Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  “No, Sir.” She had already told him she was afraid, though she had felt calmer since he had asked her to lie across his lap. The connection, the direct contact with him both soothing and reassuring. This was another reason why she had opted for the spanking rather than his belt, though perhaps he would have put her over his knee for either. Maybe she should have asked…

  “Do you remember your safe words?”

  “I… Yes, Sir. But will I…? I mean, am I allowed to use them?”

  “Yes, always.” He paused but continued to caress her bottom slowly, pressing his fingers against the delicate fleshiness.

  It felt wonderful. She would be content to remain there all day and let the sun burn her to a crisp if he would just continue to stroke her like this.

  He spoke again, his voice modulated to that exact frequency that could turn her to jelly. “You won’t need cashmere, I’m fairly sure of that. But fountain might be useful. Remember it, and use it if you need to. And, Fleur, you won’t enjoy this. You’re not meant to. It’s a punishment and I’m about to hurt you. But it will be tolerable, just about. If, at any stage, you think it isn’t, then you use that safe word. Do you understand me?”

  She considered this for a few moments since it seemed only polite. Then, “Yes, Sir. You have made matters very clear. Thank you.”

  “Are you ready, Fleur?”

  No. “Yes, Sir.”

  The first slap landed across her left buttock, hard and sharp, though not especially painful. The sound reverberated around the courtyard, echoing back from the tangled vines and bougainvillea tumbling from the trellises that ringed the inner space. Fleur jerked involuntarily, though she made no attempt to get away or to raise her hands to protect herself. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and waited for the next spank to fall.

  Ethan did not draw matters out unduly and she was grateful to him for that. He spanked her solidly, alternating between her buttocks and not landing a slap in the same place twice. He had not asked her to count but she could not help doing so. Three, four, five.

  The sixth slap was harder. She swore he was piling it on now—or maybe her skin was becoming more sensitive. She let out a small squeal, followed by a definite scream at the seventh. Ethan stopped.

  “I’d prefer not to have hotel security come running, thinking you’re being murdered in here. Could you be quiet, please, or would you like me to gag you?”

  Fleur shuddered. She viewed the prospect of rescue by the Totally Five Star staff with even less enthusiasm than did Ethan. “I am sorry, Sir. I will try not to make any sound.”

  “I’d be obliged. Okay to continue?”

  Fleur clenched her buttocks pitifully. Despite her words and her determination to endure her punishment without fuss, she struggled. And not even halfway there yet.

  “Yes, Sir.” And as an afterthought, “Please.”

  The next few slaps were dropped hard and fast onto her already smarting backside. Fleur continued to count them in her head, now grinding her teeth together to prevent herself from crying out. She was sore, really hurting, her bottom on fire. His hand was heavy, solid, tireless, and still she was nowhere near the finishing post.

  Twelve. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

  “Oh, Sir, please…” She could not help the whimper of pain that escaped her. Ethan stopped again.

  “Safe word or be silent,” he said, his tone harsh and uncompromising.

  Despite her best intentions, Fleur started to sob. She was disappointing him and disgracing herself. She should be able to manage this better, surely. It was only a spanking.

  “Fleur, if you need me to stop for a minute you have only to ask. Say fountain and we can have a timeout.” His voice was gentler now, and Fleur squeezed his ankle with her hand by way of acknowledgment.

  “A couple of minutes, Sir, if you please.”

  “Of course. And would you like me to entertain you during this little interlude?”

  “I do not understand, Sir.”

  “Spread your legs for me, love, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  What, now? Here? In the middle of…this?

  “Fleur…?” Apparently so. Fleur obliged, opening her legs as wide as she was able in her current position. Her reward was a long, slow caress along the entire length of her pussy.

  “Mmm, you may be squealing a bit but you’re fucking loving this. Here’s the evidence, girl.” He used the flat of his hand to smear her own wetness across her bottom. Fleur winced at the contact but offered no protest. Ethan repeated the caress, but this time he maintained contact with her cunt, easing one long finger inside her. Fleur tightened her inner muscles around it, writhing furiously on his lap. She wanted friction. She needed him to thrust.

