking out of the kitchen. When he saw Marisa in the living room, young Edwin's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"H-Hi, Marisa," said Edwin with a nervous smile, waving his hand shyly. He had never been very good at hiding the severe crush that he had on his beautiful teenaged neighbor.

Marisa, however, had no time for him now, and simply gave him a curt nod before walking out the door.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Edwin worriedly.

"It's all right, buddy, don't mind her," said Daniel. "Everybody gets out of sorts now and then, and this just happens to be Marisa's decade for it."

"Oh, okay." Not knowing what else to say, Edwin made his way out of the house, heading back toward his own. His head was still filled with the image of the gorgeous Marisa in that ... in THAT outfit ... that she had been wearing ... not to mention what he had almost seen a few hours earlier.

Edwin's bedroom window faced Marisa's. That morning, he had been looking out his window toward hers, as he so often did. Edwin had seen Marisa in her bedroom, just starting to take off her bathrobe ... For one brief moment, the young boy had gotten extremely excited, only to be crushed with disappointment when Marisa closed the curtains on her window. It had been a very near thing.

As he walked up to his house, Edwin sighed. He wondered if he would ever get to see the girl of his dreams the way he so much wanted to see her.

* * * * *

Up and down the street, many neighbors were enjoying the beautiful, warm sunny morning, grateful for such wonderful weather on a Saturday. Marisa, however, scarcely took notice.

The gorgeous, scantily clad teenager could feel what seemed like dozens of pairs of male eyes on every inch of her body. More often than not, they didn't even bother to hide how much they appreciated the view.

Marisa grimaced at the thought of the eyeful that she had nearly given Edwin that morning. She hadn't seen him at his window, but she knew he was there, as he always was, trying to catch a glimpse of Marisa in any moment she would want kept strictly private.

... But at least Edwin was a child. What the hell was Daniel's excuse?

Daniel, and so many other boys, and even grown men ... A shiver of disgust ran through Marisa's body as she thought of how many of them seemed so eager for a chance to see her in the buff. AS IF!

Speaking of boys who were never, ever, EVER going to see Marisa naked ... Brad Wilder was outside of his house, mowing the front lawn.

Marisa didn't need to look up to know that Brad was, once again, engaging in one of his favorite pastimes, ogling the hot girl who lived across the street from him. Or that the lustful longing in Brad's eyes was mixed with anger, embarrassment, and a general yearning to whip Marisa's butt any way he could.

Like a typical boy, Brad's ego didn't take well to being bested by a girl, especially in the long-held male domain of sports. Brad was still visibly bitter about losing the tryout to Marisa to be pitcher on their high school baseball team. The fact that Marisa was a year younger than Brad only fueled his resentment.

On this particular day, Marisa couldn't spare much more time for Brad than she could for Edwin, but she still took a moment to smirk at him, take a practice pitch to remind him (as if he needed to be) of her greatest victory over him, and then turn her back to him, taunting him with the vision of what he was never going to have.

Unfortunately, whatever satisfaction Marisa felt over tormenting Brad was short-lived, as she was soon approaching her destination, Mr. Barlowe's house. Even though it had been a very short walk to her next door neighbor's residence, it had felt to Marisa like a long journey as a condemned prisoner.

Marisa steeled herself, preparing to ring Mr. Barlowe's doorbell ... only to find that it wasn't necessary. Before she had even reached the door, it swung open, revealing her gray-haired neighbor. Marisa had the distinct feeling that he had been waiting at his door for her, probably for a good long while.

"I've been expecting you, Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe, giving her a smile that made her stomach twist. "Please, do come in."

* * * * *

[Sue DeNym]

Chapter 2

"It is so good of you to come, Marisa."

"I didn't have much choice, Mr. Barlowe."

"Oh, there are always choices, my dear," said Mr. Barlowe as he closed the front door. "The very act of living, in fact, is making a ceaseless string of choices."

... Great, a philosophy lesson. Just what every teenager yearns for on a Saturday.

"Unfortunately, Marisa, you have chosen to make my life a trifle difficult," continued Mr. Barlowe.

"And now you're going to return the favor?" retorted Marisa.

Mr. Barlowe simply smiled.

"Feel free to take off your footwear," said the old man. He tilted his head as he added, "And anything else you wish to take off."

Marisa flushed. She was beginning to have second thoughts about her choice of clothing, or rather the lack of it, now that Mr. Barlowe was openly raking his eyes up and down her mostly bare body. As his gaze fixed on her skimpy top, Marisa found herself wishing that she had worn a bra.

And maybe a snow suit, she mentally added as Mr. Barlowe's eyes drifted downward, lingering on her cutoff jeans.

"I'll keep everything else on, thank you," said Marisa, kicking off her sneakers.

"It's not as if you would have all that much to remove." Mr. Barlowe managed to add a note of disapproval to his voice, although Marisa was skeptical that he would have preferred she wear anything less revealing.

"Do you know why you are here, young lady?" asked Mr. Barlowe.

Marisa suppressed a twitch.

"My parents told me to come here," she answered. "I'm supposed to spend the day doing work in your house, to make up for breaking that stu - that expensive antique stained glass window."

"And you felt that this would be appropriate attire for this occasion?" Mr. Barlowe raised an eyebrow.

"So what do I have to do?" asked Marisa, ignoring Mr. Barlowe's question. "Chores or something?"

"Oh, yes, I have plenty of work for you to do around the house, Marisa," he replied. "But first ... "

"But first what?"

Mr. Barlowe smiled at her again as he gently took her by the arm and led her into the living room of the house.

Marisa felt surprised when she saw the interior of Mr. Barlowe's home. She wasn't quite sure what she had been expecting, but if that antique window had been any indication, she thought it would look like something out of a 19th-century Victorian house, filled with antiques, a Persian rug, paintings, a chandelier, burgundy wallpaper with fancy patterns ...

Instead, Mr. Barlowe's living room looked remarkably ... normal. The walls were painted beige, with white curtains on the windows and a simple gray carpet. There was a laptop computer on a desk next to the living room window, and a large television on the opposite wall, with a cable box, CD and DVD player.

Marisa noticed a large number of framed photographs of what looked like Mr. Barlowe's children and grandchildren hanging on the wall, and in a bookcase that was also filled with paperback books, DVDs, and a smartphone in a charger.

She would not have guessed that the owner of this house was so ancient.

After a moment, Marisa's eyes were drawn to a chair that looked out of place. It was identical to the chairs around the nearby dining room table, but it had been placed in the center of the living room. There was a roll of duct tape and a small cloth on the chair.

"To be more precise, young lady," said Mr. Barlowe, as he led her by the arm toward the chair, "the reason you are here is for me to punish you for breaking my window."

"I thought that was what the chores were all about," said Marisa.

Mr. Barlowe simply chuckled as he picked up the tape and cloth from the chair.

"What are those for?" asked Marisa, a bit uneasily.

"I expect you will find out shortly." Mr. Barlowe sat down in the chair, not relaxing his hold on Marisa's arm. "Now, my dear young lady, I am very grateful for the chance to have you perform some chores for me today, but I am also a firm believer in what you might call a more hands-on approach to discipline, especially for girls."

For a moment, Marisa simply stared at Mr. Barlowe, before her eyes grew round and she drew in a sharp breath.

"I knew it!" burst from Marisa in a shrill, high-pitched voice. She tried to pull her arm away from Mr. Barlowe, but to her surprise, she could not budge a single one of his fingers. The ineffectual-looking old man had a grip like a vise.

"I knew it!" repeated Marisa, nearly screaming this time. "I warned my parents that you wanted to spank me, you pervert!"

"Did you now? Well, that would explain your attire. You certainly are dressed for a spanking."

Marisa's face turned crimson - whether it was from embarrassment more than anger, even she wasn't sure - as Mr. Barlowe openly appraised her more-than-half-naked body.

"I - I thought my parents had - " Marisa sputtered. "Well, I wouldn't have worn this if I'd known you were going to try to spank me!"

"Well, if it's of any consolation to you, Marisa, not that it should be, it wouldn't have made any difference."

"What are you talking about?"

Mr. Barlowe gave Marisa that smile that made her stomach twist again.

"My lovely young lady, I am going to tell you the same thing I have always told my daughters, my granddaughters, and any other girl I have ever disciplined ... I am spanking YOU. Not your skirt, nor even your panties."

Marisa stared unblinkingly at Mr. Barlowe, as the awful meaning of his words slowly sank in.

"Oh, no." Marisa tried again to pull her arm out of Mr. Barlowe's grip, to no more avail than before. "No - Hell, no - DON'T YOU DARE - "

"Oh, Marisa, there is much that I would dare," said Mr. Barlowe as he slowly pulled the struggling girl ever closer to him.

"You're not - Not bare - You are not going to spank me, you creep, and you are sure as hell not going to spank me BARE - There's no way I'm letting you see my bare butt - "

"Oh, I'll be seeing more than that, Marisa." Mr. Barlowe now had the furious teenager firmly in his arms, their bodies mere inches apart. His eyes focused on her heaving chest, and then back to her face. "You will be taking your spanking totally in the nude."

With that, he had finally done it. Mr. Barlowe had accomplished what just about every person who had ever known Marisa Torres thought to be impossible - He had rendered her speechless.

"Now, then," said Mr. Barlowe briskly. "Do you wish to undress yourself, Marisa, or will I have to strip you?"

Marisa managed to find her voice again.

"Go to hell, asshole!" she snarled.

"Oh, good," said Mr. Barlowe, making no effort to conceal his delight. "I was hoping you'd pick that option."

The old man stood up from the chair. Before Marisa knew what was happening, he had both of her slim wrists firmly pinned behind her back with his left hand, while his right hand casually undid the button and zipper of her cutoff jeans.

"No!" cried Marisa as Mr. Barlowe began to pull down her cutoffs. "Stop that - Stop that right now - "

Marisa felt astounded. She had always taken pride in being extremely athletic, but she found herself rendered completely helpless in Mr. Barlowe's grip. The frail-looking old man seemed stronger than a man twice his size.

"Oh, for goodness sake," muttered Mr. Barlowe when he saw the men's boxer briefs Marisa was wearing under her cutoffs. "Young lady, I think I should have my granddaughter speak to you concerning your wardrobe ... "

Marisa tried, with little success, to tune out the lecture Mr. Barlowe was giving her. She hated the very word "panties," even more than she hated being called "young lady."

