***
As before, Savannah’s silence while pouring over the prints unnerved me, and this time I decided to speak out. “You do like them?” I asked her as she thumbed carefully through the proofs of our last photo shoot.
“Yes, yes I do,” she answered distractedly. She looked up at me and smiled, pulling her hair away from her face with her hand. She was surprisingly nervous, so I gathered from her anxious movements, something I hadn’t expected. “I have a favor to ask you, Michael,” she said, practically dismissing the raunchy photos that she’d been inspecting.
“Oh?”
“If you have a few minutes this morning?”
“I might have, what did you have in mind?” I was imagining her in bed with me. That I’d do in a second. I’d cancel everything to hold her nude against me and stroke her heated skin, to allow my lips to make a line of kisses down the crook of her neck, and follow that line down her shoulder to just outside her breast until I reached her crotch.
“Could we? Where it’s more private . . .” she said, motioning me behind the studio curtain.
“Certainly,” I answered. There was no one in the outer office, but by the way she blushed, I sensed that my studio was an inner sanctum, a more private place for Savannah to talk about her request.
I followed her inside, and watched her stand with her back to me for some minutes. I didn’t move, neither did she. The deafening silence was not as uncomfortable as I might have thought. She was nervous, and I knew before she spoke, she’d have to let that nervousness pass. Savannah always maintained a degree of control, and an ability to press on through her nerves to what was at the heart of her disquiet. That was an impressive trait. Looking at her backside I was treated to a view of her that I can’t quite remember having had. In all the poses I’d taken of her, there hadn’t been one of her curvaceous posterior and hips, at least not one quite like this one, and perhaps because those gracious swaying hips were still fully clothed they held a special fascination.
After some moments she finally turned to me slowly. “The favor,” she announced with a sigh and a smile. “My lover had me purchase a spanker to punish me. If you could be so kind as to use it on my behind, and then take a picture of your work.”
“What!” She could have told me that aliens had landed on the planet and were now sneaking up behind me, or that the sun was turning green and I’d have not been more shocked than I was by this.
“I need to you to spank me,” she stated her need again. She may have been nervous, but she handled this with far more poise than I did. I’d give her credit for that later.
“Absolutely not!” I finally exclaimed.
Her face dimmed. “Michael, you’ve seen me in much more intimate poses.”
“I’ve never hit a woman, and I don’t plan on it.”
“It’s not really hitting. It’s spanking . . . like old-fashioned justice . . .like naughty brats getting taken to the woodshed, like . . . . ”
“Stop!” I ordered. She might have gone on forever. “I don’t care what fantasy world you live in, Savannah, that’s not something I can do.”
She was sorely disappointed.
“Guillaume’s adamant,” she pressed me further in a plaintive voice.
“Then let him do it!” I cried.
“He’s not here.”
“Then he should be,” I barked.
“It would mean a great deal to me,” she said earnestly imploring me with heavy-laden eyes.
“Perhaps, but you’ll have to have some other man do the job. It’s not in my repertoire.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I declared.
Leave it to Savannah to make me question myself. The way she looked at me so sincerely, she was surely convinced that I was only telling half the truth about myself. And then as if she could convince me with a little “show and tell”, she pulled from her purse a godawful looking strip of leather that must have been the “spanker” she mentioned. The blasted thing made me nervous.
“Here, just feel it,” she said, thrusting the thing into my unwilling hands.
“Savannah,” I shook my head, as I looked down in awe at the thing.
“I used it on myself the other night.”
“You what!” Seems it was my day for outrageous shocks. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised, since this seemingly normal woman had been shocking me regularly for some months now.
“Guillaume had me practice on myself, so I’d understand how I’d feel.”
“This lover of yours is quite a trip,” I snapped back sarcastically.
“He’s what I need,” she said, in a tone that put me in my place.
“So, what’s the great crime you’re being punished for?” I asked curiously.
“Infidelity.”
“Oh?” That made me more interested.
“Mack. You met him at the lecture.”
“The gray-haired dapper fellow that had his hands all over you?” I remembered him very well.
“Yes.”
“And you told Guillaume?”
“I’m completely honest with him.”
“Even knowing he’d want to spank you for it?”
“Mack’s a charming, sexy bastard, but I have no business having sex with a married man,” she explained further.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, remembering my first jealous thoughts of him when he scooped Savannah up at the lecture like she was his sovereign property. “And married too?”
“He’s incredibly forward,” she said.
“And you don’t have the where-with-all to fend him off?” Humm, I thought to myself, I could get righteously incensed about this infidelity of hers. Letting myself feel the spanker along the palm of my hand, I had the strangest feeling sweep through me: an authoritarian fatherly attitude. I recoiled and tried handing the spanker back to her. She refused to take it.
