TAILS FROM THE CRYPT
The Book
by Hawkwood

The little, moldy-smelling store in Whitechapel was supposed to be full of old, used books, but this one was REALLY old! The edges of the yellowed pages looked like real parchment, lamb's skin parchment, not the paper imitation. Martin couldn't quite identify the cover. It was obviously real leather, but it didn't seem like cow hide, or pig hide either. It had one of those old fashioned locking hasps, and the note stuck to the cover said there was no key.

It also said the book could be bought for five pounds three. A Hell of a bargain, he thought. Any book this old ought to be worth several times that amount. He wondered what it was, but there was no name on the cover, just some molded-looking curlyques that meant absolutely nothing.

He was reasonably certain that the price was wrong, probably taken off of some other book by mistake. Fully expecting to be rebuffed, he asked the man behind the counter if the price was right? The clerk took a quick look at the book, obviously insulted that his judgement should be questioned. Irritated, he raised one eyebrow and assured Martin that the price was indeed correct.

Martin quickly pulled a fiver and a one from his wallet and paid, thinking he was probably taking advantage of the store, but after all, he HAD asked. He took his change and left quickly, before the clerk could change his mind.

Daphne was none too pleased when he brought the book into the flat. She had objected more than once to his habit of spending more than they could afford on his odd hobby. He had promised her that someday his "smelly old books" would be worth a lot of money, but she hadn't seen any of it yet. All she got was overdue bills.

Nor was she happy that he seemed more interested in the book than in listening to her complaints about her day. She had a tendency, Martin thought, to get uncomfortably shrill when she was angry. He tried to explain to her that this book was different, obviously valuable, but she just made some more angry noises and went off to the bedroom in a huff, telling him he could fetch his own dinner.

Martin sighed and lowered himself into his desk chair, wondering how his marriage had gone so sour. The former Daphne Fairbairn had been (still was, he admitted) a particularly beautiful young woman, with a truly spectacular pair of tits that looked too heavy to stand up as firmly as they did. Her ass and legs were likewise delightful, and of course, her long curly mane of red hair certainly did not make her any less interesting. The first time he'd seen her (at a church social yet!) he'd had an immediate fantasy about having her clothes off.

Later that evening, in his flat, she had surprised him by allowing him to live that fantasy, and several others besides. Naked, she was easily the most exciting woman he'd ever known, and she seemed to find his caresses as pleasing as he found the opportunity to apply them. She'd even giggled when he had pulled her across his knees and spanked her lightly, just enough to sting a little. And after, she had fucked him with genuine enthusiasm.

They had had a typical whirlwind courtship, full of sex and mutual satisfaction, and had married after no more than a month's acquaintance, fully expecting a lifetime of the same. But somewhere over the last two years, it had all gone smash. Daphne seemed to decide that what she really wanted was a banker, who brought home a sizable paycheck and made few demands on her body. Martin still wanted the uninhibited sexual entertainments of their early days.

She had objected, less than a week after their marriage, when he attempted to spank her again. Despite his most persuasive efforts, he had never gotten her across his knees since that time.

Nor was he likely ever to earn the kind of money she seemed to need. His job provided enough to pay the bills but not much more. His real hope for long term wealth came from his books. He was something of a self-taught expert on old and rare books. He haunted the small book stores that sold things people no longer wanted, and managed to find a number of first editions or similarly valuable tomes that had been casually discarded. Someday, he told himself, these books would bring a very nice return on his investment.

Returning to his latest purchase, he bent over to examine the book more closely. The lock seemed simple enough, but none of his usual tools had any luck at opening it. He was afraid it was rusted shut, which would mean having to cut or remove the leather strap that held the book shut. Not wishing to damage the book in this manner, he took the hasp in his fingers and jiggled it, hoping this would break it loose.

Then he yanked his hand back quickly.

There was some kind of burr on the clasp, and it had stung him. He saw a small drop of his blood on the leather and reached to wipe it off. Then he realized the hasp was now open. Obviously it had just been stuck, and needed a little yank to loosen it.