  “What are you up to, girl? If you want something, you know to ask. Tell me what you need.”

  “More, Sir. I want more.”

  “More what? More fingers? Two, perhaps? Three, even?”

  “Three, Sir.” She saw no point in being less than direct. Her reward—three fingers firmly inserted into her desperately wet pussy. Ethan twisted them inside her, spreading them to stretch her, to press sensuously against her inner walls. It still was not enough, nowhere close to enough.

  “Please, Sir, can you move your hand?”

  “What, you don’t like this?”

  “I do. Yes, Sir, I do. But I need you to, to…” She hesitated, seeking the correct word. Would he understand if she spoke to him in French?

  She was spared the problem.

  “Do you want me to finger-fuck you?”

  Yes, please, yes. She tried for a modicum more decorum, however. “Yes, Sir, I do think that is the phrase I was looking for. My thanks for that.”

  Ethan’s answering chuckle was slow and sexy, and her pussy spasmed around his fingers. He withdrew them and plunged them back into her. Hard. He did it again. And again. Fleur stopped writhing and settled for deep, contented moaning. She lay still, giving herself over entirely to Ethan’s skilled attentions. He brought his other hand into play too, feathering the tip across her clit. Fleur almost cried out again, this time in delight, but managed instead to shove her fist into her mouth. Ethan increased the pressure, very slightly, but enough to edge her toward orgasm. She knew she was about to come—and come hard.

  Moments later, she arrived there, spinning, whirling, her senses scrambled. Her knuckles hurt from the pressure of her teeth, but still she clenched and trembled as the waves of pure pleasure washed through her. Even in the middle of a spanking—perhaps because it was in the middle of a spanking—he could still find her inner poutin.

  As the tremors subsided and Fleur’s senses returned to her, Fleur became conscious that he was talking to her again. She had missed his words, though.

  “I am sorry, Sir. What did you ask me?”

  “I asked if you were ready to continue. To complete your punishment. Another nine spanks to go, I think you’ll find.”

  “Yes, Sir, that is correct. I am ready. And, thank you.”

  “Any time, Fleur. You have only to ask. Now, we finish.”

  She yelped as the next slap landed and she apologized quickly. She managed to remain near enough silent for the next four or five, though it was hard going. The final three were absolute agony, and Fleur started crying again by the time Ethan finally delivered the last one. He knew she was in tears, but this had made no difference it would seem, either to his determination to complete her punishment or to the severity of his spanking. Despite her discomfort, Fleur would have had it no other way.

  The spanking finished, Ethan helped her to stand up straight. Fleur remained still, standing before him, her face wet with tears she made no attempt to wipe away. Her bottom was so sore that the merest brush of the fabric of her shirt was agony. She knew she would not be able to sit, perhaps for a long time. Even the slightest movement seemed impossible. How was she going to endure the meal with her parents? Surely they would be able to tell.

  “Would you lik
e to lie down? On your stomach, naturally.”

  Fleur nodded, though she was not sure she could get as far as the bedroom under her own steam. She needn’t have worried. Ethan stood and, with one swift movement, whisked the shirt up and over her head to leave her totally naked. It was more comfortable, though. He lifted her, one arm behind her knees and the other bracing her shoulders, and carried her inside. He did not take her to the bedroom, though. Instead, he headed for the cool lounge area and deposited Fleur gently on the long padded ottoman. He helped her to roll onto her stomach and commanded her not to move, stating that he’d be right back.

  He need not hurry. Fleur sank her cheek against the smooth fabric, her bottom smarting in the cooler atmosphere of the air-conditioned room. She was going nowhere.

  Ethan returned in a few moments and sat beside her on the couch. “You did well, love. Twenty-four is a lot, for a first attempt. Even though I was taking it easy on you, I expected you to need more breaks. I’m impressed.”

  Taking it easy! Fleur made a mental note never to really aggravate him. Her delicate buttocks would not endure it.