"This is none of your business - " Marisa shook her head angrily. A moment later, her anger seemed to vanish, replaced with abject terror as Mr. Barlowe slipped his fingers in her waistband. "No, please - Mr. Barlowe, please don't - please, not that - "

"I'm sorry, Marisa, I really am, but this is for your own good."

The tears that Marisa had been struggling to hold back were soon flowing freely down her cheeks, as the most private places of her body were laid completely bare to the sight of this horrible old man.

Marisa tried again to free her hands, but found herself still unable to move a muscle under Mr. Barlowe's iron grip. Taking a deep breath, she made a decision ... but before she could carry it out, she was letting out a cry of pain, wincing at Mr. Barlowe's foot pressing down hard on hers.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Marisa," he told her.

"I can see you've done this before," she spat.

"We're almost done with your unveiling, Marisa. Just one more thing now." He looked at her figure-hugging, midriff-baring white top.

"I'm not wearing a bra," she protested weakly.

"I can tell," replied Mr. Barlowe. "I would be surprised if anybody who saw you today couldn't. Honestly, it's too bad. I've never told anybody this, but whenever I have spanked a girl, I always rather enjoyed removing her bra, and I was looking forward to taking off yours even more, Marisa."

Marisa shook her head in disgust.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Knowing that it would do no good to plead or protest, Marisa simply bit her lip as Mr. Barlowe pulled her top up and over her head, leaving the teenaged girl, at last, completely naked.

"I must say, Marisa, I very much appreciate your beauty," said Mr. Barlowe as he tossed aside the last of her clothing. "You have an amazing body. It's no wonder you're so accomplished in athletics."

Marisa bit back an urge to scream as Mr. Barlowe slowly took in her curves, turning her around in his grip so that he could see all of her flawless skin.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," she said in a low voice.

"You know, you're right," sighed Mr. Barlowe. "I am stepping a bit out of line here, I suppose. We should get back to the business at hand."

Not letting up his grip on Marisa's hands, he sat back down in the chair.

"No," whimpered Marisa as Mr. Barlowe began pulling her toward his lap. "Mr. Barlowe, you're not really going to spank me, are you?"

"I'm afraid so, Marisa."

"You can't spank me, Mr. Barlowe. I'm seventeen, I am way too old for spankings - "

"Girls are never too old for spankings, Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe. "I have never once seen or met a girl who understood this, even my own daughters and granddaughters, but no female is ever too old for a good, old-fashioned spanking."

He gazed at the still weakly struggling Marisa.

"And even if they were, young lady, you would hardly qualify. From everything I've seen and heard, you may be seventeen, but you have less maturity than my five-year-old grandson. As I've often said in the past, girls who insist on behaving like little children will be treated the same."

"Mr. Barlowe, please." Marisa took a deep breath. She tried to sound reasonable. "Think about this, Mr. Barlowe. This is sexual assault, you could be arrested for this. But if you let me go right now, I promise, I won't tell a soul about any of this. If my parents found out what you're doing - "

"Your parents," echoed Mr. Barlowe, raising an eyebrow. "You mean they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" said Marisa in confusion.

"Marisa, when your parents first spoke to me about this idea of having you come over here today, to make up for breaking my window, they asked me what I might do to punish you. They specifically asked me about such things as spankings, and after we all talked it over, your parents and I agreed that I should spank you as punishment, and it should be exactly like this."

"What?!" exclaimed Marisa. "That's not what they told ... "

Her voice trailed off, as she found herself remembering ...

* * * * *

"I can't believe you're really going to let that creepy old man punish me for an entire day," complained Marisa. "Have you seen the way he looks at me? He's going to want to SPANK me, or something like that, I'm sure of it."

Mr. Torres looked at his daughter seriously and said, "Actually, princess, your mother and I have spoken to Mr. Barlowe about just that sort of thing, and we all agreed that - "

"Whatever, Dad." Marisa rolled her eyes.

* * * * *

"Your parents didn't tell you?" asked Mr. Barlowe.

"Not exactly," murmured Marisa. "I ... I didn't really give them a chance to. My father started to tell me something about ... I just sort of assumed that he was going to say ... "

She looked at him.

"My parents really agreed to this?" she said in a tiny voice.

"Well," said Mr. Barlowe hesitantly, "your parents never felt that a spanking, in and of itself, would be out of line."

Marisa's eyes began to narrow.

"But, uh ... I sort of had to talk your mom and dad into letting me spank you completely undressed. They were very reluctant to agree to that."

"It was your idea for me to be naked." Marisa's temper was visibly flaring again.

"Well, your parents did agree in the end. I convinced them that it would be most beneficial."

"You mean it'll be beneficial for you, when you're jerking off about it later," snarled Marisa.

"Oh, dear." Mr. Barlowe shook his head. Clearly, being stripped of her dignity hadn't done much to quell Marisa's sass.

"Young lady, THAT little remark is going to cost your very lovely bottom about twenty more smacks. Now, I suggest we get started, before that very big, though admittedly pretty, mouth of yours writes any more checks that your rear end will have to cash."

"No, please," moaned Marisa as Mr. Barlowe's powerful hands pulled her ever closer to her looming humiliation. "Please don't spank me - "

She was still struggling, even though she had learned by now that it would do her no good. Marisa froze, however, when she felt Mr. Barlowe's hand sliding down her back.

"HEY!" she exclaimed.

"Very nice," said Mr. Barlowe admiringly.

"Stop fondling my butt!" Marisa practically screamed, as she was pulled, face down, over Mr. Barlowe's lap.

"Very, very nice," said Mr. Barlowe. He held Marisa's slim wrists firmly in one hand as his other hand caressed and squeezed the outraged girl's firm, shapely buttocks.

He hadn't been planning to do this. He knew it was highly inappropriate. But when he found himself gazing down at the indescribably beautiful sight of Marisa's bare backside, laid out so invitingly, so temptingly, in his own lap, he just couldn't find it in himself to resist. In fact, he was so entranced that he hardly took notice of the steady stream of invective Marisa was spitting out.

"Let me go - This is sexual assault - My parents are going to hear about this - Quit groping my ass, you freak - I knew you were going to do this, you pervert - Get your hand out of there - You get off on abusing girls, don't you? - Hey, hey, that's a very sensitive spot - When I get out of here, you are going to be in so much trouble - "

When Mr. Barlowe pinched the taut flesh of Marisa's behind one time too many, she had finally had enough. Marisa opened her mouth to let out the most ear-splitting scream of her life, only to be cut off when Mr. Barlowe's hand clamped itself over her mouth.

"Had to happen sooner or later," commented Mr. Barlowe. "Now, you're going to find out what that tape and cloth were for, Marisa."

Marisa was still making enraged, but muffled, sounds through Mr. Barlowe's hand as he sat her up in his lap. As he kept one hand over her mouth - it felt to Marisa like he was holding her head with it - he grabbed the cloth and tape with his other hand.

"Oh, what a blessed relief," murmured Mr. Barlowe as he stuffed the cloth into Marisa's protesting mouth.

"You know, Marisa," he commented as he tore off a strip of duct tape, "I am guessing that there must be a lot of people in your life, especially boys, who always wished that they could do what I just did."

Marisa could only glare at Mr. Barlowe as he pressed the tape firmly over her lips.

"I want you to know, Marisa, I regret gagging you," he said, as he bound her hands behind her back with the tape. He paused, and then shrugged as he said, "Well, maybe not ... But it is a shame to have to cover up such a beautiful mouth. Still, I can't have you screaming, now can I?"

After binding Marisa's legs together at the ankles, he gently framed Marisa's face with his hands, looking deeply into her eyes.

"It's time, now, Marisa," he said softly.

Marisa's eyes began to well up. She shook her head, making pleading sounds through her gag.

"I'm sorry."

Seconds later, Marisa was looking at the carpet, her defenseless rear squarely in Mr. Barlowe's lap. She shuddered and let out a moan as his finger lightly caressed her buttocks. He was teasing her.

From her position, Marisa could not see Mr. Barlowe raising his hand, but she could certainly feel the sharp smack as it came down hard on her bottom. She instantly began screaming, though only muffled sounds came through the cloth and tape binding her mouth.

"That was only the beginning, young lady."

Tied up as she was, Marisa could do nothing more than squirm uselessly as Mr. Barlowe's hand came down again and again, sending waves of pain through Marisa's backside. The ordeal was made worse by the old man's occasional pauses to fondle her again.

His hands never seemed to be still. When they weren't smacking her bottom, they were groping, caressing, patting, massaging, pinching, rubbing, roaming her bare rump.

Marisa was sobbing now. She felt as if ten different kinds of pain and humiliation were flowing through her. Besides the physical pain, there was the humiliation of being, at the age of 17, practically a grown woman, having her bottom smacked as though she was a naughty child. The humiliation of being naked, tied up and gagged, being groped and fondled ... She was being taken sexual advantage of, and for any girl, nothing could cut more deeply ...

For somebody who had spent her entire life being strong, assertive, in control ... There were few things more terrifying than to suddenly be so completely and utterly powerless, helpless, vulnerable ...

"Marisa?"

The girl was still crying. She didn't even seem to notice that the spanking had stopped.

"Come on, Marisa." Mr. Barlowe gently peeled the tape off of Marisa's mouth and pulled the cloth free, before untying her wrists and ankles.

Marisa got to her feet, hugging herself, still sniffling. Mr. Barlowe moved to wipe away the tears on her face and offer her some comfort, but she pulled away from his grasp, wiping her own tears and turning away from him in refusal.

"All right, then," said Mr. Barlowe, taking a step back. "If that's what you want."

"What I want is my clothes back," said Marisa sullenly. "Right now, if you don't mind, Mr. Barlowe."

"Actually, I do mind," said Mr. Barlowe firmly. "You will stay naked, Marisa."

"What?" Marisa whirled around to face him.

"Young lady, in case you've forgotten, you still have to spend the day here, doing chores around my house, to compensate for breaking my window." Mr. Barlowe folded his arms. "You will receive your clothing back at the end of the day before you leave."

"You expect me to spend the entire day here naked?" said Marisa in disbelief.

"Now, you listen to me, young lady." Mr. Barlowe gazed at Marisa levelly. "That outfit you were wearing, if indeed you can call it that, is absolutely appalling. I would never tolerate any of my daughters or granddaughters walking around near-naked like that."

