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Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Free Story - The Man at the Carousel

Hi folks, here's a follow up to the earlier story. Hope you enjoy it.

The Man at the Carousel

Elizabeth regarded her eldest daughter speculatively. At nineteen Carla was stunning, with her honey-blonde locks that tumbled down her back, hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes and a dazzling smile that captivated anyone who looked at her. Carla sparkled with the vitality and confidence of her youth, but today there was a difference ... today, when asked where she was going, those hazel eyes glimmered with subterfuge.

"Just out," she shrugged.

"Out where?" Elizabeth persisted.

"For a walk by the canal. Does it matter? I'm nineteen, mum. I don't need your permission." There was a slight hint of defiance in her tone, but it was overlaid with a simmering excitement." She couldn't control it - her face radiated an almost feverish eagerness.

"Does it matter?" mused Elizabeth. "Yes, I'd say it does matter. I think I know where you're going, Carla - in fact I'm sure of it. You're going to the travelling fair."

Carla blinked in surprise. "I might be," she said evasively. "And what if I am?"

Elizabeth nodded, a wistful smile curving the corners of her mouth. "You've seen him, haven't you?"


"Leon. Leon Altamarino. The man at the carousel."

"How the heck do you know that?!"

"You're not the only one to see him, Carla. I've seen him too, and so has your grandmother and your great grandmother, and goodness knows how many generations before that."

Carla moved away from the doorway and went to sit at the table opposite her mother. "I don't understand. You speak as though he were a ghost. He's not - he's flesh and blood and gorgeous. I met him last night and he's asked me out for a drink. That's where I'm going. I'm going on a date with Leon Altamarino." A dreamy look crossed her face and then vanished as she pondered her mother's statement. "What do you mean when you say that you've seen him? Okay, I get that, and maybe gran too - but great grandma? That's not possible - Leon can't be older than mid thirties."

"I've been preparing for this day for some time. There are things you should know, before you go and meet him. I'm not trying to get you to change your mind - far from it. I remember only too well the charm and mystery of the man. He will take you to heights you have never imagined, Carla, and you will revel in the experience and hold it within you for all time - just like the rest of us."

"You're not making much sense. Have you been smoking weed?" Carla eyed her mother with suspicion. The tin in the food cupboard stashed behind the tin of custard powder was no secret.

"No." Elizabeth smiled. "And you know that is only a very occasional vice. I remember having a similar conversation with my mother, a conversation which we discussed many times as the years went by. She didn't talk to me in advance of my first experience, feeling it best for me to find out for myself. But I've thought long and hard and I want you to be prepared. I want you to know. Leon Altamarino - what a name - seductive, fluid, almost musical. A magical name. It makes you tremble when you speak it out loud, doesn't it?"

Carla nodded. She focused on her mother's words, listening avidly as her mother continued.

"Your gran described part of her experience as though she was looking into a kaleidoscope, and as the tube was rotated, a mass of coloured shapes tumbled and danced, forming intricate patterns, multiplied by reflections in the mirrors set into the tube. Round and round danced the patterns, round and round, like the motion of a fairground carousel. And in the blink of an eye, through the kaleidoscope she could see the rows of gaily painted wooden horses on the carousel, and as the hidden bevel gears cranked, the horses moved up and down, galloping to the music that blared from the organ built in to the centre of the carousel. The memory was so clear she could see the intricate detail on the colourful wooden horses; she could hear the din of the fairground organ, with its drums, whistles and tooting horns - producing a sound that was at the same time both fun and wistful and scary. And in the background she could hear the hum of voices as people talked and laughed and squealed in delight and pretend fear."

"I can picture it," whispered Carla. "That is so real - the sights, the sounds, the atmosphere of the fairground, the horses on the carousel..."

"It is real. And the more I think of it, the more vibrant and alive my own memories become. Each of our line get to see him three times. Only three ... I wish it were more. I have had my quota and so has your gran. And now it is your time - your first time. Are you ready?"

Carla shivered. "I ... I - well I was ready to go out on a hot date. But now ... now everything has changed. This is all so mysterious and otherworldly. I'm still trying to work out how me, my mother and my gran can all date the same man!"

