Dominant on the Dusty Naga Trail part 4
own hard on his thin khaki shorts. The sound cracked through the hut like a whip. Christopher couldn't hold it back; a sharp squeal escaped him.
Prairie snickered, and Clementine chuckled from the floor. Christopher scrambled off her lap, rubbing his stinging butt.
"Next round," Prairie said, dealing again.
Christopher felt a surge of hope. He had two kings, two queens, a jack, and an eight of clubs. Almost a royal flush.
Clementine grinned, revealing her hand. "Four tens. Hearts, spades, diamonds, clubs. And a jack of clubs. That makes eleven."
Christopher groaned. "You have to be kidding me."
"Pants off, honey," Clementine said, moving to sit on the altar step. She patted her lap. "Nice choice of removal."
His face glowing red with embarrassment, Christopher unbuttoned his khaki pants and let them drop, revealing the *Watership Down* rabbit boxers the girls had found so adorable earlier. He lay across Clementine’s lap, bracing himself.
Clementine turned him slightly so she would be able to use both of her hands to spank both of his butt cheeks at the same time. She slammed them down twice, making sure to hit different spots on each butt cheek with each of her hands.
*Smack! Smack!*
Christopher gritted his teeth, a yell forcing its way past his clenched jaw despite his best efforts. The pain radiated through him, sharp and hot.
He climbed off her lap, adjusting his boxers, and sat back down to continue the game.
“You know what Clementine? Now I think about it, it’s not fair that only the person with the lowest hand should be forced to strip. Each of us should take off a piece of clothing too for forgetting the middle hand during the last two rounds. It’s a small price to pay for not being spanked don’t you think?”
“ Yes Prairie, I do.”
Christopher watched as the two year-old females that seduced him stood up. Any wonder what they would remove. As it turned out, Clementine removed her gel, camouflage pants showing off the black leopard-designed panties again, while Prairie unbuttoned and pulled off her pink shirt, showing off her leopard designed bra again. Christopher smirk at the two inside, “you two really like to show off for me don’t you? You could’ve just removed your socks.”
“And miss the look on your face when you ogle us? No way baby!” Clementine responded. Praire put her hands behind her head and shook her bro covered breasts back-and-forth saying, “Remember what we said before, honey, we love to tease shy guys and gals. And our feet are pretty. They’re not anywhere near us blush inducing as our boobies or bottoms!”
Chapter Nine.
Prairie gathered the cards and shuffled them with a rhythmic, practiced snap, the sound echoing off the dusty wooden beams of the hut. She dealt the cards with a flourish, sliding them across the rough surface of the altar. Christopher looked down at his hand, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the numbers. He held a two, a ten, and another two of diamonds, followed by a two and ten of clubs, and finally a two and ten of hearts. The total was a confusing mess of low numbers, adding up to very little.
Prairie fanned her cards out, a smirk playing on her lips. She held an ace of spades, which she declared counted as eleven, giving her a substantial lead. She added up her other cards—twelve hearts, twelve diamonds, and eighteen clubs—bringing her total to a commanding sixty-six. Clementine let out a low whistle as she looked at her own hand. She had drawn all fours, all hearts, summing to twenty-four. It wasn't enough to beat Prairie, but it was miles ahead of Christopher's pitiful score.
Christopher gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he stared at his losing hand. Frustration bubbled in his chest, hot and sharp, but he knew better than to voice it. The rules were clear, and Prairie’s authority in the room was absolute. She didn't wait for his concession. She hopped up onto the raised stone patio at the front of the hut, her boots clicking against the masonry. She turned and beckoned him with a crooked finger.
"Hop up here, baby," she commanded, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
"After you remove your clothing, of course."
Christopher didn't hesitate. He unbuttoned his faded green khaki shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. The air in the hut was cool against his dark, gleaming skin, raising gooseflesh along his arms. He climbed the steps to the patio, standing before the imposing eight-foot crucifix that dominated the space. The western and eastern arms of the cross stretched out four feet on either side, casting long, skeletal shadows.
"Wrap your wrists around the cross," Prairie ordered, pointing to the vertical beam. "Right up there."
Christopher reached up, gripping the rough wood of the crucifix. He felt vulnerable, his chest exposed, his arms stretched high above his head.