“If I bared my ass and you just tried, maybe you’d understand,” she said. The way she lead me, I wondered who was in charge. Who was dominant and who was submissive? She took my hand and drew me toward the settee, which was sitting where the bed had been during our photo shoots. Then raising her pink suit skirt, her ass cheeks came into view. Climbing on the settee, she wagged her bottom before my eyes, expecting that I’d follow orders. “I need this, Michael,” she said sadly. “Just this once. Mack’s a poor choice for a lover, a poor choice for an unfaithful moment of passion.” Her words and the pictures of her with that man seduced me, until I could feel a degree of righteous indignation welling up in my bones enough to make me move on her wiggling fanny, and crack the leather spanker against her firm round buns.
“Ouch!” I heard her first cry.
“Good god, that can’t hurt that much,” I said.
My retort must have silenced her, since she didn’t say another word until I had her entire ass end a bright pink color to blend with her pink suit. The act was invigorating. I relished the sound of the leather cracking against her skin, and the way she’d bauble for an instant to accommodate the sting. When I wouldn’t let up for several smacks, she’d cringe and tighten up as if she couldn’t bear another strike.
“You say he wants it red enough to capture on film,” I asked, pausing for a moment.
“Yes, Michael,” she answered me in a submissive breathless whisper.
I was sure that for the right effect before the camera her buns would require an even rosier look, and so I continued with the leather, and raised Savannah’s first cries. I shuddered hearing the first real “Oh, please,” as she jerked the same moment. She was nearly in tears. Finding her in such a state thrilled me. I would never have expected that such an erotic mood could accompany the earned chastisement of a woman, and that I’d ever so enthusiastically participate in the act. I paused only occasionally, spurred on by the fact that Savannah did nothing herself to stop me. She could have simply collapsed to the settee, turned over, bolted from the room, or done a dozen other things t
hat would have called an immediate halt to the event. But obviously she was waiting for me to end it. That would be appropriate. And once I realized that, I let loose with a brilliant flourish of smacks and then tossed the spanker on the settee beside her.
“Stay where you are,” I ordered her.
Going for my camera I was back in seconds with the color one loaded with film. Taking a roll of twelve exposures, I focused on every angle of her plump red flaming cheeks.
“You can get dressed now,” I informed her when I was finished. I stood back and watched as Savannah winced while rising from the settee.
Tears smudged her make-up just below her eyes, which now glimmered mysteriously, looking vague and uncertain. She sat with her naked ass on the settee and beckoned me to her.
“Guillaume suggested that I pay you for the time,” she said, as her hand undid the zipper on my pants.
“That’s not another infidelity?” I wondered aloud.
“Not if he suggests it,” she answered in a whisper, just before her lips surrounded my stiff erection. One hand gently massaged the pouch beneath, while the other worked with her mouth building the passion there. In just the briefest of minutes, because the foreplay had been so thrilling, I was splashing cum on her face, some in her mouth and some spurting on her pink suit jacket, which she’d have to wipe off before she left my studio. I tenderly massaged her hair, but she seemed to shrink back within herself, the self-assured woman disappearing in favor of this wholly compliant one that desired my command, as much as it desired her lover, Guillaume’s.”
“You might want to use the bathroom,” I said coolly, as I backed away. I pointed to the far side of the room. I was still in the space of command, relishing the enjoyable aftermath of exhilaration that came from having had her this way. The only thing I might have preferred was the two of us in bed, arms wrapped as we allowed the sensations in her to rise enough to bring her her finale. I’d seen her orgasm once, but I wanted to be there with her, not an inactive observer but part of the build-up and part of the finish.
“Thank you,” she said softly as I watched her exit the bathroom looking very much like the composed and self-assured woman I was accustomed to.
“I can have pictures for Guillaume tomorrow,” I told her. “I don’t suppose he needs great artistic prints to prove your punishment to him.”
“Thank you, that would work fine for me.”
I thought she might just float way; it was that kind of sensuous mood that she evoked. Only when she left the studio was I aware that she’d left something on the settee: a note, on buff colored paper, the one written by her lover. Perhaps so I could see that she hadn’t made up this scenario on her own.
When I called her two days later at her loft, I was in the same dominant frame of mind that I’d been in during our previous session.
“How about dinner tomorrow, just you and me, no cameras?” I asked her.
Sensing her hesitation before the answer, I was genuinely surprised that she didn’t turn me down.
“I can’t tomorrow, but perhaps Saturday night?” she offered.
“That works just as well for me.” I didn’t want to wait two days, but I would. As impatient as I might have been in the past, I wasn’t this time. I knew what I would accomplish with Savannah when an evening with her alone was finally mine.
***
The third package of pictures along with those of Savannah’s spanked behind were opened Friday morning at the Boothby Bay P.O., having arrived in the overnight mail from Savannah’s address. The photographs fell loosely on to the desk, the scattered images, mostly black and white, because that’s how Savannah liked to see herself, were even more courageous than the ones before. On the red sports car she looked glamorous and sexy, in the barber chair like a vamp, and between the two men on the park bench, Savannah was the embodiment of sex in the midst of the mundane—flirtatious when the rest of the world was droll. How brave she’d been, she’d have to be commended for that, even though she’d taken much too long with the assignment.
