TAILS FROM THE CRYPT
The Antique

by Hawkwood

Martina thought that one of the most fun things about traveling far from home was the
opportunity to prowl through little foreign shops. This one, she thought, was unquestionably the
most odd little place she had ever been in! There were the usual curios, about what a tourist
would expect, but here and there she found things she'd never seen before. Some were humorous,
like the statuette of the man whose nearsighted dog was peeing on his leg. Others were oddly
frightening, like the pentagram with the goat's head that looked positively alive.

But the things that caught her attention most often were frankly (and embarrassingly) sexual. She
was interested in the wooden book that had pop-up characters having sex in odd positions, but
the antique cast iron bank was the oddest. When a coin was deposited in the slot, a naked woman
bent over and a man behind her lashed a stick across her rump. Martina was a bit frightened by
the bank, but it was also oddly fascinating.

The fat old woman behind the cash register assured her, in the manner of salesmen everywhere,
that all of the store's merchandise was of genuine antiquity. Some of the items, she cackled, were
said to be cursed, but she couldn't verify that.

Martina didn't believe in curses, but she did believe in junk. Most of the stuff was junk of the
first order, and grossly over priced. But here and there she found things she thought might be
worth the money. In the end she bought about a hundred dollars worth of gifts for various
friends. Among her purchases was the odd little bank. She couldn't say quite why she had bought
that, but it was cheap, and she thought it just MIGHT be a real antique.

That night, back in her hotel, Martina examined her purchases. She was increasingly sure that the
bank was more valuable than the little store had suspected. As closely as she examined the thing,
she could not figure out how it worked. And the two figures, she thought, were remarkably
lifelike. The man seemed to be taking lascivious joy in his task, and the woman, if the truth were
told, didn't seem unhappy about it either. Well, the old toy makers had been famous for intricate
workmanship. This was no kid's toy, obviously, but adults had always liked intricate gadgets too.
She suspected it was at least a hundred years old, and maybe more. She left it on the table and
went to bed.

In the morning, her last day of vacation, she had treated herself to breakfast in her room. After a
hot shower, she looked disdainfully at the travel clothes she would have to wear for her eighteen
hour flight home, and chose simply to wrap a flowing silk robe around her nudity. The waiter had
wheeled in a tray as she sat on her bed, brushing her long blonde hair. She knew this would make
her large breasts jiggle under the robe, but what the Hell, give the waiter a little treat.

He showed her the bottle of champagne she had ordered, and she let him open it to pour her a
glass. It was delicious, and she drained the glass while he set the table for her meal. Holding the
empty, she accepted a refill before moving to the table to be seated. When she was working on
her third glass, the waiter started to remove the tray.

Noticing the little bank, the waiter had laughed and asked if he could put a coin in it. Martina had
no objection. The man had extracted a bit of change and dropped it in the slot. The woman bent
over and received her surprisingly hard cut from the man's stick. The waiter laughed and noted
that it certainly looked like fun.

Surprised, Martina realized she agreed with him. Something about the lewd little bank had struck
a chord of arousal within her. When the stick snapped into the bent buttocks, it sounded to her
more like an impact with flesh than cast iron. And while it had never been one of her pleasures
before, she thought she would like to find out why the woman looked so happy about her painful
submission.

When the waiter looked at her, they both knew that something had changed in the room. She had
risen and stepped into the circle of his arms. When his hands moved to cup her buttocks under
the thin material of her robe, she had gasped with pleasure. She kissed him and her tongue made
it a very passionate embrace. Pulling back, the waiter had asked if Martina wanted to be spanked.
She heard herself tell him no, not unless he intended to do a serious job of it.

Rather breathlessly, she'd let him strip her robe off. He admired her nudity, and she had no
objection to his hands cupping her breasts. Quickly, he seated himself on the bed to draw her
across his knees. As she felt his hand on her bare rump, she told him again not to feel any need to
be lenient.

