Apr 192011
 

The sign said, “Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack!” A ten foot tall neon sign depicted a busty woman. The lights would flash, illuminating one breast, and then turning off to illuminate the other breast. A sign below it promised adult toys, movies, books and novelty items.

“This may be the tackiest thing I have ever seen,” said Claire Currie. She had seen quite a few tacky things over the last few years. As a librarian for the Colette-Ashbee collection of erotic books, Claire had read and purchased cheap tawdry books of all descriptions. She had also handled leather bound erotic manuscripts written by Duchesses and poets. The young woman definitely preferred the higher brow books.

Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack did not appear to deal in such lofty commodities. Located off a major highway and miles away from any town limits, The Joy Shack catered to travelers, truckers and anyone that was horny after driving all day. Signs bragged about ten dollar DVDs and heavy duty love dolls.

“This is the crossroads of Southern erotica,” Mr. Dillon said. Claire’s boss and superior looked out of place in his suit and tie. Even more out of place was his uncharacteristic upbeat mood. He seemed almost excited. It was as if he was visiting an amusement park instead of some dirty adult tourist trap.

“You can’t be serious?” Claire said. “What can we possibly hope to find here?”

“Ms. Currie, the Joy Shack not only deals in adult goods bought from distributors but also deals in a high number of used goods. Few people collect as much porn as truckers and here they can trade in their porn for fresh porn. There is no telling what classic smut has been traveling the highways for years before ending up here.”

Claire glanced at the suspicious number of trucks with Confederate flag stickers. “Is such a place safe to visit? I am aware of the South’s prejudice towards people of my color.”

Mr. Dillon looked at Claire with an appraising eye. It was as if he had never noticed that she was black before. Perhaps he was just using it as an excuse to look over her large breasts barely contained within her tight white blouse. His eyes cataloged slowly as they moved down her short black skirt, her long legs encased in stockings and her four inch heels. Claire blushed behind her glasses as his eyes slowly came back up to her face.

“Honestly, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said, “they are more likely to be prejudiced that you are British. Try to keep your conversation to a minimum.”

They entered the Joy Shack. Claire frowned as they passed through a hallway of pornographic pictures. All the pictures were of fucking, sucking or the stroking of bare pussies. It seemed needlessly crude.

The inside was much worse. The store was made of long lines of shelves dimly lit by strings of Christmas lights. Posters of porn movies from the last three decades covered the walls. Vibrators hung from the ceilings, twisting like phallic weather pointers.

“Welcome to Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack!” a perky woman said. Claire observed with her librarian’s eye that the woman seemed to be attempting some sort of MILF motif. The skimpy red bikini and age inappropriate makeup gave it away.

“Thank you!” Mr. Dillon said with surprising friendliness. “Can you point us to the dirty books?”

“Why sure!” the bikini woman said. “Just go on past the lube and turn right at the cock rings!”

“Thank you, kindly!” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire sometimes forgot that Mr. Dillon was from the southern region of the United States. As a London girl all her life, Claire knew little about the South. All she knew she had learned from Dukes of Hazzard, George W. Bush and the documentary, ‘Deliverance’. She had spent years with Mr. Dillon but she only saw the sophisticated controlled side of him. How could he have ever come from this?

They followed the woman’s directions and journeyed deeper in the Joy Shack. They walked past nervous customers who shifted their eyes and stared intently as adult toys. At least, they did till Claire walked by, in which case almost every single one of them would look at her and try to steal glances. They didn’t seem to realize that the anti-theft mirrors posted every where let Claire know when she was the center of attention.

The book section was twice as dismal as Claire expected. Worn books with cracked spines and stained corners were packed together on tight shelves. Used magazines were also mixed in with the books, often with their pages open to depict unrealistic women evoking more unrealistic facial expressions.

“Ah here we go,” Mr. Dillon said. A trace of his Southern accent was creeping into his voice. “Let’s get cracking and see what we can find for the collection.”

“Oh I am sure to find something,” Claire said. “Look, they have a book called ‘Big City Butt Ho’s’ with a black woman on the cover. And right next to it is ‘Big Rapper Bubble Butts’. They must be part of a series!”

