Chantilly Lace:Superheroine humilliated

Chantilly Lace:Superheroine for The Age of Lowered ExpectationsInThe BulliesByHideous TrollYvonne Doolittle was making breakfast in the kitchen of her family's doublewide trailer on what started out to be a typical day. She was still wearing her white cotton nightgown and her long black hair looked as though she'd just gotten out of bed, which, in fact, she had. Her husband Dudley and their children, daughter Barbie, 10, and son Dirk, 8, stumbled in and sat around the table, waiting to be fed. Dudley was tall, blond and square-jawed; his superhero features had been what first attracted Yvonne, a life-long comic book fan, to him. He had turned out to be quite unimaginative and not particularly heroic but he was a good provider and was kind to the children. His position as a janitor at the local elementary school paid better than most of the jobs in the county and offered full benefits so Yvonne didn't have to waste half her life at Crap-Mart or Taco Hell or some such place like most of the women she knew. Barbie was blonde like her father and had an "I'm so bored with everything" attitude that really irritated her mother. 8-year-old Dirk was the only one in her family that Yvonne really felt comfortable with. Dark-haired like his mother, Dirk shared her love of comic books. She had named him Dirk because she thought it sounded heroic although Dudley had tried to convince her that the boy would end up being made fun of by the other kids. It turned out that Dudley was right, Yvonne had learned that kids at school were calling her son "Dork" and picking on him constantly. Yvonne dropped a plate of pancakes on the table and her family stabbed at them with their forks. "That one's mine, Dork!" Barbie shrilled. "Don't call your brother that!" Yvonne objected. "Everybody else does!" Barbie insisted. "It's OK, Mom," Dirk said. "They're just pancakes, I'll take this one." Dirk was so agreeable, Yvonne thought, no wonder he had trouble with bullies. Well, today was going to be different. Yvonne had plans for the little monsters who had been tormenting her son. Just a few days earlier she had been doing her housework when the radio, tuned to the oldies station, had played the Big Bopper's biggest hit. Yvonne had taken it as an omen, just like when the bat had flown through the window of stately Wayne Manor inspiring Bruce Wayne to become the Batman. This morning, after her husband and kids had gone their separate ways, she would strike a blow for bully-oppressed kids everywhere, not as Yvonne Doolittle, mild-mannered housewife, but as Chantilly Lace, superheroine for the age of lowered expectations! Yvonne cleaned up the kitchen and took a shower then changed into the costume she had been preparing since her inspiration. It consisted of a white lace aerobics leotard, long-sleeved with a low neckline and a lacy attached skirt, white, high-heeled boots and white domino mask surrounded by a lace frill. The leotard was lined for modesty and had a built-in bra to keep her cantaloupe-sized breasts in place; all she wore under it was a lacy white thong. Her long legs, trim and toned from years of aerobics at the YWCA, were bare. She struck an heroic pose, with head high and hands on hips, in front of the mirror that was tacked to the door of her bedroom and knew that she was ready. Taking care not to be seen, Yvonne slipped out the back door of the trailer and darted to the utility shed. Inside, hidden under a tarp, was the classic 1950's Schwinn bicycle that she had bought on e-bay and gone to great care to hide from her family. The bike was in perfect condition and painted hot pink. Batman had the Batmobile, the Green Hornet had the Black Beauty and the Lone Ranger had Silver. Chantilly Lace had her Pink Racer. The small-town superheroine walked her bike through a little patch of woods behind the trailer until she came to a gravel road that she knew led close to the playground of her kids' school. She mounted her shining metal steed, called out, "Let's go, Pink Racer!" and set out, a little unsteadily on the rough surface, for her date with destiny. As Chantilly Lace pedaled along the gravel road she heard the sputtering roar of an engine behind her. A rusty old flatbed Ford truck pulled alongside, raising a cloud of dust. Three young men in the cab turned to stare, wide-eyed, at the lace-leotard clad bicyclist and shouted "WAH-HOO!" as they passed. 'They probably don't see a lot of superheroines,' Chantilly rationalized. Coughing a bit from the dust, she continued resolutely on her way. Before long she reached the short path that led through the woods from the road to the school playground, it was about time for recess now so Chantilly was right on schedule. As she burst onto the playground, recess was already underway. She quickly spotted poor Dirk running from a half-dozen older kids with his pants around his ankles while his tormentors chanted, "Dork! Dork!" He reached the jungle gym and started climbing to the top, a couple of the bigger kids grabbed his dangling jeans and jerked but Dirk let his feet slip out of them and kept climbing. The bullies held the purloined pants up like a trophy and the other kids all cheered. Chantilly noticed with considerable displeasure that Barbie was in the crowd, cheering right along with the others. 