"Well, I'm not your daughter or your granddaughter!" said Marisa hotly.

"No, but this is my house, which means I set the rules here. And if you will not wear proper clothing for a young lady, then you will wear nothing at all!"

Marisa stared at him, unable to believe that he was serious, but knowing that he was.

"What - What if somebody comes to the house?" asked Marisa. "They'll see me like this."

"Marisa, nobody is going to be coming here. Trust me, that is not a concern."

"Mr. Barlowe ... " Marisa decided to try a different tack. Putting on as penitent an air as she could, she said, "Mr. Barlowe, please, I'm sorry for everything I said to you. Please don't make me be naked all day. It's so embarrassing."

"I think some embarrassment will be good for you, Marisa."

"But Mr. Barlowe - "

"Now, really, Marisa, it's not as if you have anything to be ashamed of." He casually ran his eyes up and down Marisa's body. "Nothing to be ashamed of at all. Quite the contrary."

Marisa reddened yet again.

"Well, now that that's settled," said Mr. Barlowe, walking over to a cabinet and taking out some cleaning supplies, "there are chores for you to do, young lady. You can start by dusting the dining room table."

For a long moment, Marisa stared at Mr. Barlowe, and then shook her head.

"I am not doing this, Mr. Barlowe. No more."

She turned and picked up the few articles of clothing she had worn to the house, from where they had been laying scattered on the living room floor. Mr. Barlowe made no attempt to stop her as she put them on. In seconds, she was dressed again.

"I have had enough," she said coldly. "I am not going to spend the entire day here, naked, being your slave. I think I'd rather spend the summer in sushi."

" ... I can't rightly say I know what means, Marisa, but if that's what you want, then very well."

"I'm leaving right now," said Marisa. "Unless you're planning to kidnap me, Mr. Barlowe, I'm going home."

"I have no intention of holding you here against your will, Marisa. You're free to leave. Of course, that means that your parents will have to pay for my broken window."

"You said it was all right for them not to pay for it," protested Marisa. "You told them to forget about it."

"Yes, I did," said Mr. Barlowe. "And I am still willing to forget about it, but your parents aren't. They are insisting on paying for the damage, one way or another. Now, I am perfectly willing to simply accept the loss myself, but if your parents insist on compensating me, who am I to refuse?"

Marisa was silent for a moment.

"Okay, you know what? That's fine with me." Marisa shook her head. "If my parents insist on paying for that window even though they don't have to, that's their problem. I don't know why they're doing this, but it's their choice. I am not going to worry about it anymore."

With that, she turned and started heading for the door.

"Very well," said Mr. Barlowe. "Good day, young lady."

Marisa reached the door and placed her hand on the knob ... and then froze.

...

"Mother," she said fiercely, "I have a reputation to uphold. They will be serving iced drinks in hell before I let any MALE get the better of me."

...

Marisa glanced out the door toward her house. It would be so easy. All she had to do was walk out the door and go home. Mr. Barlowe wasn't trying to stop her. Her parents were willing to pay for the damaged window, and she could just work in her uncle's sushi bar. It would be better than this.

...

Marisa ground her teeth. If there was one thing she couldn't take, it was a boy - any male, really - getting the better of her. She did not intend to ever let it happen again. She didn't with Brad Wilder the previous day, and she wasn't going to with Mr. Barlowe today.

"I'm not going to let him get to me," she quietly vowed. "I can take whatever he dishes out."

...

Marisa looked longingly at the door ... but she had made a promise to herself before she came here today. She had promised herself that she would not allow Mr. Barlowe to get the better of her. No male got the better of Marisa Torres, not ever.

She was not going to let this dirty old man get to her. She was not.

Marisa whirled around and walked back to Mr. Barlowe. For a moment, they simply stared each other down.

"Fine," said Marisa.

Never once taking her eyes away from him, Marisa stripped completely naked again, throwing what little clothing she had been wearing onto the nearby sofa.

"Go ahead," said Marisa defiantly. "I can take whatever you can dish out, old man."

Mr. Barlowe raised an eyebrow.

"Get to work, then," he told her, tossing her a dustrag.

She caught the dustrag in her hand, still without breaking eye contact with Mr. Barlowe. Glaring at him, Marisa walked to the dining room table and began wiping it down.

Mr. Barlowe folded his arms again as he gazed at the teenaged girl - so very beautiful, so very naked, so very spanked, and yet, still, so very willful, so very stubborn, so very headstrong.

It had always been his experience that most girls became very meek and compliant after a good spanking, especially when the girl was naked. Of course, there were always exceptions to every rule, and he was clearly looking at one of those exceptions now.

Young Marisa was going to be a difficult nut to crack, but he was looking forward to the challenge.

[mikewozere]

Great story and well written.
I like your use of italicised sections.

[Skylar21]

So great to see a new post from you. Your stories are so well written and engaging. I like where this story may be going; a battle between the young girl and the old man.

Lots of potential for her to be humiliated by other people, and she having to relate to them. I look forward to future installments. Thank you for this story.

[superevil7]

Awesome start to your new story Sue DeNym! I hope you are foreshadowing Marisa ending up naked in front of many, many boys she knows, and her brother too! Maybe she'll even face another spanking from Mr Barlow, this time with the boys watching as it happens

[Luca]

Great start, with many expectative.

[IsaacLascar]

I have to honestly say that this is completely my taste. The protagonist is totally mine, as is the story itself and the many teased opportunities for humiliation. I'm really looking forward to a sequel.

[Sue DeNym]

Chapter 3

"You missed a spot."

Marisa scowled.

"Sorry." Mr. Barlowe grinned. "Couldn't resist."

Without taking her glaring eyes off the old man, Marisa wiped the spot he had been pointing to.

"That's a good girl," said Mr. Barlowe, patting the girl affectionately on her rear.

He paused, giving Marisa's bare backside a most approving look, before turning his gaze back to her face. Neither his smile nor her scowl wavered as he slid his hand down her back to cover her bottom.

"Very nice," breathed Mr. Barlowe as his hand gave Marisa's butt a lingering squeeze, followed by a few more firm pats.

Marisa reddened, but she stood resolutely, her hand on the table, her penetrating eyes stubbornly refusing to break contact with Mr. Barlowe's.

After a full minute or so, Mr. Barlowe's shoulders slumped as he finally took his hand off Marisa's rump. With a disappointed sigh, he turned away from Marisa and walked over to his desk next to the living room window.

The moment that Mr. Barlowe's back was turned to her, Marisa began rubbing her behind with a grimace. She inwardly sighed. The old man couldn't know how close he had come to winning that contest of wills. Another half minute or so, and Marisa would have let him stare her down. She would have done anything just to get his damn hand off her ass.

Trying her best not to think about it ... about any of it ... Marisa finished straightening the chairs around the dining room table and then walked over to the nearby fireplace. As she dusted the mantelpiece, shivering at the occasional gust of cold air enveloping the bare skin of her ... well, just her, really ... Marisa's eyes were drawn to the framed pictures above the fireplace, in the bookcase, and hanging on the walls.

Most of the people in the photographs looked vaguely familiar to her. Marisa figured that she must have seen them coming and going from her neighbor's house over the years.

There was only one who Marisa knew by name - Mr. Barlowe's granddaughter, Leigh. The two girls were the same age, and bore a remarkable resemblance to each other. Many times, people chanced to see Marisa and Leigh in the same place and mistook them for sisters, or maybe cousins.

But that wasn't the main reason that Marisa knew Leigh ... It was because, for as long as Marisa could remember, Leigh had been openly hostile to her every time they ran into each other. Marisa always figured that she would probably be giving it right back to Leigh, if Marisa had even the slightest idea what it was they were supposed to be fighting about.

The only clue that Marisa had as to the source of Leigh's animosity toward her was that she had sometimes seen Leigh hanging out with Brad Wilder. Marisa had thought that the two were perhaps - ugh - dating ... until one day she saw Brad attempt to kiss Leigh, and she slapped him hard across the face. Never one to quit while he was behind, Brad tried to kiss her again, only to have Leigh ram her knee into a most vulnerable place on the boy's body.

Marisa had puzzled over it many times. Although she had seen Leigh and Brad hanging out on occasion, they never seemed to be ... all that friendly ... with each other, at least not enough for Leigh to be so icy toward Marisa on Brad's behalf. But Marisa could think of no other reason for it.

As she dusted the bookcase shelves, still gazing quizzically at the picture of Leigh, Marisa felt a tremor run through her body. With her back turned to Mr. Barlowe, Marisa could practically feel his eyes fixed on her rear end. It was still stinging from the spanking she had gotten from the old man, as much as Marisa was still fuming about it, and it felt like Mr. Barlowe's unwavering gaze was somehow making it sting even more, making Marisa fume even more. Her scowl only deepened at the memory of his hands fondling her butt.

Unfortunately, the only way Marisa could see to make Mr. Barlowe stop ogling her backside was to turn around to face him, and if she did that, she would be giving him even more to look at. With a heavy sigh, Marisa simply continued her dusting.

There was one other person in the photographs who caught Marisa's eye - a very handsome, dark-haired young man wearing a suit and tie. He looked slightly older than Marisa, and had a strong, athletic build. Marisa tilted her head at the picture, feeling very much like she had seen him somewhere before, some place other than her neighbor's house. Try as she might to remember, though, Marisa could not place his face.

Eventually, Marisa ran out of shelves to dust. Steeling herself for the sight of Mr. Barlowe's leering gaze, the naked girl turned to face him. Much to her surprise, he wasn't looking in her direction at all. Marisa wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or insulted.

"You know, I was kind of surprised that you didn't spank me for calling you 'old man' before," commented Marisa as she walked over to Mr. Barlowe's desk.

"Why should you be punished merely for speaking the truth?" Mr. Barlowe looked at Marisa curiously. He held up his hands as he went on, "I am old, Marisa. There's no denying that."

Marisa simply shrugged, but inwardly, her thoughts were racing. Truth be told, she had been trying to provoke him earlier into punishing her, just to show that she could handle anything he could dish out to her. Marisa had felt certain it would work, that Mr. Barlowe was looking for any excuse to spank her again. And yet ...

Then again, she had also pictured Mr. Barlowe getting his news the old-fashioned way - sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper while smoking a pipe. Instead, he was scrolling through a news site on his laptop computer, and he seemed to be oddly more absorbed by that than by the naked teenaged girl standing near him.