Enthusiastically, the waiter had begun to slap Martina's rump. Suddenly she knew why the cast
iron woman seemed pleased by her fate. The flesh and blood woman felt each of the stinging
swats like a lover's caress. She dug her toes into the carpet and lifted her buttocks to meet his
hand. As her bottom grew hotter and more painful she had squirmed in delight, demanding that
he spank her even more severely. He had laughingly complained that his hand was beginning to
cramp. Her voice harsh, she promised to give him head if he applied another dozen, as hard as he
could, to her ass.

Shaking his head, the waiter had slapped her reddened bottom another twelve times, marvelling
at her eager acceptance. She was obviously sorry when he finally stopped, but she kept her word.
Kneeling in front of him, she had quickly opened his trousers and liberated his erection. Her lips
and tongue had worked enthusiastically on him, and already aroused, he had exploded into her
throat in only moments.

Straightening his clothes, he seemed a little embarrassed by his behavior. He gathered the dishes
and left quickly, barely remembering to get Martina to sign the check.

He was no sooner out the door than she was physically ill. After a long hot shower, she wondered
how she could have so humiliated herself. She could hardly blame the waiter, as she had
practically attacked him. She decided it had been the champagne. She ought to know better, she
thought, than to drink so early in the morning. She'd thought it would be a nice treat for the last
day of her vacation, but now she thought, ruefully rubbing herself behind, she was going to have
to endure an eighteen hour plane ride sitting on a very sore rump and she had nobody to blame
but herself.

Some days later, unpacking in her apartment, she came across the little bank with the waiter's
coin inside. She looked for a trap door that would let her get the coin out, but there didn't seem to
be one. She wondered how people had used the bank. Unlike a ceramic pig, you couldn't just bust
it open. Shrugging, she put the bank on her bedroom chest.

She'd had a little party for her friends the next week, to show off pictures of her vacation and give
away her gifts. She pondered putting the bank out, but decided it might be embarrassing. It stayed
on the chest. The party went well; her friends enjoyed the gifts, especially the slightly naughty
ones, and she felt very happy to be back home.

As the party was winding down, her friend Bill (whom she often wished was more than just a
friend) had asked for directions to the john. She'd pointed him through her bedroom. When he
didn't return, she'd gone to check and discovered him admiring the little bank. Laughing, he
dropped a nickel in the slot and watched the woman take her cut. Martina had laughed with him,
but it sounded hollow even to her. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be
spanked by Bill.

She told him that the woman on the bank certainly seemed easy to persuade. Bill had turned to
her with a wide grin and said that women like that were hard to find. Maybe not so hard, she
answered. To his raised eyebrow, she turned her back on him. Bending forward, she looked back
over her shoulder and asked if he had another nickel?

He produced another coin, dropped it into the bank and came to her. She made no objection
when he lifted her skirt over back, and only gasped when he lowered her panties to her knees. He
told her he didn't have a cane. Breathing heavily, she suggested he use his belt. Willingly, he
pulled it out of its loops and took the buckle in his hand. Looping the belt around his hand a time
or two, he swung a length of leather about two feet long and half an inch wide against the offered
buttocks.

It was a tentative lick, sort of a joke between good friends. It stung, but not badly. Well, she told
him, she guessed that was a nickel kind of spanking, but did he have a quarter?

The implication of the question was not lost on her friend. Eagerly, he dropped a quarter into the
bank, and when she wriggled in response to the snapping sound of its mechanism, he applied a
much harder cut of the belt to Martina's ass. It felt like a swipe of very hot water on her flesh, and
she squirmed at the pain of it. Still trying to sound amused, she told him there was a special
today: six licks for a dollar. Fishing out his wallet, he dropped two dollar bills on her dresser and
began to whip her with the belt.

Her buttocks began to squirm immediately, feeling the pain much worse than the spanking from
the waiter. At the same time, she felt the most amazing arousal. The worse it hurt, the more
excited she got. As she had encouraged the waiter, she told John to be merciless. He certainly had
no trouble complying. She suspected that he owed her at least another dollar before he quit, but
she didn't care. And when he'd opened his trousers and entered her from behind, she had loved
the feel of her hot buttocks pressed against his belly. She'd had two very satisfying orgasms as he
fucked her.