"Stay put!" Prairie said, her tone shifting to mock sternness. She hopped down from the patio and scooped up Christopher’s discarded belt and shirt. She moved with efficient purpose, climbing back up behind him. She took the thick leather belt and wrapped it tightly around his wrists, binding them securely to the crucifix. Then, using his own shirt, she bound his ankles together, locking him in place against the wood.
Prairie leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "You lost three rounds, cutie pie," she whispered, her voice laced with desire. "That means six stinging slaps."
She glanced over at Clementine, who sat on a nearby pew, watching intently. Clementine nodded and pulled off her general camouflage T-shirt, revealing her matching bra featuring a black panther crouched on a branch, surrounded by trees—the same pattern as her panties. The sight seemed to spur Prairie on.
Prairie turned her full attention back to Christopher, trailing a finger slowly down his spine. He shivered involuntarily, his muscles tensing in anticipation. "Brace yourself, baby," she warned.
She wrapped her left arm around his waist, anchoring him against her. She raised her right hand high, bringing it down hard on his right buttock. The first slap was a "spider hand," her fingers spread wide to maximize the sting. Before he could recover, she struck again with a "cup hand," her fingers curved inward to create a loud, hollow report. The third was a "pinched palm," her fingers straight and pressed tightly together, delivering a sharp, concentrated shock.
Christopher gasped, his hips jerking forward against the crucifix.
Prairie shifted her position, moving to his left side. She wrapped her right arm around his waist now, holding him firm. She turned her left hand sideways, exposing the blade of her palm. She brought the edge of her hand down hard on his left buttock, three times separated by one second, just like the first three slaps. The impact was heavy and dull, thudding deep into the muscle.
Christopher roared like a lion, the sound tearing from his throat as the pain radiated across his backside. He could feel Prairie focusing every ounce of her strength into the blows, her body pressing against his to leverage her weight. The heat on his skin was intense, a burning fire that seemed to sear right through to his bones.
On the pew, Clementine sat with her legs crossed, her eyes dreamy and unfocused. She bit her lower lip, clearly aroused by the spectacle of her friend dominating their captive. The power dynamic in the room was thick enough to choke on, and Clementine drank it in.
When the final slap landed, Prairie didn't step away immediately. She reached up and untied Christopher’s wrists, then lowered him to the floor. She looked pleased to see the tears welling in his eyes, glistening on his dark cheeks. She leaned in and licked the salty moisture from his face, her tongue rough and wet. Christopher blushed deeply, turning his head away in humiliation.
Prairie hopped down from the patio and ran to the edge, reaching her hands up to him like he was a toddler. He bent down, exhausted, and she slid her hands into his armpits. With a surprising display of strength, she lifted him from the patio and set him gently on the floor.
"Next round," Prairie said, her breathing slightly elevated.
She dealt the cards again. This time, luck seemed to turn. Christopher looked at his hand in disbelief—a thirteen of diamonds, thirteen of hearts, thirteen of clubs, and two thirteens of spades. It was a winning hand, a massive score.
Prairie’s face fell as she flipped her cards. She had drawn only low ones—two ones of hearts, two ones of spades, and two ones of clubs. A measly six points. Clementine fared slightly better with ones of hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades, plus an ace of queens, totaling eighteen.
Christopher had won. He felt a surge of adrenaline, the tables finally turning.
Prairie, though disappointed, was a good sport. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pink shorts and slid them down her legs, stepping out of them. She stood there in her leopard-spotted panties, looking at Christopher with a mixture of challenge and submission.
"How do you want me, baby?" she asked, her voice low.
A smirk spread across Christopher’s face, mirroring the expressions the women had worn so many times before. He felt the power shift, the rush of dominance heady and intoxicating. He pointed at Clementine.
"Clementine," he ordered.
"Restrain her. Hold her under her arms and wrap your arms around her waist."
Clementine didn't hesitate. She was happy to be the one doing the restraining, even if it wasn't Christopher on the receiving end this time. She moved behind Prairie, locking her friend in a firm grip, pulling Prairie’s arms back to expose her body.
Christopher didn't walk. He ran. He sprinted past the pews toward the eastern wall of the missionary hut. He stopped about three feet away from Prairie, spun on his heel, and lunged forward. He drove his heel across Prairie’s buttocks from the left side with a solid, satisfying thwack.
