Sign of the Royal Stag - part the third of the Chronicles of

[goodgulf]

The posts associated with Bamber are:
Bamber Intro and Index, which has no counterpart in the series because Zelazny (being a master wordsmith) didn't need one. It can be found at:http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/v ... ?f=3&t=114

Nine Princes in Amber became Nine Princesses in Bamber, serving as an introduction to the world and its plots and schemes. This story can be found at:http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/v ... ?f=3&t=115

The Guns of Avalon became The Paddles of Spankland, where the plot progresses and some new weapons are developed... And the hero falls for a woman named Lorraine (who is only briefly in the series). It can be found at:http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/v ... ?f=3&t=116

Sign of the Unicorn became Sign of the Royal Stag, where various things that were set in motion in the first two stories come to ahead. This story can be found at:http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/v ... ?f=3&t=117

The Hand of Oberon became The Hand of Titania, where it is revealed that a great work needs to be done (okay, this adaptation loses some of that theme). This story can be found at:http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/v ... ?f=3&t=118

The Courts of Chaos became The Chambers of Artwork, where various epic things happen and we learn just who the narrator has been telling his story to. This story can be found at:http://www.spanko.net/spanking_forums/v ... ?f=3&t=215


Sign of the Royal Stag - part the third of the Chronicles of Bamber

I looked the card in front of me. Called a Trump, its magic allowed me to travel to the place the card showed. If it had depicted a person I could have made contact with that person, but this card showed a place - the library at the palace of Bamber.

Ah, Bamber, how can I tell of your tarnished glories? There was a castle (a rather nice one as castles went) full of servants, a Royal Court (yes, I am speaking in capitals; the Queen insists on that and woe betide anyone who displease her), and a version of the Broken Pattern. It's a very grand looking place, but it's not Real.

There is only one Real place, and that's Amber (notice the absence of the B). It has the Pattern (not a shabby Broken Pattern like ours is) and it casts Shadows throughout the multiverse. Actually those Shadows are the mulitverse. Each Shadow is filled with people who think they are real, but they aren't. They are merely shadows of the real folks in Amber, just as the Broken Pattern is an inferior version of the real Pattern of Amber.

Most Shadows aren't close copies of Amber, but Bamber is. Their princes are named Benedict, Bleys, Brand, Corwin, Caine, Eric, Julian, Gérard, Random while our princesses are named Bernadine, Bleys, Brenda, Cora, Cathy, Erica, Julie, Geraldine, and Randi. They don't count their princesses in the secession, but they have ones called Deirdre, Fiona, Flora, Llewella while we have princes named Donald, Fred, Lloyd, and Frank (which is me). Amber was built by their eternal (well, he was supposed to be eternal) King Oberon, while Bamber is ruled by Queen Titania.

Using the power of the Pattern the royal family of Amber travels the Shadows in comfort. We of Bamber travel the bad parts of Shadows, because as we shift between worlds we have the Flaw of the Broken Pattern to deal it. It takes us to the worse parts of the local reality.

That Flaw is in all of our magics, always mocking us by its existence. Reminding us that we aren't real.

The only area where we can be considered almost the equal of Amber is in Trumps. Those magical playing cards (well, tarot cards) that allow us to travel the worlds without walking to where we want to go. Even then our Trumps have a Flaw, because we make them.

That is, we used to be their equal. There used to be this mad artist and sorceress by the name Dorothy Bargirl that hung around the court. It was she who crafted the Trumps we had used for ages (and I mean ages; all of the children of Titania are in the three digits when it comes to age), but then she disappeared. Or she stopped coming around, which amounts to the same thing. It took awhile for people to notice and by then we were short on Trumps. Not that we were tossing them to the four winds but accidents happen and sometimes you had to fled a Shadow without stopping for your Trump deck.

Thus it had fallen on the only other Trump Artist of the court to replace them. That would be me, your not so humble servant Frank. The main problem with this is that when it comes to Trumps I can't make a copy of a copy. I had to draw fresh Trumps, new Trumps. Which meant that every member of the royal family had to pose for me as I recorded their images in a way that twisted reality to link the subject to the card in a way that would travel across every world, through every Shadow of Amber.

I had planned to call them all to a studio and spend two days painting them. Instead one of my sisters, Brenda (one of my two full sisters, as opposed to my seven half sisters) had gotten herself trapped in a bad situation. She had only herself to blame; she had been looking for a way to trap and embarrass our other sisters. She had gone searching for a Shadow of Desire - something that the big boys in Amber did. You went shadow walking with something on your mind and you didn't stop until where you waited to be was where you were. Her desire was for a place where our powers could take us into but not take us out of. Trump was the only way to leave that Shadow and women on that world could easily be enslave. They even had some local magic woven into the cuffs they put on every slave girl's leg (the blue cuff went on left leg if you were a temporary slave, on your right leg if you were a permanent slave) that turned her submissive and made her crave spankings.

The problem was, we of Bamber walked the Broken Pattern and there was a Flaw in every way we used our magic. This time the Flaw had bitten Brenda in the ass, or rather gotten it smacked as she found herself enslaved. She had called me, while she still had her Trump deck, but I hadn't been able to get her out right then. She had a cuff on before I could get to her; she was resisting the spell but the cuff was on and I couldn't get it off her. Experimentation soon revealed that if the cuff left this Shadow it would burst into flame, burning at a ridiculously high temperature that would have taken Brenda's leg off.

Making a long story short I ended up winning Brenda in a poker game and I painted (well, sketched) a Trump of her with her bum red and tears in her eyes. The pose was somewhere between prostrate and recumbent. Head up but chest down and partially covered by her arms. It was a lot like that video for California Gurls by Katy Perry. That scene where she's laying naked on a candy cotton cloud with only a piece of fluff covering her bum. Well that's how Brenda looked, but instead of candyfloss covering her bottom it was bare and glowing red.

After I had my sketch (enough to base a Trump off of) I took her cuff off and Brenda almost killed me. When she calmed down she came up with a crazy plan (the Flaw did tend to lend itself to insanity) that... No, I can't put it into words, but the upshot was Brenda came up with a plot that led to our other sisters, all eight of them, being in the exact same position that Brenda had found herself in. And I made their new Trumps based off of those sketches, so that the new deck would show the formerly haughty princesses laying there with their eyes full of tears and their bums glowing red. Yeah, it was crazy, but Brenda was fixated on it.