  “You’ll feel the effects for a while. You’re meant to. But this should help make you a bit more comfortable. Lift.” He looped an arm under her shoulders and raised her from the couch, shifting along until his thighs were under her upper body. He lowered her gently back and Fleur nestled into him, her face turned away. She was aware of his erection close to her head, thick and solid inside his jeans, but he seemed disinclined to do anything with it right now. A pity, perhaps, but still she was glad of his restraint and consideration.

  Fleur flinched as something cool and wet landed on her abused bottom. “Keep still, I’ll be gentle. This should help take the sting out.”

  Fleur turned her head to see that Ethan had poured a generous puddle of body lotion directly onto her bum. He must have borrowed it from the hotel bathroom. He started slowly smearing it across her sore buttocks, not pressing hard, allowing the lotion to soak in naturally.

  “You know, love—and I really should have mentioned this before—you have a truly beautiful arse. Or would that be derrière to you?”

  “Derrière is a nice word, I think. I am not sure I care for arse.”

  “Well, I care for arse. I care very much for your arse, little Fleur. It would give me great pleasure to spank it for you again, should our paths cross in the future.”

  His words set off an unexpected surge of longing—or was it perhaps regret?—in Fleur. Their paths were unlikely to cross again. If she did submit to another spanking at some time—and she sincerely hoped that might prove possible—it would not involve Ethan Savage. She found that thought distinctly unpalatable, even though she had known from the outset that this would just be a temporary interlude, a moment of madness made possible in part by the fact that he would be gone within a few days and she would not have to see him again. Ever.

  “That would be very nice, Sir. And so is that.” She stretched languorously on the ottoman, rubbing her breasts against his leg. “Is this always how a spanking ends, even when it is intended as punishment?”

  “Mmm, pretty much. Preparation is crucial, but aftercare is the clincher. How do you feel, Fleur?”

  “I am fine, Sir.”

  “If you feel unhappy, sad, depressed, or even especially tired later, you’re to tell me. Yes?”

  “Of course, Sir. But I feel good. Very good. Even my derrière is not so sore now. You have an excellent bedside manner, Mr. Savage.”

  “And you, Doctor Mansouri, are an insolent sub who would do well to mind her manners. Remember the Eleventh Commandment—Thou shalt not take the piss out of thy Dom.”

  “My mother is the Christian in our household. I will be sure to check that reference with her, Sir.”

  “Ah, yes, I apologize. You’re Muslim, yes?”

  He continued to caress the soothing balm into her smarting skin as Fleur considered how to answer. She opted for the truth.

  “No, not really, Sir. My father is Muslim, and my mother Christian. Roman Catholic, in fact. I am familiar with both faiths, and I have worshiped in the mosque and in the church. For myself, though, I doubt the existence of a god at all, though I would not say such a thing in my mother’s hearing. It would cause her to offer up prayers to the Virgin for my immortal soul. This could continue for days. My father would not thank me for it either.”

  Ethan laughed loudly. “What an irreverent little slut you are. I’m looking forward to meeting your father. He sounds fascinating.”

  “My papa is fascinating. And he will like you.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Insha’Allah…”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means God willing.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A slight movement on the ottoman caught his attention. Ethan looked up from his laptop to see Fleur stretch and start to turn onto her back. The pressure of the upholstery against her beautifully pink bottom soon put a stop to that. Her nose wrinkled and she shifted back onto her side, not yet waking.

  She had slipped into a deep sleep minutes after their conversation about differing theological perspectives, not unusual in a sub who has just been soundly spanked. Ethan had waited until he was sure that she was out for the count before slipping out from under her and fetching a light sheet from the spare bedroom to drape over her body. Pity to cover her up, he thought, but the air con was fierce and he didn’t want her becoming chilled. Not much chance of that, though. She had kept on kicking the sheet off, and after picking it up from the floor two or three times, he’d decided to simply leave it and enjoy the view.