Claire turned to Mr. Dillon to show her finds. When she saw that his good mood had left his eyes, she knew she had made a mistake.

“I am sorry, sir,” she said as contritely as possible. “I guess that I am just a little disappointed in how trashy this place is. I will take it more seriously.”

“Ms. Currrie,” Mr. Dillon began, “porn is trash. It can also be sophisticated, it can be ethereal and sometimes it can be spiritual. As Librarians, we never judge. We collect. We catalog. We chronicle everything that turns humanity on. More importantly, we never consider ourselves better than the porn we deal in.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Dillon.” Claire said.

“Not yet you are not,” Mr. Dillon said. “Lift your skirt and expose your bottom.”

“Here?” Claire said. She looked around and saw six people in the same aisle as them.

“Right here, right now, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. The southern accent was gone.

Claire reached down and lifted her skirt. She gathered the cloth in her hand till her bottom was completely exposed. Today was a Wednesday, so her thong was a bright orange.

Several of the customers noticed right away. Whistles came instantly. Perhaps Southerners weren’t as racist as Claire thought.

Mr. Dillon picked up a rather large hardback book. It appeared to be a sex manual from the 70’s. He gripped it with both hands and gave it a practice swing.

“Please, sir,” Claire said. “Not here.”

“Why?” Mr. Dillon said. “Are you too good to be spanked in Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack?”

Claire knew the answer that was expected of her but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.

“Exactly,” Mr. Dillon said. “Now turn around.”

Claire did as he asked. Still holding her skirt in her hands, Claire turned around in her high heels. A small crowd of customers watched her in fascination. Now that she was facing them, Claire found that she was the one avoiding eye contact.

“Look straight ahead,” Mr. Dillon said. He knew her so well.

Claire forced herself to look at the customers. Lust was in their eyes. Well, lust and disbelief. They stared at the orange thong that covered her thick bush of pubic hair. They also stared at her face, trying to figure out what strange game was taking place.

The first blow struck her ass. There was no warning or warm-up taps. This was just a smack to her ass, delivered with only punishment in mind.

It nearly knocked her off her feet. Claire struggled to stay upright. She wanted to bend over and brace herself but Mr. Dillon had said nothing of the sort. It was her punishment to stand here, exposed and facing the very people she had been making fun of.

The book returned to her ass with another smack. Before her buttocks had time to absorb the pain, the book landed again. Mr. Dillon was striking her with rapid spanks. Her ass was enflamed and the heat only built with each merciless blow.

To Claire’s shame, her ass was not the only thing heating up. The force of the spanking was sending signals to her sex. How many times has Mr. Dillon spanked her before sex? Her body had become hardwired to the stimulus. With each blow he gave her ass, Claire’s sex became wetter and wetter. The flimsy orange thing did nothing to hide to the spreading stain of desire between her legs.

“What is going on here?” the bikini saleswoman said. She stood at the end of the aisle and was looking at Claire with shocked disgust. Claire blushed under the woman’s disapproving scrutiny. The woman was exposing more than Claire was and yet Claire was the one who felt shamed.

“I am disciplining an employee of mine who does not appreciate the fine selection you have here at the Joy Shack,” Mr. Dillon said. “Would you care to take a swing at her ass?”

Several customers shouted how much they would like to see that. Sensing the mood of the crowd, the salewoman broke into a smile.

“Don’t like our store?” the bikini woman said. she walked right up to Claire. “That’s very naughty of you, isn’t it?”

A light tap hit Claire’s ass. “Answer the woman,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire swallowed her indignation. “I have been very naughty,” she said.

“And she’s a foreigner!” the bikini woman said. “Why she does need a spanking! I ain’t going to use a book though.”

The woman reached around to other side of the book shelf and picked up a large black paddle. The metal studs in the flat surface of the paddle were not for show. The crowd grew larger as the woman stepped behind Claire.

WHAM! The paddle connected with Claire’s ass. Claire hissed as the pain spread through her ass. The crowd winced with her, disbelief clear on their faces that she was still standing.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The paddle struck her ass with tremendous force. The bikini woman wasn’t hitting as hard as Mr. Dillon, but the cruel paddle more than made up for her lack of power. The woman was trying to seize the excitement of the crowd and Claire’s poor ass was paying the price.