The only way I could have stopped her from going with it would be killing her, and there was no way I would do that, so I went along with her plot.

But that was in the past. Now I had the Trumps ready, merged with the tarot decks that the Queen had made up, and I was bringing the finished product back to Castle Bamber. Dorothy Bargirl had never named her deck, but I was thinking of calling my new deck "Princess in Repose". It seemed a fitting name.

So I Trumped to Bamber's royal library. It was impressive looking, until you actually looked at the books. They covered the walls and from the six foot mark and up (that is, out of reach of children) most of the books were the filthiest porn you could imagine. Or maybe filthier than you could imagine. Bestiality played a major part - more than hinting at relations between the Royal Stag (the symbol of the Royal line) and certain women. Heck, our holy book, The Book of the Royal Stag, had two versions. One that was family appropriate and one that none of us saw until we were our twenties or thirties. That one was an eye opener - but enough about the porn.

Below the six foot mark, well, we aren't talking about the classics. Doggerel poetry, self indulgent novels that had to have come from vanity presses, the misses from authors who otherwise produced hits - those were the contents of the royal library of Bamber.

That, and a case that contained our remaining Trump decks. Since they were in limited supply the case was locked. Since I was the only one who could replace them I had a key. Since I had come up with a radically different deck I had decide to replace all the existing decks (as few of them as were left) with my creations. Since mine would be the new standard I left with all the old decks.

Yes, there's a lot of 'sinces' in that explanation. There's something about the royal library that brings out the bad writer in me.


But back to the story, however ill-told it was. I slipped into the royal library, picked up all of the Dorothy Bargirl originals, and replaced them with my Princess in Repose decks. Then I left, returning to my motel room in the Shadow I had labelled Spankland.

Mom (aka Queen Titania) had requested that I produce somewhere between 50 and 100 decks, and provided the other cards (Cubs, Orbs, etc) for more than 150, but I had come closer to the lower limit than the upper limit. Much closer. You might say that I had barely met the minimum.

I tried to get some sleep, but it wasn't easy. Some girl was getting her tail tanned in the next room. Not that it was anything out of the ordinary; spankings happened here at the drop of a hat (or bending of a waist) which is why I had labelled this world Spankland. Spankings happened all the time. It was a land. You get the idea.


The next morning I was brutally woken by a mental assault. A mind much stronger than any mortal's could ever be was forcing itself into mine.

"How could you? Not why would you, but how could you do that?" Queen Titania demanded, her voice cutting through my brain.

This wasn't going well. I grabbed at my deck, flipping over the first Trump I found. It was the last one I'd used; the one for this room.

"Don't try to duck me! I want answers!" Queen Titania demanded.

I focused on the Trump, trying to use it as a defence. It was trick that those of us who could produce Trumps could use as a defence against psyche attacks, like the one the Queen was using against me. I focused on the Trump, and saw myself in the room focusing on a Trump that showed me focusing on a Trump that showed me, well, to infinity.

Maybe it was that recursion, but I was able to fight off my mother's psyche assault. It was the first time that I had done it, the first time that I had heard of anyone fighting off Queen Titania's power. It was a high, having done it.

Then it was pure terror.

My mother, Queen Titania, wasn't happy with me. She was very unhappy. She was angry. She was furious. I was her target, and that wasn't a happy feeling.

In short, I was in shit. Shit big time. Major, neck deep and rising, shit.


This wasn't good. It wasn't good. It was very not good.

Then again, this was as safe a place as I could be. The bulk of our family's powers wouldn't function here. The Broken Pattern, sorcery, conjuration, none of that worked here. The power of Trump did function, but that was it, and I was a Trump Artist, master of the art form. Of course my mother had powers that I couldn't comprehend, but I would be doing my best in this world.

That settled, I decided that it was time to explore Spankland. I might be spending a lot time here. Maybe centuries, Maybe the rest of my life.

It was a depressing thought. The only thing that would make it more depressing was if I spent the rest of my life here and it was a short time. A very short time. Now that would be depressing.


Throwing on some clothes I hit the streets, going to a diner where I sometimes broke my fast. I ordered something to eat and tried to make sense of things. Sure, mom was mad, but how long could the Eternal Queen of Bamber stay mad at me? As I tried to think I realised that coming to the diner might have been a mistake; there always seemed to be a spanking going on. Almost as soon as one stopped another started up. Not that I minded watching a nice spanking, not usually, but I needed to think.

I paid for my meal and tried to find someplace to think. Eventually I ended up at the library. I grabbed some books at random and found a study cubical where I could pretend to read, or do research, or otherwise spend time there while I tried to reason out a plan. And tried.

I ended up back in the library after grabbing a hotdog, but it was no use. I couldn't form a single plan. I didn't have enough information. So I Trumped back to my motel room where I could have some privacy. There was really only one person I could contact - my sister Bleys. Brenda might come with crazy schemes and flirt with going off the deep end but Bleys was steady as a rock when it came to plotting. Getting out her Trump, and checked in to see what the damage really was.

"...and of course she didn't like those deck." Bleys finished after updating me on the latest gossip.

"Is it bad?" I asked.

"Bad?" Bleys laughed. "Mom is talking about getting out the Jewel of Justice and hunting you down."

I swallowed hard. Amber's royal family had the Jewal of Judgement, a huge ruby with legendary powers. We in Bamber had an impressive emerald called the Jewel of Justice which was rumoured to, well, let's just say there were many rumours but few facts.

"Don't be that way." Bleys chided. "If mom really wanted you captured then she wouldn't be talking; she would have taken the Jewel of Justice tracked you down already."

"So I can get back in her good graces? How?"

"Well, there's that Trump shortage, and if you solved that..."

"Bullshit!" I protested the very suggestion. "I delivered 50 decks! How can there be a shortage?"

"How?" Bleys smiled. "After the recent troubles everyone wanted to have their own decks - one to use, a spare, and backup. That's three decks each and none of them stored the library where someone else might take them."

I did the math. Nine princesses and three other princes, so 36 decks were gone.

"Then there were the others who the Queen decided needed decks." Bleys continued. "There might be five decks left in the library, if that."

