Authors: Gabriella Luciano
Tags: #bdsm, #spanking
American Taboo Press
New York ― Los Angeles
First International Edition, October 2012
Copyright © 2012 by American Taboo Press
All rights reserved under International and
Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States
by American Taboo Press, Los Angeles.
from Spanked: Real Stories
Q: Tell me about your experiences getting
: He was an older Australian man. I mean at least a number of
years older than me. He lived on a neighboring ranch next to my
parents' estate out on the edge of the outback. They had purchased
the place from a family friend with the intent that it would be
their retirement home. I had never even been to Australia even
though my father was born there and I had dual citizenship. It was
a few months after they had purchased the place when I decided I
would go visit. I had been living in New York and working a very
stressful corporate job that required me to put in 60 or 70 hours a
week. I needed the escape.
Q: Did you find it?
: (laughs) Well, I don’t know if I found escape but I
certainly found what it’s like to get whipped out in parts of the
rugged Australian territory where neighbors are few and far
Q: He whipped you?
: Actually, he used a carpet beater, but let me start from
the beginning. I arrived at my parents' ranch with the intent to
stay for a week. They had settled into the place, had begun to farm
a number of crops they grew to supplement their income and had even
purchased a few horses. I had grown up as a child in Kentucky so I
was completely at home on top of a horse. So, two or three days
into my vacation, I would ride the horse out to the far stretches
of their property. They had acquired a couple thousand acres so
their neighbors were literally miles away from them. Well, one day
I took the horse to the western edge of their property. My parents
had told me that there was a man by the name of Ross Higgins who
lived there. They told me they had only met him once or twice but
he seemed to be an eclectic sort of frontiersman. He was divorced
and spent most of his time overseeing his vast acreage of cotton
Q: So what happened?
: It took me nearly a quarter of an hour just to make it to
the property line that was marked with an old handmade wooden fence
and a lot of barbed wire. I rode along the line until I made it to
his place. It was set near the edge of the main dirt road that
divided the territory. As I approached his ranch house, the sight
of his figure standing in the rear courtyard grew larger and
larger. I could see that he was at work doing something but I could
not see what he was doing. There was just this silhouette of a man
on the landscape making a kind of swift motion with his upper body
and the muffled sound of a harsh thud at the finish of the
Q: A thud?
: Yes. It was only once I got close enough to his house that
I saw that there were a half dozen large carpets hung over a
clothes line and he was striking them with some sort of an object.
I only half-recognized the object. I think I had seen it in a movie
or something. I knew that it was called a carpet beater and that it
was used to beat the dirt from the carpet in an age before there
were such things as vacuums and steam cleaners. When I saw him
viciously striking the thick pieces of fabric, it seemed almost
cinematic. Plus, I guess I had always assumed that women had used
them in their traditional domestic duties. To see a man using the
wicker implement to strike the dirty rugs was disorienting at
first, particularly since he had the look of a rugged outdoorsman.
He was wearing a pair of thick tan dungarees but his deeply tanned
chest was as bare as could it could be. I pulled up my horse and
just sat there watching him. The intensity with which he struck
each carpet with the beater was very impressionable.
Q: How so?
: He would wind up like a baseball player getting ready to
hit the ball out of the stadium. Every time he struck the beater
against the carpet, he would hit it with the full force of his
whole body. At times, it seemed as if he would catapult his feet
right off the ground. There was such a violent intensity to it but
at the same time it seemed very poetic and beautiful as I watched
it from a distance.
Q: So what happened?
: I was just sitting on my horse watching him do his work,
repeating the motion over and over, when he suddenly looked up in
my direction. He must have felt that someone was watching him. He
stopped and looked toward me. When he saw me, I felt my heart skip
a beat. I really wasn’t doing anything I wasn’t supposed to be
doing, but I think I had started to be more of a voyeur than just
an innocent stranger who had happened to come upon him. It only
took him a couple of seconds to motion me to ride down the length
of the fence in his direction. I immediately led the horse down the
line of the property as he casually walked to meet me. When I
pulled the horse up in front of him, he eyed me for a moment to try
to figure out who I was. He asked me if I worked for my parents and
I told him that I was their daughter. He simply nodded up and down
while he took stock of me. There was an intense visual exchange
after I took a moment to ogle his body. He was a good number of
years older than me, but still very fit with a strapping torso
from, what I assumed, many hours and days of rugged labor. His
thick brown hair was graying at the temples.
He asked me why I was watching him beat the
carpets. I told him that I was American and that I had never seen
anyone use a carpet beater. He still had it in his hand and I was
covertly examining the woven design of the wicker implement. I made
a comment that I thought women were the ones who typically used
them and he immediately frowned at me. He told me he was divorced
and his own daughter didn’t have any clue how to properly beat a
carpet. He said that it had to be struck with a certain force to
displace the dirt from the tight fabric. He said it in such a
technical way but it seemed so provocative in its erotic
suggestiveness. Maybe that was just me. I don’t know.
Q: So did something happen?