Mr. Dillon walked over to one of the gawkers. “Excuse me, sir. Do you appreciate Ms. Currie’s breasts?”

“She sure does have nice tits,” the man said. He had a hat that said “World’s Greatest Licker.”

“Then feel free to go over and have a free feel,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Really?” Hat-Man said.

“Really?” Claire said.

“Really,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Alrighty!” Hat-Man said.

Claire endured the spanking from the saleswoman as Hat-Man approached her. He had both hands up like a lurching zombie. Both hands sank into her white blouse and onto her tits. Claire forced herself to smile politely as he grabbed her breasts like a teenager.

“Hot damn, they are big!” Hat-Man said.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

“I bet they are as big as Dolly Parton’s!” Hat-Man said.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

“I wanna take these home and sleep on them!” Hat-Man said.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Through out it all, Mr. Dillon watched. Claire felt humiliated to be spanked and groped in public, but what really bothered her was how disappointed Mr. Dillon appeared to be. Something in this place appealed to him and Claire felt guilty for raining on his parade. Perhaps he was right; no one should ever feel superior to someone’s else’s idea of erotica.

Eventually the spanking stopped.

“Okay, I think she has learned her lesson,” the saleswoman said. “You should probably let go of her tits, Bill.”

“Aw, all right,” Hat-Man said as he let go of Claire’s breasts.

“If you think so,” Mr. Dillon said.

“I do,” the woman said. “Let that be a lesson to all of ya’all! If you don’t like the Joy Shack, you’re gonna get a spanking!”

“Me next!” a man shouted from the back of the aisle.

The crowd broke up. Claire went from being the center of everyone’s attention to becoming just another pornographic decoration in the place. Hat-Man didn’t even give her a second glance as he picked up a copy of ‘Big City Butt Ho’s’. The sales woman gave Claire a friendly pat on the back and handed the paddle to Mr. Dillon.

“You’re buying the book you were swinging and this paddle,” the saleswoman said.

“It is only fair,” Mr. Dillon said.

The sales woman walked away, leaving Claire and Mr. Dillon by themselves.

“You can put down your skirt now, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.

Claire obeyed. She winced as the cloth made contact with her tender dark bottom. Her hands free, Claire was free to smooth out the groping marks made on her shirt.

“I am sorry, Mr. Dillon,” Claire said. “You are right. The glamorous side of our job spoils me sometimes.”

“I understand, Claire,” Mr. Dillon said. The use of her first name was accompanied by his faint accent. “I just want you to understand that for every one prefers something different. There is no high class or low class; just what turns people on.”

“Like getting spanked in public?” Claire said.

“Or watching a beautiful woman get wet in front of strangers,” Mr. Dillon said. “I’ll tell you what. Find something that the collection should buy, and I will fuck your ass back at the hotel tonight.”

Claire smiled. “I appreciate that your idea of a reward is you fucking my ass.”

Mr. Dillon nodded. “It is. If you don’t find something suitable, I’ll have one of these customers fuck your ass instead.”

  4 Responses to “Fiction: Aunt Jolene’s Joy Shack”

  1. Why don’t more people comment on your amazing stories, Shon?

    This one left me with damp knickers, and a strong wish that I’d been at the Joy Shack myself …

    xx Dee

  2. Dee- Because they hate library science.

    It may have something to do with me posting the story a day early lol.

  3. Spanking isn’t my thing. Moreover, especially with this story, I can’t help but see myself as Claire since you were mentioning references about her that match who I am/used to be (Black female Londoner, worked at library for near 10 years).

    Just, I have and never will have nowhere close to the balls Claire has for taking on the kind of discipline that she does, so I couldn’t help but wince for this story, lol.

    Still doesn’t change that the fact that the Colette-Ashbee series is one of my top favs from you :)

    (I believe I’ve caught up with your stories now in just a night, how is that possible) ;_;

  4. Mystique- You must read as fast as I do :)

    I think Claire gets her courage from a love of her job. Plus a lot of spankings.

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