'Well this has gone on long enough,' she resolved. The kids were so intent on tormenting Dirk that none of them noticed the white-lace clad superheroine on her pink bicycle racing onto the playground. Chantilly brought Pink Racer to a skidding halt and dismounted, being careful to set the kickstand before letting go of the handlebars. Then she struck her practiced superheroine pose, head high and hands on hips, and called out, "Leave that boy alone, you villains!" The kids all turned to the source of that improbable challenge and stared open-mouthed. A few had the presence of mind to utter some appropriate comment like, "Huh?" or "What the Hell?" The biggest of the bullies, (must be a sixth-grader, Chantilly thought), took a couple of steps toward and started to laugh. "Who the ... are you s'posed to be?" Irritated at his open disrespect, Chantilly introduced herself, "Chantilly Lace, champion of the oppressed and defender of the hapless!" Her assertion was met at first by stunned silence then by general laughter. 'I've got to think up a better intro,' Chantilly thought. This wasn't the time for revision, though; she had a job to do. "Give that boy his pants back, and promise never to call him names again, or you'll answer to Chantilly Lace!" "What if we don't?" the biggest bully demanded. "What are you gonna do about it?" Chantilly took a couple steps forward, determined to teach the mouthy brat a lesson but didn't notice two others, holding Dirk's pants, slip around behind her. They ran forward, with the pants stretched tight just above the ground. The jeans caught Chantilly Lace behind the ankles and her feet were swept out from under her. As her high heels went up her rear end went down and landed with a thud on the hard ground. "YIPE!" the suddenly seated superheroine yelped. The kids howled with laughter and Chantilly started thinking this wasn't going as well as she had planned. She felt a warmth growing in her face and hoped that her mask would hide the blush of her shame but knew it probably wouldn't. Determined to recover her dignity, Chantilly rolled over and got to her knees. She made the mistake of stopping to brush some of the dust off her bottom before getting to her feet. A swing set was positioned directly behind her and one of the bullies seated himself in a swing while two others pulled him back as far as they could. Chantilly was still in the process of getting up, on her feet now but bent over at the waist, when the kid-catapult was released. The swing-mounted bully shot forward with both legs outstretched and planted the toes of his PF Flyers squarely in the lace-encased rump of the unsuspecting superheroine. "YOW!" she shouted as she was propelled forward by the swing-assisted butt-kicking. As she stumbled forward she spun around, half expecting to see that a maddened mule had somehow gotten loose on the playground. In the process of doing so she tripped on her own high heels and sat down hard, again. "OOF!" she complained as her butt was reintroduced to the hard-packed surface of the playground. A torrent of laughter washed over the playground, Chantilly's eyes locked onto the kid in the swing, laughing harder than anyone, and realized what had happened. In a state of righteous rage, she scrambled to her feet and dove at the kid who had so painfully humiliated her. The bully was too fast for her though, he leapt aside and she ended up facedown, bent over the seat of the swing. One of the bullies instantly had her in a headlock between his knees, 'This is not turning out like I planned at all,' Chantilly realized. Chantilly Lace was trapped, her high heels dangling on one side, her head stuck between the legs of an 11 or 12-year-old bully on the other and her dust-covered bottom sticking up in the middle. The bully that had her in the headlock was facing backward and took advantage of the opportunity deliver a series of hard spanks to the seat of her little lacy skirt. "OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!" Chantilly complained, much to the amusement of everyone present. The kid pulled her dusty skirt out of the way, baring the seat of her leotard, and resumed the spanking. Others jumped in and Chantilly found herself being painfully punished by a horde of small hands, landing on her defenseless rump with a force she would not have thought those little arms capable of. "YIEE! OW-OW-OW! YEOW!" she objected. "Hey, wait a minute!" she heard the voice of the biggest bully command. "I've got a better idea!" Chantilly turned her head as much as she could and caught a glimpse of that obnoxious kid, with an oval-shaped plastic paddle in his hand, the kind that usually has a rubber ball and string attached to it. "YEAH!" several kids cheered at once. "NO!" Chantilly disagreed. Her objection was overruled. The chief bully stationed himself beside her with paddle in hand, ready to put it good use on her rear end. "But first, it's wedgie time!" he announced. "Wedgie! Wedgie!" the other kids chanted. "Don't you dare!" Chantilly demanded. Of course she was in no position to demand anything, and the kids knew it. The one who had her in the headlock took hold of the seat of her leotard and jammed it hard into the crack of her ass, baring her butt-cheeks in the process. "OHH!" Chantilly complained. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The paddle landed on Chantilly Lace's bared bottom. "OW! OW! OWW!" she objected. The humiliated housewife kicked and twisted but was firmly held in place. Her bare butt bounced and jiggled under the rain of blows the bully poured onto it. The sounds of a good paddling echoed over the playground and kids crowded around to see at a grown woman being soundly spanked by a schoolyard bully. The masked mom felt that her shame was complete when she noticed Barbie and Dirk in the crowd, laughing along with everyone else. 'At least no one knows who I really am,' she thought, gratefully. She noted with some satisfaction that Dirk had his pants back on. By the time the bully had applied that wicked little paddle to her burning buns a good 20 or 30 times Chantilly decided that she had to do something or the little monster might keep spanking her all morning. She grabbed the ankles of the boy that had her in a headlock and gave a hard yank. The kid's feet skidded off the ground and he fell forward across Chantilly's back, his face landing in the crack of her ass. Unable to stop his swing in time, the paddle-wielding bully smacked the other kid on the back of the head, electing a howl of pain that, although muffled by Chantilly's butt-cheeks, was still loud enough to get everyone's attention. Knowing it was now or never, Chantilly raised her shoulders until she could reach the chains of the swing with her hands and pulled up, sending the kid with his face in her ass sliding down her back until he flopped onto the ground. Freed at last, Chantilly pulled herself to her feet then, holding the chains with both hands leapt over the seat of the swing and took off running. She needed to get to her bicycle to execute a strategic retreat but her trusted Pink Racer was in the other direction so she pushed her way through the crowd of kids and circled the swing set. "Get her!" she heard the chief bully yell. Driving her high heels into the hard ground she sprinted for her bike but a bunch of kids ran in front of her and she had to skid to the side to avoid hitting them. The whole crowd gathered around, blocking her escape everyway she turned. The kids were all laughing and obviously wanted to see the bullies catch her again. Soon the hapless heroine found herself backed up against the jungle gym, surrounded by grinning brats. The bullies were pushing their way through the crowd toward her. She had to do something so she turned around and dove between the bars of the jungle gym. Of course that was the worst thing she could have done, as she realized when her hips jammed between the bars and she ended up bent over, with her upper body inside the metal-bar structure and her bottom in perfect position for further punishment. Someone pulled her little lacy skirt up, exposing her bright red bottom. Looking back over her shoulder, Chantilly saw the biggest bully, paddle still in hand, standing behind her with a wicked grin on his pudgy face. "Yer gonna get it now, lady!" he announced. "Hey look, could we talk about this?" Chantilly whined in desperation. "NOOO!" the whole crowd yelled at once. "I was afraid of that," Chantilly admitted. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The bully paddled her bare ass as hard as he could. "YEOW! OW! OW! OW! YI-AI-AI!" the painfully punished crimefighter cried. Kids climbed on the jungle gym all around her and little hands reached through the bars, took hold of her leotard's low neckline and yanked until it was down to her waist, pinning her arms and allowing her big boobs to tumble out. "Titis!" one of the bullies shouted. Suddenly kids were pouring underneath the jungle gym to get a better look. The bullies pushed the smaller kids out of the way and soon they were all beneath where Chantilly hung helplessly, their grubby little hands grabbing, twisting and pinching her naked breasts. All except the one with the paddle, that is; Chantilly had to give him credit for being a single-minded little bastard, not even the lure of suddenly exposed mammalian protuberances could distract him from finishing job he had set himself to. That job was giving Chantilly Lace what was probably the longest and hardest paddling ever administered to a masked and costumed housewife by a 12-year-old kid on any elementary school playground at any time in history. By the time the paddling ended Chantilly was yowling like a cat in heat and thrashing the air with her high-heeled boots. Her white mask was stained with mascara, washed into it by tears of rage and shame. Kids were cheering all around and she heard adult voices blending in with the general cacophony. Turning to the side, she saw, seated on some old wooden bleachers, every teacher and staff-member at the school, giving the paddle-wielding bully a standing ovation. Among the crowd was her husband Dudley, in his janitor's uniform, cheering as loudly as anyone. That was too much for the half-stripped, well-paddled housewife, "Don't just stand there you idiots! Do something!" she