“A call?” she asked. “And what does it have to do with my hair?”
“From some gent’s secretary, some guy Guillaume. Told me you’d have lots of long blonde hair and I was to lay a few things aside for you.”
“Then he’s already picked them out?”
“You can buy anything you want, lady. It’s all the same to me.”
“May I see what he chose?”
The clerk rummaged around behind the counter, poking in cubbyholes, opening drawers, finally withdrawing three austere looking items from their dusty places on his shelves. “These are it,” he said, plopping them on the counter. He looked from the counter to her, gazing at her rump, smirking. “You want to sample the impact?” he asked.
“No,” she declared much to loudly.
“Lots of my customers think that’s part of the fun.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said in an even voice. The last thing she wanted with this scroungy man was a sexually charged scene.
He shrugged her off, and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the desk behind him and lit one. “You want all three?”
Savannah let the reality of the implements get inside her before she even reached out her hand to pick one up. The paddle was the least offensive. It looked like the back of a large hairbrush, its lacquered black surface gleaming softly in the lamp light above it. Beside it lay the leather, a crude but efficient looking tool. This, Guillaume ordered her to use on her buttocks that night “The leather spanker you’ll keep for yourself. The first night you have the leather in your hand, use it on yourself, making certain that your buttocks are red before you stop.” She felt a tingling in her bottom without even having touched it. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to use it on herself. The third implement, by far the most ghastly, was a bamboo cane—a small one—for intimate canings, perhaps? The shiver through her system went deep.
“I’ll take all three,” she said, not really wanting to spend another second in the bizarre shop. “The cane and the paddle are to be sent,” she said. Taking a note pad from the counter, she jotted down the address. “How much do I owe you?”
“I was given a credit card, ma’am. The bill’s been paid already.”
“Oh, I see. Then if you’ll just put this in something.” She picked up the strap for the first time, practically dropping it on the floor. The feel of it was shocking.
“It’s been used before.”
“It has?” She wondered why.
“That was the instructions I received. Needs to be a used implement, the lady said. I have a lot of them. Doms trade them in for new ones when they lose the feel of one or because they change submissives. These older ones are more mellow, and the thought that some sassy rump’s been well turned with it, gives it its own special aura. If I remember right, this one was used on the ass of some nubile initiate: young thing about twenty-two or so. She came in here on orders from her Dom to find something larger. Now that was a babe that liked it hot. Had her tied up, stripped from the waist down and royally flogged before she got out of the store.” The man’s eyes perused Savannah again as his imagination put the blonde before him in the nubile initiate’s place.
“I bet you tell a lot of customer’s that story,” Savannah remarked.
He chuckled. “So what if I do? Gives you a good charge, doesn’t it?”
“If it did, I wouldn’t be telling you,” she replied with a disdainful glare.
He didn’t stop laughing. “Hey, lady, you can act coy, and cute and put-off all you want, but I know you can’t wait.” The man’s eyes caught hers again, penetrating beneath the surface where she was so raw with desire it was impossible to mask it with haughtiness. She took a deep breath as she watched him wrap the two items to send, and then wrap the spanker in paper, shoving it into a plain brown sack. “Could have made for an interesting night,” was the last comment he made. She smiled, just to be polite, and escaped unharmed into the street again walking briskly towards her car.
Savannah had to fly if she was going to make it back to the university by seven to prepare for her lecture. Reaching the loft, she dropped the parcel with the strap on her couch and tore off her clothes to take a shower. Naked, she couldn’t keep her hands from her body. Every atom demanded attention. Every pore of her burning skin sought to be touched by hands. She imagined Guillaume’s and Michael’s and even Mack’s. She imagined anonymous hands fondling her from shoulders to knees, fingers inside her, palms cracked against her bottom, the sting of the bamboo against her breasts and the feel of the paddle hitting her ass hard. And yet for all the desire, the rain of water beating down on her skin was the only lover she’d have that night—that and her own artful hands that could move her to climax. After an orgasmic blast made her jerk hard against her masturbating hand, she slumped against the wet tile and then to the floor of the shower, the water descending on her as though she’d been caught in a summer downpour. She let it beat down against her skin until she was able to get back on her feet again.