"I've finished the dusting, Mr. Barlowe," said Marisa idly.

"Excellent. Why don't you take a break for a while, Marisa? Here, come sit with me."

"Well, I - WHOA!"

Before Marisa knew what was happening, Mr. Barlowe had pulled her to his chair and sat her down on his lap, her bare rump falling squarely on his knees. She could only stare at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open, as he smiled at her, gently caressing her long brown hair before wrapping his arms around her naked body. Within seconds, Marisa was grinding her teeth as Mr. Barlowe's hands began to eagerly explore her luxurious curves. She could not believe that she didn't see this coming.

I am not going to let him get to me, Marisa silently vowed, looking up at the ceiling. I am not going to let him get to me ...

She paused as she felt his hands sliding across her tight stomach, and then added, But if his hand dips below the waist, he won't be getting it back ...

Marisa folded her hands in her lap and sat perfectly still, barely seeming to even breathe, as Mr. Barlowe's hands continued to roam ...

" ... Aren't you going to say anything?" Mr. Barlowe finally said, sounding exasperated as he dropped his hands to his sides.

Marisa very slowly moved her gaze from the ceiling to meet Mr. Barlowe's agitated eyes. Without a word, she folded her arms in front of her chest and looked at him resolutely.

"Get up," sighed Mr. Barlowe, taking the unflinching girl by the arm and pulling both her and himself to their feet. As he did so, Marisa turned her face away from him and bit her lip, not wanting to let him see how close it had been. Another fifteen, maybe twenty seconds, and her resolve would have broken.

"Look, young lady, I think that if we could just come to a - "

Mr. Barlowe's thought was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Instantly, both he and Marisa froze.

"I thought you said nobody would come here today," said Marisa, alarmed.

"I didn't think anybody would." Mr. Barlowe looked toward the front door. "Okay, I was wrong."

"Well, what should - mmmppphhh!!"

"Quiet," said Mr. Barlowe, not that Marisa could say anything with his hand clamped over her mouth. Thinking quickly, he kept his hand over the protesting girl's lips as he half-carried, half-dragged her over to the chair where he had spanked her earlier.

Marisa's eyes widened in consternation when she saw him grab the cloth and duct tape that he had used to gag and bind her before.

"Don't worry, Marisa, it's going to be okay," said Mr. Barlowe in what he seemed to think was a soothing tone as he once again stuffed the cloth into the girl's mouth. In a matter of seconds, the old man had taped Marisa's mouth shut again and bound her hands behind her back.

Mr. Barlowe squatted down and wrapped his arm around Marisa's knees, and a moment later, she let out a muffled yelp as he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder, before heading up the stairs. Gagged and bound as she was, with Mr. Barlowe's powerful arm tightly around her legs, Marisa could only squirm and make stifled - but still very clearly indignant - protests, as she felt blood rushing to her head. It seemed to her that her hair was nearly brushing the floor as Mr. Barlowe carried her down the second floor hallway ...

... and with her bare backside over the old man's shoulder, Marisa suddenly felt even more acutely aware of how naked she was. That feeling was only intensified when she realized that Mr. Barlowe was carrying her into a bedroom.

Marisa let out a whimper as Mr. Barlowe laid her down onto the bed.

"Take it easy, Marisa." Mr. Barlowe could plainly see the girl suddenly becoming a bundle of nerves, and he knew perfectly well why. "You're quite safe here. I just wanted to put you somewhere nobody will see you."

Mr. Barlowe glanced at the door, hesitating. Several people knew he was home today, and whoever was ringing the doorbell might start to think something was wrong if he took too long to answer. However ... Mr. Barlowe quickly decided that he didn't want to leave Marisa with all of that duct tape on her soft skin if he didn't know how long it would be before he could return to her.

"Marisa, I'm going to take your gag off," said Mr. Barlowe, lightly touching the side of the girl's face. "Please, don't scream, okay?"

Marisa nodded, but she couldn't help letting out at least a small yelp when Mr. Barlowe pulled the tape off her mouth, before pulling the cloth free.

"What the hell was that all about?!" demanded Marisa furiously.

"I'm sorry, Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe sincerely. "I couldn't take the chance of you drawing any attention."

"Well, Mr. Barlowe, if you've gotten this caveman thing out of your system now," snarled Marisa, "let me tell you something, don't you ever tie me up - and especially don't you ever gag me - with that damn tape again!"

"I won't," promised Mr. Barlowe as he freed the girl's hands. He went over to the dresser and returned a moment later.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Marisa began backing away from him on the bed when she saw the long cloth strips he had in his hands.

"Hush. We don't have much time."

"Hey!" exclaimed Marisa as Mr. Barlowe pulled her hands together behind her back and began binding them with a long cloth. "What are you - You promised! - You said you weren't going to tie me up again!"

"With the tape," Mr. Barlowe reminded her. "I promised I wouldn't tie you up with the duct tape, and I won't. That stuff's bad for your skin."

"Why are you doing this?" whined Marisa.

In just seconds, her hands were tightly secured, making her wonder just how much experience the old man had at this. A moment later, she was watching in increasing dismay as he tied her legs together at the ankles, and then at the knees.

"Why are you tying me up?"

"I'm afraid I have to, Marisa. I can't risk anybody seeing you naked."

"Ha, YOU can't risk it," muttered Marisa.

"The last thing I want is to have to explain to a visitor in this house why I have a naked teenaged girl in my living room."

Marisa blinked.

"Oh, good thinking," she said sarcastically. "Because having a naked teenaged girl tied up in your bedroom will be so much easier to explain."

Mr. Barlowe took a long strip of cloth and wrapped it tightly around Marisa's upper body, pinning her arms to her sides.

"You don't need to wrap me up like a parcel," she complained.

"Marisa, this is for the best. I really need you to just trust me here."

"Oh, sure. A few minutes ago, I was tied up, gagged, and being carried, naked, into a bedroom, over the shoulder of the man who's had his hands on my ass all day long. What is not to trust?"

"My word, Marisa, when you phrase it like that, you make it sound so unreasonable."

Mr. Barlowe finished tying the cloth strips above and below Marisa's breasts, making them stand out even more.

"You know," said Marisa, shaking her head, "you wouldn't need to worry about it at all if you'd just let me get dressed."

"Perhaps, but what would be the fun in that?" asked Mr. Barlowe wryly.

"I knew it." Marisa scowled. "This was never about my clothes being inappropriate at all. You just like keeping me naked."

"Now, what would make you imagine that?" Mr. Barlowe gave the girl's butt a quick squeeze, making her scowl even more.

Mr. Barlowe picked up a strip of pink cloth.

"Wh-What are you going to do with that?" asked Marisa apprehensively.

"I need to make sure you stay quiet," said Mr. Barlowe, sounding almost apologetic.

"I am being quiet," protested Marisa. "I don't need to be gagged - "

"I can't take any chances, Marisa. You are a girl, after all. You're genetically programmed to blab."

"You know, Mr. Barlowe, that was a very anti-female remark."

"Yes, it was intended as such."

"Mr. Barlowe, do you really think I'd want anybody to see me like THIS?" Marisa glanced down at her naked, thoroughly bound body.

"I can't take the chance, and besides, I've been looking forward to the opportunity to gag you properly, Marisa."

Marisa blinked, and then blinked again.

"There's a 'proper' way to gag a girl?" she asked.

The old man simply smiled as he held up the cloth. Knowing that protesting would do no good, Marisa sighed in resignation and parted her lips to accept it. A moment later, she let out a small whimper as Mr. Barlowe tied the pink cloth tightly in and around her mouth.

"There," he said. He gazed admiringly at Marisa's gagged face, and remarked, "I think pink is a very flattering color on you, young lady."

A small growl emerged from behind Marisa's gag.

Mr. Barlowe paused thoughtfully, not quite sure if the gag would be enough to keep her quiet. After a moment, he got an idea. The old man reached down, slipping his hand between Marisa's legs, and a fraction of a second later, the girl let out a yelp.

Ordinarily, it would have been quite a loud yelp, but the gag muffled it enough to be just barely audible to Mr. Barlowe, and he was in the room with her. He felt satisfied that nobody downstairs would be able to hear her.

"Good, that will do fine," he said.

Marisa could only stare at him in disbelief.

"Marisa, I did not enjoy doing that."

She tilted her head at him.

"Well, I didn't enjoy it much."

She raised an eyebrow.

"All right, fine, I could have enjoyed it more."

Marisa paused, and then shrugged.

"Just one more thing," said Mr. Barlowe, picking up another cloth. A soft squeal came from Marisa as Mr. Barlowe blindfolded her with it.

"This serves no purpose at all," he said frankly. "It's just for good measure, young lady."

Marisa grumbled. She felt the old man's hand on her bare shoulder as he whispered in her ear, "You be a good girl now, Marisa. You stay quiet, okay?"

Mr. Barlowe finally got up and walked to the bedroom door. Even though he had already taken far longer than he should have to answer the doorbell, he still took a moment to glance back at the beautiful teenaged girl sitting on his bed, completely naked, tied up, gagged, blindfolded ...

... He just couldn't resist. Trying to be as quiet about it as he could, he took out his phone and snapped a picture of Marisa, to remember this wonderful moment by.

* * * * *

Brad Wilder rang the doorbell for what seemed like the tenth time, glancing impatiently at his watch.

What was going on? Old Man Barlowe was definitely home. Brad had seen him opening the door for that little ... for Marisa Torres ... when she went to his house. And Brad had been out in front of his own house for the whole day since then. If the old man had gone anywhere, Brad would have seen him leaving. So why wasn't he answering the door?

Maybe he had a heart attack or something ... Nah, we couldn't be that lucky.

Brad grumbled. He would have already turned and left by now, if his father hadn't insisted that he deliver this bill to Old Man Barlowe.

Finally, Brad heard the door unlock, and it swung open.

Took him long enough, thought Brad sourly, although he put on the usual fake pleasant grin he wore when talking to one of his father's customers.

"Ah, good day, Brad," said Mr. Barlowe with a cheerful smile, although inwardly, he was cursing whatever unkind fate had prompted this boy to pick this particular day and time to pay a call.

"G'morning, Ol - Mr. Barlowe," said Brad.

"What can I do for you?"

"My dad wanted me to give you this." Brad handed Mr. Barlowe a sheet of paper. "It's your bill for replacing that stained glass window that Marisa Torres broke."

