“Such a chameleon,” he murmured. “You should be an actress. What am I saying? You are an actress, but you’re also a vulnerable young woman, completely alone, fighting to survive in this world.”
Taking a last sip of his wine, he walked into the bedroom.
Waiting for him, her knickers off and on the bed, Jane was in the throes of an overwhelming epiphany. She didn’t fear Henry’s authority, not one bit. She loved his whole persona: his piercing green eyes, his smooth walk, his unruffled demeanor, his quiet confidence, and for some bizarre reason that she couldn’t fathom, she loved that he was about to spank her. Why? It made no sense, but it was how she felt. She’d been staring at the floor as the revelatory thoughts tumbled through her head, and when she heard him enter the room, she lifted her gaze and stared across at him.
He saw it immediately. The look on her face that told him she wanted it. She wanted him. She wanted to immerse herself in what was about to happen, and she wanted to surrender to his unique brand of love. His first impulse was to race forward and take her in his arms, but that wasn’t what she needed. She was expecting discipline, and he wasn’t about to disappoint her.
“I’m going to blindfold you.”
It was a statement, one that would brook no argument, but she didn’t want to argue. She’d never been blindfolded, and the thought of it sent a hot, erotic shiver through her body. She watched him walk across the room and enter his closet, and when he reappeared, he did so carrying a black silk scarf. Wordlessly he walked behind her and placed it across her eyes, tying it at the back of her head.
“Is that comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir is how you will address me in situations like this.”
“Yes, Sir,” she repeated, feeling her legs turn to jelly.
“Stay just as you are.”
Lost in the darkness, Jane became aware of how keen her other senses had suddenly become. His cologne was lingering around her, and she could hear his footfalls as he walked away. Where was he going? Why was he leaving her? She could feel goosebumps pop on her skin, and she prayed he’d be back soon. She was feeling weak, too weak to stand there much longer.
In the doorway of his bathroom, Henry was leaning against the door jamb studying her. He’d left to fetch his oval wooden hairbrush, but the sight of her had made him pause. She was completely still, her hands clasped in front of her, and he could feel her energy from across the room. Her anticipation was almost palpable, but he knew if he touched between her legs he would find her wonderfully wet. A rush of energy surged through his manhood, and he ran his hand across himself, but he was determined to resist the almost irresistible temptation until later that night. Walking slowly forward, he saw her body start. She had heard, or sensed, his approach. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed the hairbrush beside him and wrapped his fingers around her elbow.
“Lean over my lap.”
“But I can’t see,” she muttered, her voice quivering.
“I’m not going to let you fall. You can reach out your hands if you need to, but don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
She shuffled her feet forward until she felt his legs, then slowly bent over, letting her pelvis rest over his thighs as her hands found the bed. When he raised up her skirt, laying it over her waist, she felt the cold air hit her skin, and a moment later his leg rested across the back of her knees. It was a gesture that suggested he was about to spank her hard, very hard.
“Let’s revisit why you’re here,” he said sternly. “You not only put yourself at risk, you put me at risk. You scammed a very nice restaurant, and you committed a crime. You can do what you want when you’re alone or with someone else, but you don’t get to play loose and fast with me, young lady. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but you did it anyway. Thank you for treating me to a nice meal, but now your bottom is going to pay for it, and I think you’ll wish you’d use cold, hard cash. Any questions?”
“No, Sir.”
Her voice had been a squeak, and gazing down at her beautiful, naked bottom, he took a moment to wander his eyes to the wide elastic bands of her thigh-high stockings. They were squeezing her flesh, and he decided he would redden the area of pale skin just above them.
He began landing his hot slaps, moving his flattened palm across her cheeks, never landing in the same place twice. Her skin was blushing pink, and when he moved his smacks to the backs of her thighs, he heard her gasp in surprise as well as pain. When the pink had deepened and she was squirming, he increased the force and pace, delivering a series of three hard smacks on the same spot, repeating the routine as his hand continued its journey across her backside and down to her sit spot.
Jane was yelping, her fingers rolled into a white-knuckled fist as she clutched the bedcovers. He had spanked her briskly the night she’d tried to lift his wallet, but this was different. It was fast, then slow, then fast again, and it felt much harder. Her butt was on fire, and when she’d flailed her arm behind her in an attempt to cover herself, he’d caught her wrist and held it against her back without missing a beat. She had no idea for how long she’d been wriggling on his lap, but it felt like forever, and when he finally stopped she let out a long, deep, grateful groan.
“I’ll let you rest for a minute, then you’ll feel the punishment of the hairbrush,” he declared, smoothing his hand across her scorched skin.
“You mean there’s more?”
“Absolutely, and it’s deserved. I suspect you’ll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again, especially with me along for the ride.”
“Ooh, Henry, I won’t, I already told you that.”
Lifting his hand, he delivered a sound smack in the middle of her cheeks.
“You will also learn to follow instructions. I told you, in circumstances such as these, you’re to call me Sir!”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she wailed. “Sir, I won’t do it again, Sir, I swear.”