When Savannah left the loft a half hour later she looked prim, even if her thoughts were taking sexually rapturous detours as she drove towards the university. She might never have stopped herself that afternoon with Michael. She was at a point she might have bared all and run naked through the city streets shouting happily, a new age Lady Godiva; she could have screwed him in some dreary alley and it would have felt like heaven. Even the clerk at the “The Shop Of Unusual Wares” might have gained access to her body, she was in that much need. The orgasm and the shower had done nothing to take away the erotic edge that threatened to erupt with a volcanic blast.
Her mind in an altered state of clarity, Savannah felt as though she was moving in slow motion through her lecture. She delivered her facts, anecdotes and curiosities about mediaeval women with an easy flair, winding a few humorous remarks into what might have otherwise been a dry lecture. But because she was so thoroughly fascinated by her subject, Savannah held her audience’s attention for nearly an hour and a half; and knowing the perfect time to end, her finale was on a high note.
“I never thought your subject matter would interest me,” Michael Renz commented afterwards.
“And I never thought you’d come,” she smiled, eyes twinkling, head cocked, her face just slightly flushed. She was blending her two worlds: the sexual one and real life, which made her apprehensive, as if Michael might any minute pull out his camera and begin snapping pictures.
“I was invited, remember?”
“And I’m glad you’re here.”
“Unfortunately, you’ve had me imagining your photo shoot this afternoon,” he said very quietly.
Then she did smile, and a legitimate blush appeared high on her cheeks so that even her ears burned.
“Savannah, you were superb,” Mack Brundage gushed as he descended on her, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek as though he’d done it many times before. He stood with his arm remaining cozily about her waist as they both looked at the photographer.
“I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon?” Michael asked as he eyed them, interested to know who the effusive gentleman was. He had a feeling that this was not the infamous Guillaume.
“Of course, though I don’t know what’s in my schedule,” she answered, remaining vague.
“Well, when you have the chance, let me know,” he said, and he sauntered off to the refreshment table for another gulp of sweet red punch before he left.
With Michael gone, Savannah pulled away from Mack. “You’re getting too familiar in public,” she whispered.
“Only because I was hoping we’d get “familiar” tonight. I could meet you at the loft. Sandra is a away for a few days.”
“And what is that suppose to mean?” she asked incisively.
“That we have an opportunity when we don’t have to steal our time from our working lives.”
“Sorry, I have another engagement.”
“With that Michael fellow?” he wondered.
&nbs
p; “And what if I did?” she asked.
“You telling me you don’t want me anymore?” He pouted they way men do, feigning real hurt.
“That’s exactly what I should be telling you,” she said. It was the perfect moment to draw away from the man. She spent the next hour answering the kind questions of grad students and other lovers of Mediaeval times. Even without Mack Brundage teasing her however, it was an uncomfortable hour handling the thoughts cavorting through her mind. Guillaume’s instructions for the evening had been specific. . . .
Her task when she arrived home was laid out clearly. And for the remainder of the evening she was half in her university world and half in that other one, feeling as if the two could never coexist, they were so far removed from each other.
Savannah arrived back in her apartment at eleven feeling dead tired, her limbs so heavy that she was certain when she sank into her bed, she’d instantly fall asleep. To her dismay, her mind suddenly woke with the reality of the package from the shop on 17th street keeping her from sleep. Finally giving in to it, she got out of bed, snatched the parcel from her living room and returned to bed to follow her lover’s instructions.
“ The first night you have the leather in your hand, use it on yourself, make certain that your buttocks are red before you stop . . . write to me of how it makes you feel. Every detail will be expected.”