Fortunately, none of the other guests had missed them. And if anyone noticed that the hostess
walked with an odd gait, and had tears in her eyes, they didn't mention it. When the guests were
all gone, Martina was horrified. This was the second time she'd done this, and this time, she
couldn't even blame it on champagne. Stone sober, she'd actually encouraged John, one of the
nicest guys she knew, to whip her with his belt. It was bad enough that her ass felt like she'd sat
on a bar-b-q grill, but she was sure that Bill must think she was a shameless tramp. She HAD to
get a grip on herself.

It occurred to her that both her troubles had come after someone dropped a coin into the bank!
The memory of the fat old woman telling her some of the items were cursed flashed into her
mind. She didn't believe in curses, but that damn bank was obviously a trouble maker. She
promised to get rid of it the next day.

An antique dealer had willingly bought the bank, for a small profit, and Martina decided it had all
been a bad dream. She returned home and got a nasty shock when she found the bank still sitting
on her bedroom chest. Thinking she'd made a mistake, she took it back to the dealer. He didn't
remember her, but offered to buy the bank again. It didn't do any good. When she got home, it
was waiting for her.

Puzzled, she almost didn't hear her doorbell. When she opened it, a very penitent Bill appeared
with a box of roses. He wanted to apologize, he said for his behavior. He didn't know what came
over him. She had been touched by his obvious unhappiness, and insisted it was all her fault
really, she just must have had too much to drink. (She knew better, of course, but it seemed like a
good excuse.) She'd invited him in and gone to put the roses in a vase.

When she returned to the front room, she was horrified to see the bank on the table and Bill
admiring it like he'd never seen it before. Before she could stop him, he put a coin in it. As the
cast iron woman bent to be whipped, Martina felt her own buttocks crawling in anticipation.

Bill had looked up smiling and complimented her on her superbly camp decor. The bank, he said,
was really funny, and kind of exciting too. With a feeling of inevitability, she heard herself tell
him she found it inspirational. He smiled and said it DID look like the couple was having fun.
Sighing inwardly, she asked who wouldn't be having fun with a man with gumption enough to
warm a backside so obviously wanting a good hard spanking? Bill's eyes had widened and he had
stood and moved to her, taking her into a passionate embrace which she returned eagerly.

Like the waiter, his hands wandered to her rump. He told her that he'd always dreamed of
spanking her delectable bottom. He couldn't believe th at she wanted the same. Unbuttoning her
blouse and pulling his head down to her breasts, she told him she had wondered when he was
going to get around to putting her over his knees.

It had been a very nice spanking she supposed, as such things went. Bill had been as gentle as
possible, given their mutual excitement, and hadn't torn her clothes anymore than absolutely
necessary in getting her naked. The spanking had not been nearly as painful as his belt, of course,
but much more so than the waiter's effort. Bill was stronger, a regular handball player with
VERY tough hands, and he had by his own admission been waiting a long time for this
opportunity. She hadn't needed to encourage him; he was more than willing to spank her as hard
as he could for as long as he could.

And as she was now recognizing as normal, she had grown very aroused as her buttocks grew hot
and red. Bill had been delighted by her enthusiasm when he finally wore out his right hand. She
discovered that Bill was a surprisingly competent lover (assuming it wasn't just the influence of
the bank). He kept her at a peak of rapture, just short of orgasm, for an incredible length of time,
until she had begged him to put her over the edge. He'd done that skillfully and lovingly, holding
back his own release until he was sure of hers. The pain of a spanking, she decided, was a lot
easier to take when the spanker was someone she really liked.

Bill had been embarrassed again afterwards, and Martina was sorry for him. It had certainly not
been his fault, and she did not want him to blame himself. Still naked, she had kissed him wetly
and told him she had enjoyed it thoroughly (not altogether untrue) and hoped he would find the
time to repeat the event in the future. (THAT, she thought, was a lie, and she wondered why she
had said it.) He left a little happier, if still puzzled about what had happened.