"Oh?" Mr. Barlowe locked eyes with Brad. "By any chance, did your father give me the discount on it that I asked for? Because, if I recall correctly, YOU were partly responsible for the damage, Brad."

"Hey." Brad held up his hands. "All I did was throw her the ball. She was the one who sent it through your window."

"As I understand it, you challenged her to hit your fastball."

"Yeah. In other words, we were playing baseball, like millions of other kids on weekends." Brad shook his head. "Look, if I could control where exactly a batter hits my pitches, I wouldn't be a second-stringer on my school's baseball team. And anyway, yes, my father gave you a discount. Ten percent off, that's as far as he was willing to go."

"So what's the total, then?" sighed Mr. Barlowe. "How much do I owe your father for the replacement window?"

"It's not too bad," said Brad. "About the same as your original window, only about a hundred bucks and change."

"Brad, please, keep your voice down." Mr. Barlowe looked around anxiously. "I, uh, I sort of led the neighbors to believe that that window was a very valuable antique."

"Yeah, yeah," said Brad in a bored tone, although he did lower his voice. "I know, Mr. Barlowe. Everybody who buys my dad's cheap imitation stained glass always tells people that it's real antique stuff."

"Well, this is different," said Mr. Barlowe hesitantly. "I, uh ... I sort of allowed Mr. and Mrs. Torres to think that the window Marisa broke was very, very expensive ... "

"Oh, I get it." Brad grinned again, this time for real. "You're letting your neighbors pay you big bucks for that damaged window so you can pocket the difference. That's smooth, Mr. Barlowe."

"No ... It's not like that, Brad. The Torreses are good, hard-working folks. I wouldn't cheat them out of their money that way."

"Then what are you ... "

"Well ... " Mr. Barlowe scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Marisa's parents aren't paying for that window. Instead, they're having Marisa come over here and work it off."

"Oh, yeah, I saw Marisa coming over here this morning," said Brad. "So ... You're using this to get some free housekeeping work, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"Man," chuckled Brad. "The great Marisa Torres, working as a maid. I'd enjoy seeing this."

"I have no doubt you would," remarked Mr. Barlowe.

Brad's smile wavered. Something about the old man's tone of voice when he said that didn't strike Brad quite right ... After a moment, Brad just shrugged.

"Well, anyway, there's your bill, Mr. Barlowe. My dad will have his workmen install your new window next week."

"Thank you very much, Brad."

As the door swung closed, Brad hopped off of Old Man Barlowe's porch. He walked across the street back to his own house. Just as he reached his front door, Brad paused, looking back at the old man's house. After a moment, he turned and went inside his house, a puzzled frown still on his face.

* * * * *

Mr. Barlowe quietly placed the paper Brad had given him into the hidden safe in his den.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't consider a bill for a replacement window worth only a hundred dollars or so to be sensitive enough to warrant being put into his safe, but in this case ... The last thing in the world he wanted was for Marisa or her parents to find out how much that stained glass window had actually been worth.

When Mr. and Mrs. Torres had first offered to pay for the broken window, Mr. Barlowe had been quite impressed. He knew that the Torreses didn't have very much money, and yet, they had been willing to pay for what they must have thought was thousands of dollars' worth of damage.

In response, Mr. Barlowe had told them to just forget about the window, it was no big deal. He had been just about to tell them that the stained glass window was actually a cheap imitation rather than a real antique. He hadn't even been planning to ask them for the hundred or so dollars that the window had actually been worth.

But before he could, Mr. and Mrs. Torres had suggested that Marisa could work off the debt by spending a Saturday in Mr. Barlowe's home, doing chores for him. They further offered to let him punish her however way he wished.

Mr. Barlowe remembered struggling with his conscience for a long moment ... but in the end, it had just seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. He was thrilled at the chance to have a little fun with the gorgeous teenaged girl, not to mention teach her a real lesson that her parents didn't seem to be doing. He still felt a twinge of guilt over what he was doing ...

... He just didn't feel guilty enough to stop.

As he walked out of his den, heading back toward the stairs, the phone rang.

"Hello, Henry Barlowe speaking ... Oh, hello, Mr. Torres ... Yes, Marisa's been good, everything is going very smoothly here ... Oh, yes, Mr. Torres, I am quite pleased with Marisa's work. She's done a fine job of cleaning my living room ... No, I'm afraid that she can't come to the phone at the moment. You see, she's sort of ... "

* * * * *

Mr. Torres hung up the phone. He felt puzzled, but also grateful.

"Did you talk to Marisa?" asked his wife, walking into the living room.

"No. She was too busy doing chores."

"Busy?" Mrs. Torres raised an eyebrow. "With chores? Our Marisa? That's remarkable."

"I know, but it sounds like she's really working hard over there. Mr. Barlowe said he was very happy with Marisa's work."

"Well, how wonderful."

As Mrs. Torres went back into the kitchen, Daniel looked up from his laptop computer.

"Marisa is really doing chores over there, Dad?" he asked.

"Apparently so, son, she's really busy. Mr. Barlowe said she was all tied up."

Mr. Torres shrugged and went up the stairs.

"Tied up ... " Daniel paused for a long moment, and then shook his head.

"Nah," he said, getting back to work on his computer.

* * * * *

Mr. Barlowe gazed at the picture he had on his phone of Marisa, the pretty teenager bound hand and foot, wearing a blindfold and gag, all while completely in the nude ... He hesitated, and then, with a heavy sigh, he deleted the picture.

He had wanted to keep it. He had wanted that very, very badly. But he knew that he couldn't. No matter how careful you are with pictures like these, they always wind up getting out, somehow, eventually.

In the picture, Marisa's face was largely obscured by the blindfold and gag, and her body didn't seem to have any easily identifiable characteristics like a tattoo or a birthmark. It would not have been easy for a casual onlooker to tell who the girl in the picture was ... But Mr. Barlowe knew that, if the picture ever did get out, he could not count on somebody not figuring out who the bound, naked girl was ... and then, poor Marisa's life would be ruined.

He knew that he could not do that to her.

* * * * *

Marisa shifted on the bed, moaning through her gag, squirming with every muscle in her body but still finding no slack in her bindings. Even though Marisa knew that she couldn't possibly get free of her captivity, she could not help struggling nevertheless.

The worst part was being unable to see. Marisa felt a tremor of panic run through her body every time she heard even the slightest noise, feeling sure that somebody was coming into the room, somebody whose lascivious intentions she was terrified to even wonder about.

In fact, blindfolded as she was ... For all Marisa knew, there could already be somebody, or several somebodies, in the room with her right now, ogling her naked, bound, helpless body, imagining what they might do with her ...

Suddenly, Marisa let out a yelp, one that might have been audible even to people out on the street, if not for the gag in her mouth.

"How are we doing here, young lady?"

Marisa could not believe that she actually felt relieved to hear Mr. Barlowe's voice ... but the idea that the man who had just slipped his hand between her legs - or, rather, had done so again - might be somebody else had sent chills of terror through her.

Mr. Barlowe could scarcely understand the tirade of muffled, but clearly very unflattering, words emerging from Marisa's gag, but he was more entranced by the very enticing sight of her tight, shapely body squirming against her bindings, shivering occasionally.

He gave her a minute or two to tire herself out. Once Marisa had seemed to calm a bit, Mr. Barlowe gently pulled off her blindfold ... and quickly felt grateful that looks couldn't kill. As he untied the girl's legs, followed by her hands, the icy glare she was fixing on him never wavered once.

Marisa growled, well aware of the fact that Mr. Barlowe was purposely leaving her gag for last. As soon as her hands were free, she reached for it, anxious to get the muzzling cloth out of her mouth, not to mention give the old man a piece of her mind.

"Stop." Mr. Barlowe caught Marisa's wrist before she could pull her gag loose. "Don't touch that gag, young lady."

Marisa slowly lowered her hand, looking at Mr. Barlowe quizzically.

"Marisa, you will leave that gag alone," said the old man, locking eyes with her. "Let me tell you something. I am going to make a proper young lady out of you, even if it means you won't be able to sit down comfortably for the rest of your life. And the first lesson you need to learn is to mind your tongue."

Mr. Barlowe folded his arms.

"To that end, you will be gagged, Marisa, for the same reason that you are naked ... Well, not just because I, admittedly, enjoy it ... I took away your clothing privileges because of your refusal to dress like a proper young lady. In the same way, your privilege of speech will be revoked until you learn to speak like a proper young lady, meaning to speak with respect, speak with dignity ... and speak only when given permission to."

Marisa's eyes turned round, looking like they were about to pop out of her head. In one swift motion, she reached up and yanked the gag out of her mouth, her confusion now replaced with outrage, indignation, and anger beyond description.

"Who the hell do you think you are, old man?!" raged Marisa. "You know, I can understand how somebody as ancient as you might still be living in a previous century, but in this one, women have actually been known to get jobs, wear pants, and even say what's on our minds! And speaking of which ... "

Marisa glanced downward, her face reddening, before she shot another icy glare at Mr. Barlowe.

"Don't you ever touch ... there ... again!"

Mr. Barlowe gazed levelly at the furious girl. Throughout her entire tirade, he had remained completely silent and motionless.

"Very well, Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe, nodding. "If you are so eager to be vocal, young lady, then I will give you something to be vocal about ... "

He turned and closed the bedroom door.

A few moments later ...

... "Oh, no, not again!" ... SPANK! ... "Come on, my butt's still sore from last time!" ... SPANK! ... "You can't do this to me, you dirty old man!" ... SPANK SPANK!! ... "Stop spanking me! I'm not a little girl!" ... SPANK SPANK SPANK!!! ...

... "You just love doing this to me while I'm naked, don't you? Gee, aren't you going to fondle my butt like last time?" ... "That wasn't an invitation, you pervert!" ... "Ow, that hurt! Don't do that!" ... "I don't care how tight it is, stop pinching it!" ...

... "What makes you think you can manhandle me like this?" ... "No, my having a really nice butt is not a reason!" ... "Hey, that's not my butt!" ... "Those aren't my butt, either!" ... "Get your hands off my butt!" ... "I didn't mean put them there instead!" ... "Stop fondling me!" ... "ANYWHERE!!!" ...