There was a large mirror hanging at the foot of her bed, a stroke a genius she thought, when there was no real wall to hang it on. It made her feel loose, like a lady of the evening in her whorehouse. As she felt her ass through her silk nightgown, she smiled at herself in the provocative way she always did when she was in the process of turning on. Reclining inside the wildflower sheets, she looked like a piece of candy, but much too sweet. Changing, she was demure one minute, sultry the next, and then very naughty as she raised the red silk and stared at the parted crack of her behind. She’d never been spanked, certainly not since she was a child, and then her memories of being a naughty child were too vague to recall. She’d certainly never been spanked by a lover. But she knew Guillaume’s suggestions were sparked by his knowledge of her intimate thoughts: those she dwelled on in secret, masturbated to when no one was with her in bed and refused to think of at any other time than when she was savagely obsessed with getting off.
The paper wrapping of the parcel crackled when she opened it. She shivered seeing the spanker lying in its midst like an extension of her lover’s hand, the cut ends his fingers. The clerk was right, it was a used device. That fact made it all the more alluring. What fine pair of bottom cheeks had known its sting? What devastating red appeared on that once white ass? Was it a self-inflicted punishment as hers would be, or had that nubile initiate’s been administered over some man’s lap? Would she be as worthy of it as that girl who’d gone on to be flogged in The Shop Of Unusual Wares?
Savannah picked up the spanker and drew the implement along her thighs and then between them, as she lay on her side. The cool leather vibrated its purpose, as though it could send messages. It sent an astounding litany. The smell of it reminded her of the shop, the fragrance of horses and riding tack, of bondage in leather, even Medieval dungeons where her mind often lingered in fantasy as even her academic research tiptoed through the saucy playgrounds of the older world. She loved the period for its savagery, and felt savage now. Her mind leaped forward in her imagination with just the simple feel and smell of the spanker to ignite the mood. Running it over her bare behind, she cringed drawing it back and then bringing it down on her skin. The instant it hit the tingle from it moved outward. It was hardly painful at that degree.
She’d held back in fear, knowing that the voice inside her, Guillaume’s voice, insisted on more. Another swat, her whole body jerked, several more strikes and the pain began. She paused. She could only reach one cheek while lying on her side. Rising to her knees, she changed hands and looked over her shoulder as the leather struck her left cheek as many times as the right. With the voice demanding her obedience, she changed hands again, and this time put some force behind the smacks. Her ass turned red, with the color rising softly at first, blanketing her behind with an even rosy glow and a sensuous heat that went far beyond the skin itself. Repeating the process on her left cheek, both turned red enough to say with honesty that she’d followed Guillaume’s instructions. But it wasn’t enough. His commands came fast; he wanted one last round of anguish.
“Harsh!”
“Don’t hold back.”
“Strike harder, Savannah, or I’ll have to punish you more”
Half of her obeyed, half reneged just before the spanker was to strike. If there’d been a man behind her, Guillaume administering the blows, it would have created such a pain that she might cry.
By then, too overwhelmed with pressure to continue, she fell to the cool sheets and masturbated herself to the extreme pictures in her mind: the ones more fierce, of whips and grunting men behind her who relished the task as much as she was relishing the exploding climax.
“You didn’t do enough,” she heard the voice again as she drifted in an out of wakefulness. If she hadn’t had to pee, she might have gone to sleep then. But getting up to go to the bathroom, and then returning to the bed she was awake enough to realize that she was tiptoeing through her lust. Now, when she was sleepy and needed to get some rest, she wanted another trip down that painful path. She began to think of how the next event would be created for her.
Rising from bed, she sat down at her computer and clicked on the screen, her mind overflowing with thoughts. He’d told her to tell him how she felt, and those words flowed through her mind into the words on the screen. She gave him as much detail as she could, but details were hard to remember it was all a lovely blur . . .