Shaking herself, Martina had immediately grabbed up the bank and taken it to her room.
Emptying her cedar chest, she put it on the bottom and covered it with her out of season
sweaters. If she could not get rid of it, maybe she could put it out of circulation.

A blessedly uneventful week later, Martina had come home from work early to meet the washer
repairman. Her washing machine was not working. He took it apart, removed and replaced a
small flexible rubber hose and assured her it was now in working condition. She went to her
purse to make out a check for him while he waited. As she brought him the check, she was
horrified to see the little bank on the table by the door, and the repairman admiring it. She almost
choked as he dropped a quarter into the slot and laughed at the resulting action.

To Martina, the grind, whir, snap sounds were like the toll of doom. Smiling, she asked the
repairman whether he'd ever seen anything like that? Laughing, he assured her he had not. She
had wondered out loud where one would obtain a cane like the one the little man used. The
repairman laughed again. Pulling the discarded rubber hose from his pocket, he surmised that it
ought to be an effective substitute. Unbuttoning her blouse, Martina told him that perhaps they
should test his hypothesis.

A rubber hose, she discovered, was indeed an effective implement. Naked and bent across the
back of an easy chair, her buttocks grew intimately familiar with the intense sting of rubber when
applied vigorously to flesh. A portion of her rational mind told her that she would avoid the
bruises Bill's belt had left, but at the cost of a much more painful initial result. And of course, a
much more intense arousal.

Her squirming buttocks had a not unexpected effect on her partner. He was unable to deliver
more than perhaps two dozen of the burning licks of the hose before he decided another pastime
would be more entertaining. Martina had no objection at all to the intrusion of his erect organ
into her sex. The repairman had found his client very receptive indeed. Her body shook in ecstasy
several moments before he managed to achieve his own climax.

Replacing his clothing, he admired the still squirming and well striped buttocks that had not yet
been able to rise from the chair. Shaking his head in amazement at the day's strange turns, he
managed to remember the check, and let himself out of the apartment.

Martina was in tears for the rest of the afternoon. The Goddam bank! How in HELL had it gotten
on that table? She was not nearly as sure as she had been that curses were mere superstition.
Somewhat desperate, she had taken the bank to the large dumpster into which the apartment
dwellers were expected to put their garbage. She had thrown it well back into the refuse, hoping
never to see it again. But when she returned to her apartment, she could only sigh in
disappointment and resignation as she found it sitting proudly on her living room table once
more.

It seemed that she could neither get rid of the dreadful object, nor prevent it from causing her
trauma. She had cried herself to sleep that night, frightened by the prospect of her future. Then
about three in the morning, she awoke suddenly.

She DID, she suddenly realized, have SOME control over what was happening to her. Logic told
her that her only course was to channel the bank's effects into the least objectionable results. If
she MUST be spanked, and it seemed that she had little choice, at least she wanted to choose her
partners. She called Bill.

He was startled by her invitation, but appeared at her door thirty minutes later. His eyes widened
when she opened the door wearing a silk robe that rather obviously had nothing under it but
Martina. When she asked him if he had a quarter, he seemed to know what she had in mind.
Bemused, he dropped a coin into the bank, now sitting in a place of honor on her table. His eyes
widened with pleasure as she discarded her robe, presenting him with a naked and obviously
willing victim.

Bill proposed to her later, somewhere in between her first spanking (three dozen REALLY
enthusiastic swats across his knees) and the dose of his belt (only a dozen, but applied with the
full length of the belt) that resulted from another quarter rattling into the bank. When her ass was
burning worse than she ever remembered, she had accepted his proposal with her lips and tongue
on his cock.

Three days later, a fidgeting and blushing Martina promised to love, honor and obey, and Bill,
trying to hide an erection, made pledges of his own.