"It's best not to ponder too much - just accept, and enjoy. He'll spank you, you know."

Carla's eyes grew round. "Spank me?" Oh god, her fantasy ... her dark and secret and twisted fantasy ...

"Yes. But that's what you want, isn't it? I can tell. It shines through your eyes."

"Well, maybe," said Carla hesitantly, a flush of embarrassment colouring her cheeks.

"Most certainly you do. There's nothing perverse about it. It's in your blood! In our blood. And this man - whoever he is and by what strange means we get to see and experience him - he brings about a realisation of our fantasy."

"Let me get this straight. If I go to meet leon Altamarino, he'll spank me. And I get two more occasions when he'll spank me some more?" Her mother nodded. "And then what?"

"Then you will do as I am doing now, and prepare your own daughter for her first meeting with the man from the carousel. For as long as our line continues, that is what will happen to each woman in turn. Are we cursed or are we charmed? The latter - it is a gift. Take it. Experience it for yourself." Elizabeth stood and hugged her daughter. "Go now, it is time. Then when you return I'll have that tin out of the cupboard and we can compare notes."

Carla left the house just as the sun was dipping and made her way to the fairground. The evening was warm and humid, redolent with the sweet scent of candyfloss and the aroma of hot dogs from the many vendors' stalls. She made her way purposefully to the large carousel on the edge of the fairground. It was lit up with dozens of fairy lights winking pink and blue and green, and it was deserted except for one person - Leon Altamarino. He raised his hand and waved a greeting as she approached, and flashed that wickedly wonderful smile.

"Hello Carla," he said, reaching out to hug her.

"Leon," she said. "I ... I was talking with my mother about you."

"Of course," he nodded. "You have inherited her beauty. You are captivating." He kissed her fleetingly on the lips, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Come." He led her up onto the platform. "Ride the carousel with me. You will like where it takes us."

All her unspoken questions faded into nothing. She laughed with childlike glee, and clambered onto one of the horses. It was painted in green and gold, with a red saddle and a red bridle.

Leon went to the controls in the centre of the carousel platform. "Hold tight." That wide and generous mouth smiled a smile full of secrets and promises. He pulled a lever.

The machinery whirred and the horses began to move, slowly at first - a sedate walking pace which escalated to a trot, then a brisk canter, and finally a gallop. Carla laughed, and held tightly to the barley twist pole as the momentum increased. She felt euphoric. The twilight air shimmered. Leon came to sit behind her on the wooden horse, his arms sliding around her waist, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. And as the carousel spun and whirled, Leon Altamarino whispered in Carla's ear about all the things she would experience with him.

Carla leaned back in his embrace, desire pulsing from every bone in her body. She was barely aware that the carousel had slowed. His hands cupped her breasts, his mouth came down hard on her own, devouring her in a kiss full of promises. When the carousel stopped, Carla slid down from the horse to be caught in strong welcoming arms. Then, taking her by the hand, Leon led her over the field to his caravan.

There was a new vibrancy about her as she ran over the grass, easily matching Leon's pace. And when they reached his caravan and tumbled inside, he caught her around the waist and pulled her close.

"All things are possible if one wants them enough," murmured Leon in her ear. "And I know what you want. But I need you to tell me. Tell me, Carla. Tell me what you want of me."

"I... I..." she faltered. "I want - need - you to ... to spank me. Please."

"It will be my pleasure," he said huskily. His hands began to undress her as his eyes devoured her.

Off came her blouse. And then he unclasped her bra and drew the straps down slowly over her shoulders. Stooping, he brushed his lips lightly over her nipples - they were already engorged. Carla trembled with excitement and longing. She felt his hands slide her zipper down, and then tug lightly at her skirt. It fell to the floor. She kicked it aside dismissively.

Leon bent to unfasten her sandals. He removed first one and then the other. Now Carla faced him, wearing only a pair of black lace panties. She felt his hands dart round to fondle her bottom, pinching and patting her well-rounded buttocks. Then he pushed her roughly onto the bed. She got up on her hands and knees and he pulled down her panties, baring her bottom. And then he started to spank her.

