At the Cottage (M/f)

[goodgulf]

At the Cottage

Annabeth Trambell smiled as she drove down the wooded dirt lane. It was early, normally too early to hit to the cabin, but coming here was better than listening to her parents going on and on about her finding a summer job. Ever since she had gotten home from her freshman year at college they had gone on and on about her getting a summer job.

Not that she needed the money; her parents made enough that she didn't have to work to pay for college. When she told them that, they started talking about family responsibility, so here she was going to open up her grandparents' cottage for the summer.

Normally she wouldn't be heading out there until the end of July, maybe beginning of August, but here she was, the first of June, coming out to clean up the cabin and air it out.

It took her three days to clean it to her standards. Annabeth knew that her mother probably wouldn't call the place clean, but if her mother wanted it disinfected then her mother could do it. As far as Annabeth was concerned, she was going the extra mile by airing out the tents.

Come the end of July or start of August, the entire family would be tramping out here. Those who could would spend the summer here while those with jobs would show up on weekends. The problem was, with all her uncles, aunts, and cousins they had long ago overflowed the cottage and now needed tents for the younger family members. When she was younger, Annabeth had hoped to make the transition to the house, but now she knew that she would have to wait for someone to die before she got a room in the cottage. That or move away, and that didn't seem likely either.

Then again, she had spent some great nights in the tents. Alone with her cousins it was like one giant sleepover, with ghost stories and every thing. The only real problem was having to make midnight treks to the bathroom. But as fun as the tents could be, Annabeth wouldn't mind getting a room in the cottage.


With the cottage clean, Annabeth changed into her bikini and headed to the beach by the lake. This early in the season it was crawling with locals, but that was okay with Annabeth - as long as she had room she didn't see why they couldn't be there too.

Oiling up, she spread her towel to catch some rays. As she did so Annabeth completely ignored the looks that she was getting; it wasn't her fault that the cottagers owned the beach. In another month or so there would be enough of them out here that the locals would be pushed off. The locals wouldn't like it, but their ancestors had sold the land around the beach and that was all it was too it.

'At least there's not many of them here.' Annabeth thought to herself. 'It must be because it's a weekday.'

Annabeth stayed on the beach until the sun went down, then headed back to the cottage.

"Now that was weird." Annabeth muttered to herself. "Being at the beach and not knowing anyone."

Usually the beach was one big party for Annabeth. She had all sorts of friends among the other cottagers, but Annabeth had never really met any of the locals. She was a cottager, and the cottagers kept together. There were all sorts of stories and rumours about the locals; most were laughable, they were still being spread around.


The next day Annabeth showered, headed into town for supplies, and then tried to plan out her day. She knew she should be working on her reading list, but the beach was calling. Of course it was crawling with locals, but that was something she could live with. Watching them from the corner of her eyes, Annabeth slowly decided that maybe they weren't so bad to be around.

At least not as long as they kept to themselves and she had plenty of room on the beach.

When the weekend came Annabeth did something that seemed strange - she came home from the cottage from the weekend. Of course the moment she got home her mother started asking about the cottage and not liking what she heard. Monday found Annabeth heading back to the cottage so that her grandma wouldn't think that no one had taught Annabeth how to clean.

Monday was spent mostly cleaning, but Annabeth was back on the beach before the sun was down, catching the last of the day's rays. Laying there, surrounded by the locals, Annabeth realised that this was the first time she had been alone on the beach. Sure, there were other people on the beach, but she didn't know any of them. She knew dozens of her fellow cottagers, but she had never met any of the locals. There were all sorts of rumours about the locals, some of them were more laughable than others, but all of them were the type to keep them from mixing.

As she opened a bottle of wine for her late dinner, Annabeth found herself laughing at one of the more rediculous stories. Her Cousin Shirley had told it one night in the tent and Annabeth had almost peed herself in fear. It wasn't even an urban legend. It hadn't even started with a "friend of friend" intro, but a "I heard about this..." one. Maybe Cousin Shirley had even believed it; it was one of those stories that would spread among kids.

Here, in the cottage, Annabeth could remember it like it was yesterday. They had been in a tent, Cousin Shirley was sitting up in her sleeping bag, telling the story.

"And you have to stay away from the locals." Cousin Shirley warned. "Don't even go running off with their kids. There's this guy, that when he sees a cottager off by herself, he spanks them. And not just kids - he spanks older girls too!"