  Actually, he was enjoying everything about Fleur Mansouri. She had responded exquisitely to her first experience of a spanking, giving in to tears eventually as he’d expected, but not before her bottom had turned a truly stunning shade of crimson. She’d even managed a sweet little orgasm for him. She was a natural submissive and he was pleased that she had decided to explore this part of herself at last. His one regret was that he would not be here to see her unfurl fully, but he could be content knowing that he had helped to awaken her appetites, and had done nothing to dispel them. How she progressed from here was really up to her. He had no doubt she would find her way. She had so far.

  She rolled again and this time her eyelids fluttered. Now she was waking. Ethan left his work and went to kneel beside the ottoman, brushing the mass of dark hair from her face. Fleur opened her eyes and looked directly at him—and smiled. A dazzling, joyful, genuine smile. A smile that screamed, ‘Hello, welcome. I am truly delighted that you are here.’

  “Nice nap?” He dropped a chaste kiss onto her mouth.

  “Yes, thank you, Sir.” She struggled to push herself up on one elbow. “How long was I asleep?”

  Ethan glanced at his watch. “About an hour, maybe a little more.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly eleven.”

  “I should go, Sir. My mother will need me to help with preparations for tonight.”

  “I see. Okay, then. Would you like to shower first? Or maybe take a bath?”

  “A shower would be best, I think, Sir. My derrière is still not quite recovered.”

  “Hmm, I note you’ve not forgotten to call me Sir since I spanked you, though. It certainly did the trick.”

  “Yes, Sir, and may I thank you for your efforts on my behalf? I think I would like that shower, please.”

  “You go ahead. While you’re doing that, I’ll see about getting some new underwear for you. I intend to keep your old panties as a souvenir.”

  Fleur carefully eased her legs from the couch and slid sideways from the seat, exercising great caution not to apply any undue weight to her bum. Ethan watched, amused, conscious that his cock threatened to burst out of his pants any time now. He had no doubt that at just a word from him she would turn and bend over the settee, completely obliging and utterly submissive, presenting her delightful little tush to him
for his perfect enjoyment. And hers. But he could also see the stiffness as she moved, the fatigue in her muscles, despite her recent sleep. She needed a shower, then she needed to go home to see her mother. He would have her again soon enough.

  He watched as she made her way across the room, still not entirely steady but good enough, and no longer mindful of her nudity around him. She turned at the bottom of the stairs, smiled at him and was gone.

  * * * *

  Ethan called up room service again and they ate a picnic-style lunch of harira, a traditional Moroccan soup made of chickpeas and lentils, a specialty of the Marrakesh Totally Five Star. They had huge lumps of the local flat bread to dip in it, and Ethan couldn’t remember a meal he had enjoyed more. Fleur was relaxed and if her bum was still hurting, she gave no sign of it. She was, quite simply, beautiful.

  “What time do you have to leave?”

  “When we have finished our meal. I am sorry, but I must go. Do you mind?”

  She seemed apprehensive, as though she almost felt she might be denied permission. He hoped he hadn’t created such an impression. “I love your company but no, of course I don’t mind. You were always free to leave at any time. And I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

  “Yes, at my home. I gave you the address yesterday. It is just a short walk, perhaps twenty minutes from here, but you will not be able to find the way. Too many narrow streets in the city. If you ask for a taxi at the hotel reception and show the address, the driver will take you there.”

  Ethan suspected he might have managed to find the place on his own—he usually did and he’d visited a great many cities over the years. He could always ask if he got lost. But the huge bunch of flowers he’d acquired for Madame Mansouri at the same time that he’d ordered the lilies for Fleur would probably not survive the journey through the bustling alleyways of the medina. So, a taxi it would be.

  “Shall I walk with you to reception?”

  “I think perhaps not, if you do not mind, Sir.”

  Ethan did mind, up to a point, but he understood her reticence. He was leaving tomorrow and she would be staying. This was her life, her job. Her reputation mattered to her. She could do without the questions, the gossip. Her family sounded quite supportive from what he had heard of them, but they, too, might appreciate discretion. So he wouldn’t be walking her to the hotel lobby, advertising their liaison for the entertainment of any interested colleagues and other guests. Instead, he contented himself with kissing her soundly at the entrance to his own suite.