The other color photographs of her bared ass striped from having been punished were particularly pleasing to the eye. Like the others, the photographs were tacked to the corkboard where there were still places to put them. Some had to be pinned over top of the first and more subdued prints. The entire clutter of blonde images was a sight that no man or woman could not appreciate for the sheer depth of emotion they evoked. Nothing was subtle about the statement that Savannah and her dominant made. She was a brash hussy, a flagrant exhibitionist, and a naughty undisciplined brat, the antitheses of her professional persona; and she seemed perfectly happy with both personalities. Only when the two clashed in bed with Mack Brundage was there fuel for a war. Self-destructive acts were not allowed in her repertoire of acceptable behavior. Mack could easily destroy both her personal and professional life, and he was not beneath doing either one.
Knowing all these things, the Dom at the typewriter, typed the words in clean black ink on the buff colored paper, their crisp and lucid intent something no one would misinterpret, including the man they were intended for, Michael Renz
“I’m taking the liberty of sending these implements to you. I’m afraid that my schedule doesn’t allow me to attend to all of Savannah’s needs personally, so having you as a friend, confident and fellow dominant allows my affair with the delectable tart to continue in the vein it was meant to. As I’m sure you know by now, Savannah and I could never have a relationship that was founded on flowers and romance. Ours is much more earthy and elemental than that. And it most certainly requires her submissiveness, which I feel will necessitate a more regular program of corporal punishment. Assuming that you’re willing, for you’ve already made such an impression on her, these two implements she purchased for me, in addition to the leather spanker that you used on her in her studio, are for you to use at your discretion. I know you’ll find her a willing submissive—that is her basic erotic nature. There will be other things that from time to time she might seek you to do. This is, of course, your choice, though I’m convinced myself that you have both the temperament and inclination for such things. I might add that I’ve enjoyed the photographs you have made for us, most of which hang on the walls of my cottage to remind me of the love and desire that blooms in my heart for Savannah. They bring her closer to me, having these to view.
I remain, indebted to you, Guillaume.
***
Saturday morning before my date with Savannah, I received a parcel from a Boothby Bay postal address containing a paddle, a small baton or cane and a letter from Savannah’s mysterious lover. The odd parcel only made me more curious about what I considered a tempestuous and very remarkable love affair, even though it was certainly a strange one. I was surprised to find this Guillaume so willing to give up his claim to punish and even make love to Savannah. I would have been in bed with her every night if she loved me as much as she obviously loved him. How he could be so cavalier I didn’t understand. As for his suggestion of corporal punishment, and the two implements, I found them intriguing, but I ended up stuffing them in the back of my closet where I expected them to go unused. If I did, for some reason find her naughty enough to punish, I still couldn’t imagine doing it again…even if I gained so much that first time. I would rather love her than hurt her; and love was something I suspect she’d been without for some time.
I did feel elated taking her to dinner that night with Guillaume’s blessing. At least it felt like I had his blessing. Given the odd position I’d been placed in, I had little desire to curb my sexual desire for her. Guillaume was silent about purely sexual matters, but then again, he’d already suggested that she serve me after I used the spanker on her. What was to say that he didn’t expect my complete participation in such intimate matters? It seemed the obvious way my relationship with Savannah needed to progress. Would Savannah see it that way too?
Chapter Seven
She told him she liked German food.
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p; “I spent a year in Germany doing research,” she explained. “All that heavy stuff was appealing. But I don’t like dark beer.”
“I haven’t met a woman who does. How about wine?”
“Lovely,” she replied. Her diaphanous black dress was splashed with bold, cream colored flowers, and when he saw her from the backside, he could see the tempting outline of her rear, even the hint of a crack between her round cheeks. He wondered if she was wearing anything underneath, almost certain seeing the way her flesh jiggled inside the dress and her nipples poked through the fabric that there nothing covering her breasts. She fashioned her hair in some odd creation, held together by chopsticks and a little magic. “What are you looking at?” she asked him curiously.
“Your hair, it’s different.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I was just wondering if those things might not get in the way.”
“In the way of what?” she asked as if she didn’t already know what Michael was speaking about.
“Sex.”
“You think we’re ready for that?” she asked.
“You haven’t refused me.”
“Not yet anyway.” She smiled warmly, not closing any doors.
“And since I have Guillaume’s permission.”
“Oh?” Her face darkened subtly.
“He sent me a letter. You know about that?”
“He sent me one too,” she replied.
“And what did he tell you?”
“To behave myself with you.”
Michael cocked his head wondering how to interpret that remark.
“To do as you ask,” she explained further when she saw the question in his expression.
Michael smiled, realizing that this evening would be exactly as he wanted it. Even so he was daunted by the possibilities before him.
Dance For Me Savannah Page 6