... "No, please, don't do that again!" ... SPANK! ... "Please, I don't want to be spanked again!" ... SPANK! ... "God, stop spanking me, this is so embarrassing!" ... SPANK! ... "Come on, it's hard enough for me to sit down as it is!" ... SPANK SPANK!! ... "I said stop spanking me! I am not a little girl!" ... SPANK SPANK!! ... "Stop spanking me!" ... SPANK SPANK SPANK!!! ... "Sob" ... SPANK! ... "Sob" ... SPANK! ... "Sob" ...

* * * * *

"Now, I'm very sorry to have to have done that, Marisa."

Mr. Barlowe came down the stairs, leading Marisa gently by the arm. Her hands were bound again, this time in front of her. The naked girl was sniffling, her face red to match her backside. When they reached the bottom of the stairway, Mr. Barlowe took Marisa's hands in his.

"It's just that we had that ... er, conversation ... once before, young lady," said Mr. Barlowe as he untied the girl's wrists. "And it just hadn't seemed to sink in."

"It will this time," said Marisa softly as she gingerly rubbed her bottom. "Thank you very much for the reminder, Mr. Barlowe."

When Marisa saw the front door, it reminded her of something.

"Mr. Barlowe, I was meaning to ask you, who was that at the door before?"

" ... I think it's better that you don't know, Marisa."

Mr. Barlowe had a feeling that Marisa would have nightmares if she knew that Brad Wilder had been anywhere remotely close to her while she was naked and tied up.

Marisa gave him a curious look, and then shrugged.

"I thought I heard the phone ring, too."

"That was your father, Marisa. He was asking how things were going over here. I told him you were working very hard, and I was quite pleased with the job you did cleaning my living room."

"Didn't he ask to talk to me?"

"Certainly, but I said you were busy."

" ... You told him I was all tied up, didn't you?"

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

Marisa sighed as she let Mr. Barlowe take her by the hand and lead her to the dining room.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Mr. Barlowe?" she asked, shivering as she rubbed her bottom again. Marisa wrapped her arms around herself, trying to cover up as much of her nakedness as she could.

Mr. Barlowe looked at his hands, feeling a rush as he remembered what it was like to have Marisa over his lap, especially in the nude as she was.

"I can only imagine how many boys would enjoy spanking you, Marisa," he said honestly. He gave her a meaningful look as he added, "for more reasons than one."

Marisa blushed, feeling embarrassed ... for more reasons than one.

"You really are a very beautiful girl, Marisa."

"Thank you, I guess."

"I expect you're used to being told that."

"Well ... " Marisa hesitated. "The boys at school don't usually say I'm beautiful."

"Really?" said Mr. Barlowe incredulously. "My goodness, there is just no accounting for taste."

"No, that's not what I meant, Mr. Barlowe. I meant they don't say 'beautiful.' They, um, they use other words that are ... "

"Less eloquent?"

"You could say that."

"I see. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I'm sorry that you have to endure that, Marisa. There's no excuse for such poor manners."

"Oh, I like this." Marisa rolled her eyes. "The man who keeps groping my ass looks down on the manners of the boys who aren't 'eloquent' when they're talking about my looks."

It was a fair comment.

Mr. Barlowe wrapped his hand around Marisa's as he walked her over to the bookcase. He gazed at the framed pictures on the shelves, wall, and mantelpiece.

"Marisa ... You remind me very much of two of my grandchildren. I believe that you know my granddaughter, Leigh."

"Yes, I know Leigh, all right," murmured Marisa, looking down.

For a moment, the old man was silent. Marisa wondered how much, if anything, he knew about why Leigh seemed to hate Marisa so much.

"I know I'm not the first person to say that you resemble Leigh a great deal. Now, she has very different interests than you do, and a somewhat different outlook on life, but ... Much like you, Marisa, she is very strong-willed, and she is often quite ... averse ... to our family's traditional expectations of females."

Marisa glanced at Mr. Barlowe, and then looked at the picture of Leigh. She wasn't sure what Mr. Barlowe was expecting her to say, if he was expecting her to say anything at all. After a long moment, the old man turned and headed toward the kitchen, still leading Marisa by the hand.

"You also remind me a great deal of my grandson, Riley," continued Mr. Barlowe. "He's Leigh's cousin. Much like you, Marisa, and like Leigh as well, Riley is a very driven person, very hard-working, very motivated. Also, while I might be a bit biased here, I would say that Riley is a most charming young man, and quite handsome, too. I would very much like you to meet with him, Marisa. I think he would take a liking to you very quickly."

"Well, as long as I'm naked, I'll bet a lot of boys would."

"Marisa, I'm sure you know that's not what I meant."

The girl lowered her eyes, unable to think of anything to say.

"Honestly, I think that if you got to know him, Marisa, you would like him, too. He's very kind-hearted. Riley is nice to just about everybody, but he has a particular soft spot for girls. He's always going out of his way to do things for them."

"Sounds like the kind of guy who'd already be spoken for," observed Marisa.

"Actually, Riley doesn't have a girlfriend. He's ... a bit shy. Finds it difficult to ask girls for dates, despite just about everybody in our family trying to encourage him otherwise. Riley usually winds up being friends with the girls he knows."

Mr. Barlowe gazed at Marisa.

"I would like you to meet with him, Marisa," he said, in what almost sounded like a pleading tone of voice.

Marisa's eyes widened slightly. Well, this was different. Where was the mean, domineering disciplinarian she had been chafing under all day long? Suddenly so ... mushy. It looked like he was trying fix Marisa up with his grandson, and practically begging her to let him do it.

"I ... I think I would like that, Mr. Barlowe," said Marisa, with sincerity that surprised even her. She smiled. "Your grandson sounds very nice."

"Well, I'm sure you and Riley would find much in common. He's an athlete, like yourself. Riley is a pretty fair runner, though he mainly plays basketball and soccer."

"Really? I've played a little soccer, but it's not really my thing."

"Well, you'll find out soon enough. Riley should be arriving here within the hour."

Marisa instantly turned chalk-white.

"H-He's coming here?" she stammered. "He's coming here now?"

"It can't be helped, Marisa. I wasn't planning to leave this house today, but there's been an unexpected ... complication. So I called my daughter and asked her to send Riley over here to babysit you for a while, until I return."

"... Babysit me?" Marisa bristled. "Cool. Is he going to spank me, too, if I'm not a good little girl?"

Marisa's voice was dripping with sarcasm ... but Mr. Barlowe didn't seem to notice as he turned to her, his eyes lighting up.

"What a wonderful idea! I hadn't thought of instructing Riley to do that, but now that you mention it - Thank you very much, Marisa!"

Marisa cringed.

"He was right, I do have a big mouth," she muttered.

"Ah, just what I was looking for."

Mr. Barlowe took a long pink dishcloth out of a drawer. Marisa gazed at it in dismay.

"I sure hope that's clean," murmured Marisa, guessing what the cloth was for.

"Fresh out of the laundry," promised Mr. Barlowe.

"You're not really going to keep me gagged, are you?" asked Marisa, in a pleading voice, accompanied by equally pleading eyes, that Mr. Barlowe would never have imagined coming from the normally hard-headed girl.

"Marisa - "

"Please, Mr. Barlowe, please don't do this, I don't want to be gagged - "

"It's for your own good, Marisa." Mr. Barlowe put a finger to Marisa's lips to forestall her protests. "As I said before, it's discipline. You have to learn to mind your tongue."

Marisa lowered her head. As if moving of their own accord, her hands covered her bottom and rubbed it gently. After a long moment, she reluctantly nodded, and Mr. Barlowe smiled in satisfaction.

"Wait," said Marisa, holding up her hand as Mr. Barlowe began to bring the pink cloth to her lips. "Mr. Barlowe, could - could I possibly get dressed before your grandson arrives?"

"I'm afraid not, Marisa."

"But - "

"Marisa," said Mr. Barlowe firmly. "I said that if you would not wear clothing appropriate for a young lady, then you would wear nothing at all, and I fully intend to stand by that."

He paused.

"Of course," he went on, "if you don't wish to be here, as you are, when Riley arrives, then you are free to get dressed and leave my house at any time."

Marisa stood perfectly still, staring unblinkingly at Mr. Barlowe for over a minute. She felt torn.

Being naked in front of this old man had been bad enough. The last thing she felt she could take was to have to be naked in front of a boy her own age, too, not to mention whoever else Mr. Barlowe might be planning to bring to the house.

But as tempting as the idea of getting dressed and leaving the house was, it would mean giving in. Marisa wasn't sure if she would be able to look at herself in the mirror, knowing that she had allowed Mr. Barlowe to win their contest of wills. And besides, quitting now would mean that Marisa had endured everything she had that day for nothing.

Mr. Barlowe was holding his breath. He had not wanted to give the girl an out, but in some sense of fairness, he had felt an obligation to at least remind Marisa that she had the option to leave.

Finally, Marisa lowered her head, saying nothing. Mr. Barlowe breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he'd hoped, Marisa's pride would not allow her to throw in the towel.

"Very well, then," said Mr. Barlowe. "Riley should be here relatively soon."

He paused, and then added, "I think Riley is looking forward to meeting with you, Marisa."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll make a great first impression on him like this," she murmured, glancing down at her naked body.

"I don't think you need to worry about that," said Mr. Barlowe quietly. "Marisa, come here ... "

Marisa let out a soft whimper as Mr. Barlowe tied the pink cloth tightly in and around her mouth.

"There you go," he said, adjusting the gag a bit. He brushed her long brown hair aside, taking a moment to caress a few strands of it. He smiled as he said, "You know, young lady, you look so adorable with a gag in your mouth."

Marisa growled slightly.

"Especially pink."

Marisa growled more loudly.

"I see we still have a way to go. Now, Marisa ... "

Marisa reluctantly let Mr. Barlowe take her by the hand and lead her over to the kitchen sink.

"I want you to wash and dry this big pile of dishes in the sink, and then just clean the table and the counter, okay?"

Marisa hesitated, and then her shoulders slumped slightly as she nodded.

"Marisa." Mr. Barlowe took Marisa's wrists in his hands and locked eyes with her sternly. "If you so much as touch that gag, young lady, then you will be going over my lap for another spanking. Do you understand?"

Marisa visibly swallowed, and then nodded.

"If you wish to speak, just make a little noise or something and point to your gag. When, and if, I give you permission to speak, or Riley does while he's here, then you may remove your gag. But not before that. Do you understand?"

Marisa nodded again.

"Is there anything you wish to say right now?"