Delighted, he carefully opened the cover, not wishing to damage any of the delicate pages. To his surprise, these seemed in remarkably good condition, real parchment like he'd thought, and covered with some odd sort of hieroglyphs.

But he realized the symbols made a kind of sense.

There was no title page or table of contents. The first page seemed to be some kind of thing about hunger. He puzzled at the contents of the page, sensing the meaning of the glyphs, but not understanding what they had to do with hunger. He was startled when Daphne tapped him on the shoulder.

She held a plate of fish and chips. Dinner had already been cooked, she said, and she didn't want it wasted, even if he WAS an idiot!

Martin realized that he was a bit hungry and thanked his wife for her thoughtfulness. She just huffed her disapproval and disappeared once more into the bedroom. Absent-mindedly, he ate the dinner, hardly noticing the taste but careful to wipe his fingers free of grease after each bite. He puzzled his way down the page, rather like a man translating a foreign language with a dictionary, figuring out the meaning of each word, but with no understanding of the context.

Puzzled, he wondered where he'd seen those odd hieroglyp hs before. They certainly weren't Egyptian, nor cuneiform. Perhaps some kind of oriental text, he thought, that he'd seen in a textbook at one time or other. They were just familiar enough that he could grasp their basic meaning, but strange enough to keep him from really "reading" the content.

At random, he turned to a new page. At the top was an unmistakably sexual emblem, and below it were words which made him terribly aroused, even if he couldn't have said precisely what they meant. For a second time, he was startled by his wife's touch. Turning in irritation at being interrupted again, he was amazed to see that she had taken off all her clothes and was looking at him in a way easily interpreted.

She said that she just couldn't stay mad at him, and wanted to express her forgiveness in a way he'd understand.

Martin's attention caught on Daphne's delightful breasts, swinging gently and provocatively in front of him. He noticed that her nipples were erect which seemed to make her enthusiasm genuine. When his hand reached to cup and heft the soft roundness, she gasped a little, in the way he remembered when he'd first met her. And when his fingers pinched lightly at her rigid nipple, she had moaned and placed her hand over his, encouraging him.

Without too much regret, he left his new treasure to accompany his wife into the bedroom. To his delight, Daphne's arousal expressed itself in the most lascivious caresses as he quickly climbed out of his own clothes. He was more than ready when she reclined on their bed and spread her legs in invitation.

He remembered very well how Daphne had been an eagerly cooperative wench when he had married her, and their sexual rituals had been frequent and exotic early on. Lately, however, she had seemed to grow uninterested, and their lovemaking had become a rather dull routine. There was none of that today, however, as his wife seemed once more the near insatiable succubus he remembered fondly.

Moreover, she responded to his efforts with every evidence of profound enjoyment. He had no more than entered her when she began to tremble and moan. And long before he felt his own release building, she was spasming and gasping in ecstasy. In their fenzied writhing, he withdrew and turned her on her belly. Lifting her hips, he entered her from behind, pulling her erect so that his hands could enjoy her breasts. She seemed to find this as exciting as the other, and her orgasmic trembling did not stop even after he finally emptied himself into her cunt.

As they lay side by side in the afterglow of their lovemaking, she looked at him with wide eyes, and surprisingly quickly, he felt himself growing erect a second time. This time, Daphne had bent her head over his middle, and he felt her lips and tongue on him. That surprised and delighted him, for while she had eagerly taught him this pleasure in the early days after their marriage, she was seldom willing to bestow such a favor any more. Tonight, he revelled in the skillful licking and sucking, and to his intense surprise, she did not draw away when he began to tense. Instead, her sucking became even more enthusiastic and he exploded into her throat.

THAT, he thought, was entirely new. Even in her most eager newlywed manner, she had always drawn away and finished him with her hand. Never before had he known the pleasure of coming into her sucking mouth. Nor did she stop her ministrations until he was entirely exhausted and pulled her away from his spent organ.

Smiling her own pleasure at the event, Daphne crawled alongside his sweaty body. She went quickly to sleep curled naked under his arm, her breasts warm against him.

Martin was dozing in sated pleasure when a strange thought brought him wide awake. It was not, he assured himself, possible. Such things were the stuff of myth, not the real world. Still, if the first time had been merest coincidence, the second had been most unlikely. A third such incident, he thought, would be the proof of the pudding.