shouted. The principal, a fat, sweaty man in a wrinkled suit, came walking over and ordered the kids away from the jungle gym. Chantilly felt a sense of relief wash over her but it proved short-lived. Craning her neck to look over her shoulder, the hapless heroine saw the six bullies all standing in a line behind her while the principal passed out sling-shots from the pockets of his jacket. "Now I know I confiscated these from you kids," he said. "But you can have them back as long as you promise to use them responsibly." Chantilly had a sinking feeling as to what responsible use they intended to put them. "We promise!" the bullies all agreed at once. They all reached down quickly and picked up smooth little stones. "Ready!" the chief bully shouted. Chantilly watched in terror as they all loaded their weapons and drew them back. "Aim!" the firing squad leader commanded. Chantilly Lace struggled wildly to escape with her hips jammed in between the jungle gym's bars and her arms pinned to her waist by the lowered neckline of her leotard. Her high-heeled boots hovered a few inches above the ground so she anchored her toes on one of the lower bars for leverage and pushed as hard as she could, twisting her upper body back and forth, sending her bare tits flopping, to nearly everyone's approval. "Fire!" WHAP-WHAP-WHAP-WHAP-WHAP-WHAP Six hard little missiles struck their intended targets, three on each of her big, red butt-cheeks. "YIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!" Chantilly howled. Unanimous laughter greeted her painful pebble-pelting. "Reload!" the biggest bully commanded. With a miraculous surge of fear-induced adrenaline, Chantilly Lace pushed through the bars and completely out of her white-lace leotard. She fell to the ground in just her mask, boots and a little lacy white thong, the main part of her costume still hung on the bars above her. Cheers welcomed her sudden disrobement but she didn't wait around to accept the audience's approval. She leapt to her feet, scrambled out from under jungle gym and took off running. The bully leader yelled, "Get her!" and the race was on. The nearly naked superheroine, whose battle-plan had obviously gone horribly awry, sprinted around the playground with her big boobs bouncing, pursued by a howling horde of elementary school kids, including her own son and daughter. She hoped to circle around and get to her trusty Pink Racer before they caught up to her but, although her legs were longer, her high heels, which stabbed into the turf with every step, slowed her considerably. She wondered how the superheroines in the comic books did all those acrobatics in heels. They could at least post a disclaimer, 'don't try this at home," or something of the sort. Chantilly Lace made a mental note to write a nasty letter to someone about that at her earliest opportunity. The crowd was closing in around her and Chantilly realized she would never reach her bicycle without some quick thinking. A towering metal slide was directly in front of her and she made a dash for it. She grabbed hold of the ladder and clumb as fast she could climb, with kids swarming up below her like ants. As soon as she reached the top she kicked both feet out in front and slammed herself into a seated position without stopping to think what effect a metal slide that had been heating up in the sunshine all morning might have on her bare, already very sore butt. As soon as her rump contacted the hot metal she leapt up and yelled, "YEOW!" Looking down and behind she saw her pursuers almost at the top of the ladder and knew she had no choice. She sat back down and slid down the length of that hot, metal slide on her bare ass complaining, "OW-OW-OW-OW!" all the way down. At the end of the butt-scorching slide Chantilly went flying past the sandpit that was intended to catch sliders and slammed onto the hard ground right on her burning buns. "YIEEEE!" she howled as she skidded to a stop. There was no time to nurse her injuries though, the pursuing pack was coming at her around both sides of the slide so she scrambled to her feet and ran for her bike. She could see Pink Racer waiting patiently for her on the other side of the teeter-totters. It would have taken to long to run around so she leapt onto one of the seesaws and ran up its length, balancing remarkably well for a panicked housewife in high heels. As she passed the fulcrum the other side of the narrow board slammed to the ground, providing her a ramp to freedom. Her plan would have worked if a couple of the biggest bullies hadn't hopped onto the seesaw and run in the other direction, bringing that end crashing down. Chantilly was one step from the ground when her end of the teeter-totter shot into the air like a catapult, sending her flying. "OHHH NOOOO!" she yelled as she arced up and over the pink bicycle she had tried so valiantly to reach. She came down, rump first, onto a playground contraption that was made of a bunch big plastic pipes, twisted like pretzels, which was designed for kids to crawl and slither through. The hapless heroine sat down with a 'whump' on the end of one of the pipes. Chantilly Lace found herself with her butt stuck in the end of the big plastic tube and her toes just barely touching the ground. She tried to push herself loose with her hands but accomplished nothing more than providing a lot of amusement to all the onlookers. It occurred to her that at least her much abused bottom was safe from further punishment. She was soon to find out how sadly mistaken that assumption was. Looking around, the trapped superheroine noticed that the tubular contrivance was surrounded by red tape hanging from plastic stakes. Signs were posted on the stakes but Chantilly could see only their backs so had no clue what they said until one of the bullies, with a big grin, took a sign loose and held it up for her to read. 