Prairie cried out, her body buckling slightly in Clementine’s grip, but she held her ground.
Clementine laughed, a bright, delighted sound.
“Nice job, Christopher!” she cheered.
“You literally kicked her butt!"
Chapter Ten.
Clementine’s grip on Prairie loosened, her arms sliding away from the other woman’s waist as the adrenaline of the moment faded. She stepped back and a sudden realization flickered across her face. Her gaze dropped to her ankles, where the white cotton socks still clung stubbornly to her skin. She had been the middle loser in the previous round, the second lowest score, and the rules were absolute.
"Shit," she muttered, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Forgot a penalty."
She didn't hesitate. Balancing on one foot, she hooked her thumbs into the elastic of the left sock and peeled it away, tossing it carelessly into the growing pile of discarded clothing near the altar. She repeated the motion with the right, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid off. Now, except for the leopard-print bra and panties, her legs were completely bare, the pale skin glowing faintly in the dusty light filtering through the hut’s openings.
"Right then," Prairie said, shaking out her limbs and rubbing her wrist where Clementine had held her. She walked over to the golden altar, her hips swaying with a practiced, hypnotic rhythm, and gathered the scattered deck of cards.
"Let's see if you can keep that streak alive, big boy."
She shuffled the cards with a sharp, rhythmic snap, the sound echoing off the stone walls. The air in the hut was thick, smelling of old varnish, sweat, and the faint, sweet musk of arousal. Prairie dealt the cards with a flourish, sliding them across the gold-leafed surface of the altar.
Christopher picked up his hand, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the women—Prairie standing confidently in just her panties, Clementine leaning against a pew with her arms crossed over her chest, watching him with predatory amusement.
"Just so we're clear," Prairie said, tapping a manicured fingernail against her cards.
"Clem and I still have two pieces of clothing each. That means if you win this next round, the rules say I get two spanks for being the loser, and Clem gets one for being second place."
She paused, letting the weight of the alternative hang in the stagnant air.
"But if you lose," she continued, her voice dropping to a sultry, dangerous whisper, "you're completely nude. And that means a prolonged spanking. We won't stop until your ass is burning red."
Christopher stared at his cards, the images of the two women flashing in his mind. The stakes were high, his body already humming with the lingering sting of his own punishment and the thrill of his recent victory. He knew the rules. He knew exactly what was on the line.
"I know," Christopher said, his voice steady, betraying none of the nervous energy tightening his stomach.
"Deal the hand."
They revealed their cards. Prairie laid down a pair of queens and a ten, a decent hand, but her face fell as she calculated the total. Clementine flipped over a run of diamonds, adding up to fifty points.
Christopher didn't speak. He simply placed his cards on the altar: two sevens—hearts and diamonds—and two jacks. The math was simple and devastating.
"Fifty-eight," Christopher said, leaning back against the podium, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Fifty-seven," Prairie groaned, slapping her hand against the altar. She had lost by a single point.
"Fifty," Clementine shrugged, tossing her cards into the discard pile. She looked down at her outfit, then back at Christopher, the challenge clear in her eyes. "Well, a deal's a deal."
She stood up straight, her hands moving to her hips. The choice was hers—bra or panties. She pursed her lips, looking from the leopard-print bra to the matching panties, then began the childhood rhyme under her breath.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..."
Her finger pointed first to her chest, then down to her hips, alternating with each syllable.
"...catch a tiger by the toe..."
The suspense built, the silence of the hut amplifying the sound of her voice.
"...if he hollers, let him go..."
Her finger landed on her waistband.
"...eeny, meeny, miny, moe."
Her finger stopped on the leopard-print fabric covering her pussy. She looked up at Christopher, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Guess it's these," she said.
She hooked her thumbs into the sides of the panties and slowly slid them down her legs, arching her back to accentuate the curve of her ass as she bent over. She stepped out of the lace and kicked the garment toward Christopher. It landed at his feet, a damp, scented offering.
Clementine stood before him now, wearing only the leopard-print bra, her shaved pussy fully exposed to the cool air of the hut. She placed her hands on her hips, thrusting her chest out slightly.