"So I have to paint more Trumps?" I whined. I had spent months and months copying Trumps, and now I had to do more?

"At least 50, but 100 would be better." Bleys said, nodding. "Fifty might get mom off your back, but a hundred, well, that could lead to..."

I listened as Bleys put forward a depressingly straightforward plan, one that hinged on me producing another 100 decks. As I listened I ran the math in my head. I would be here for years. One or two, but maybe as much as three years trapped in this Shadow and away from the court of Bamber, and I couldn't dispute the logic behind Bleys' words. Running into any of sisters now would be bad, so I had to stay in the one place I knew they wouldn't go as I worked on a bride to enormous to assuage the Queen's temper.

The next morning I was awaken by a spanking going on in the next room. Grumbling, I grabbed something to eat, trudged to my rented studio, and started working. That evening I went to casino to gamble, winning enough to pay my expenses on this miserable world.

After a few weeks of that wretched routine I broke my bad mood. I was trapped here so I might as make the best of it.

I had a slave sent up to my room and spanked her until I was in a better mood. The next morning I vowed to alter my routine. I could paint anytime, visit the casino anytime, and use my free time to wander the city. Not that there was much to explore. I was convinced that there wasn't much I needed to learn about this Shadow.


I was sharing a meal in the casino with a couple of my poker buddies - Andrew Coaty and Billy White. They weren't friends, you couldn't have friends at the poker table, but we had won and lost enough together that there was a bond. A fellow player, a woman by the name of Emily Portage, entered the restaurant and Andrew waved her to our table.

"Take a load off." Andrew said. "What are you having? My treat."

"You're up that much?" Emily asked.

"You could say that." Andrew smirked. "I won the Freedom Chips from three women - one hand where they all went all in and I had them covered - and they freaked. Most of their cash was off the table and they paid me practically three times the going rate to buy them back."

"Three times?" Billy snorted. "It was twice the going rate when we sat down. How long until it's five time?"

"I'm adding in the chips on the table." Andrew protested. "The ones I won."

As the two players bickered and Emily ordered, I couldn't help examining her. Emily was one of the few women who were regulars at the casino, and she wasn't there to dick around with her Freedom Chip but to get money. She was there to play (and win at) cards. She was also one of those women who dressed in neo-Victorian fashions. I didn't think she had a whalebone corset, but other than that she had a stern outfit that wouldn't have been out of place a hundred years ago.

The Freedom Chip thing? When women entered the casino they were given special chips that represented their freedom. If they gambled it away then they could (and usually did) become slaves. If they had money left they could try to buy their chip (and thus their freedom) back, but that was sometimes iffy. There were these assholes, rich boys (some of the "boys" were in their 40s or older, but they were still small boys at heart) who specialised in targeting the tourists and winning their chips. With a huge income from other sources they didn't care if they dropped a bundle for each one they won (none of them were top level players) as long as they had a constant supply of fresh slave girls. They never sold a Freedom Chip back when they won one.

After the waitress took her order, Emily hurried the girl away with a slap on the backside then turned back to the discussion.

"Of course if it had been me I would have given those tourists sore bums before I gave them back their Freedom Chips." Emily said.

"Well duh." Billy observed. "Anyone looking at you would know."

"That outfit can't be comfortably enough to wear for fun." Andrew agreed. "How long have you worn it?"

"Since high school." Emily answered, smiling at the memory. "There was practically a club of girls who dressed this way. The first time I saw one of them with a cheerleader over her lap and using a hairbrush I knew I what I wanted. It wasn't on the bare, but I had no problem picturing that girl without her skin tight panties, her bum turning red, and I knew that I wanted the type of woman that did that to self centred little girls. I save up my money and went shopping at the mall, to a special shop that sold the right clothes, and the rest is history."

"And the gambling?" I asked, her words drawing me into the conversation against my better judgement.

"I was also in the math club." Emily chuckled. "I was executive assistant vice president. I might have been dressing the part but math club nerds don't do much spanking. So I started reading up on card games and got myself in a strip poker game where when you lost the girl who got your last chip got to spank you. And yes, I cheated. Not at the cards." Emily quickly corrected. "But they were in jeans and T-shirts while I was wearing the full Victorian outfit: gloves, a slip, a shift, three petticoats, stockings, garters, a garter belt, and everything I could think of. Only they were so busy giggling and carrying on I didn't need most of what I was wearing, and some of them were planning to lose. Two girls were going commando, no panties or bras or even socks, and one just had a sundress on. So I won, busting out half the girls and then busting their butts, and after I dished out my first real spankings I wanted to do it again and again. That meant more poker gamers and most of the times the other girls didn't want to lose. Some times there were boys at the games and they never wanted to lose, so I started getting better and better at cards."

"By the time a graduated I wasn't just spanking bottoms, I was earning money at the games. Others girls would babysit while I could make twenty-five, fifty, maybe a hundred bucks a night playing cards. I got my degree, because I needed something to fall back on, and then headed here to earn a living playing cards."

"Nice story." Andrew noted. "But you left out the best part. Did Emily ever get her little butt smacked after a poker game?"

"Sorry, I don't swing that way." Emily answered with a chuckle.

"Which doesn't answer the question." Billy pointed out.

"Never since I started playing in the casino." Emily answered with a smile. "College doesn't count, and forget about high school. Back then I couldn't tell when someone was dealing off the bottom of the deck, marking cards, palming aces, or finding other ways to cheat. But against an honest deck with a straight dealer? Never happened, never will."

Then everyone was laughing as Emily's order arrived - lobster surrounded by oysters rockefeller surrounded by escargot, served with a magnum of champagne. I recognised it as the more expensive thing on the menu.

"Well you said it was your treat." Emily pointed out, laughing.

I joined in the laughter, but I couldn't help thinking about taking on a challenge.


Maybe I should explain the main game in this Shadow was a variation of poker that was a lot like Texas Holdem but different enough to throw off all the normal odds. Three hole cards face down, a two card flop, one card called the flip, then a final one called a brook. I won at that more than I won at blackjack, mainly because there was no way to count the cards, not with a fresh deal every hand, so the casino didn't bother tracking who won at the poker tables. They got their ante per player per hand to pay the dealer and they were happy with that.