: Not then, no. We talked for some time. I asked him more
about beating the carpets and he inquired about my visit to the
country. There was definitely this strange connection between us.
He was a bit irritated that I had come upon him unannounced but I
could tell he was intrigued by this seemingly naïve American woman
watching him from the edge of his property. He rested the wicker
beater on his bare shoulder, as he spoke to me, like it was hatchet
or a baseball bat. He showed no shame or feelings of
self-consciousness to the fact that he was violently beating these
dirty carpets like a man possessed with an uncanny intent to purify
them. After we talked for a bit, there was a lull in the
conversation and he said he had to get back to his work. I wished
him a good day and rode off toward my parents' place.
Q: And after?
: That night, I had some intense dreams but I could only
remember fragments of them upon waking. Immediately after
breakfast, I took one of the horses out again and headed straight
toward his place. When I got there, it must still have been very
early in the morning as the air was still a bit chilly. I expected
somehow to find him in the same place where I had left him but not
only was he not there, but the carpets had been taken back into the
house. I hesitated for a moment but then noticed a light on in one
of the windows of his ranch. I slowly rode up the length of the
fence so I was just yards away from his dwelling. When I saw his
bare body through one of the windows, I pulled up the horse and
froze in place.
Maybe I wasn’t used to the secluded nature
provided by the vast distances between each house, but it seemed
like he was on full display for me to watch. He had evidently just
showered as he was toweling the water off of his body. He was stark
naked and he rapidly wiped the moisture from his tanned skin with a
white towel. My first instinct was to ride away but I was afraid
that the noise from the horse would betray my presence. I remained
as still as I could on my horse and ogled his body as he shimmied
it dry. Suddenly, he made a quick motion toward the window to hang
up the towel and he glanced out. Our eyes locked and his expression
transformed to a look of shock and fury.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just
ride away. Well, I guess I could have but I didn’t. A few moments
later, he stormed out of the back of his place wearing only his
jeans and a pair of dark brown boots.
Q: And what did he do?
: He literally stomped across the distance from his back door
to the spot where I rested at the edge of his property. He began to
shout before he even reached me. At first, I could only hear random
words from what he was saying. Not only because of the distance but
because there was a steady breeze blowing. It was phrases like “how
dare you?” and “who do you think you are?” and you “dirty little
voyeur.” It was that last one that really woke me up. I mean I was
afraid from his reaction but when he called me a “dirty little
voyeur,” that got my attention. I suddenly felt like I had
committed a crime or something. I mean I had just ridden up to the
edge of his property to see if he was beating the carpets again. I
don’t know why I thought he would be doing it the very next day,
but I didn’t mean to catch him in the nude.
So by the time he got to me, my heart was
racing like crazy and I didn’t know what he was going to do. His
face was red with anger and he was still shouting at me in full
fury. He finally told me to get down from the horse and I did. He
immediately looked me up and down. I was wearing full leather chaps
over my riding pants and I must have looked like some high class
equestrian snob to him. He demanded to know why I was peeping in
his window and I tried to tell him that I didn’t mean to. I was
just there to watch him beat the carpets. He looked at me like I
was some crazy American tourist who thought he was there just to
give her an Australian outback show.
Q: Is that was he said?
: No, that’s how he looked at me. What he said was that he
was going to teach me what happens to “dirty little voyeurs.” He
told me to tie up my horse and “get my skinny ass” inside before he
beat it right there. I didn’t know what to do and I froze for a
second. My parents had said he was eccentric but I didn’t know if
that meant he was dangerous. When I hesitated, he moved to step
through the barbed wire fence to come toward me, and I quickly
relented to his orders. I tied up my horse and ducked through the
fence. He immediately grabbed my arm and led me towards his house.
My mind began to race with the possibilities of what he was going
to do. I mean, we were practically out there in the middle of
nowhere. All he said was that he was going to teach me how he beat
the dirt out of the carpets. I knew deep down that he meant he was
going to do more than that.
Q: What do you mean? Why didn’t you just
: I don’t really know. I could have just left, but I didn’t.
I felt like nothing really bad was going to happen and whatever did
happen, no one would be able to see or hear way out there anyway.
It was like I slipped into another zone of reality. This strapping
Australian man had caught me peering through his window and was now
roughly leading me into his house. It just felt like it was
supposed to happen.
Q: And what did happen?
: He took me to the back courtyard of his house where he had
been beating the carpets the day before. There was a number of
nylon cords tied to metal poles over which he had laid the rugs. It
looked very ramshackle, as if he had built them himself. When we
got to them, he told me to lift my arms and wrap them around one of
the lines. That was the point at which I felt he was a bit crazy.
Well, I don’t want to say crazy, but he had a certain pathological
way of seeing things that included it making sense in his mind for
making this American woman wrap her arms around his carpet hanging
lines. I hesitated and he told me to get my arms up there. I glared
out toward the prairie as if I was seeing if anyone was there. I
mean I’d been living in the city. I wasn’t used to risking myself
like this without the safety of a cell phone call or a scream to
someone passing by.