"How do you want me, baby?" she asked, her voice dripping with invitation.
Christopher looked at her, then at Prairie. The power dynamic had shifted completely, and he intended to enjoy every second of it. He remembered how Clementine had restrained Prairie just moments ago, the physical dominance she had exerted. It was time to turn that image on its head.
"Prairie," Christopher commanded, pointing a finger at the other woman. "Hold her."
Prairie didn't argue. A grin spread across her face, enjoying the spectacle of her friend's impending submission. She stepped behind Clementine, wrapping her arms around Clementine’s waist and locking her hands together, effectively pinning Clementine’s arms to her sides.
"Got her," Prairie said, giving Clementine a little squeeze.
Clementine struggled playfully, testing the grip, but Prairie held firm. Christopher backed away from them towards the eastern wall of the mission hut again. Clementine wondered what technique he would use on her bum. Her eyes widened as he brought his palms— fingers and thumb spread apart —up to his PECTORALS and charged forward. She shut her eyes tightly as his steps got closer, then Christopher brought both hands forward in a powerful momentum—fueled palm, strike to both of her butt cheeks. Clementine‘s eyes shot open, and she let out a shrill cry as she felt his strong hand slam into her ass in pain, travel from the surface deep into the muscles of her glutes.
“ Holy shit, Christopher!“ Prairie said, “Your palms left indentations in her butt. Nice!”
“What can I say? I do my best of what I do!” Christopher responded cheekily. Praire then let go of Clementine who stood up and robbed her ass frantically with both hands. After six rubs, she looked over her shoulder at Christopher and smirked, saying, “If you lose the next round, I’m gonna get payback by tearing your ass up! It’ll be as hot as a lump of coal in fire, and you won’t sit down for a month!”
“ I believe you, Clementine!“ Christopher responded.
“That’s why I’m going to pray to God and my ancestors that even if I do lose, you’re not the one with the highest number!”
“God and your ancestors won’t determine the outcome of this game, baby. It’ll just be pure chance, the role of the dice, even if we’re not using dice!” Clementine replied.
Chapter Eleven.
Prairie nodded in agreement and said, “If I get the second highest hand, I’m going to pin you to this floor myself. I’ll hold your thrashing ass down while Clementine turns your backside raw. How does that sound?"
Christopher swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the quiet room. The image of Prairie’s strong hands gripping his wrists while Clementine unleashed her fury made his stomach flip. The dominance he had felt just moments ago began to erode under the weight of her promise.
"Just deal the cards," Christopher said, though his voice lacked the steel it had held earlier.
Prairie chuckled, a low, throaty sound, and gathered the deck. The cards riffled together with a crisp snapping sound, a sharp contrast to the heavy, humid air of the hut. She dealt the cards with practiced speed, sliding them across the golden altar's surface. Christopher picked up his hand, the cardboard feeling flimsy and damp against his fingertips. The women followed suit, their eyes locked on him like wolves circling a wounded deer.
"Let's see what fate dealt us," Clementine said, fanning her cards out. She laid them down on the altar one by one. Three Kings, followed by three Queens. The royal faces stared up at the ceiling, imposing and judgmental.
"Thirty-nine," Clementine announced, tapping the cards with a manicured fingernail. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."
Prairie didn't answer immediately. She arranged her own cards, a small frown creasing her forehead. She placed four cards face up—Aces of Spades. The corners were worn, but the symbols were clear.
"Speeds," Prairie muttered, reading the corner values. "One, two, three, four. But since they're Aces, they bump up." She pointed to each in turn. "Two, three, five, and six."
She slid the remaining two cards forward. Both were the Ten of Hearts.
"Sixteen plus ten," Prairie calculated, her brow furrowing deeper. "Twenty-six."
Christopher looked at his own hand. A Jack, a Queen, a King. High cards, but not enough. He flipped over the Two of Clubs and the Ace of Diamonds.
"Jack is eleven, Queen is twelve, King is thirteen," Christopher counted slowly, the numbers sounding like a death knell in the silence. "Two plus one. That's... thirty-eight."
The air left the room. Christopher stared at the cards, the math undeniable. Thirty-eight. Clementine had thirty-nine. He had lost by a single point.
