Mistaken...
by sarAdora
~~~~~~~

At first glance, they looked identical. Split from the same ova, they should have been identical in all ways. Same dark red hair, same deep green eyes, and the same dimples and beautiful smiles - all the same. Except one was a mean spirited and spoiled princess, the other equally high spirited but a sweet and gentle soul.

Their father's will stipulated they each donate 1000 hours of community service before inheriting their share of his estate. Jolina Stoker had fulfilled the obligation months ago and invested her inherited funds in projects that interested her. Her twin, Angelina, was still spending the settlement money she received when she divorced husband # 2. She had to fulfill the 1000 hours of community service before her 30th birthday or forfeit her share to her sister.

Neither knew of the codicil in the will.

At the executor's discretion, the sisters could be punished for not fulfilling their father's stipulation.

The executor despised selfishness. He especially despised it in a well bred female who had enjoyed all that life had to offer. Angelina Stoker needed to learn a lesson and if he had his way, she was going to learn this one.

He called the one man he knew who could deliver the kind of old fashioned punishment the spoiled princess needed - a good old fashioned spanking - on a bared bottom - over a determined man's lap.

Jonathan Cunningham was rich, devilishly rich and handsome. He could have any woman that caught his eye - except the one that had stolen his heart and laughingly scorned him when she dumped him on a Tuesday and married someone a little wealthier on a Friday. He'd never trust his heart again. But he was perfectly willing to punish Angelina Stoker.

The executor knew that Jonathan would not hesitate to use the rod or a hairbrush or his extremely large hands on the spoiled woman.

~~~

When the Stoker twin woke up, she was certain she was in the throes of a nightmare - blindfolded, gagged, hands tied together and secured above her head, ankles cuffed to the side rails of a bed. When she finally realized the nightmare was real, she knew someone had abducted her for ransom. She was very rich; there was no other explanation and she was frightened.

Jonathan Cunningham watched her, had been watching her since her driver had dropped her off, the sedative administered in the glass of wine the chauffeur had poured for her when she entered the limo. The man had been instructed to wait outside her condominium and take her for a ride around the snow-covered park before taking her to an evening concert. As soon as the sedative took effect, he drove her to Jonathan Cunningham's estate, a towering mansion secluded in the center of a large parceled piece of land. He was delighted that "Princess Angelina the Spoiled" was about to get a much-deserved comeuppance. His only regret was that he couldn't witness the punishment.

"I see you're awake," Jonathan said softly, his breath on her face as he hovered over her, frightening her speechless.

The Stoker twin flinched when he rubbed a finger over her blindfold, nostrils flaring as he rubbed it against her cloth gag and shivered as he dropped a kiss on her exposed throat.

"You are very beautiful," he murmured. "Are you as pretty under your clothes as you are with them on?" A heavy warm palm caressed a breast causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. "Since you can't speak..." he let the words linger hoping to raise her fear to an uncontrollable level. "I'll just have to see for myself."

She tried to back away from the intimacy of his words, tried to shrink into the soft mattress beneath her back, tried to will her mind to ignore the implicit threat of rape.

Slowly and methodically, he cut away her clothing until she lay bared to his piercing eyes, so vulnerable in her nudity, all her secrets exposed. An appreciative hum erupted into a low lewd growl as he trailed a teasing... threatening... finger down the center of her shivering body. He had left her sheer white hip hose in place, the wide band of lace kissing the tops of her thighs, the thighs that flexed, trying to hide the mount of her sex.

"So beautiful," he husked as his eyes devoured the banquet her body presented. "And so naughty," he added. "Naughty girls get punished. Did you know that?" he smiled as he set the next stage in motion.

Punished? Her heart raced at his words. Oh my god! What is he going to do?

"Lovely," he murmured as he stroked the column of her ivory neck and smiled at the sight of her rapid pulse. "So lovely and these," he pressed a gentle finger on each dusky nipple. "These are just begging for my kisses, aren't they?"

"What?" his voice feigned shock. "No response?" Chuckling, he teased her further. "I remember now; you can't speak. Well, no matter. I'll just have to see for myself."

Lowering his lips to her breasts, he teased her rosy peaks with the tip of his warm tongue and then grinned broadly when her nipples because taut. "Little beggar, aren't you?" he laughed softly. "I had a feeling you'd like that. What else do you like? Shall we see?"

It's a dream, a nightmare. Please Jesus, let it be a nightmare and let me wake up.

Trailing fingers down the middle of her body, he paused to circle the small indentation of her belly button and smiled when her body shuddered. "You liked that, didn't you, naughty girl?"

"And this," he twirled his index finger in the silk of her mons. "This is very pretty. I wonder how many men have told you that? Hmmm? Five? Ten? Twenty? Are you loose and free with your charms? I bet you are, you naughty girl."

"Ahhh, I was right," he declared as he stroked her pinking petals. "You're wet! Such a very naughty girl you are!"

"Do you know what happens to naughty girls?"