Slipping carefully from under his sleeping wife (and pausing briefly to admire her nudity), he returned to the book. It was important, he thought, to make this a real test. He opened the book again, at random, looking for something in particular. He was not particularly surprised to realize he had found it on the first page he looked.

The title on the page was either "the punishment of a sinner" or "the chastisement of one who displeases," he wasn't quite sure which. But there was no question the page was what he sought. He read eagerly, still not quite comprehending, but knowing, somehow, that he was seeing his heart's desire.

This time, Daphne's touch came as no surprise. She was still naked, but now she was crying. She was so sorry, she said, for displeasing him. She didn't blame him for not wanting to sleep with her when she was such a nag. It would serve her right, she said, if he took his belt to her bottom good and hard!

Since the first time he had seen her, he'd fantasized about whipping her magnificent buttocks, but excepting that one brief spanking in courtship, he'd never had the opportunity. Unsure that she was sincere in her wish, he put it to the test.

Martin demurred, saying he did not believe in such childish punishments. His wife ignored his objections, assuring him that when she behaved in so childlike a manner, she could hardly claim any adult exemption from the appropriate penalties. She would, she insisted, be greatly relieved if he imposed a proper penance on her when she so obviously deserved it.

Martin realized that he had thought of whipping his wife even more than usual in the last few months. As her enthusiasm for their marriage had waned, and her personality had become more shrill, he had fantasized more often about her shapely rump turning red under his belt. He had put these thoughts aside, knowing that Daphne would object even to a simple spanking, and that he was unwilling to impose such on her by force.

As a final test, he asked her what she thought a "proper penance" might be?

Strangely demure, her eyes downcast, she sobbed that such a decision was his to make, but she would not feel adequately punished unless she felt his belt across her bottom at least two dozen times. Then she lifted her eyes to his and in a voice trembling with her passion said that she hoped he would be quite merciless in the application.

Martin realized he was erect again.

Daphne's hand on his led him back into the bedroom, and she bent to retrieve his belt from his discarded trousers. Handing the length of leather to him, she said that if he still loved her in spite of her behavior, he could show her now by giving her a whipping that she would not soon forget.

Without further preamble, she turned and knelt on the bed, thighs widely parted, and leaned forward to reach across the mattress. Her raised buttocks were stretched taut and presented as a broad target f or the belt. It was an extremely vulnerable position, and one he had privately dreamed of. He wondered where she had learned it.

With his left hand, he explored the offered expanse of her flesh, and she made no objection. Indeed, when his finger sought the lips of her cunt and intruded therein, she wriggled a little and moaned her pleasure. And when he withdrew his wet finger and prowled higher, around the orifice of her rectum, she seemed willing enough to endure his probing. THAT was a change too! Daphne had made it VERY clear, early in their relationship, that she would not appreciate attentions to this particular area. He withdrew his hand and lifted the belt.

Still a bit unsure of the situation, he had smacked the belt across her rump, hard enough to sting, but certainly not a severe blow. She had sobbed, and he was afraid she was about to beg off. Instead, to his delight, she said again that she was sorry. Obviously, she said, he no longer loved her enough even to punish her properly when she so certainly deserved it.

He smacked her a second time, considerably harder, leaving a reddening stripe across her rounded flesh. She made a little noise in her throat that sounded somewhere between a gasp of pain and a pleasured surprise. She had assured him that she was grateful for his generosity, but she really would appreciate it more if he would whip her as she deserved.

Taking her at her word, he applied a vigorous lick of the belt, as hard as he could, across the widest part of her ass. He was rewarded by a lewd wriggle of her buttocks and a quickly darkening stripe where the leather had caught her. This time she made no comment, but neither did she make any attempt to leave the vulnerable position. He began to whip her in earnest.

The belt sang and snapped against her flesh, leaving dark red stripes that soon merged into a mottled pattern of color that looked very painful indeed. Daphne no longer spoke, confining her oral exclamations to gasps of pain as each successive lick added to the fire in her ass. Martin allowed the belt to find the tops of his wife's thighs with some frequency as well, and these licks seemed especially vexing.