His hand cracked down on her pale bottom. Again and again the spanks descended, and Carla wondered how a hand could possibly hurt so much. She squirmed and bucked and yelped; hating it; loving it. Her bottom quickly lost its pale sheen and became a uniform pink.

Leon laughed. "We need more colour. What's it to be, my love? Crop, strap, belt or cane?"

"All of them," she mewled.

"Patience," he smilingly admonished, and picked up the crop.

He used it expertly - lightly at first, enjoying the sharp cracks as it tapped against the whiteness of her inner thighs, and the change in sound as it flicked lightly over her secret places, making her writhe and moan and beg for more. He lashed the back of her thighs. A succession of hard blows soon reddened her milky skin and had her yowling and kicking.

Next, came the thick strap of hard and heavy leather. It thudded down onto the hills of her buttocks, leaving angry red splats and welts in its wake. Carla cried out in pain as the strap bit unforgivingly. Her bottom felt red raw and swollen. Tears trickled from her eyes as the strap continued its descent, and then there was a new sensation as he cast it aside and used the soft leather belt.

She purred. This was much nicer. She writhed, arching her back, thrusting out her bottom lewdly, her legs parted, her thighs glistening with the physical evidence of her arousal. The belt snaked over her buttocks in a rhythmic dance. She undulated her hips, crying out in pain or pleasure - she knew not which, for the lines between the two were blurred and indistinguishable.

And then she felt the tap of the tip of the cane; three light introductory taps on her bottom. She shivered, and held her breath, tense and expectant, waiting for the first strike to fall. When it failed to happen, she exhaled, and at that moment, Leon's arm descended, bringing the cane cracking down in a perfect line over her lower buttocks.

Carla screamed, her senses reeling, the pain blistering and bubbling. Her bottom burned. And then came another strike of liquid fire, and another, and another as Leon laid on the stripes, one after the other. He was relentless. The pain was relentless. It filled her entire being. She sobbed, her body sagging as she fell forwards, sprawling flat on the bed.

His hands stroked and rubbed and kneaded her wounded flesh. She raised her hips, eager and willing for him to enter her. And as he thrust deep inside her, the air shimmered and rippled, and their hoarse cries blended as their bodies moved in the eternal rhythm.

When Carla arrived home, her mother was waiting for her in the kitchen. The aroma of coffee filled the room and as promised, the tin of weed had been retrieved from the cupboard and placed on the table next to an ash tray and a cigarette lighter.

One look at her daughter's animated face told Elizabeth all she needed to know. Carla sat down tentatively, wincing a little as her bottom made contact with the hard wooden chair, and then her expression changed to one reminiscent of a cat who had lapped up all the cream.

Mother and daughter looked at each other. Their faces wore identical expressions - of wonder and acceptance and passion and excitement, tempered with a tacit understanding of the thing they shared.

The kitchen soon filled with the sickly sweet smell of cannabis. The two women lapsed into silence, both of them floating in a welcome haze, both of them picturing the devilishly handsome face and sparkling eyes of Leon Altamarino, and both of them hearing in their head the sound of the fairground organ on the carousel. The music was loud and raucous, punctuated by the clash of cymbals and the discordant tooting of horns. And as the music played, the carousel horses moved round and round, bobbing up and down. Up and down and round and round for all eternity.


  1. I like your writing style, Abigail. Keep up the good work.

  2. I like your writing style, Abigail. Keep up the good work.

  3. So it is in the genes, after all. Always thought so but then thinking about mum and dad . . . well, impossible to imagine. On the one to ten erection scale this one rates an eleven.

  4. Thanks Chuck and Hobbes. Yes, it's all in the genes, and I know I haven't explained everything in detail, but that was deliberate to make your imagination wander .... :)

  5. The painted carousel horses provides the reader with a word picture that brings them back fond childhood memories. That setting gives a whimsical foundation to the generational story where the power of a firm spanking adds to each of their lives.