The color drained from Christopher’s face, leaving him pale in the dusty light. He remembered Clementine’s threat from only minutes a
Prairie snickered, and Clementine chuckled from the floor. Christopher scrambled off her lap, rubbing his stinging butt.
"Next round," Prairie said, dealing again.
Christopher felt a surge of hope. He had two kings, two queens, a jack, and an eight of clubs. Almost a royal flush.
Clementine grinned, revealing her hand. "Four tens. Hearts, spades, diamonds, clubs. And a jack of clubs. That makes eleven."
Christopher groaned. "You have to be kidding me."
"Pants off, honey," Clementine said, moving to sit on the altar step. She patted her lap. "Nice choice of removal."
His face glowing red with embarrassment, Christopher unbuttoned his khaki pants and let them drop, revealing the *Watership Down* rabbit boxers the girls had found so adorable earlier. He lay across Clementine’s lap, bracing himself.
Clementine turned him slightly so she would be able to use both of her hands to spank both of his butt cheeks at the same time. She slammed them down twice, making sure to hit different spots on each butt cheek with each of her hands.
*Smack! Smack!*
Christopher gritted his teeth, a yell forcing its way past his clenched jaw despite his best efforts. The pain radiated through him, sharp and hot.
He climbed off her lap, adjusting his boxers, and sat back down to continue the game.
“You know what Clementine? Now I think about it, it’s not fair that only the person with the lowest hand should be forced to strip. Each of us should take off a piece of clothing too for forgetting the middle hand during the last two rounds. It’s a small price to pay for not being spanked don’t you think?”
“ Yes Prairie, I do.”
Christopher watched as the two year-old females that seduced him stood up. Any wonder what they would remove. As it turned out, Clementine removed her gel, camouflage pants showing off the black leopard-designed panties again, while Prairie unbuttoned and pulled off her pink shirt, showing off her leopard designed bra again. Christopher smirk at the two inside, “you two really like to show off for me don’t you? You could’ve just removed your socks.”
“And miss the look on your face when you ogle us? No way baby!” Clementine responded. Praire put her hands behind her head and shook her bro covered breasts back-and-forth saying, “Remember what we said before, honey, we love to tease shy guys and gals. And our feet are pretty. They’re not anywhere near us blush inducing as our boobies or bottoms!”
Chapter Nine.
Prairie gathered the cards and shuffled them with a rhythmic, practiced snap, the sound echoing off the dusty wooden beams of the hut. She dealt the cards with a flourish, sliding them across the rough surface of the altar. Christopher looked down at his hand, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the numbers. He held a two, a ten, and another two of diamonds, followed by a two and ten of clubs, and finally a two and ten of hearts. The total was a confusing mess of low numbers, adding up to very little.
Prairie fanned her cards out, a smirk playing on her lips. She held an ace of spades, which she declared counted as eleven, giving her a substantial lead. She added up her other cards—twelve hearts, twelve diamonds, and eighteen clubs—bringing her total to a commanding sixty-six. Clementine let out a low whistle as she looked at her own hand. She had drawn all fours, all hearts, summing to twenty-four. It wasn't enough to beat Prairie, but it was miles ahead of Christopher's pitiful score.
Christopher gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he stared at his losing hand. Frustration bubbled in his chest, hot and sharp, but he knew better than to voice it. The rules were clear, and Prairie’s authority in the room was absolute. She didn't wait for his concession. She hopped up onto the raised stone patio at the front of the hut, her boots clicking against the masonry. She turned and beckoned him with a crooked finger.
"Hop up here, baby," she commanded, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
"After you remove your clothing, of course."
Christopher didn't hesitate. He unbuttoned his faded green khaki shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. The air in the hut was cool against his dark, gleaming skin, raising gooseflesh along his arms. He climbed the steps to the patio, standing before the imposing eight-foot crucifix that dominated the space. The western and eastern arms of the cross stretched out four feet on either side, casting long, skeletal shadows.
"Wrap your wrists around the cross," Prairie ordered, pointing to the vertical beam. "Right up there."
Christopher reached up, gripping the rough wood of the crucifix. He felt vulnerable, his chest exposed, his arms stretched high above his head.