'Warning' the sign proclaimed, 'Wasp Infestation'. "OH NO!" Chantilly shrieked. She started frantically trying to free herself and in the process the heels of her boots slammed against the plastic tubes several times, thoroughly pissing off the wasps that lurked inside. A look of horrified realization came over Chantilly's face as she felt the tickling of little wasp legs on her bare butt. She stayed absolutely still, hoping the wasps would calm down and leave her alone. It might have worked too if one of the bullies hadn't decided to stir things up a bit. Chantilly saw him take aim with his sling on the side of the tube that she was stuck in. "Please don't," she whined. WHAM! The stone struck the side of the pipe. "YEOWW!" Chantilly wailed as the first wasp sunk its stinger into her helplessly trapped rear end. "YOW! OWW! YAHOOO!" she added as more wasps joined the attack. The gathered schoolkids laughed till snot ran out their noses while Chantilly Lace shrieked in pain, stung over and over again. Her toes did a rapid dance on the ground and her big tits flew back and forth but she stayed stuck in place. "SOMEBODY HELP MEEE!" she yelled. "OK kids," she heard Dudley' s familiar voice say. "Back off now while I get her out of there." "Oh thank you Dud, … I mean thank you, kind stranger," Chantilly gushed, almost blowing her secret identity. 'This superheroine stuff is trickier than it looks," she thought. The wasps had stopped their all-out ass-assault but she could still hear them buzzing inside the pipes. Dudley pulled his janitor's cart up to the scene and went right to work. First he took several rolls of duct tape and thoroughly sealed all the openings of Chantilly's tubular trap except the one she was stuck in. In one of the openings he inserted the end of an industrial-strength carpet steamer. As he worked one of the wasps gave Chantilly's rump another viscous sting and she howled, "YEEOWW! HURRY UP AND GET ME OUT OF HERE!" "I'm working as fast as I can," Dudley explained. "YIEEEEE!!" Chantilly cried, stung yet again. Dudley took a pile of extension cords out of the cart and set some of the kids to work unrolling them and hooking them together until they reached the school building. Dudley surveyed his work with pride and said, "Always remember, kids: With enough duct tape and extension cords you can accomplish anything." With that he clicked on the steamer, it took a little while to heat up, during which time Chantilly waited less than patiently, yelping every now and then when one of the wasps added to her growing collection of stings. In the meantime, Dudley took a brush and a can of axle grease and greased the end of the tube that his incognito wife was stuck in. "I think we're ready to go now," he said. Chantilly had a bad feeling about this but Dudley's plan looked like the only game in town. Dudley pulled the trigger on the carpet steamer. There was an ominous WHOOSH inside the tubes. Wasps fell dead by the dozens and Chantilly Lace shrieked, "AIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!" as a cloud of hot steam parboiled her pain-filled posterior. The steam-blasted superheroine blubbered like a baby, mascara running out from under her mask and down her cheeks. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity the pressure built up to a critical point and she blasted off the plastic tube like she'd been shot from a cannon. Facedown on the ground, the masked mom was afraid that the bullies would have her again before she could get up but when she looked up she saw that they, and all the other kids, were helpless with hysterical laughter. Seeing her chance, Chantilly bolted for her bike. She grabbed the handlebars, kicked the kickstand up and took off running, pushing the bike beside her. At the edge of the playground she launched herself onto the bike's white vinyl seat and instantly regretted doing so. Sitting on that seat was just not an option after the abuse her rear end had suffered so she pedaled the bike through the woods to the gravel road leaning over the handlebars with her butt sticking up behind. The humiliated heroine was pedaling along the gravel road with her bare boobs swinging and her big red ass in the air when she heard the backfiring engine and rattling frame of the flatbed Ford she had seen on the way down. The Ford pulled up beside her and one of the young men shouted "YEE-HAH! Ride that bike!" while the others laughed. Chantilly had had enough of these yahoos so she yelled, "Why don't you go rope a goat or something!" No sooner had those rash words escaped her