Oh God! she moaned.

"What was that?" he asked. "Did you say something, Ms. Stoker? Speak up! What's that you say? I didn't hear you. Shall we try again?" he chuckled and cupped her mons so hard her body shook but from fright or ecstasy was anybody's guess.

"Beautiful," he murmured as he stroked her, his fingers twirling the curls of her sex, lightly tugging on them and then tugging harder until he heard her moan again. "And your thighs," he whispered as he bent to kiss the soft silky flesh closest to her sex. "These are lovely and look!" he crowed. "They're getting damp. You really are a *very* naughty girl."

"Well enough dallying. Naughty girls get spanked and you, Ms Stoker, are long overdue. Up you go," he chuckled, releasing her legs from the bedposts and reattaching them to a spreader bar. Her hands were released and retied behind her back, his movements rapid and completed without fanfare.

She couldn't struggle if she tried - still too drugged to fight him off and the way he handled her... as if he were practiced at this... he was obviously bigger and stronger and while she was not frail, she was no match for him.

"I want to hear you cry," he said softly, removing her gag and then cupped her face with two large hands, bending down to place each uttered word closer to her fear. His voice was cloaked in intimacy with just a hint of mockery as he watched her nostrils flare and paused to watch her pulse jump at his words. "I want to hear you sob and you may scream if you'd like," he added agreeably as if he were granting her a boon.

In seconds she was draped over his thighs, her upper body facing the floor, her legs spread wide behind her, her bottom raised higher than the rest of her. His hand came down hard - once - twice - and she gasped at the sting not realizing that he was toying with her; her pain had just begun.

And then the sudden thwack of hard wood met the cushion of flesh and she would have gone tumbled to the floor if he hadn't held her. The paddle rained heavy fire - hot white searing fire - and came down so rapidly that her lungs couldn't take in enough air to sustain her and she blinked tears while her chest constricted from a lack of oxygen.

No sooner did he put the paddle down than his hand resumed kindling the fire. He slapped her bottom hard with the palm of his hand, then again with his hand slightly tilted to the side and then his fingers found her wet core and he dug into her with a vengeance, the swift thrusting of his digits into her body both rough and merciless.

And then he paused, his fingers searching... searching... and when he found that one particular spot where blazing hell morphed into the bliss of heaven, she screamed her pleasure so loudly... so completely... so satisfyingly... he was filled with sadistic glee and burst into laughter.

"Ahhhh my dear," he continued to laugh. "Was that a clarion call I just heard? Such a naughty girl you are!"

And then he spanked her yet again.

"You're so wet, Ms. Stoker. Truly, you must have enjoyed that. Let me sip your nectar, love. Is it as sweet as you feel?"

Dropping her unceremoniously to the floor, he smirked when her wet thighs slapped the floor, her feeble cries of pain lost in the resounding contact between it and her bruised and battered flesh. "Feel comfortable there, little girl?" he asked as he kneeled between her legs. "This is where naughty girls belong - on the floor. Just pretend it's the gutter where your selfish ways are acceptable. Comfortable rich girl, rich spoiled girl?" he snarled and then cupping her sore bottom with both hands, he lifted her to his mouth and ravished her with his tongue.

"Did you like that, Ms. Stoker?" he asked, his face drenched with her dew. "You're not supposed to enjoy this, you know." And with that, he raised the spreader bar above her body and spanked her again.

"Is your sweet bottom on fire yet?" he asked softly, admiring the richness of the color he had already imparted on her cheeks. "No worries, love. We have just begun the punishment you so richly deserve."

She screamed when he used the tawse, sobbed when his hand slapped and spanked and swatted and his fingers pinched. She moaned when he played her sex like a tightly strung instrument, bringing her to the brink of pleasure, dropping her into the dark abyss of excruciatingly painful bliss and then building the fire in her bottom once again. And when she gasped for breath while his fingers played inside her body - there... and even there... his other hand wielded a heavy hairbrush. There was no succor offered - he meant to torture her with sexual pleasure while he bruised her bottom until the flesh purpled before his eyes.

"Ahhh my sweet Angelina, such a sweet angel you are," he cooed when she had no more tears to shed, no more moans to emit and too weak to protest his handling of her.

"I'm going to make love to you now, my sweet. You're so wet and so naughty. You're going to love the feel of me inside you. Let's get rid of this pesky bar and make ourselves more comfortable on the sheets. Yes?"

It took all her energy to breathe... it was long moments pregnant with pain and the void of conscious thoughts... and then his words finally penetrated. Her twin, Angelina, hadn't felt well... had given her the concert tickets. She hadn't greeted the chauffeur the way she always did when she entered her sister's limo - the man, frustrated with his selfish and normally rude employer, had mistaken her for her twin...

"Do you like the feel of me inside you, Angelina?" Jonathan asked as he thrust into her... his body hard and demanding and seeking fulfillment.

"Angelina?" she gasped. "Angelina is my twin sister. My name is Jolina."

~ Fini ~

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