"Stay put!" Prairie said, her tone shifting to mock sternness. She hopped down from the patio and scooped up Christopher’s discarded belt and shirt. She moved with efficient purpose, climbing back up behind him. She took the thick leather belt and wrapped it tightly around his wrists, binding them securely to the crucifix. Then, using his own shirt, she bound his ankles together, locking him in place against the wood.
Prairie leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "You lost three rounds, cutie pie," she whispered, her voice laced with desire. "That means six stinging slaps."
She glanced over at Clementine, who sat on a nearby pew, watching intently. Clementine nodded and pulled off her general camouflage T-shirt, revealing her matching bra featuring a black panther crouched on a branch, surrounded by trees—the same pattern as her panties. The sight seemed to spur Prairie on.
Prairie turned her full attention back to Christopher, trailing a finger slowly down his spine. He shivered involuntarily, his muscles tensing in anticipation. "Brace yourself, baby," she warned.
She wrapped her left arm around his waist, anchoring him against her. She raised her right hand high, bringing it down hard on his right buttock. The first slap was a "spider hand," her fingers spread wide to maximize the sting. Before he could recover, she struck again with a "cup hand," her fingers curved inward to create a loud, hollow report. The third was a "pinched palm," her fingers straight and pressed tightly together, delivering a sharp, concentrated shock.
Christopher gasped, his hips jerking forward against the crucifix.
Prairie shifted her position, moving to his left side. She wrapped her right arm around his waist now, holding him firm. She turned her left hand sideways, exposing the blade of her palm. She brought the edge of her hand down hard on his left buttock, three times separated by one second, just like the first three slaps. The impact was heavy and dull, thudding deep into the muscle.
Christopher roared like a lion, the sound tearing from his throat as the pain radiated across his backside. He could feel Prairie focusing every ounce of her strength into the blows, her body pressing against his to leverage her weight. The heat on his skin was intense, a burning fire that seemed to sear right through to his bones.
On the pew, Clementine sat with her legs crossed, her eyes dreamy and unfocused. She bit her lower lip, clearly aroused by the spectacle of her friend dominating their captive. The power dynamic in the room was thick enough to choke on, and Clementine drank it in.
When the final slap landed, Prairie didn't step away immediately. She reached up and untied Christopher’s wrists, then lowered him to the floor. She looked pleased to see the tears welling in his eyes, glistening on his dark cheeks. She leaned in and licked the salty moisture from his face, her tongue rough and wet. Christopher blushed deeply, turning his head away in humiliation.
Prairie hopped down from the patio and ran to the edge, reaching her hands up to him like he was a toddler. He bent down, exhausted, and she slid her hands into his armpits. With a surprising display of strength, she lifted him from the patio and set him gently on the floor.
"Next round," Prairie said, her breathing slightly elevated.
She dealt the cards again. This time, luck seemed to turn. Christopher looked at his hand in disbelief—a thirteen of diamonds, thirteen of hearts, thirteen of clubs, and two thirteens of spades. It was a winning hand, a massive score.
Prairie’s face fell as she flipped her cards. She had drawn only low ones—two ones of hearts, two ones of spades, and two ones of clubs. A measly six points. Clementine fared slightly better with ones of hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades, plus an ace of queens, totaling eighteen.
Christopher had won. He felt a surge of adrenaline, the tables finally turning.
Prairie, though disappointed, was a good sport. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pink shorts and slid them down her legs, stepping out of them. She stood there in her leopard-spotted panties, looking at Christopher with a mixture of challenge and submission.
"How do you want me, baby?" she asked, her voice low.
A smirk spread across Christopher’s face, mirroring the expressions the women had worn so many times before. He felt the power shift, the rush of dominance heady and intoxicating. He pointed at Clementine.
"Clementine," he ordered.
"Restrain her. Hold her under her arms and wrap your arms around her waist."
Clementine didn't hesitate. She was happy to be the one doing the restraining, even if it wasn't Christopher on the receiving end this time. She moved behind Prairie, locking her friend in a firm grip, pulling Prairie’s arms back to expose her body.
Christopher didn't walk. He ran. He sprinted past the pews toward the eastern wall of the missionary hut. He stopped about three feet away from Prairie, spun on his heel, and lunged forward. He drove his heel across Prairie’s buttocks from the left side with a solid, satisfying thwack.