lips than the young man on the passenger side reached up to the gun-rack in the rear window and pulled down a Daisy Red Ryder model BB gun. "Uh-oh," Chantilly observed. She pedaled as fast as she could while the truck backed off a bit to get behind her and the young man with the air rifle drew a fine bead on her behind. POP! The BB gun fired. "YEOW!" Chantilly cried. All the way back to the little path that led through the woods to her family's trailer, Chantilly Lace pedaled frantically, howling in pain as her bare ass was turned into a BB gun target. The young men in the truck laughed like fiends while those little metal balls raised welts on her paddled, parboiled, wasp-stung, sling-shot ass. When she finally reached the path through the woods she was afraid that they might get out of the truck and follow her but they seemed satisfied with the BB peppering they had given her and continued on their way down the road. After she stashed Pink Racer back in the shed, Yvonne Doolittle stripped off her mask, boots and thong, showered off and spent the rest of the afternoon lying facedown on her bed with an ice pack on her injured bottom. Finally, she had to get up and get supper ready because Dudley and the kids would be home soon. She put on a pair of soft white cotton shorts and a cute little halter top, pulled her hair into a pony tail and did her best to look and act as if this had been an ordinary day. At supper she couldn't think of an excuse not to sit at the table without raising suspicions about her secret identity. Putting a cushion in her hard plastic chair was out for the same reason. Yvonne squirmed all through the meal while her husband and children related, in exhausting detail, the exciting events on the playground that day. She knew that her face was bright red and hoped that they would assume she was just embarrassed for that poor superheroine. She also hoped they wouldn't notice the way she couldn't seem to sit still. When the meal was finally over, Yvonne pushed her chair back and started to stand up but Dudley took her by the hand and said, "Don't get up yet, honey. I have an announcement to make." With a sigh, Yvonne settled her smarting seat back into the chair. "Tomorrow is Saturday, kids," Dudley announced, "and we haven't had a family outing for a long time. So I have a surprise, especially for your mom, because I know it's something she likes. I called up the Saddle-Sore Riding Stables this afternoon and made reservations for all of us. We're going horseback riding!" "YAYYY!!" the kids cheered. "Yayy," Yvonne halfheartedly joined in, forcing a smile while twisting her sore and swollen bottom on the hard plastic chair. The next day, Yvonne Doolittle bravely squeezed her bruised, blistered, bee-stung and BB-shot butt into a tight-fitting pair of designer jeans and joined her family for a daylong trail-ride. The horse she ended up with didn't seem to know any gait but a trot so the morning was a painful ordeal as she was bounced up and down on the saddle. Yvonne did her best to hide her discomfort but her family didn't make it any easier, constantly asking if she was having a good time. There were three other families in the group, as well as two wranglers from the Saddle-Sore Riding Stables, and Yvonne noticed their smiles whenever she failed to conceal a pained grimace or stifle a sharp, "Oh!" She was sure they must have all been thinking she'd never been on horseback before. The trail ride stopped for lunch at a picnic area and Yvonne was overjoyed to get off that horse. She walked around rubbing her much-abused bottom, painfully aware of how much entertainment she was providing to everyone present. "You look a little stiff there, honey," Dudley observed. "Saddle-sore?" The kids were standing on either side of him and they were all wearing dopey grins. "No. No, not really," Yvonne lied. "Well that's good," Dudley said. "I thought you might be a little tender after yesterday at the school." A look of shocked realization spread over Yvonne's face and her husband and kids burst out laughing at the sight. "You knew!" she accused. With a feral cry she leapt at Dudley and started pounding on his chest with her fists but he brushed her attack easily aside. He took his struggling wife by the arm, spun her around and walked her over to a nearby tree-stump where he seated himself and pulled her down over his knee. "Don't you dare!" Yvonne cried. Of course, Dudley paid no attention to her objections. Taking a firm grip on her waist with his left hand he proceeded to dust off the seat of his overly imaginative wife's designer jeans with his right. "Maybe this will teach you to forget about those comic books and live in the real world," he scolded. None of the others knew what it was all about but they loudly enjoyed the spectacle of one very saddle-sore housewife being upended over her husband's knee and soundly spanked. As Dudley's calloused hand punished her aching ass while her children and a bunch of total strangers laughed and cheered it occurred to Yvonne that it was going to be one very long ride back to the stables. And it was. But still, in the back of her mind, Yvonne knew that Chantilly Lace would ride again, just not on a horse. The End