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She nodded at his announcement.
He took off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. She watched him unbutton the cuffs of his starched white shirt and roll up the sleeves almost to his elbows, with a precision reminiscent of the man that had punished her as a child. She needed this re-enactment, she felt her pounding heart all through her body, especially between her legs, where this curious fascination always played out.
Picking up the paddle with a steady grip, he motioned the submissive woman to the office door and followed her out. She waited for him in the foyer, not knowing where they would be going, which one of the many doors they would be using to exit the man’s massive home. When he took the lead, she followed him through a narrow hallway and out a swinging back door into the faded evening light. There was a single light burning over the door of an old brown shack at the back of the property. The rickety entrance lent an old-fashioned air to the proceedings, as if the two were turning back the clock to a time when this practice was not so unusual.
The woman looked the part of some 1940’s youth. Her calf length wool skirt and matching cardigan reminded him of times when he’d taken undisciplined school girls to the shed to encourage more proper behavior. He could only imagine this woman’s crimes, thinking that they had to do with the lewd way he’d seen her sway her round rear end. The conservative clothes were likely just a costume hiding a flagrant brat that smoked and drank and let young men take liberties with her shapely body.
Her choice of conservative attire was amusing in itself, for her generous bosom was all the more defined in the smooth sweater; and the skirt’s tight fitting style clung to the curves of her hips and gently moving bottom.
“Remove the skirt,” he told her.
“Remove it?” she asked, nervously.
He didn’t honor her question with a response, expecting her to follow instructions, not question them.
She saw this in his eyes, and unbuttoning the skirt, she lowered it to her feet and then placed it atop the dusty workbench. A satin slip remained making her jiggling bottom all the more observable to his gaze.
My mind followed the tale easily as if I’d lived though this very act a thousand times. I expected the slip to be dispensed with, but I was wrong.
“You’ll bend over and grasp the post,” the man informed her, referring to the rough hewn beam in the center of the shed. To hold on to the post required bending over a table that made her rear jut out prominently. She followed his instructions with a pounding heart and her doing crazy flip flops. She leaned in, grabbed the post, and made her buttocks readily available for punishment.
She felt his hand reach down to pull up her slip, which he tucked into her sweater out of his way. Then he proceeded to lower the yellow panties, the last impediment to a fully exposed rear end.
Once his eyes had savored the sight of her luscious globes of jiggling flesh, he picked up the paddle, and pushing up the shirt sleeve of his punishment arm, again, he brought his arm back, then leveled the paddle at the center of those quivering cheeks.
She let out a loud gasp, as the paddle connected with its target.
Waiting was worth the sensation that resulted. The place of impact burned instantly with a fire that rose like an angry storm. The resulting satisfaction was instantaneous. With the next stroke there was the same response. Each successive smack of the unforgiving wood was laid on in equal measured time, as if a metronome was ticking in the back of his mind. In time, the sensations of pleasure gave way to pain, a horrible pain. The auburn haired woman and her disciplinarian experienced the punishment of by gone days, as if they’d just escaped to that forgotten time. That too was significant, this was a complex passion.
I stopped reading, needing no more help picturing the moment in my mind, my imagination could take over from this point. I didn’t need the words to capture the feelings in my aroused body and take them to a climax; but there was some satisfaction in reading this woman’s story that so clearly paralleled my own.
My sexual needs burst, one great raging raw place between my legs demanding relief. I leaned back and fingered myself, jumping in my mind from the auburn haired woman to a creation of my own imagination, to Reggie with his perfectly groomed countenance gazing in judgment at me with those icy blue eyes and a trace of a smirk in the expression on his lips.
I took a detour in the flight of submissive fantasy to imagine his next punishment turning into a moment of breathtaking climax. I felt his hand with some unplanned affection bringing me to orgasm in measured strokes, as controlled as the painful punishment that brought me to the edge.
With thoughts and desires raging madly through me, I came quickly, but lingered long, until I drifted away mindlessly, letting my body please my mind and soul.
Chapter Six
To find Reggie at my door for the second time in as many days was astounding to me. I suspected he might schedule our next rendezvous before the weekend was over; though I was not altogether pleased that I’d be punished again so soon. The ass cheeks he’d prevailed upon so well the morning before were still tender. In a couple of places there were faint marks from the cane; though it had been a surprise to me that a day later there was so little evidence of the punishment.
Funny, my first thought on seeing him at my door again . . .” Does he ever show dirt? The crazy question dashed through my fevered brain as his handsome appearance shocked me one more time.
“Good,” I’m glad you’re expecting me,” he announced when he saw me on the other side of the door. No other introduction seemed necessary.
“Was I expecting you?” I said.
“You didn’t go anywhere, did you?”
“Do I usually Sunday night?” I snapped sarcastically.
“You want to snap at me, I’ll make this personal,” he warned. There was a familiar twitch in his jaw, showing displeasure with my flippancy.
“I already thought it was personal,” I answered, maintaining my jaunty tone of voice. It gave me some measure of control not being too submissive at the start; though I could see by Reggie’s expression that I’d better not push too hard.
“You’re going to have me here?” I asked, as he walked past me into my living room with a purposeful air in his stride.
He didn’t answer, but set down an overnight bag on the carpet. I assumed he didn’t plan to spend the night, and I watched him curiously as he opened the zipper, and withdrew some sophisticated video recording equipment.