“I’m picking up the hairbrush now, and I’m going to paddle it all over your bottom, then give you a few swats above your stockings. When I’ve finished you’ll stay as you are until I tell you otherwise. Any questions?”
“No, Sir.”
Jane had thought his hand carried a sting, but it was nothing compared to the solid wooden brush. Squealing loudly into the bedspread, she gyrated her hips as much as she could, but his hold was strong, and the brush continued to land its blazing sting without pause.
Though Henry was determined to teach Jane a lesson she would remember, he was not a cruel man. When her skin was sufficiently red, and her cries were such that he knew her bottom was scalded, he was happy to finish. He didn’t need or wish to spank her to tears, and throwing down the brush, he slipped off her blindfold.
“Ooh, Sir,” she whimpered, “that hurt so much more than the last time you punished me.”
“Indeed, and I trust I won’t have to punish you again for a similar offense. You wouldn’t want me to bring out my cane.”
“The cane? No, no, I wouldn’t, no!”
“I’m going to rub away the pain, then lie down and hold you.”
He could feel his comforting caress soothe her soul as well as her skin, and when she let out a heavy sigh, he helped her off his lap and moved them onto the bed.
“I want you, Henry, I want you so much,” she mewled, nestling against him.
His stiff member was protesting the confines of his trousers, and when her hand moved over him and gently squeezed, he couldn’t suppress a deep, aching groan. Raising up, she pressed her lips against his, and he wrapped his fingers around her hair, clasping it tightly as he devoured her luscious lips. She began sliding down his zipper, seeking him out, and in that instant he knew he was lost. He whisked her dress up and over her head, and quickly stripping off his clothes, he retrieved a condom from the nightstand.
Jane’s bottom carried a prickling heat, but it was feeding her fever, and as he lay next to her she straddled him, closing her eyes and letting out
a moan as she lowered herself down. He held her waist, supporting her as she rode him, but when she leaned forward, resting her palms on his chest and arching her back, he pinched and played with her nipples and breasts, firing her building orgasm.
“I need to come,” she wailed. “Please, let me come.”
Wrapping his arm around her, he flipped her onto her back. Fueled by her pleas, his need to climax suddenly raged through him, and pinning her arms above her head, he drove forward, stroking her with speed and power. Their orgasms erupted, his lips found hers, and they kissed their way through the climactic eruption.
A short while later, both dressed in robes and sipping red wine from thin, bulbous glasses, they stood at the living room window and gazed out at the winter wonderland. Large flakes floating from the sky were turning white, and the fire was crackling as the flames burned the natural wood logs Henry had placed over the grate.
“I feel as if I’m living a dream,” she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“It does feel like that,” he said softly, “but it’s real, Jane. I’m real, and I’m going to say something now, and you must believe me.”
Feeling a flurry in her heart, she stared into his unfathomable green eyes.
“You’re not alone anymore. You can rely on me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Fourteen
The snowstorm paralyzed London; for three days, transportation came to a virtual standstill, and power outages sent the city into chaos, but Henry, being Henry, had been prepared for such a disaster. When he lost electricity, his generator kicked in; tucked away in one of his guest rooms he had a seven-day supply of food and water; and his freezer was fully stocked. What was a dreadful time for most had been a romantic holiday for Henry and Jane.
Forced into hibernation, they had lounged in bed watching DVDs of Fawlty Towers and a host of other classic BBC shows, and on the second night of their forced confinement, Henry introduced her to his steel handcuffs, placing her under arrest.
They had been cuddling in bed, both naked, enjoying an episode of The Avengers with Emma Peel and John Steed, and as the show came to an end, he rolled over, propped himself up on an elbow, and gazed down at her.
“You really are a very naughty girl.”
“I suppose I am, in a way,” she admitted, “but we all do what we must to survive.”
“I think I should arrest you and pass sentence.”
“You already did that once, remember?”
“True, but apparently it didn’t have the desired effect. You’re still working.”
“I haven’t lifted anyone’s wallet,” she giggled, shooting him a mischievous wink.
“Right, that does it!” he exclaimed, jumping from the bed. “Don’t you go anywhere.”
“Where would I go?”
“There’s that cheeky girl again,” he said, shaking his finger at her. “I doubt you’ll be so full of yourself by the time I’m done with you.”
Sitting up, watching him march into his closet, she decided that one day she’d might just take a poke around and see if she could find his box of tricks, but when he came out holding handcuffs in one hand and a flogger in the other, all such thoughts quickly evaporated.
“Out of the bed,” he said sharply, “and hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”
A flurry of butterflies began wildly fluttering in the pit of her belly, and slipping from between the sheets, she was unable to take her eyes from the ominous-looking black leather implement.
“Turn around.”
As she did as he instructed and placed her hands behind her back, he threw the flogger onto the bed; she stared down at it, a shiver of fear slicing down her spine.
It had been purposeful, of course. Henry was building her anticipation, and seeing the goosebumps come alive on her skin, he knew placing it in her line of sight was working its magic. With her wrists securely in the cuffs, he slipped his fingers between her pussy lips.