Later that night, I was motivated to show my A game. That laughter was still in my mind, I was at a table with Emily and a couple of out of towners. I was pulling out all the stops and listening to the cards (ever since I had mastered the mystery of Trumps the face cards would let me know where they were). More importantly, I wasn't winning every hand I could. A couple of times I left let Emily shift me off the winning hand, flashing my cards as I mucked them to let her know that she was outplaying me. She was running hot, just not as hot as I was, and she didn't have the face cards telling her where they were hiding.

Then came a hand when she had two queens and a jack while I had king jack ten. Queen jack hit the table and I raised. Emily re-raised, a banker on a business trip re-raised it higher, I called the banker, then Emily went all in. The banker got out of the way, but I called.

Emily smiled broadly when she saw I had a pair of jacks to her three queens. Normally it would have a been a dumb move - going all in usually meant three of kind or better - but I knew something that Emily didn't. The face cards were singing to me.

Emily's smile faded a bit when a king hit on the flip, but she still had three of a kind to two pairs. Then the last king hit on the brook, given me kings over jacks to her queens over kings.

Raking in the chips, I made an observation.

"You know, if you want some of these back you could toss in your chip and I'd hold it for, say, a day?"

Emily smiled bitterly at my offer.

"Sorry, but one bad hand isn't going to break me. I'm not wearing these clothes for a fashion statement; I'm commented to the lifestyle. You should know that."

Even the banker and the salesman laughed at that.



I felt like a fool. I, Frank Prince of Bamber, felt like a fool. So I covered with: "What, you've never heard a joke before?" and tossed a tip at the dealer. The dealer had smiled, but not laughed, and professionalism like that deserved a reward.


Which is why I spent part of the next day in the library, reading about fashion choices, until everything clicked. Women who wanted to (or thought they wanted to) be spanked wore clothes that gave easy access to their bottoms while average women wore normal clothing. Other women, the ones who liked to dish out spankings, wore Victorian or Edwardian style clothing (the main difference seemed to be that the Edwardian clothes had more frills). A girl (say late teens to early 20s) wearing clothes like those was one thing, but when a woman was wearing an outfit like that it usually meant that she had made a commitment to a lifestyle choice.

Which gave me a new distraction. Back when my sisters were being sent here to pose for Trumps I could break the monotony of copying Trumps by working out the details of their modelling sessions. Now I need something else to take my mind of that work.

Not that the distraction lasted long. Four nights later I was in a suite at the hotel with Emily Portage.

"I've never seen such a run of luck." Emily commented.

"Two runs of luck." I said generously. "Good for me, not so good for you."

"Not so good." Emily said bitterly. "That's an understatement. Wiped out six times in five days - that's a new record for me. Hopefully it will stand for a while."

"It should." I said. I knew I wasn't going to target her again so that wild run of luck shouldn't hit her again.

"I suppose I should be happy that you were the one winning." Emily commented. "If I had lost to one of the assholes then I'd be in big trouble. Even most of the other players would have squeezed me harder. Maybe insisting on 40% of my winnings in exchange for bankrolling me."

"I'm not really bankrolling you." I pointed out. "Just giving you back what you lost on that last all in."

"Which should have worked." Emily said sourly. "Four jack, busted out a fourth queen on the brook? What are the odds? I was up. Way up. Almost enough to make up for yesterday. I cannot, just cannot believe you had me covered."

"Even if I hadn't, what would you have been left with? A handful of chips? Lunch money? That's not a bankroll and you know it."

"I suppose." Emily said with a sigh. "So how do you want to do this?"

"Something traditional?" I suggested. "I was thinking of putting you over my knee with your dress up, bottom bared, and then taking things from there."

Emily sighed heavily.

"I thought it would be something like that. I'll need to change. Some of my undergarments don't lend themselves to that position. Perhaps the bathroom?"

"If that would make you feel better." I said magnanimously.

While Emily changed I counted the chips out of my case, tossing in a few extra ones. It was the least I could do, after wiping out her bankroll with my decades of practice and Trump mastery. Then I moved the chair and few other things.

Emily looked differently when she emerged from the bathroom. She had shed enough layers of clothing that her dress now outlined her body. It wasn't a bad body, but you could tell that she had been in the math club and not the on the cheerleading squad. That, and you could see that Emily normally wore a corset or other support garment.

I sat and patted my lap.

"I never thought I'd been in this position." Emily said with a sigh.

She didn't want what was coming, but she was a good loser who wouldn't welsh on a bet. Not that this was really a bet, more of a way to rebuild her bankroll, and most gamblers in her position would do almost anything to do that.

I raised Emily's dress as I helped her over my knees. She had left her underwear on; they were old fashion granny panties. She had also left on her garter belt and stockings, which I appreciated. She lifted her hips a little as I lowered her panties to just below the swell of her bottom.

It wasn't the best bottom that I had ever seen. Honestly, it was a bit on the scrawny side, but it was special. For the first time since I had arrived on this whacked out world I was looking at the bottom of a girl who didn't want to be spanked. I had offered to stop by the gift shop to get a bracelet or something with the charm on it that made a girl susceptible to spanking. It was a lessor version of the enchantment on the slave cuffs and easily removed, but Emily had refused. She was adamant that she would never wear anything like the cuff, and I had to respect her for that. Of course that meant she was getting a spanking that she really didn't want, but them's the breaks.

Scrawny or not, it was a still a bum. A woman's bum that was waiting for me to spank it. So I didn't keep it waiting.

I lifted my palm and brought it down hard on her left cheek. I did that to surprise her. Most right handed spankers would have started on the right cheek so I started on the left one. Emily gasped, but tried not to show any reaction.

I wondered how long she could control herself.

Then I brought my hand down on the middle of her bum. Again, that should surprise her. Most spankers would have saved that for the third smack, which is why I did that. Then another on her left cheek before finally landing one on her right one.

Then I started a steady rain of spanks. Emily didn't have tan line, it didn't look as if she ever went to the beach (or tanning bed), but her pale bum was getting a nice shad of pink as I smacked. Pink was nice, but red would be better. I reached down to the base of the chair and picked up the hairbrush I had left there. Not that the hairbrush was a favourite of mine, but Emily had mentioned it in her story so I thought it was fitting that I use it tonight. This might be the only time that Emily got spanked (unless she hit a massive losing streak and lost her bankroll again) so I went with the instrument that featured so prominently in her memories.