Her body wriggled and twisted, obviously in considerable pain, but never in a manner that reduced in any way her submissive acceptance of the punishment. His cock was almost painfully erect in his enjoyment of her anguished writhing. It occurred to him that he wasn't keeping any count of the licks, but decided that it didn't really matter. He paused at one point and told her he thought another dozen would appropriate and asked if she agreed. His cock jumped in excitement when she moaned her approval.

The last twelve licks (or was it thirteen? He wasn't quite sure) were the hardest yet and his wife's livid buttocks squirmed so lewdly that he almost had an ejaculation just watching her. Finally he dropped the belt, stroking his erection as he admired her ass. How many times had he dreamed of seeing her like this, well whipped and waiting for more? He'd never really thought he would have this opportunity, and he wanted it to last.

And too, there was one other thing he had always wanted.

He'd asked her about it once, back when they were first married, but her objections had been vehement even then. He had dropped the subject, but now it occurred to him again. Spitting in his hand, he lubricated his organ and moved behind Daphne's squirming rump.

She felt him nudging at her rectum, but instead of the refusal he half expected, her hands had gripped the bedclothes hard and she had widened herself even more to receive him. Slowly, savoring every moment, Martin pushed his erection into her virgin asshole. Daphne had whimpered and wriggled, but she did not resist, and when he was fully lodged, he felt her tremble in what seemed very much like ecstasy.

Martin found that he did not need to move very much, as he did when fucking Daphne in the more usual fashion. Even the slightest movement of his cock in her bowel set off waves of spasming which provided more than enough stimulation for his pleasure. He moaned in his own turn when he felt a powerful climax shake him, and he pumped his third load of the evening deep into her ass.

This time, as he settled into the bed with her sighing in pleasure beside him, he told her he wished for her to buy a cane the next day. She trembled just a little then, and burrowed closer to him. He heard her whisper that she thought it was a good idea.

In the morning, he wondered if it had all been some kind of dream. Daphne was amazingly angry, even for her. She loudly accused him of getting her drunk and whipping her. She threatened, equally loudly, to call the police. Not knowing how to explain, he had apologized, claiming to have been drunk himself and not knowing what he was doing. She accepted the explanation, but allowed it made no difference. He was a son-of-a-bitch for treating her like that and he damn well had better never do it again!

Still apologizing, he grabbed up the ancient book and fled.

In the quiet reading room of a small neighborhood library, he tried to open the book only to find it locked once more. As before, it refused to yield to his efforts to release the hasp. Finally, remembering, he had felt carefully for the burr, and finding it, had deliberately pricked his finger. as soon as the small drop of blood touched the leather, the hasp opened.

Taking a deep breath, Martin opened the book. The first page was different! It no longer spoke of hunger. Instead, it seemed to be a contract of some sort. The glyphs were more complicated, and he couldn't make them out, but he got chills just looking at them. He tried to turn the page, but found he could not. Only the first page, with its chilling contract was available to him.

The last part of the instructions he could understand. He was required to leave his thumbprint, in blood, at the bottom of the page.

He knew what he had then.

He had never believed in such things. The books of the dead were exaggerated fairy tales to frighten children. Faustus was a myth!

On the other hand, the events of the previous night had been no dream, the comfortable ache of satiation from his loins was enough to convince him of that. If this WAS what it seemed to be, it could be the stuff of dreams.

There would be a terrible cost, of course; that was part of the legend too. If the rewards were real, so must be the penalties. Last night, he decided, had been sort of a "free sample," a marketing ploy to get his interest. Now he was being asked if he wanted to buy the product.

A little frightened, and still not quite persuaded, he looked up from the book. Across the small room, the librarian was doing librarian things. A small brass plate on her desk proclaimed her to be one Miss Alderson. Martin looked at her more closely. She was obviously no longer young, probab ly in her late thirties or early forties, and while she was hardly beautiful, she could certainly be called handsome. Standing in profile as she was, she displayed what seemed a rather sumptuous bosom, and when she turned away to replace a book on a lower shelf, he realized that her rump, while perhaps a trifle broader than current fashion approved of, was still nicely rounded.