Marisa paused, and then shook her head. What was there to say, really?

"All right. Now, you don't want me to spank you again, do you, Marisa?"

Marisa shook her head again, this time with no hesitation at all.

"Good. You're going to be a good little girl for me now, and for Riley as well, aren't you, young lady?"

Mr. Barlowe detected a slight shudder through Marisa's body, but she simply nodded again.

"Excellent," said Mr. Barlowe, giving Marisa two affectionate pats on her rear, followed by a lingering squeeze. "Now, get to work, princess, and remember, leave that gag in."

* * * * *

"Hey, Riley!"

Riley had been walking up the path to his grandfather's house when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

"Hi, Pam, how are you?" Riley smiled, as just about every boy ever did when they were treated to the sight of the petite, curvaceous red-haired girl. Today, she was looking radiantly beautiful in a long, flowing light blue dress.

Riley and Pam were classmates. They weren't particularly close friends, but they had always gotten along well with each other.

"I'm all right," said Pam. She glanced at Riley's grandfather's house. "Um, how's Marisa doing?"

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah, Daniel told me."

Riley inwardly smiled. He figured that young Daniel Torres had to be the envy of all of his friends, most of the boys in his school, probably every guy who ever saw him and Pam together. A 15-year-old boy with a girlfriend who was more than two years older than him - not too far from three years older, in fact - and gorgeous besides.

"I was just about to go in there," said Riley, looking at the house. "My grandfather wants me to look after Marisa while he goes to pick up my cousin."

"Your cousin?" echoed Pam, her eyes wide. "You don't mean Leigh, do you?"

"I'm afraid I do."

"Your grandfather is bringing Leigh here? Today? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, I'm sure it's a bad idea, but you know how my grandfather is. Once he gets something in his head, there's no talking him out of it." Riley sighed. "Honestly, from what my mom tells me, it sounds like Marisa's had a pretty rough day in there already."

"Well, if Marisa was dressed the way she usually is, I doubt she made a great impression on your grandfather today."

"From what I hear, I don't think that's much of a concern." Riley looked at the ground, twisting one leg awkwardly.

Pam looked at him, puzzled, but chose not to press the matter.

"So, um, Riley, while you're looking after Marisa, what are you going to ... " Pam's voice trailed off.

"I don't know, Pam, I really don't." Riley sighed. "When Marisa sees me, she probably won't even know who I am."

"If you're lucky," said Pam with a mild snort. "Every time Marisa sees me, she does know who I am, and she treats me like something she just scraped off the bottom of her shoe."

After a moment, though, Pam sighed.

"I still don't think it's fair they're doing this," she said. "I think it was more Brad Wilder's fault than it was Marisa's."

"I don't know," said Riley with a helpless shrug. "But right now, I've got something more immediate to worry about."

"Good luck," said Pam sympathetically.

"Thanks, Pam."

Pam smiled and nodded before turning away.

As luck would have it, just a moment after Pam resumed her walk toward her boyfriend's house, a strong wind blew by, making Pam's normally loose-fitting dress cling very appealingly to her seemingly perfect curves.

Riley took a moment to admire the view before, with some reluctance, he turned back toward his grandfather's house. As he reached the front door, Riley wryly reflected on how it was too bad that Pam didn't play baseball ...

* * * * *

After washing and drying what seemed like her 30th plate ... Oh, that's right, it WAS her 30th plate - Just how long did Mr. Barlowe wait before washing his dishes? ... Marisa glanced at the clock on the wall. She could not believe it wasn't even noon yet. Marisa felt like she had aged about ten years since she walked in Mr. Barlowe's door that morning. It seemed like time was barely moving.

Constantly naked. Repeatedly tied up. Spanked again and again. Marisa couldn't think of a single inch of her body that hadn't had that old man's hands on it. Even when she was doing something as mundane as washing the dishes, Marisa could feel her humiliation threatening to consume her.

Wearing this gag in her mouth made her feel ridiculous, absurd ... More than that, it made her feel vulnerable, as if, being unable to speak, she had been stripped of her most important means ... of any girl's most important means of defending herself ... Gagged as she was, deprived of the power of speech, Marisa felt exposed.

And speaking of exposed ... There was nobody in the kitchen with her, but Marisa still felt as if a hundred eyes were exploring her naked body.

She shook her head, sighing through her gag as she turned off the sink. Marisa stood for a long moment, her hands gripping the sides of the sink, her head lowered. In spite of everything, she knew that she could not give up. Not now. She had come too far, she had endured too much.

Marisa took a deep breath. There was only a handful of hours - while it would seem like days to her, it was still only so many hours - and then she would be able to leave, with her head held high, having shown that old man that she was able to bear every torment he threw out at her. She just needed to get through ...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a raised voice from the living room.

"Riley, don't call me 'Gramps,'" said Mr. Barlowe in annoyance.

A moment later, Marisa heard him call out, "Marisa, dear, please bring your very lovely self out here."

Marisa grimaced.

Show time, she thought, glancing down at her very lovely, and very bare, self.

* * * * *

"Ah, Marisa, there you are. Still naked and gagged, that's a good girl."

Marisa let out a small whine as Mr. Barlowe pulled her hands behind her back and began tying her wrists together yet again.

"I'm sorry, young lady, but I've noticed that you seem to have a compulsive tendency to try to cover up your nakedness."

Marisa could not roll her eyes far enough to do this moment justice.

"There. Now, come, Riley's over here."

Blinking back tears, Marisa reluctantly let Mr. Barlowe lead her by the arm to where his grandson was waiting. As they approached him, Marisa recognized him right away - the very handsome, dark-haired, oddly familiar-looking boy she had seen in Mr. Barlowe's framed pictures earlier. Marisa still felt sure that she had seen him before, some place other than Mr. Barlowe's house. But it turned out that seeing him in person did not help Marisa place his face.

"Riley, Marisa here has been looking forward to meeting with you."

That was true, as far as it went. Marisa had genuinely been interested in meeting Mr. Barlowe's grandson ... This just wasn't quite the way she had in mind.

"Wow," breathed Riley. The teenaged boy felt as if he was frozen to the spot, his eyes seeming to move without his conscious control, sliding from Marisa's beautiful face down and back up her sublimely sexy body, laid unimaginably bare to his sight.

Marisa felt her face burning. She felt embarrassed beyond words to be standing, in her birthday suit, in front of the handsome young man, who was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and slacks. Being gagged and having her hands tied behind her back did nothing to alleviate her blushing.

She could not help feeling struck by how very cute Riley was, and found herself wishing that they could have met under any other circumstances but these.

"And, Marisa, I'm sure you can tell that Riley is very pleased to see you. Riley, don't be impolite, greet the young lady properly."

"Oh, right." Riley reddened, dropping his gaze. He took a moment to catch his breath before focusing his eyes on Marisa's face. "Um, hello, Marisa, it's good to see you - Um, I mean, it's nice to, uh - "

"I think that will do, Riley," said Mr. Barlowe with a sigh. "Marisa, please excuse my grandson. He gets a little tongue-tied around girls he finds appealing."

Riley's face reddened even more.

"Speaking of tongue-tied," continued Mr. Barlowe, "Riley, you'll have to excuse Marisa for not returning your greeting. As you can see, she's a bit speechless at the moment."

"I kind of figured she would be," said Riley with a small sigh.

"Well, it's a bit past time for me to leave," said Mr. Barlowe, glancing at his watch. He gently pushed Marisa toward his grandson as he said, "Riley, she's all yours for the time being. Feel free to have some fun with her if you like."

Marisa's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she visibly gulped.

"Uh, I think I'll pass on that, Gramps," said Riley, gazing nervously at Marisa's apprehensive eyes.

"Don't call me 'Gramps,'" said Mr. Barlowe testily.

"I'll just ... I'll take care of Marisa while you're going to pick up, Leigh," said Riley.

It didn't seem possible, but Marisa's eyes widened even more.

Leigh? thought Marisa in alarm. She was coming here, too?

"Very well," said Mr. Barlowe. "Be sure to maintain a firm hand on Marisa, my boy. You are to keep her naked and gagged at all times. She has to learn to mind."

"Got it."

As Mr. Barlowe stepped out the front door, he added, "Riley, I want you to take Marisa to the master bedroom upstairs and tie her up thoroughly. Blindfold her as well."

"What does she need to be blindfolded for?" asked Riley.

"It's just for good measure, Riley."

"All right, if you say so, Gramps."

"Don't call me - Oh, never mind. Just take care of Marisa, Riley. If she gives you any trouble, you give her a good spanking. I'm sure you can handle that. Lord knows you've been through it often enough with your sisters and your female cousins."

"No problem."

"Now, you're going to be a good little girl for Riley, right, Marisa?"

It was setting Marisa's teeth on edge when Mr. Barlowe spoke to her as if she was a child, but she managed to simply nod.

"That's a good little naked girl," said the old man, giving Marisa a pat on her head, followed by another affectionate squeeze and pat on her bottom before closing the door behind him.

Riley looked out the window, watching his grandfather's car depart, before turning to Marisa.

"Well," he said softly, "I guess it's just you and me now, Marisa."

Marisa looked at Riley for a moment before slowly nodding, her lips closing tightly over her gag. Still not knowing what this would mean for her, Marisa could feel her heart pounding ever louder as Riley took her by the arm and led her into the living room.

* * * * *

[Sue DeNym]

Chapter 3 (Continued)

"You look tired, Marisa, why don't you have a seat?"

Riley gently sat Marisa down on the soft sofa in the living room. He sat down next to her. She looked at him, still blushing intensely at being naked, unable to cover herself up, gagged and bound.

"This is a little awkward, Marisa," understated Riley.

He was looking at Marisa's face. She could tell that he was struggling not to let his eyes wander below her neck, which she felt very grateful for.

"You're even prettier than I remember you," said Riley softly. He made sure to look into Marisa's eyes as he said it.

Marisa felt herself blushing even more now. Riley had just confirmed that they had met before, but where?

"Look," said Riley, "I'm not supposed to take your gag off ... but if you don't tell my grandfather, I won't either. Deal?"

Marisa nodded eagerly.

"Okay." Riley untied the pink cloth and gently pulled it off of Marisa's head. "There you go."

"Oh, thank you," breathed Marisa.

"Your voice is as pretty as I remember it, too," said Riley, rubbing his neck self-consciously.

Marisa was blushing again.