SMACK WHACK SMACK WHACK SMACK

Emily lost control then, gasping and squealing, as her bum started shifting from pink to red. Her legs, which she had held as straight and still as possible, began to shift to half kicks and her bum started clenching and unclenching in self defence.

But I wasn't getting through. She was nobly withstanding the indignity of being spanked, which wasn't part of the plan. Then again, the spanking wasn't over, not by a long shot. Part of me wanted to switch to the belt, or even one of those mystic paddles that my sister had conjured, but then again we had plenty of time for the hairbrush to work its own special brand of magic.

SMACK SMACK whack whack SMACK

Emily's kicks became less restrained. Her self-control was good, but I had recently gained a good deal of practice at spanking women's backsides and I convinced that I could take Emily further down this road.

SMACK WHACK smack smack WHACK

I think it was the variability. Hard smacks, soft smacks, raining down at random (I knew there was a pattern but she wouldn't recognise it) on her bottom, shifting its colour down the spectrum. Little pink was lingering in her bottom as I continued my work.

whack WHACK whack SMACK SMACK

There were countless women here who liked to be spanked. Countless others who (thanks to the slave cuff or the even the lesser version of the spell that didn't quite make them a slave) were ready and willingly to accept spankings. Then there were the tourists who came here and willing to experiment with spanking, so why was I spanking a woman who most emphatically didn't want to be spanked?

For the challenge, I suppose. That, and to see if Emily really didn't want to spanked. She claimed that she didn't want to be spanked, but so many women on this world liked it I suppose I wanted to know for sure that this one really didn't want to be spanked. So I spanked her and kept spanking.

Then she lost her battle with the spanking and started bucking and struggling, but I wasn't going to let her call an end to this spanking. Not now, and not ever.

SMACK smack SMACK smack whack WHACK

Emily started to howl, to sob, but she wasn't there yet.

whack whack SMACK WHACK SMACK smack WHACK

No, not there by a long shot. I kept going.


Emily passed through the howling phase. She stopped struggling. Her protests morphed into sobs. The sobs took on a rhythm of their own, one not connected with the pattern of smacks I was raining down on her bottom and thighs. One that existed in her mind and not in the world. Taking her from reality to her own private world, that was an accomplishment.

I stopped spanking when her sobbing had reached the right "I'm not here anymore" level, and not a smack before. Some people would have kept on going beyond that, but I couldn't see the point. Sure, I could leave more bruises on her backside, but why leave bruises when they weren't needed to get her to the point she needed to be?

No, she had hit that point so I put an end to the spanking. Normally I didn't display my real strength (or even use much of it while spanking) but Emily wasn't in a position to notice it so I carried her easily to the bedroom and left her on the bed to regain her sense of self.

It took longer than I thought it would, but eventually Emily limped to the bathroom. It took a while, but when she emerged her face was freshly scrubbed and she was wearing the rest of her outfit again. I knew it couldn't be easy, but Emily was looking like herself again. She was controlled and forcing herself not to limp, to act if she hadn't been spanked or even had her bum patted firmly.

Which answered the question I had; Emily clearly did not want to spanked. If she had then she would have luxuriated in the 'forced' spanking. Me winning all of her chips, that would have given her permission to be spanked and 'have to take it', but even with that excuse Emily didn't enjoy the spanking. Not even a little bit.

"So, the chips?" Emily asked.

"On the dresser." I answered, pointing to where I had left them. "Every chip you had for that last all in."

Not that Emily took my word for it. She counted all the chips, then did something that surprised me.

"You're over." Emily said, pushing back the extras that I had included. "I always know my chip count and you're over."

"Call it a tip." I suggested, but Emily pushed the chips aside.

"I can't call it a tip, and I won't accept payment for that." Emily stated firmly. "Goodbye Frank. I hope you'll excuse me if I don't play against you for a while. There's luck and then there's luck and then there's the memory of tonight. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course." I said, nodding.


She was right. I had been lucky. Too lucky. So I started losing, and losing steadily. Playing blackjack I'd hit on a 12 when I knew there was face card coming, and in poker I bet hard when I had the second nuts and knew that someone else had the nuts. For a while I even hit the $2 blackjack tables, telling people I needed to burn off this bad luck as painlessly as possible. I didn't lose all my recent winnings, but I lost maybe half of what I had won while taking down Emily. I lost enough that people were now talking about the great streak I once had rather than the streak I was on. Maybe I was I being paranoid, but this was a world where magic existed and I was sure the casino staff noticed any extreme runs of luck.


Speaking of the casino noticing things, it was time (or past time) to return to my practice of winning slaves, having them spanked and pose by hotel staff, then painting and freeing them. I'd done it nine times so far (once for each of my sisters, the nine Princesses of Bamber) and I needed to keep up the pretence that I was an artist searching for my muse in the bums of spanked slaves. It didn't take long, I just went to one of the assholes, offered to play for one of the slaves he was tired of, and a few dozen hands of poker later I had won a slave that he was tired of.

The next step was a stop by the concierge to arrange things. Since it was still early in the evening (earlier than I normally came by) there was someone else talking to her.

"I can't stand the way she's carrying on. She's always talking about risking her Freedom Chip, as if Eddy Price's daughter is going to be a slave. No sir! I've got her Freedom Chip nice and safe and I'm keeping it. This is supposed to be a reward for graduating. Her and two of her friends, with me footing the bill, and the college grad wants to play around with her Freedom Chip. I blame her friends; those two giggling idiots."

The concierge nodded, focusing intently on the paying guest in front of us.

"Yes sir. And what actions do you want the hotel to take? Should we ban her from the casino?"

"No, I want her tail toasted so she'll know what it really feels like. Only I don't want her to know I set it up."

"Of course sir. That is one of the standard services we offer. A common method is to record the room number wrong, a hastily scrawled note where one number could be another one; that sort of thing."

"Sounds good, sounds good. Now what happens if my Elaine comes here to complain instead of complaining to me?"

"We are experienced with these cases." The concierge reminded her. "Perhaps some coupons to the spa? We'll tell her that they are complimentary while charging them to your room. Does that sound like something that will satisfy your daughter?"