The tent had dissolved into squeals and giggles of terror.

Downing the wine, Annabeth giggled about what she had used to believe.

Tuesday morning came with a slight headache, and the inspiration to spend the day at the beach. She had the rest of the week to clean and this was a beautiful morning, too beautiful spend in the cottage.

The beach was deserted, which Annabeth put down to the fact that weekday and school was still in. Oiling up, she spread her beach blanket, set her phone to go off in a couple of hours, and laid on her stomach to catch the morning's ray.


---


A loud voice awoke Annabeth. It came again she scrambled to refashion the back strap on her bikini.

"I said what are you doing here on a workday? Have you no occupation? Have you no useful work to do? Anthony Quincy Yarbro wants to know."

"I'm staying at one of the cottages." Annabeth said, making sure that she secure in her top before she leaned up.

Anthony Quincy Yarbro (if that was his name) was a 40ish man with a potbelly and greying hair. He was looking down at her, as if he expected her to say something. When she didn't, he straightened.

"Are you telling Anthony Quincy Yarbro that you have nothing useful to do? That boggles the mind? How could you be so useless that you don't have anything to do? Anthony Quincy Yarbro wants to know."

"Look, I'm just finished my freshman year and relaxing by the lake and taking some time off. And clear off; this beach is owned by the cottage association." Annabeth snapped.

"No one told Anthony Quincy Yarbro about that. Anthony Quincy Yarbro cannot believe that you have nothing better to do than sun yourself in that shamefully exposing swimsuit. No, Anthony Quincy Yarbro cannot believe that."

"Well it's true and it's been that way for years and years." Annabeth told him.

"Anthony Quincy Yarbro refuses to accept that. And Anthony Quincy Yarbro does not like the tone of your voice." Annabeth told him. "Now clear off before I call the cops. If I do that then the locals will be banned from the beach for the rest of the summer."

"Anthony Quincy Yarbro does not accept that answer."

"Well look, you have to clear off or HEY!"

Annabeth's protest ended when Anthony Quincy Yarbro grabbed hold of her arm. She squealed as he dragged her to her feet.

"Let go of me!" Annabeth insisted.

Anthony Quincy Yarbro ignored her and dragged Annabeth towards a camp stool that had appeared on the beach.

"I said let go of me!"

Anthony Quincy Yarbro wasn't listening.

"Anthony Quincy Yarbro is not going to allow you to act this way." Anthony Quincy Yarbro thundered.

Annabeth stumbled; only the firm grip on her arm kept her upright on their journey to the campstool. Still unsteady on her feet, Annabeth couldn't offer any real resistance as Anthony Quincy Yarbro forced her over his lap.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Annabeth demanded.

Then his palm crashed down on the upturned seat of her bikini.

"Are you some kind of freak?" Annabeth demanded, trying to squirm and wiggle free.

She put her heart into it, but when her struggle ended one of her arms was wedged tight against her captor's body and Anthony Quincy Yarbro had a firm grasp on the other one. And her bum was still was still being whacked by the madman.

"Anthony Quincy Yarbro hates it when they struggle." Anthony Quincy Yarbro said, bring his hand down again and again.

"Let me the fuck go." Annabeth demanded. "Someone call a cop! Get the OUCH fucking cops!"

"And when they struggle." The man continued. "Anthony Quincy Yarbro does not spank clothing."

"OH! What the hell does that mean?" Annabeth screamed.

Then Anthony Quincy Yarbro's hand wasn't coming down hard on her bum. It was reaching, not smacking, and his fingers were inside the waistband of her bikini.

"You can't take those down!" Annabeth insisted, denying the reality that he was pulling them down.

Annabeth tried to struggle again, ending up in a worse place. One of her legs was actually wedged between her tormentor's. Annabeth screamed in shame as she imaged how she must look.

Then she had another reason to scream as he returned to spanking her.

"You are SMACK just a sassy SLAP girl who SMACK needs some sense SMACK spanked into her." Anthony Quincy Yarbro declared, putting force behind every smack.

Annabeth shrieked. She protested. She pleaded, then she cried as redness appeared between her tan lines. In the back of her mind, Annabeth couldn't help thinking about the story her Cousin Shirley had told her. Was it really true? Had there been a spanker going around the lake for years? Then it didn't matter, then only thing that mattered was the throbbing in her backside.