Prairie cried out, her body buckling slightly in Clementine’s grip, but she held her ground.
Clementine laughed, a bright, delighted sound.
“Nice job, Christopher!” she cheered.
“You literally kicked her butt!"
Chapter Ten.
Clementine’s grip on Prairie loosened, her arms sliding away from the other woman’s waist as the adrenaline of the moment faded. She stepped back and a sudden realization flickered across her face. Her gaze dropped to her ankles, where the white cotton socks still clung stubbornly to her skin. She had been the middle loser in the previous round, the second lowest score, and the rules were absolute.
"Shit," she muttered, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Forgot a penalty."
She didn't hesitate. Balancing on one foot, she hooked her thumbs into the elastic of the left sock and peeled it away, tossing it carelessly into the growing pile of discarded clothing near the altar. She repeated the motion with the right, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid off. Now, except for the leopard-print bra and panties, her legs were completely bare, the pale skin glowing faintly in the dusty light filtering through the hut’s openings.
"Right then," Prairie said, shaking out her limbs and rubbing her wrist where Clementine had held her. She walked over to the golden altar, her hips swaying with a practiced, hypnotic rhythm, and gathered the scattered deck of cards.
"Let's see if you can keep that streak alive, big boy."
She shuffled the cards with a sharp, rhythmic snap, the sound echoing off the stone walls. The air in the hut was thick, smelling of old varnish, sweat, and the faint, sweet musk of arousal. Prairie dealt the cards with a flourish, sliding them across the gold-leafed surface of the altar.
Christopher picked up his hand, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the women—Prairie standing confidently in just her panties, Clementine leaning against a pew with her arms crossed over her chest, watching him with predatory amusement.
"Just so we're clear," Prairie said, tapping a manicured fingernail against her cards.
"Clem and I still have two pieces of clothing each. That means if you win this next round, the rules say I get two spanks for being the loser, and Clem gets one for being second place."
She paused, letting the weight of the alternative hang in the stagnant air.
"But if you lose," she continued, her voice dropping to a sultry, dangerous whisper, "you're completely nude. And that means a prolonged spanking. We won't stop until your ass is burning red."
Christopher stared at his cards, the images of the two women flashing in his mind. The stakes were high, his body already humming with the lingering sting of his own punishment and the thrill of his recent victory. He knew the rules. He knew exactly what was on the line.
"I know," Christopher said, his voice steady, betraying none of the nervous energy tightening his stomach.
"Deal the hand."
They revealed their cards. Prairie laid down a pair of queens and a ten, a decent hand, but her face fell as she calculated the total. Clementine flipped over a run of diamonds, adding up to fifty points.
Christopher didn't speak. He simply placed his cards on the altar: two sevens—hearts and diamonds—and two jacks. The math was simple and devastating.
"Fifty-eight," Christopher said, leaning back against the podium, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Fifty-seven," Prairie groaned, slapping her hand against the altar. She had lost by a single point.
"Fifty," Clementine shrugged, tossing her cards into the discard pile. She looked down at her outfit, then back at Christopher, the challenge clear in her eyes. "Well, a deal's a deal."
She stood up straight, her hands moving to her hips. The choice was hers—bra or panties. She pursed her lips, looking from the leopard-print bra to the matching panties, then began the childhood rhyme under her breath.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..."
Her finger pointed first to her chest, then down to her hips, alternating with each syllable.
"...catch a tiger by the toe..."
The suspense built, the silence of the hut amplifying the sound of her voice.
"...if he hollers, let him go..."
Her finger landed on her waistband.
"...eeny, meeny, miny, moe."
Her finger stopped on the leopard-print fabric covering her pussy. She looked up at Christopher, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Guess it's these," she said.
She hooked her thumbs into the sides of the panties and slowly slid them down her legs, arching her back to accentuate the curve of her ass as she bent over. She stepped out of the lace and kicked the garment toward Christopher. It landed at his feet, a damp, scented offering.
Clementine stood before him now, wearing only the leopard-print bra, her shaved pussy fully exposed to the cool air of the hut. She placed her hands on her hips, thrusting her chest out slightly.
"How do you want me, baby?" she asked, her voice dripping with invitation.