Their marriage was very ha ppy. Martina thought her husband was really a nice guy, polite, loving
and helpful, and if he really enjoyed whipping her bare bottom, well, she couldn't blame him.
With that damned bank in the house, she couldn't expect anything else. She realized that she no
longer got upset over a spanking either. Giving in to the inevitability of the situation, she decided
she couldn't fight it anyway. All Bill had to do was drop a quarter in that incredible bank and she
was taking off her clothes in eager anticipation of her next sore bottom. And after she had been
well warmed, she never had cause to complain about her treatment. Bill could send her into
exhausted ecstasy nearly every time he fucked her.

For the most part, as she'd hoped, the bank seemed content to let Bill be its sole depositor. There
were no more of the incidents like that with the repairman. So long as Bill supplied a coin at
least two or three times a week, the bank let her alone. For the most part.

Of course, there had been the infamous poker party. Bill had three friends in to play cards one
night, a simple affair which she had approved of. About midnight, she had brought a tray of
drinks from the kitchen, only to find the men taking turns putting coins in the bank and laughing
at the cast iron antics. Returning to the kitchen,, Martina had stripped herself naked, then put on a
frilly apron which concealed very little before returning to serve the drinks.

She was welcomed eagerly by the men, especially when she asked if they liked her bank.
Feigning indignation, Bill had said she was naughty for teasing their friends in this manner.
Shrugging, she said that perhaps she deserved a good spanking, like the woman on the bank.

It was promptly decided, with her encouragement, that she should be spanked after the game by
each of the men, with winners giving her two dozen good swats, and losers twice that many. It
was perhaps the only poker game ever where a losing hand was greeted with enthusiasm. After
another dozen hands, her husband and one other man were winners, and dutifully applied their
two dozen each to her bottom. Then the eager losers claimed their consolation prize, and Martina
had endured two very lengthy and VERY enthusiastic spankings. Her buttocks were hot and sore,
and squirming lewdly during most of these applications. No one had complained about the
hospitality. All agreed it was a very delightful party.

Finally left alone with her husband, Martina's eyes had widened as Bill dropped another coin into
the bank and pulled his belt from its loops. Eagerly she had run to the bedroom, dropping her
apron in her wake. Kneeling on the bed, she lifted her already reddened bottom as he entered, the
belt swinging loosely from his fist. There had been no need for conversation. They both knew
what had to happen next.

Martina assumed that the belt would be more painful when applied to a rump already tender, but
she was surprised at how MUCH more painful. She had gasped and writhed to each impact of the
belt, offering her husband an increasingly lewd dance of invitation. After no more than a dozen
or so (neither of them kept count) Bill had dropped the belt and his pants.

He took her from behind, which she enjoyed, but he withdrew almost immediately. Startled, she
felt him nudging her rectum. Widening herself, she gasped as he lodged his erection up her ass. It
seemed to her that there was no new sensation that she did not enjoy when the bank had been fed.
It took only a moment for her to begin to tremble in ecstasy at this new technique. She felt herself
spasm around him, and presently his answering explosion proved his enjoyment of her efforts.

But events like the poker party were rare, however, and for the most part, Martina's married life
settled into a routine. A couple of times a week, Bill would come home from work with THAT
expression on his face, and she would begin to tingle. Sometime during the evening, she knew,
he would look at her significantly and drop a coin into the bank. Then things would get exciting.

More often than not, she spent the best part of those evenings across his knees. As he told her
frequently, there weren't many things he enjoyed more than his hand and her buttocks growing
hot together. But Bill never grew entirely predictable. Often enough to keep her guessing, he
would pull his belt from his pants, or prowl through his desk looking for his eighteen inch
wooden ruler, and on those evenings, Martina knew she was in for a very painful hour or so.

And as she now knew and expected, the more severely she was spanked, the more ecstatic would
be the sex that followed. Bill never failed to sent her into waves of rapture, but after a paddling or
a dose of his belt, she was incredibly receptive to sex, in any form. She had surprised herself by
having a rather spectacular orgasm with her lips around his erection one evening when her
buttocks had been nearly blistered by the ruler.