“You’re wet,” he muttered. “It appears punishment has this effect on you. Clearly you know you deserve it. Let’s see just how much, shall we?”
She wriggled against his touch, then moaned softly as he lingered and teased inside her slick seam before withdrawing his hand.
“I’ve never been flogged,” she whimpered.
“Then it’s about time,” he declared, and grasping a fistful of hair, he laid her over the bed, then pushed her hands up to her waist, the steel of the handcuffs flashing as it caught the flame’s light from the fireplace.
“Keep them there,” he said, pressing her hands into her back. “I find you guilty of lying, manipulating, and breaking all kinds of laws, too many to name. Your sentence is as follows: a sound hand spanking, followed by six lashes. Does the prisoner have anything to say before sentence is passed?”
“Uh, mercy, Sir?”
“Have you shown your victims mercy?”
“Uh, I guess not, but many of them have been deserving of what I do, and you know I’m very generous with needy people.”
“I shall take that into consideration. It won’t prevent me from dispatching justice, but it might persuade me to allow you an orgasm when I’m done.”
Every nerve in Jane’s body was firing. His stern demeanor, and the roleplay itself, was sending a white-hot heat through her body. She could feel the warm wetness flooding her sex, and she closed her eyes as she sank into the mattress, waiting for his peppery palm to begin its punishment.
Standing beside her, Henry gazed at her beautiful bottom poised and waiting for his discipline. The silver shackles around her wrists sitting in the gentle arch of her back made her position even more provocative, and as he began to spank, his cock surged to life. He delivered the smarting smacks swiftly, traveling his flattened hand across the fullness of her backside until her skin had turned a rosy pink. By the time he was satisfied, she was huffing and puffing into the comforter, and when he stopped, she turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.
“Sir,” she bleated, “it’s so hot.”
“Not as hot as it will be,” he declared, pushing his fingers into her sex.
Letting out a long, low groan, Jane buried her head back into the bed and thrust out her hips in response. She was soaked and wanted him desperately, but she was also drawn to the flogger. How would it feel? Would it hurt terribly? Why did she even want to find out?
“Time for the lashes,” he announced, and withdrawing his hand from her pussy, he reached past her and picked up the mystifying flogger.
He heard her utter a strange mewling sound, and he draped the long, black leather tendrils across her backside, gliding them over her skin.
“Six, with a silent count of three between each stroke.”
She wished her hands were free so she could grasp the bedcovers, or wrap her arms around the pillow and hug it, then she realized that’s why he had cuffed her; he had done so to exacerbate the punishment. Just as the thought floated through her head, she felt the flogger lift away, and seconds later, the tongues swished across her bottom.
It was a hot, thick, heavy pain that burned through her skin, but it was strangely, stunningly glorious. She had barely caught her breath when the second landed, then the third, and she was lost in the heat of it, consumed by the fire spreading through her body. When he delivered the last lash and announced that her punishment was over, she found herself wanting to ask for another. His hands began roaming over her cheeks, rubbing and fondling, his cock was suddenly against her, then thrusting forward, plunging into her depths. His fingers were clutching her hips, his pelvis slapping against her burning skin as he pumped, and a huge orgasm was suddenly upon her.
“Come,” he growled, ramming her vigorously, “come now.”
Rising up like lava from a volcano, the eruption came from deep inside her body, and she cried out as the convulsions threatened to break her into a thousand pieces. They vibrated through her, shooting tingling sparks into her limbs, and when they fin
ally abated and she opened her eyes, she saw him flopping on the bed next to her.
“Henry,” she whispered, “please hold me, please hold me and never let me go.”
Rapidly removing the handcuffs, he cradled her tightly, awash with a deep longing to always have her in his bed. Silent minutes ticked by, then kissing her warmly, he slipped away and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he found her with her head propped up by pillows.
“I need to talk to you,” she said as he climbed back into bed. “I need to tell you who I am and where I came from.”
He listened attentively, and while it was obvious Bernie had been a clever man, Henry worried that Jane was living in a house of cards. Without studying the documents pertaining to the home and its contents, it was impossible to know.
“I’ll give you all the paperwork,” she promised, letting out a long yawn. “You can have your solicitor check it. I’ve never thought about it before, but now I’d like to know as well.”
“Good. Now we both must sleep,” he declared, feeling completely worn out himself.
“Yes, please,” she sighed, and snuggling against him, felt sleep wash over her before another thought could enter her head.
By late Wednesday evening, the forecasters promised the worst was over. Curled up in Henry’s lap on the couch in front of the television, Jane was mesmerized by the images of the carnage wrought by the first major storm of the season. It had landed early, suggesting a long winter, and Jane was deeply grateful she’d been safe with Henry when it had descended.
“I’m so worried about my house,” she muttered nervously. “Do you think it survived?”
“It looked solid to me,” Henry said reassuringly, “though if your area lost power you might have a messy refrigerator.”
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