"Nobody's ever told me they like the sound of my voice before," she remarked.

"Is there a reason for that?" asked Riley.

Marisa's face reddened once more, but this time for a very different reason. She looked down, not saying anything.

"I never would have imagined that I'd ever be able to see you this way, Marisa."

"We have met before," said Marisa, looking up at Riley again.

"Yes, we have."

"Could you tell me where?" Marisa's curiosity was really getting to her now.

Riley hesitated, and then shook his head.

"It's not really that important, Marisa. We only met once, just kind of briefly."

He looked squarely at Marisa.

"I wouldn't expect you to remember, anyway. You, uh, you don't really seem to notice people, do you, Marisa?"

Marisa stiffened.

"Look," she said, her voice becoming sharp, "if the only reason you took my gag off was so that you could lecture me - "

"No," said Riley. "I'm sorry, Marisa, I was just ... It was an observation."

Marisa looked down.

"I suppose it wasn't an unfair one," she admitted. She hesitated, and then decided to ask about something that was really agitating her.

"Is Leigh really coming here?"

"Uh, yeah, my grandfather should be picking her up soon."

"You, uh, you know that your cousin hates me, right? I swear, I really don't know why, but she does."

"I am aware," said Riley, wincing slightly.

"Oh, God, Leigh is going to have a field day when she gets here." Marisa was shivering now. "She'll be lording it over me that I have to be naked."

"Marisa ... " Riley shook his head. "Oh, Marisa, I really don't think you need to worry about that."

Marisa looked at him quizzically, but decided not to press the matter. She could only hope that he was right.

"How have you been holding up?" asked Riley. "I know what my grandfather can be like, and from what my mom told me before I came over here, it sounds like you've had a pretty rough day here today."

"'Rough' is one word for it," murmured Marisa. She drew in a breath. "I guess I've been holding up okay. Your grandfather isn't forcing me to stay here. I can leave any time I want ... I just don't want to give in. I feel like I can tough this out."

Riley nodded in understanding.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "As soon as my grandfather gets back, we'll be making lunch, but if you're hungry right now, I could - "

"I'm not hungry." Marisa shivered again. "I am a little cold, though."

"Well, I think we can do something about that," said Riley thoughtfully.

"Like giving me something to wear?" asked Marisa, raising her eyebrows.

"Actually," said Riley, gazing into Marisa's eyes, "I was thinking of a different way to keep you warm."

Marisa tilted her head as she stared at Riley, her lips parting slightly.

"Well," said Riley, in an apologetic tone, "I, uh, I didn't want to insult you by not at least trying."

Marisa stared at Riley for a moment longer, and then she smiled at him, giggling slightly. He smiled back at her. She wasn't sure why, but she was finding herself warming up to him.

"Your grandfather ... He, uh, he didn't seem to feel any need to come up with excuses for putting his hands on me," said Marisa ruefully.

"I'm sorry about that," said Riley sincerely.

"Well, I think it's kind of a pride thing," said Marisa. "You see, I sort of ... challenged him ... this morning. I said I could handle any punishment he could dish out to me. I'm pretty sure that your grandfather enjoys groping me, but mainly he's just trying to get me to crack."

Marisa looked down.

"He doesn't know it, but he came pretty close to breaking me a couple of times. If he had kept groping me a little longer, I would have given in."

Marisa blinked. Why was she telling him this ... ?

Riley was gazing at her sympathetically.

"You know, I knew there was more to you than what you showed me before," he said quietly.

"Can't you tell me where we met?" asked Marisa, almost pleading.

Riley was silent.

"I'm still going to have to tie you up," he said, placing his hand very gently on Marisa's arm again.

Marisa sighed and nodded, resigned to her fate.

"Come on," said Riley quietly, getting the girl and himself to their feet and leading her up the stairs.

* * * * *

"Can't I have something to wear?" asked Marisa as she sat down on Mr. Barlowe's bed once again. "Anything?"

"I'm afraid not," said Riley. "My grandfather's instructions were very clear. You can't wear anything for the rest of the day ... and besides ... "

Riley gave Marisa a very sheepish smile.

"I kind of like you this way," he said.

"I'll just bet you do," said Marisa wryly. "Riley ... Could you at least not ogle me? It's so embarrassing."

"I'm sorry." Riley had been trying not to let his eyes wander over Marisa's body, but it wasn't easy. "It's just that ... You're so beautiful, and so naked ... It's a natural reaction."

"I guess I can understand," said Marisa.

After a moment, a mischievous smile played on Marisa's lips. She leaned back, looking Riley up and down, before remarking, "After all, if you were naked in front of me, Riley, I'd be looking for sure, too."

Riley's face instantly turned three or four different shades of red. Marisa's smile deepened. She felt happy to have made Riley blush for a change, and besides, he really was cute ...

"Hold still," said Riley, taking hold of Marisa's bound hands and pulling the knots free.

Marisa sighed as she rubbed her wrists. Riley picked up a soft white silk cloth he had gotten from a dresser.

"My grandfather just said I had to tie you up," said Riley. "He didn't say it had to be something tight, or even all that secure. I'll tie you up with this, it'll be a lot easier on you."

"Thank you," said Marisa gratefully.

A moment later, she was letting out a small sigh as Riley bound her wrists with the silk cloth. This wasn't the first time she'd been tied up in this room, but somehow it felt very different ... and, somehow, more appealing ... when it was Riley than his grandfather ...

"They look so pretty," said Marisa, gazing down at her bound wrists. "Where did you learn to tie a girl up?"

Marisa smiled as Riley blushed again.

Not one to miss pressing an advantage, Marisa continued, "Your grandfather didn't make any secret of how much he liked having me tied up ... Are you enjoying it, too, Riley? I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. I mean, I'm tied up, I'm naked, all alone in this big house with a boy I hardly know ... I feel very vulnerable this way, even though I'm sure you're a perfect gentleman."

Just as Marisa hoped, Riley's blush deepened.

"I, uh, I really should finish this," murmured Riley.

He took two more silk cloths and knelt down on the floor in front of the bed, binding Marisa's legs at the ankles, and then at her knees. It did not escape Marisa's attention that Riley seemed to be having trouble catching his breath as his hands repeatedly brushed against Marisa's long, bare legs.

Moments later, Riley seemed to be having even more difficulty breathing as he tied a long cloth around Marisa's upper body, trying his best not to let his eyes linger on her bare breasts right in front of him.

"Marisa," said Riley, sitting down next to her on the bed. He sounded relieved, a stark contrast to how most teenaged boys would feel at being finished binding a gorgeous naked girl's body.

"Listen," he said. "I'm going to have to gag and blindfold you, too, but I think that can wait."

"Not that I'm complaining, but why wait?" asked Marisa.

"I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk."

"And the blindfold?"

"You have really pretty eyes," answered Riley.

Marisa felt a shiver of annoyance that Riley was making her blush again, instead of the other way around. But she couldn't help it. Here she was, totally naked, and this boy chose her eyes, of all things, to compliment.

"Do you wear contact lenses?" asked Riley. "You know, I remember, when we first met, I was thinking that your eyes seemed too beautiful to be real."

Okay, this was getting a bit much.

"Dial it back a little, Riley," Marisa advised him.

"Sorry."

Riley was looking at his hands. Marisa could tell that he was trying to frame his thoughts into words, and at the same time, trying to draw up the courage to say what he wanted to say, whatever it was ...

Hoping to lighten the mood a little, Marisa decided to try teasing Riley again.

"You know, I don't usually let a guy tie me up on the first date," she remarked.

But this time, Riley didn't blush. Instead, he looked up at Marisa, locking eyes with her intently.

"It's funny you should say that," he murmured. "I actually asked you for a date once."

Marisa froze.

"Y-You did?" she asked nervously.

"Yes, and you turned me down."

"Please tell me I was nice about it," said Marisa, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.

Riley coughed lightly.

"Well, actually ... "

"Oh ... " Marisa groaned, closing her eyes tightly shut as she lowered her head.

"I guess I shouldn't expect you to remember, Marisa. You must have guys asking you out all the time."

"I do." Marisa flushed. "I hope that doesn't sound conceited."

"It sounds honest. But you really can't remember me?"

Marisa tilted her head, gazing at Riley's face, trying with all her might to place him ...

"I'm sorry," said Marisa finally, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. She shook her head as she added, "I don't even know why I would turn you down. You seem really sweet, and so cute."

Marisa smiled as Riley finally blushed again.

"Well, you definitely didn't think so then," he said after a moment. "Although I really did like you."

"Riley, please, just tell me where we met," said Marisa, half-needing and half-dreading to know just how much trouble she was in.

Riley gave Marisa a sad smile.

"Well, for what it's worth, Marisa ... I still think you ran a great race."

Marisa stared at Riley. Her eyes grew round, and her mouth fell open, as the last piece finally fell into place.

...

"I just wanted to say congratulations." The teenaged boy sounded nervous. "You ran a great race, Marisa."

"Thanks." Marisa smirked. "I wish I could say the same to you, but I don't like lying."

The boy reddened slightly, as a wave of small snickering came from the teenagers nearby.

"Well, I'll work on it, and hopefully I'll get better," he said. "Um, listen, Marisa, I was just wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go see a movie or something some time."

Marisa's eyes widened, and she let out a piercing laugh. The boy visibly winced.

"You expect me to go out with YOU?" said Marisa, chuckling.

"I, uh - "

"Gee, sorry, pal, but if you can't even keep up with a girl on the track, then I'm not about to expect you to keep up anywhere else, either," said Marisa dryly, giving the red-faced boy a meaningful look.

The boy's face turned even redder, as the giggles and sniggering among the teenagers became louder.

"I'm sorry," said the boy after a moment. "I'm afraid I made a mistake here."

"Yeah, loser, you made a real big mistake, all right, thinking I'd ever go out with you," snorted Marisa.

"No." The boy fixed a level gaze on Marisa. "The mistake I made was thinking that you might actually be worth going out with."

...

Marisa felt like her entire world was caving in around her.

"Oh, My God." Marisa's voice was barely louder than a whisper as she stared at Riley. "Y-You're the guy from the track meet last year ... "

Riley's only response was to gaze back silently at Marisa's anguished eyes. After a long moment, he got up and quietly closed the bedroom door.

"Don't worry, Marisa," said Riley softly, as he approached the tied up, naked, and shivering girl. "I will take good care of you ..."