Chapter 3

The funding for the narrow gage train solution came from BJ Belk that would both provide security/privacy for residence and allow transportation to the spanking emporium reserved by patrons of the art. Janice C. ran the place as a kind of head mistress. She was a great egg and willing to lower her panties and present her thirty-something behind, still quite pleasing to the eye and she made sure the customer got his money’s worth with plenty of squeals.

The gold Toyota car for the railroad was ready to roll along with a red, a blue and a green pinstriped car all in gold pinstripe to make them look distinctive. Each was made by Japanese conglomerate, Toyota Rail Cars back in the early seventies and brought by ship through the port of Charleston, SC for delivery to SOB, South Of The Border, and the sombrero tower that scrapes the sky in the south.

Each Toyota gold car pinstriped seated six in three rows. It was especially designed to roll down the rail tracks pulled by an ECU locomotive; it featured bench seats full of tits and ass. A train load of women being taken for rounds and rounds of rip roaring red behind spankings.

The train went right behind her house, so she could be paddled by her date in a rolling box car. If Bart wasn’t excited enough when he looked down her green corduroys and her white panties just below her bare back where her shirt had ridden up her back. “Okay, hop into the box car!” Jan ice in hand sucked the cube into her mouth because it was a swelter day then got up from the green grass.

Bart turned and climbed into the ice box car. As Janyce followed behind him, he watched her ass. Whoever said looking at a fine but wasn’t a thrill in itself. Like the rest of her, it was round and plush with just a little baby-fat left over from her teen years. The elastic seams were clearly visible in the form of a visible panty line under her hip hugging green corduroy pants. This time the panty line framed Jan ice needed soon, behind for sure.

As the train rolled and rocked down the rural tracks, it was time to get to business. After the removal of her green corduroy pants Jan ice –y Ice behind’ behind sitting on the cold block pallets clad only in her Belk blue panties which were also pooled on the floor beside him. The ECU grad was surprised when Bart had her lie down on a quilt over the brand, Bugger-Jan ice TV Dinner bundle stacks.

Bart Jr. began the paddling jam. The swats came in hard and fast. One swat after another before burn put in her behind from last night. While he was paddling her she tried to plead, but the sound got lost between her legs. It was over long before they crossed the bridge and the train stopped in the depot in the back alley of the row of role-play mill houses. However, the burn and crimson color of Jan ice in hand for her behind recovery. I’m sure she would mind nor white for quite a few hours. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ They say that some of the best ideas are born of necessity. So, the clap-board home private adult only kink community found itself at a crossroads. And, so among the gators and toads of upstate Florida of re-claimed swamp land the once concentric innovator once again ‘struck’ for the fences. In fact in future years others would crave to follow the ‘news leader, but it would be too late for the ‘asshole’ communities to duplicate its success.

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It had all started in the small town of Quinn in the panhandle of Florida. Now the struggling town needed a savior if it was going to survive the end of the USA civil war. General Sherman had led the union army on a path of destruction through the south burning their crops, homes and towns. Like many towns, the inhabitants of Quinn spent decades after the Civil War living in poverty, despair and distrust of northerners that lasted well into the nineteenth century.

For any chance of a town prospering that town needed a major investor to turn things around by bringing jobs to the town. The investor would take chances on re-opening the mines, building new stores and small industry, all which would spell jobs. Such action would lead to a new vibrant community made possible by providing the funding for a town flat on its arse after the war.

Fortunately for this tiny rural town it attracted the attention of BJ Belk, who owned the Southern National Bank. It was the first and only bank to open since the town’s only other bank went bust years before. BJ proved to be the investor the town desperately needed, and despite some not so great things that BJ insisted on, the town prospered and the town’s people were grateful and fiercely loyal.

BJ and his associates ran the place; he owned parts of every enterprise in town. What BJ didn’t or couldn’t own he made sure it was not allowed in the town. He didn’t allow a Sears catalog store or Montgomery Ward, like one would find in other dusty hamlets across the expanding country. Despite the drawbacks the town people knew which side their bread was buttered on and wisely didn’t cross the line if they wanted their jobs. BJ Belk controlled the town board and that included his hand-picked mayor and sheriff. Put simply he controlled and grew wealthier with each good or service purchased and consumed in Guinn.

Bart had his hot hand in all the business dealings. Since he supplied the only legitimate financing in the rural hamlet between two grassy hillocks, his wealth continued to multiply. He wasn’t a robber-baron, but he definitely could buy and sell anyone and nobody dared to imagine what he would do to an enemy. From top to bottom he owned every tool, clothing and transport including a small railroad spur that linked his ore with railroad to take the gold ore to the mint. Any competitor trying to move into town was soon squashed like a bug under a heavy work boot.

The town crier and the surrounding community’s people would tell you that his generous gifts to town charities warranted the honor of having the town being his middle name. Every mine worker and his family lived in a home owned by the banks real estate trust for tax purposes, and all the mine workers bought their goods from his stores whether his name was part of the business sign or not.

Bart Sir’s bank had one feature that was almost unheard of before. BG Belk discovered a way to become rich and he would do it on the backs of the workers in his mines, enterprises and their families. He offered bank financing on goods and services and as a hook he allowed them to take for instance the dining room and chairs home that the mistress of the house previously only dreamed of serving her family on and offered a line of credit for purchases with a small down payment.

The people bought into this new way of doing business hook, line and sinker. Nearly overnight, the mistress of most houses went from home-spun panties to their fattened rears being clad in handmade French bloomers like those worn by the mistress’ of the rich private enclaves of BDSM-Kink behind closed gates. Luxurious and spacious spanking settings while Sunny Side Up a new private gated part of town needed a name and, so Sunny Side Up was born where spanked women in tin roofed shacks was the norm. Still whether the slacks came down as well as the panties satin or nylon the spanking hurt all the same. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The adults accredited before entry mostly men flowed in off the train, through the gates and over the river bridge. They had been given access through the tall black wrought iron gates didn’t seem to be bothered there was no ornate prettiness which exuded wealth like Sunny Manor, Sun Gilded Heights and Sun Mansion, but Sunny Side Up had a non-descript row of freshly painted board mill houses, which from the outside looked like a ladies, undies, panties, bra and corsets as well as fine hose including bottom-memory nylon pantyhose which tightly form to the torso.