Christopher looked at her, then at Prairie. The power dynamic had shifted completely, and he intended to enjoy every second of it. He remembered how Clementine had restrained Prairie just moments ago, the physical dominance she had exerted. It was time to turn that image on its head.
"Prairie," Christopher commanded, pointing a finger at the other woman. "Hold her."
Prairie didn't argue. A grin spread across her face, enjoying the spectacle of her friend's impending submission. She stepped behind Clementine, wrapping her arms around Clementine’s waist and locking her hands together, effectively pinning Clementine’s arms to her sides.
"Got her," Prairie said, giving Clementine a little squeeze.
Clementine struggled playfully, testing the grip, but Prairie held firm. Christopher backed away from them towards the eastern wall of the mission hut again. Clementine wondered what technique he would use on her bum. Her eyes widened as he brought his palms— fingers and thumb spread apart —up to his PECTORALS and charged forward. She shut her eyes tightly as his steps got closer, then Christopher brought both hands forward in a powerful momentum—fueled palm, strike to both of her butt cheeks. Clementine‘s eyes shot open, and she let out a shrill cry as she felt his strong hand slam into her ass in pain, travel from the surface deep into the muscles of her glutes.
“ Holy shit, Christopher!“ Prairie said, “Your palms left indentations in her butt. Nice!”
“What can I say? I do my best of what I do!” Christopher responded cheekily. Praire then let go of Clementine who stood up and robbed her ass frantically with both hands. After six rubs, she looked over her shoulder at Christopher and smirked, saying, “If you lose the next round, I’m gonna get payback by tearing your ass up! It’ll be as hot as a lump of coal in fire, and you won’t sit down for a month!”
“ I believe you, Clementine!“ Christopher responded.
“That’s why I’m going to pray to God and my ancestors that even if I do lose, you’re not the one with the highest number!”
“God and your ancestors won’t determine the outcome of this game, baby. It’ll just be pure chance, the role of the dice, even if we’re not using dice!” Clementine replied.
Chapter Eleven.
Prairie nodded in agreement and said, “If I get the second highest hand, I’m going to pin you to this floor myself. I’ll hold your thrashing ass down while Clementine turns your backside raw. How does that sound?"
Christopher swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the quiet room. The image of Prairie’s strong hands gripping his wrists while Clementine unleashed her fury made his stomach flip. The dominance he had felt just moments ago began to erode under the weight of her promise.
"Just deal the cards," Christopher said, though his voice lacked the steel it had held earlier.
Prairie chuckled, a low, throaty sound, and gathered the deck. The cards riffled together with a crisp snapping sound, a sharp contrast to the heavy, humid air of the hut. She dealt the cards with practiced speed, sliding them across the golden altar's surface. Christopher picked up his hand, the cardboard feeling flimsy and damp against his fingertips. The women followed suit, their eyes locked on him like wolves circling a wounded deer.
"Let's see what fate dealt us," Clementine said, fanning her cards out. She laid them down on the altar one by one. Three Kings, followed by three Queens. The royal faces stared up at the ceiling, imposing and judgmental.
"Thirty-nine," Clementine announced, tapping the cards with a manicured fingernail. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."
Prairie didn't answer immediately. She arranged her own cards, a small frown creasing her forehead. She placed four cards face up—Aces of Spades. The corners were worn, but the symbols were clear.
"Speeds," Prairie muttered, reading the corner values. "One, two, three, four. But since they're Aces, they bump up." She pointed to each in turn. "Two, three, five, and six."
She slid the remaining two cards forward. Both were the Ten of Hearts.
"Sixteen plus ten," Prairie calculated, her brow furrowing deeper. "Twenty-six."
Christopher looked at his own hand. A Jack, a Queen, a King. High cards, but not enough. He flipped over the Two of Clubs and the Ace of Diamonds.
"Jack is eleven, Queen is twelve, King is thirteen," Christopher counted slowly, the numbers sounding like a death knell in the silence. "Two plus one. That's... thirty-eight."
The air left the room. Christopher stared at the cards, the math undeniable. Thirty-eight. Clementine had thirty-nine. He had lost by a single point.
The color drained from Christopher’s face, leaving him pale in the dusty light. He remembered Clementine’s threat from only minutes a
31-35, M