He looked back at the book and silently requested one more proof.

Rising, he went to the librarian and requested a book. The title was, he knew, rather rare, and it was unlikely that this small library had it. When the woman could not find it in her catalog, she apologized. Frowning (and half expecting to be sent packing), Martin said that an apology seemed insufficient for such a failure. To his delight, Miss Alderson seemed flustered, and finally agreed that he was entirely correct. Raising her eyes to his, she actually blushed (how long had it been since he had seen a woman blush?) and asked what he would consider a proper penalty for her failure?

Seeming to consider, he said that twice nine of the best with a cane seemed appropriate. Miss Alderson's blush deepened, but she nodded that his sentence was only fair. With further apologies, she said that she did not have a proper implement available, but that she knew where one might be obtained. Her late husband, she said blushing again, had found it necessary to correct her from time to time, and she still kept his instruments in good condition. Her flat was in the neighborhood. Would he be so kind, she asked, as to mind the library while she fetched it? Martin agreed to do so, but cautioned her to return within the half hour or he would be forced to increase her assessment. Again embarrassed, she said she would certainly hurry.

As she left in a rather obvious hurry, Martin was deciding that this seemed to be quite adequate proof. He did not, of course, intend making a decision without seeing the present event through, but he was quite convinced that Miss Alderson would not so readily have agreed to be punished for a very dubious "failure" if she had not been influenced by some outside source. It was possible, of course, that she was a masochist, especially since she had volunteered the information that her husband had caned her. And perhaps he had merely pushed the right buttons, but he didn't believe it for a moment.

The woman returned, somewhat breathless but just within his time limit, and presented him with a very stiff and nasty looking length of hickory. He nodded his approval which seemed to make her happy. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and told her he would expect her to be entirely naked for her thrashing. And afterward, he intended to fuck her. She blinked rapidly, but her chin rose and she agreed that both requirements were appropriate to the situation.

At his gesture, she began to strip. After the discarding of her blouse and skirt, Martin began to suspect that he had been insufficiently complimentary of her body. She was sturdily built, plump but certainly not fat, and he realized that he was already quite firmly and obviously erect. Her slip followed and then her bra, and he found her bared breasts to be quite as spectacular as his wife's if in a more mature manner. She raised no objection when he made her pause to allow him to heft these globes in his palms. And her response to a good pinch of her substantial nipple had been a gasp of pleasure, and an arching into his hand. He allowed himself a moment or two to explore this reaction, and satisfied himself that even quite painful pressure from his fingers would be greeted with appreciation.

When finally she bent to lower and step out of her knickers, he decided she was really quite delightful. Her fuller buttocks seemed almost ideally made for the caning he intended. Naked, her gaze went to the bulge in his trousers. Perhaps, she volunteered, the gentleman would appreciate being relieved so that he could pay proper attention to her punishment? The gentleman decided he would indeed.

Miss Alderson had knelt at his feet and carefully unzipped his trousers. Releasing his erection, she had leaned forward to take him in her mouth. He was more excited than he had realized, and her lips and tongue brought him much too quickly to a climax. For the second time in his life, he emptied his balls into a warm, sucking mouth.

Smiling, the librarian had risen and commented that he should now be much more able to cane her properly, without (she blushed again) other pressures interfering. He nodded and thanked her for her consideration, which she dismissed, claiming her actions were no more than common courtesy.

He made her bring one of tall stools from a carrel to the middle of the room and bend across it. Displayed in this manner, her ass seemed even bigger, but still beautiful. Carefully, Martin measured the cane against her flesh and drew it back.

The impact was disappointing. Miss Alderson gasped and wriggled in real and obvious pain, but her punisher knew it had not been a particularly well applied cut. It was, after all, his first time to have such an opportunity, and he could hardly be expected to be an expert. Still, the stripe left across the large, round buttocks was proof enough that he was hardly ineffective either. He gave her another, a little lower this time.

