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“What are you doing?” I asked.
“A little something
for posterity.”
“You’re not going to record this?”
He looked up at me and smiled. “You should find the possibilities intriguing, given your appetite for good lusty theatre.”
“What are you going to do with it?” I’d imagined him putting me through many trials, but never this!
“That’s my concern, Alexandra, not yours.”
He was careful with his task, setting up the tripod, fixing the camera to it, and then toying with the focus and lighting, so that it was exactly what he wanted.
“Go put on a garter belt, stockings and some slutty bra,” he ordered me, as if he suddenly found my peering eyes annoying. He waved me off with his hand while he continued to adjust the complex looking camera.
I knew how to dress for him, though I wondered what else I was dressing for, how many other eyes would see me receive whatever punishment he had in store for me. I hated the fact that this was arousing me.
Being photographed in sexual positions was one turn-on that Will and I enjoyed. He’d made several movies of me, and had taken dozens of pictures. But never had he photographed me in any stage of punishment—likely because he never punished me, not in the way Reggie did.
I found a rose colored bra, garter belt and stockings. Vain as I am, I wanted to look good for the video recording. A pair of beige spike heels, a little fresh make-up, and I looked like some man’s wet dream, even though I was horribly self conscious. Not that Reggie hadn’t seen me in all states of dress and undress, not that he hadn’t previously orchestrated all kinds of sexual exploits for me as his submissive; this was something altogether different with my reddened rear about to become the focal point for another kind of pornographic movie.
When I returned to the living room, he looked up at me, and smiled vaguely.
“I’m glad I don’t have to instruct you how to dress. At least that’s something you didn’t forget how to do.” He stared at my crotch. There were no panties to hide me, just the few wisps of pubic hair trimmed into a neat triangle.
“You taught me well,” I answered politely.
He chuckled. “Seems I taught you only what you wanted to learn,” he answered back. Though he didn’t sound sarcastic, the dig was obvious.
“Maybe you should charge admission,” I suggested lightly, observing the way he tinkered with his equipment.
“You’re having a problem with this, aren’t you?”
“No more than usual, maybe I’m just more vocal about it. I was a much more cowering submissive four years ago.”
“You’re more bratty now, yes, and hardly submissive at all.”
It was strange to hear him use the adjective ‘bratty’ to describe me. It sounded parental and condescending, and all I could think of was the story I’d read. Reggie was the ‘hired’ disciplinarian; and I the auburn haired woman in the story, finding myself aroused by the whole damned scene.
“I don’t ever remember you calling me bratty,” I said.
“Fits, doesn’t it? Go stand by your couch. And move for me a little.”
I obliged him, finding myself in front of the video camera, thinking actress, thinking what kind of performance I was going to give. It was potentially intriguing, even though I was still worrying over who this video was for.
When he was finished with the set-up, I knew the camera was rolling, hearing a soft whirring sound in the background. He put himself into the picture, joining me at the couch, sitting down comfortably so that the camera was at a forty five degree angle to us. There was something very purposeful about the placement of the camera and the couch.
He stared up at me as I waited for his next instruction.
“You forgot the hairbrush,” he said, sounding annoyed.
I shook my head puzzled, because that command hadn’t been given, but I took it as an order and went back to my bedroom to find what he wanted.
The old-fashioned mode of punishment intrigued me – the thought of his taking me over his lap again, this time with a hairbrush in hand. It was quaint.
However, it wouldn’t feel quaint at all once he got started. Taking the hairbrush from me, he pulled me down with an efficient motion, and had me with my bare behind high, wiggling and ready for him to begin. The first crack of the brush left me breathless, and the dozen stinging swats that followed were equally intense. In seconds, a significant burn was flaming its way all across my ass end. Then the hairbrush was flying everywhere, smack after smack creating the nastiest pain.