“I yearned for it, hearing your voice inside my head commanding me. There was such warmth and pain. The sting was exhilarating and scary. I feared wanting more, and while I increased the intensity of this self-inflicted punishment, I know that I could have withstood much more, that I’d like to do it again until I couldn’t stand anymore. I wonder though if I could really administer it hard enough to suit me. I’d relish your hand delivering the strikes, ones that I know wouldn’t falter like my own. The blush on my bottom was hot to the touch when I finished. That heat amazed me how beautifully sensitive it made my skin. The orgasm that followed was filled with a richer sensation than all the other beautiful ones I’ve known, perhaps because I knew this was especially yours.
By the way, the pictures were taken today as well, and as soon as Michael has them developed, I’ll be sending them. Again, my love, I apologize for this delay. I do love you.”
Chapter Six
The door to the cottage creaked on its hinges as it always did. It slapped against the frame when it was left to close on its own. Autumn filled the air with dusty endings, the fragrance of what was old and passing giving the nostrils a last glimpse of a summer past before it put those months away forever. Such longing in the atmosphere of changing, hunkering down into winter. The remembrance of warm days was in the air, but the breeze blew cold.
The cottage was bathed in autumn light, in the color of filtered sun flickering on the canvas of pictures hanging on the wall: the first shots timidly taken in the studio and the second set, some overlapping the first, of Savannah laid out on the bared striped mattress looking much like a voluptuous animal, a cat whose shape and body changed with the desire in her eyes from coy to savage. In shots of her masturbating the viewer saw how attentive her hands became, how her every element poured itself into the moment of sensuous greed when nothing mattered but physical ends. The pictures appeared to move as though there was life vibrating from them and Savannah might step into the room any instant. Her admirer would relish that event.
Opening Savannah’s latest letters, her lover had hoped to find the third set of photographs, but inside the first envelope there was only one sheet of paper. Its message would reveal a crime of passion committed by a woman
who couldn’t contain hers.
“There was sex with Mack from the department . . . it was the lust, the raging thing in me you ignite so easily . . .”
In the second letter, Savannah responded to her first experience with the spanker. Her detail was slight, but there was honesty in her delivery. The effect of both letters was disappointment and annoyance; she was hesitating too much in her assignments. She’d have to pay for the transgressions. Especially the infidelity needed reproof, and in the only way possible while such distance still separated them. Punishing her would take place much sooner than expected; but nonetheless the decision had to made. This kind of vacillation could not go unanswered.
Arriving with the letters were the implements Savannah had sent from the shop on 17th street. With the thought of punishment foremost in mind, the parcel was opened and the two tools removed. The paddle was made of sturdy wood and expertly lacquered, reflecting back the light of two intense eyes from its surface, as if it was a mirror. The cane baton brought a whole other sensation to mind. Stripes on the naked ass, one after the other. Perhaps both implements should be sent to the photographer.
The typewriter fitted with another sheet of buff colored paper, the message was as direct and clearly written as all the rest.
“I was dismayed to learn that you violated my trust and my orders regarding your sexual activities. It’s been agreed between us that you’ll implicitly follow my instructions. You took a vow to obey, and now you’ve disobeyed. I guess that it was wise to have you purchase the punishment tools. A thorough punishment can proceed immediately. Since I’m not available to perform the deed, have your photographer do it. Have him lay the spanker on your naked ass with enough force to turn it crimson. When he’s finished, he’ll need to take pictures. For his services, I think it’s only reasonable to offer yourself to him, if he’ll have you. If it’s necessary to secure his cooperation, show him this letter. Certainly by now, he understands the distinctly dominant/submissive nature of our relationship and the importance of this chastisement. If it’s necessary, a confession of your crimes might be useful as well. I expect this to be handled promptly, Savannah. That would be a sign of your sincerity. By now, you should have the third set of proofs. I’m anxious to have them mounted on the wall with the others. These delays are really inexcusable, don’t you agree?”
Dance For Me Savannah Page 5