By the time the ninth cut had been applied, Miss Alderson was squirming lewdly in very convincing distress and gasping little noises of pain. Her large rump displayed nine livid weals, spaced rather haphazardly over their surfaces. Martin was no longer surprised that he was fully erect again. He let her rise for a moment and used the excuse to heft her substantial breasts again. He was pleased to note that her nipples were rigidly engorged and she moaned in rapture as he pinched and played with them.

Catching her breath, the librarian suggested that perhaps Martin might wish to direct his special attention to the base of her buttocks for the final nine. She was, she confessed, particularly tender there. Her late husband, she told him, had always found it instructive to place as many strokes as possible into the sulcus at the top of her thighs.

Nodding, he ordered her to resume the position. With her livid rump again offered to the cane, he set about delivering the second half of her punishment. He was hardly any more expert, but he WAS beginning to use his wrist more, like playing tennis, and he accepted Miss Alderson's word that she was especially sensitive just at the base of her buttocks. He tried very hard to put the last nine cuts into this vulnerable sulcus. He was only moderately successful. Only four actually landed precisely, but the others were all within an inch above or below, and the effect was evidently what she intended.

Miss Alderson's very exciting rump was absolutely writhing in agony, and the lower third of her buttocks displayed a swollen purple band into which each additional cut painfully sank. Pausing to feel the heat of her squirm ing ass, he told her that perhaps another six would make the event more memorable. Sobbing, the librarian urged him to be even more severe with the addition.

He certainly tried. He was quite sure that his old schoolmasters would have been ashamed of his efforts, but he was reasonably assured that Miss Alderson would not soon forget her morning. He doubted she would be able to sit within a week.

As he dropped the cane and stepped up behind the woman, it occurred to him to wonder why the library was deserted at this hour. In all the time he had been here, no other customer had come in. It was, he decided, another demonstration of the power of the book. Shrugging, he gripped Miss Alderson's tender buttocks and spread her wide, inserting himself slowly into her dripping cunt.

The timbre of her moans changed perceptibly as he fucked her. The sounds of anguish were first mixed with, then replaced by those of unmistakable passion. Miss Alderson had three very palpable orgasms before he tensed and emptied himself the second time.

Cautioning her that she could rise, but that he saw no reason for her to dress, he went back to the book. Smiling through her tears, the librarian rose, her hands working enthusiasticly (but in vain) to rub the fire from her buttocks. The motion made her big tits dance, and Martin found the sight enticing.

The book, he decided, could no longer be doubted. There remained only the question of whether the prize was worth the cost. Another glance at Miss Alderson's dancing tits was enough to convince him. Carefully, he found the little burr on the hasp and pricked the ball of his thumb.

Absently, watching the delightful librarian struggle nakedly with her pain, he rubbed the drop of blood over his thumb. Looking down into the book, he found the proper place and entered his thumbprint.

No sooner had he done this than the odd glyphs became as clear as English in his mind. The contract was much as he expected, eliciting a little shiver as he read it. But the rewards were also obvious. Miss Alderson's nipples were firmly erect again, and the look in her eye was hardly one of anger over her treatment. She picked up the cane and walked submissively across the room, offering it to him again. When he reached up to pinch her nipple, she gave a little gasp of rapture.

Well, he thought, he had bit of time to kill. Daphne could hardly find the cane she was by now searching for in less than an hour. When he returned home, he expected to find her naked, offering him the implement to add some stripes to her already bruised buttocks. There was no reason to hurry.

And besides, Miss Alderson made it very clear that she would have no objection to another dozen, and perhaps a buggering after. And too, if he was going to make Daphne's first caning as effective as he wanted it to be, then he could certainly use some more practice.

The librarian had kissed him soundly and resumed her position across the stool. Martin measured the cane against her flesh, and whether by luck or skill, put a vigorous cut directly into the gluteal sulcus. It was an excellent cut, eliciting a gasp of pain and the most enthusiastic squirming from his victim. He found himself imagining Dapne's rump similarly decorated and mobile, and decided the book would be well worth its price. After a moment, Miss Alderson complimented him a little breathlessly, saying he was becoming most expert in his application.

In his remaining twenty years, he thought, he ought to become very expert indeed.

Copyright Hawkwood 1997