"No, but she'll accept it as evidence that a mistake was made." Eddy Price said with a nod.

"Then that's what we'll do." The concierge said. "Now about her friends, do you want to arrange accidents for them as well? Since yours is the name on the on the bill it's really your decision."

"No, my Elaine's not stupid. There's no way she'd believe that there would be two accidents. At least she better not, or all that money I invested in her education was a waste. And I want a man to tan her hide. Let her know what someone with muscles can do."

"Of course sir." The concierge said, making a note of what the guest required.

"Sounds fine, sounds fine." Eddy Price agreed.

When Price left, I stepped forward. The concierge smiled when she saw me.

"Another one Frank? And here I thought you'd moved on from that series of portraits."

"Not yet." I laughed as I handled her a new sketch. "I just got side-tracked for a while. She'll be delivered tomorrow morning and I'll be by the suite at around 10."

"You're with us so often I don't understand why you don't stay in the hotel." The concierge said, writing up my request.

"You know gamblers. I'm up, then I'm down, then I'm up then down then up - so I stay at motel off the strip. That way I don't have to live in my studio when I'm down."

"Of course sir. I do hope you enjoy your stay with us."


I spent most of the next day copying Trumps, then I grabbed some food, my art supplies, and then headed to the casino's hotel. I entered the suite to the sound of spanking, and shortly after I was in the bedroom working at my easel. She was in that same cute position my sisters had been, but the slave's tears lingered far longer any princess of Bamber would. As did the colour in her bum.

I had a good series of sketches when I started responding to the fact that she wasn't my sister, and it had been a while since I had visited Lady P-----. Thanks to the cuff and the spanking she was more than willing.

Afterwards we talked for a while. I learned her name was Joyceline and that she had enjoyed her time as a slave, including tonight. After that, I did the spell that unfastened the cuff.

Unexpectedly, there was a fresh rush of tears.

"Oh god, oh thank god."

Confusion set in.

"You didn't want to wear a cuff?" I asked, puzzled.

"Of course I did! But not for so long! I thought a week! Just a week. Oh god, is that the time? My plane leaves in six hours. Six hours! I have to leave or I'll be stuck here forever!"

"There's always the boat." I remarked.

"The boat? I'd have to work my way home on my back. No, I have to get to airport! Now."

I had brought some clothes with me. Well, a sundress. I didn't know her sizes so I hadn't brought her a full outfit. The hours were ticking away so I ended up taking the hotel shuttle and escorting her to the departure desk. Joyceline got on the plane with a sore bum and as I watched her go I thought briefly of contacting Lorraine, but thought better of it. She was in my thoughts less and less but remained a very pleasant memory.

I took the shuttle back to the hotel. Why not? I had the room paid for so I might as well use it and get the complimentary breakfast.

Which disappointed me. I was Frank, Prince of Bamber, and here I was counting pennies.


As I checked out, I couldn't help noticing a spot of drama that was occurring in the lobby. Not that drama was a rare sight in that lobby. What with spankings being handed out and slave cuffs applied drama was the normal state of things. What made this bit drama memorable was I recognised one of the people involved.

Eddy Price, the man who had booked a spanking for his daughter while I was setting up things for Joyceline to pose for her portrait, was at the centre of this little scene. A college age girl, who flanked by a pair of girls, was rubbing at the seat of her dress. The flankers were battling between looking concerned and trying to hide their smirks. It was clear that they were gloating over the "accident".

"Well I don't know what else I can do." Eddy Price was saying. "They apologised and offered some coupons for the spa to both of the guests affected."

"Both?" Elaine Price squealed. "I was the only one spanked!"

"That's half the problem." Eddy Price said, nodding. "Someone ordered a spanking and didn't get it."

The flankers exchanged looks.

"You can order a spanking?" One asked.

"Through room service?" The other one queried.

"But I gave them hell." Eddy Prince continued. "No one spanks Eddy Price's daughter over nothing. But there's nothing more I can do. Like that woman behind the desk said, you can't unspank a bottom. And there's the spa coupons."

"Coupons? My butt still aches and you're talking coupons?"

"Don't put down coupons." Eddy Price cautioned. "Anything that saves money saves money. Coming here isn't cheap, not cheap at all. Air fare, the hotel, two suites and it all adds up. Take the coupons."

"If she doesn't want then can I..."

"Sally! How could you even think that? This is my butt we're talking about." Elaine protested.

I shrugged and moved to the exit. It was a piece of drama about spanking, but like I said, nothing new. I had to get moving if I was going to finish those Trumps.

A couple of days later I past three members of that group again. Elaine and both of her friends were there, but one of the friends was wearing a micro miniskirt, visible red in the part of her bum that was peaking out, and more red on her upper thighs. Then there was the slave cuff on her ankle. The other friend was looking worried. The free friend, Sally, was looking between the slave and Elaine.

"I can't believe your dad did it." Sally said in a worried voice.

"He had to." Elaine protested weakly. "That was a casino dealer at the game so when her chip changed hands he had to enslave her. He didn't have a choice."

"I don't mind." Jane said with a smile.

"And he had her spanked." Sally pointed out. "Why did he do that?"

"You heard the dealer. If she wasn't spanked then something might have happened." Elaine said, not sounding as if she was believing herself. "And he didn't do it himself. And Jane was asking about the service. I mean she was doing that before she had cuff put on."

"So was I. Does that mean if I lose my chip that ..."

"I really liked that part." Jane said, interrupting her friend.

The two girls looked at her as if she was crazy, as if they had never spoken to anyone who had worn a cuff. Then they looked at each other.

"Your dad won't make me wear a cuff, will he?" Sally asked.

"Of course not." Elaine said weakly. "I'm sure. At least I'm pretty sure. I mean I'm sure he'd never make me wear one. I mean I'm pretty sure."

They continued their conversation, but I couldn't stick around listening to them. I had gambling to do and chips to win. Besides, it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. Conversations like that one were practically common in Spankland.


I know what you're thinking: if those conversations were that common than why bother to remember this one? Because I was bored, bored silly. I copied Trumps, gambled, and occasionally spanked someone. That was my life then.