"Anthony Quincy Yarbro does not take any lip." He lectured as he smacked away. "Anthony Quincy Yarbro believes in spanking sassy girls."

Annabeth was sobbing, her whole body wracked as she did. Then a miracle happened - his hand lifted and didn't descend. Then she was sprawled on the sand.

"Now go, before Anthony Quincy Yarbro decides to give you a second spanking." He told her. "Another one on top of the first."

Annabeth didn't need to be told twice. She ran for the cottage. She abandoned her beach blanket, sandals, and even her bikini bottoms as she dashed for the safety of her grandparents' cottage. The path was well worn, with only the odd stone or stick to catch her feet. By the time she reached the cottage, her feet were bruised, but they didn't hurt anywhere as much her bum did. Once there, she slammed the door shut and locked it. She didn't care about how the backdoor was open with the screen door unlatched, or how the windows were unlatched - as long as the front door was locked she felt safe.


He watched her go, her red bum bouncing as she did. It was a nice sight. Then he half jumped out of his skin as her phone went off.

"She left her phone." He said with a smile.

He dashed to the tree line, carrying the campstool and retrieving the rake he had left there. A bit of sweeping later and, well, the beach didn't have to look pristine, he just had to obscure his presence. He moved the phone so it was half buried then shifted the beach towel a bit so the phone was covered.

"Anything to buy some time." Gerald muttered.

Then he was rushing to his car, carrying his gear and tearing at his shirt as he ran. He popped the trunk, tossing in the belly padding that he had borrowed from the high school drama department. Dumping the water bottle over his head and most of the grey was gone, leaving him looking twenty years younger. Then the rest of the clothes he had worn was in the trunk and he was wearing his normal jeans and T-shirt.

Gerald was grinning like a madman as he drove. He had a dozen guys (including the foreman!) who would swear that he had clocked in that morning.

"And Anthony Quincy Yarbro lives again." Gerald muttered.

The old man had lived. Anthony Quincy Yarbro had worked in town, a nice enough guy even if he was bachelor. Then he had started going a bit weird, weirder than just speaking of himself in the third person. Him spanking his nieces and nephews, that was a family matter, but when he started spanking other people's kids, well, when it went beyond neighbourhood gossip it was a matter for the deputy sheriff. The deputy had been giving him a "this is the last warning you're going to get so stop smacking kids" when Anthony Quincy Yarbro had lost feeling in his left arm and right leg.

An ambulance ride and a battery of tests later they had the bad news: brain cancer. Even if old Anthony Quincy Yarbro had the best insurance on the planet (which he didn't, not by a long shot) there was nothing they could do.

And no one wanted the poor guy to spend his last months in jail, so all the charges were dropped. Not that there were any pending charges, not then. Or the next time he spanked some kid. Or the time after that. And those times that the girl wasn't a kid, those got swept under the rug. Even when it was a cottager's kid the townie felt bad enough about the brain cancer that there weren't any charges.

That stubborn old man had lived another six years - handling out spankings the entire time - then died peacefully in her sleep.

"I'd like to be there in the sheriff's office when she goes in and says Anthony Quincy Yarbro spanked her bum." Gerald muttered.

Anthony Quincy Yarbro had been a cousin (of sorts) and there was a family resemblance. With the paunch padding on and his hair half grey Gerald had looked just like that picture of the long man. People had told him that for years (and some gossiped about the Anthony Quincy Yarbro had spent around Gerald's mother) so when one of the cottagers had arrived a month early the boys at the bar had come up with this plan.

Getting to work, nodding to the foreman, Gerald threw himself into the mind numbing routine that was his life. At lunch his buddies pressed him for details, but all he would do was grin and declare: "Anthony Quincy Yarbro rode again!"

Of course he couldn't give them details, not without mentioning how years of practice with Katie (the high school sweetheart that he had married) had given him the expertise to hold a struggling girl over his knee.


It was after one when Annabeth, dressed in jeans and a blouse, returned to beach. It was as she left it. There were her bikini bottoms, and (after a bit of looking) she found her phone. Retrieving her belongings, she hurried back to the cabin. Once there she held her phone in one hand while rubbing her hot backside with the other.

"I can call the cops and..."

As Annabeth said those words to herself, she thought of another heat she could rub at.

"...Or I could hit the beach tomorrow and see if he comes back." Annabeth muttered.

Goodgulf