Nor were all of their encounters at his initiation. On several occasions when he had seemed
troubled by events at work, she had successfully distracted him by appearing in some lewd
costume with a coin in her hand. He particularly favored her in a garterbelt, hose and heels, or in
the black lace corset he had given her for her birthday. With her breasts and buttocks bare, she
would watch wide eyed as he deposited her coin in the bank.

She noticed that when she was the initiator of the event, he was almost never satisfied with a
simple spanking. Her erotic lingerie was almost always grounds for a paddling, or a lengthy
application of his belt. Far from being a drawback, she saw this as an incentive.

Then one day Bill had brought her a present. She inquired of the occasion, but he merely said it
was because he loved her. She opened the long, narrow box to find a braided leather riding crop!
Since neither of them ever went near a horse if they could avoid it, she could only assume that
the crop was intended for use in a more personal manner.

She had looked up to see him displaying a quarter, and her breathing had accelerated. He went to
the bank, and then a look of consternation had come over his face. The coin would not go into
the slot! The bank, having accepted a surprising number of deposits since she had bought it, was
apparently full.

She was devastated by the look of frustration on her husband's face, and then realized it was
mirrored on her own. She was as disappointed as he was when no effort seemed sufficient to
force the coin into the bank.

And then she understood.

Rising from her chair, she had begun to unbutton her blouse. Bill watched wide-eyed as she shed
each garment, unhurried, but not deliberately teasing. She could tell from the bulge in his trousers
that he appreciated her bared breasts, but was substantially more excited when her panties finally
slid to the floor. Picking up the riding crop and smiling, she crossed the room to him.

They didn't really need the bank anymore, she observed, unless HE wasn't persuaded of the
pleasures of whipping her. For her part, she said, she had learned the lesson the bank was trying
to teach her. From now on, Bill could save his quarters. Her ass was his, she said, to do with as
he pleased, and if he didn't keep her buttocks warm enough, she would invite his friends over for
another poker party.

She kissed him then, her tongue eager in his mouth, and handed him the crop.

They were interrupted by a jingling noise and turned in surprise to see the side of the bank fall
open. An amazing number of coins fell out onto the table. Having emptied itself, the bank
snapped shut once more. Laughing, Bill had led his bride into the bedroom, the crop tapping
lightly against her rump.

In the morning, over a breakfast which Martina ate standing up and naked, they talked about the
bank. There was no reason to keep it any longer, she said. It was time to put it back in circulation,
and let someone else discover its "special properties." Bill was a little reluctant to see it go, but
understood her point. He offered to replace it with a more conventional piggy bank, since he
rather enjoyed the ritual of depositing a coin when he wanted his wife's bare bottom over his
knees.

Laughing, they worked out a system: loose change for a spanking, a dollar bill or two for
anything more serious. Rubbing her VERY tender bottom ruefully, Martina said the crop ought
to be worth five bucks at least. Once a month they would empty the bank and use the proceeds
for a dinner out, and maybe a show if Bill had been horny enough often enough during the
month.

Bill made her turn so he could admire the dark, swollen weals on her still squirming buttocks.
Smiling, he promised her at least one date a month with the crop, for which he would deposit not
five, but ten dollars. He would, of course, expect to get his money's worth. Wriggling in
anticipation, Martina told him that last night's two dozen seemed like a very effective number.

Somewhere during the discussion, the mood changed. Breakfast forgotten, the lovers had found
more compelling things to do than eat, or talk. Bent across the table, dishes pushed aside,
Martina welcomed her husband first into her cunt, from which she experienced a very delightful
orgasm, then up her ass, where his enthusiastic efforts had left her almost unconscious with
rapture.

That afternoon, walking with a distinctive and uncomfortable gait, she had sold the little bank to
a curio store, not too unlike the one in which she had purchased it. When she returned home, she
no longer expected to find it waiting for her. It no longer needed to return, she thought. It had
done its job very well. She only hoped the next owner would appreciate it as much as she did.

Copyright 1997 Hawkwood


 

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