On the other hand, it wasn't all bad. Yes, copying Trumps had become as intellectually stimulating as watching paint dry, but there were a few good points. In Bamber I'm seen as a drone, here I'm a somebody. A somebody who wastes his time gambling and painting, but still people were getting to know me for me and not because I was one of Queen Titania's sons. It was a good feeling, but by the Royal Stag I was getting tired of copying those Trumps!

The days became weeks became months became... you get the idea. When I wasn't copying Trumps I was looking for distractions. I won a few slaves from other gamblers, I won the occasional Freedom Chip from a tourist, I got drunk a few times, I tried other forms of gambling, and sometimes I got involved in other people's lives. Maybe I should elaborate on that...

When I won a slave, I did the 'paint them the way I painted the Trumps then later freed them' routine. When I won a Freedom Chip it was because I knew the woman wanted to lose it, and I generally lost the resulting slave at the poker table a few days later. None of those women could hold a candle to Lorraine, but they were fun distractions. As for the other forms of gambling, I still don't understand how Spankland's version of craps work. They use two dice, one six sided and one eight sided and the eight sided one is numbered one through six; the extra sides have weird symbols on them. Sometimes I won at that game and sometimes I lost, but I never knew what I was doing. As for getting involved in other people's lives...

Well, it was basically just as a distraction, and it was always just tourists who were passing through. Here, maybe an example can help. Let's see... I know, the Trelawney wedding.

I came across it when I was bored out of my skull. During the day, for the past who knows how many days, I was copying my own Trump (whose Flaw I hated) and so I dying for a distraction. I had seen the occasional wedding happening at the hotel and I had never paid attention to any of them, but this time it seemed like a pleasant diversion. Especially when I overheard how several of the guests had backed out at the last minute and how others had been invited to fill the numbers; in the chaos of the wedding I knew I could slip in and people would think I was supposed to be there. As I weighed crashing the wedding it only took a special little something to draw me in.

I had been wandering one of the hotel's shops when I stumbled over that special little something. The hotel had several shops; a tourist gift shop, a boutique or two, a place that sold 'naughty' things, a place where they sold magic (mostly insignificant spells and minor items), and jewellery store. That jewellery store was next to where they sold magic and sometimes there was an overlap in the customers.

I was in the jewellery store looking at a pair of cufflinks. I easily could afford them and I wanted them, but did they go with the persona I was playing? As I rolled things around in my mind I couldn't help overhearing a conversation happening at the other end of the counter. From what I gathered the couple there was the groom and maid of honour and were here to get the rings. The clerk greeted them by name (checking the names off on a clipboard as she did so).

"Edwin Trelawney, groom, and you would be Olivia Stratton, maid of honour and verifier?"

"That's me." Olivia said cheerfully. "Who would have thought that having a minor in magical sciences would ever be useful?"

The clerk merely smiled at that and produced a box of rings.

"Here they are, with the specified enchantments."

"Olivia, if you wouldn't mind?" Edwin asked politely.

Olivia did something. What, I wasn't sure, but she did something. I suppose it was this Shadow's version of a detection spell.

"Okay, your ring has the 'never fall off' and 'automatically resize' enchantment on it." Olivia informed him. "And hers have those two spells and the lesser version of the slave cuff spell. God, I can't believe Sharon is falling for this! Having her wedding here and agreeing to have enchanted wedding bands. It's like she's practically begging for this."

"Not really." Edwin answered with a smile. "When I joked about what the whole 'love, honour, and obey' thing meant here she almost called off the wedding and when she calmed down she insisted that someone she trusted had to check out the rings before the wedding."

"Then why did she ask me to do it?" Olivia sneered. "Sure I've known her since kindergarten, but after what she did in high school..."

"She probably thinks you've forgiven her." Edwin suggested.

"I just stopped bringing it up and I kept hanging around with all the same friends. How can she think I've moved on from that?"

"It has been years and..." Edwin offered.

"Bullshit! If she hadn't done that I'd be..." Olivia forced herself to regain her cool. "So why this spell? Why not go all out with the other one and make her your slave?"

"Because this place has laws and they won't let me do something like that until after we're married and then only if... Besides, the change would be too great. A bit of submission and a willingness to take a spanking is one thing but if she started behaving like a slave then people would notice and then... We went here for our wedding, she's acting like a slave; it wouldn't take a genius to put one and one together and then the spell would be off her in a flash. Next stop, divorce court and she gets half of everything. If only she'd sign the prenup. Then I wouldn't have to trick her into wearing something that makes sure she can never leave me."

"Really?" Olivia asked with a smirk. "Is that the only reason? Because I remember how in high school most of the girls you dated sometimes had problems sitting after their dates."

Edwin grinned.

"That too." Edwin admitted. "Sharon isn't into that, not yet. I've suggested it a couple of times and she's turned me down."

"Are you sure she isn't into it?" Olivia teased.

Then talk turned to the wedding, how so many guest had cancelled (or couldn't get visas) and I decided to pass myself off as a guest.

A couple of discreet questions later, a formal suit (not one of the countless tailor made ones that hung in my quarters in Bamber but a rental job), and some non-committal banter later and I was just one more guest at the nuptials. It helped that I more than willing to fill out the side that needed extra bodies, but I'm not sure if I was sitting on the bride's or groom's side. Those tend to change between Shadows.

Hotel chapel or not, it was lovely ceremony. The bride was all in white and had three bridesmaids in addition to the treacherous maid of honour. The service was your standard fare:

"I, Edwin Albert Trelawney, take you Sharon to be my wife, to love, honour, and cherish, forsaking all others, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, till death do us part." "I, Sharon Annette Donaldson, take you Edwin to be my husband, to love, honour, and obey, forsaking all others, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, till death do us part."

The standard, if slightly repressed, fare. At least it was until the rings were exchanged. When the ring slid on the bride's ring there was an instant of confusion on her face, but it was gone in a flash. I saw it because I was watching for it, but I might have been the only one who noticed the strange look.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

After the kiss, the guy running the service cleared his throat.

"As many of you may know there is an extra part of the service. Sharon, if you would just bend over the rail for a moment?"

The entire gathering tittered as Edwin landed a couple of light swats on Sharon's offered backside. Looking at the bridesmaids it seemed clear that this hadn't happened at the rehearsal. Of course, Sharon wasn't bespelled at the rehearsal.

I tagged along to the reception. The head table was introduced (the bridesmaids, best man, etc), speeches were given, a meal was served and glasses clanked. Then came the opening of the gifts. Mixed in with the real ones were obvious joke ones - toy paddles, thin straps, belts, a bristleless hairbrush - and Sharon laughed and joked as Edwin gave her playful swats with each of them. There were a few catcalls about saving the gifts for the wedding night, but I suspected that Edwin had everything planned out. for that.

Then came the dancing and the hints of things to come. Mixed in with usual banter there were a few people who didn't seem to understand why Sharon had been such a good sport over those gag gifts, or for that matter why she had bent in the chapel. I drifted to where some of the people were talking. The people who knew the bride best (the three bridesmaids and the maid of honour) had gathered in one corner. Of course, one of those people knew the true reason behind Sharon's behaviour.

"It just doesn't seem like her." Rosanna Davison, one of the bridesmaids, said to her little group.

"Oh chill." Olivia responded. "This is her big day, and if she wants to joke around she can joke around."

The debate continued, with the bridesmaids saying that something was wrong while Olivia insisted that there wasn't.

"Look, we all saw her legs when he took her garter off, right?" Olivia finally said. "And there was no sign of a cuff, was there? If you want I can do one of those scan thingies and see if she has any unexpected spells on her."

"Could you?" Rosanna asked. "I'd try, but I've had too much wine."

A few minutes of work later Olivia was reporting that their friend was entirely free of spells.

"...except for the stuff on her ring and I scanned that yesterday so I know what spells are on it." Olivia concluded.

I mentally nodded at her cleverness. She had technically told the truth as she deceived them. Olivia was the type who could do well at the Court of Bamber.

With Olivia's words allaying their fears the bridesmaids slowly drifted apart.

As the night went on, the bride's wasn't the only bottom that was collecting pats. Some of the other women were getting pats, swats, and even the occasional whack on their seats. I wasn't sure if it was a case of "when in Rome" or merely merrymaking at a wedding, then I caught on. It took overhearing another exchange, this one between one of the bridesmaids and the best man, a fellow who had been introduced as Ed Keoghan. While the bridesmaid he was talking to had claimed to have had too much wine, Ed was clearly drunk. He wasn't at the point where he needed help standing but he wasn't that far from that point either.

"So Rosie honey." Ed said, taking her arm.

"It's Rosanna. How many times am I going to have to repeat that?" Rosanna said with a sigh.

"Whatever. So, anyway, some of the guys kicked and we bought some of these." Ed said, holding up a leather bracelet. "It would go great with your dress. Or without it. The dress I mean. I mean the bracelet would look great if you weren't wearing that dress."

"I know what you mean." Rosanna said, interrupting his drunken ramblings. "And it's a nice a bracelet. The thing is, I've had a bit to drink and I promised my dad that I wouldn't accept anything like that without scanning it first. Maybe if I got my dad to look at it; he's somewhere over there talking to the band."

"Come on! Don't be a spoilsport. Put on the bracelet." Ed urged. "Then you'll be over my knees in a flash and I'll see you with that dress off and ..."

"What?" Rosanna asked in a horrified voice. "You mean that spell's really on it? But it's not a cuff!"

"The cuff's for the real full turn into a slave version." Ed slurred. "This is a 'get a warm tail and get into bed' version, and I pink you'll like wearing it so..."

"Oh I don't think so." Rosanna said firmly. "And when my dad hears that you tried to give it to me..."

Ed's ruddy face paled at the suggestion and he staggered away. Curious, and wondering if the wedding might end in bloodshed, I trailed after the bridesmaid as she crossed the room and talked to an older gentleman who had been chatting with the band. Alas her father seemed to be mellow and laid back, at least he did once he made sure that his daughter hadn't been hexed. The older guy seemed to be of the opinion that the best man hadn't been trying to trick Rosanna but was merely too drunk to pass on the gift as it was intentioned, that most (or perhaps all) of the women wearing the bracelets hadn't been tricked, and that if someone didn't want to wear the bracelets then she could take it off. And anyway, the night was alive and if some of the guests wanted to head to the shadows to embrace the element of danger and the ecstasy of flight, then why not let them?

A miniature argument followed, the father being laid back and the daughter being half drunk kept it from being a shouting match. Rosanna was saying something about how he felt that way because of someone named Maresa who liked to have her bum smacked and her dad was saying that Maresa had been a mistake he made fifteen years ago and couldn't she get over that? Rosanna was going about that ancient history, so missed what happened when best man Ed staggered in their direction. If looks could kill (and if the old man knew anything about the mystic powers they used in this Shadow then maybe they could) then Ed would have been carried away in multiple pieces. Ed didn't miss that look and turned his stagger in another direction. Sometime after that, Rosanna gave up arguing with her father and devoted the rest of the night to making sure that the women wearing bracelets really wanted to wear them.

Of course the spell being what it was most of them didn't mind the bracelets. Maybe they'd changed their minds later, but as long as no one's buns were too sore in the morning I doubted there would be any complaints.



It was a couple of days after the Trelawney wedding that something hit me. During my time in this Shadow I had encountered many people with 'Ed' in their names. "Honest Ed" who had cheated me at his pawnshop, Edward the asshole who lived to win Freedom Chips from tourists, Eddy Price who had ordered a spanking for his daughter and then enslaved one of her friends, Edwin Trelawney who had tricked his new wife into wearing a lesser version of the slave spell, and his best man Eddy Keoghan who had tricked to trick that bridesmaid into wearing that bracelet. All of them had one thing in common: they were all creeps or assholes of varying degrees. I had yet to meet a single man with 'Ed' in his name that wasn't a creep.

So what hit me? My sister Brenda, who had discovered this Shadow while questing for a Shadow of Desire, had an ex named Ed who had been asshole. Had her personal feelings shaped this Shadow to the point where there weren't any good people named Ed? It was something to think about.

Something to distract me from the monotonous hours of copying Trumps.

Hours that finally, eventually, came to an end.

As does this part of the story.

Goodgulf

[goodgulf]

Note:
When updating the link to the last story I discovered several typos and had to rewrite spots. If you enjoyed the story you may enjoy the corrected version.

Goodgulf