She cringed. Oh, this was fucking horrendous.
“You can go quite a bit harder than that, Chris,” said Mr Anderson, who Jo noticed was back to sounding cold and distant again.
“Er… right.”
Another slap, this one infinitesimally harder.
Jo couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Look, I know you don’t want to, okay?” She wriggled off his lap and landed in a sprawling heap on the cool floorboards.
When Jo had imagined her first spanking, she hadn’t thought that the cheeks on her face would be burning so much more than the cheeks of her bottom.
She crawled to her feet and hurried towards the archway, planning to go and hide in the en suite until the tutor was gone, but then she gasped as someone grabbed her elbow in a tight grip and spun her around. She found herself face to face with Mr Anderson. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set.
“How dare you try to run away in the middle of a punishment!”
Jo stepped back and tried to tug her arm free, but he wasn’t letting go. “That—wasn’t—a—punishment,” she ground out between tugs.
“No?” replied Mr Anderson. “Well then, I think it’s time I show you what a punishment really is.” He used his grip on Jo’s arm to drag her back across the room to the sofa. “Watch closely, Chris,” he added, as he sat down and tipped Jo over his knee, manhandling and manoeuvring her as though she weighed little more than a bag of cotton wool.
Jo felt as though she might be about to start hyperventilating. Should she scream for help? Scream for Chris to make him stop?
Did she want him to stop…?
“I’m not impressed with your behaviour, Joanne,” said Mr Anderson and he sounded strict and sharp once more. “You haven’t made a very good start at all. Now, lift up your hips.”
“Wh-why?”
A heavy smack landed on Jo’s right buttock and she sucked in her breath in shock.
“Never mind ‘why’, just do as I say.”
Jo could feel the tingling ache building as she did as she was told, pushing down into the sofa with her elbows and lifting up her bottom.
“That’s better.”
Mr Anderson unclasped her jeans with deft fingers and then dragged them down until they were bunched around her knees. “You see, Chris,” he said, returning to his normal tone. “You need to take control. You need to be forceful and have a sense of purpose in your actions. That’s what she responds to.”
Jo could feel cool air on her naked upper thighs. Oh God, was this really happening? Was this man she had only just met—a stranger—about to spank her in front of her husband? Jo pressed her face into her arms. Under no circumstances did she want to catch Chris’s eye.
“Now then, Joanne. You are going to get a hard hand spanking for being disrespectful to your husband—doubtless on numerous occasions—and for refusing to give him a chance this evening.”
“But he—”
Another heavy smack. Another gasp of pain. Oh, it hurt so much more now that she only had her knickers for protection!
“Now, I want to make something clear before we start.” His voice had taken on a soft, deadly tone. “You are going to stay in position while I spank you. You will keep your feet on the floor and your hands away from your bottom. If you even think of trying to roll off my lap onto the floor, I promise you that you will regret it. No talking unless I ask you a question. Is that clear?”
Jo swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered.
Another sharp slap, this time low enough to make her squeak.
“Yes, sir,” he snapped.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Yes, sir.”
“Chris, perhaps you would like to move over to this side of the room so that you can better observe the spanking technique?”
Jo heard Chris clearing his throat. “Er… okay, thanks.”
There was a creak and then his footsteps as he crossed the smooth floorboards…
…and then Jo cried out as a rapid volley of hard spanks landed on her bottom. Each slap stung like a bastard: she didn’t know how he was doing it but this hurt way more than she had ever expected. There were no pauses, no rests: it was an onslaught.
“Owwww!” she wailed, wriggling her legs to try and throw off the sting.
“I told you, Joanne,” he said, his voice merciless as the spanks kept coming, “you need to know what a punishment is really like and I’m going to show you.”
Jo whimpered in despair as the punishment continued and her poor bottom was consumed by a spreading, stinging pain. Her cheeks wobbled and shook as each spank landed and her burning face was screwed up, her teeth gritted against the pain.
A sharp smack to her upper right thigh made her kick her leg upwards in response.
“Joanne, what did I say about keeping your feet on the floor?” Mr Anderson demanded.
“Please!” she gasped.
“Please what?”
“Please—it hurts!” Jo was breathing in shallow gasps, her head spinning, her whole body trembling and slicked with a fresh layer of sweat.
“Punishments are supposed to hurt,” was his only reply and he carried on, doling out heavy, rapid smacks that covered every inch of her bottom.
Jo was beside herself. She wriggled. She whimpered. She let out long, whining, wordless pleas that were ignored.
But at the same time… she was wet. She could feel it.
She didn’t understand. This hurt so much. She didn’t like it hurting.
But then… part of her must. A very specific part.
The more she became aware of her own arousal, the more it seemed to sap her resistance.
She gradually ceased wriggling and crying out and instead sank down and down… into his lap… into the sofa… until she was limp and heavy and making no sound apart from soft whimpers… even though the spanks were still coming as hard and fast as ever.
After a portion of time that could have been seconds, minutes, or hours for all Jo knew, Mr Anderson slowed down and then stopped. “Have you learned your lesson, Joanne?” he asked, his hand still resting on her throbbing bottom, and to Jo it sounded like his voice was coming from a long way away.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, in a voice that was far too “bedroom” for a man who wasn’t her husband.
Chris…
She realised that the embarrassment was gone. Chris had just witnessed her brought down, humiliated, and punished, and yet she realised that this no longer concerned her. In fact, all she wanted at that moment was to curl in a ball at his feet and be touched and stroked and kissed. Tingling waves of heat were pulsing through her body like aftershocks, and she needed something—or preferably someone—to press against, to somehow hold herself steady.
“What do you say to your husband?”
Please, fuck me?
“I’m sorry, sir,” she breathed, still lying in something of a stupor across Mr Anderson’s lap.
But then the tutor’s hands were around her waist and he was guiding her gently to her feet. “Go and apologise to him properly.”
Jo kept her gaze lowered and shuffled as best she could with her jeans now around her ankles to where Chris was standing next to the fireplace.
He reached for her and pulled her into a hug.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered into his shoulder, pressing up close against him as the tingling increased tenfold.
“That’s ok, baby,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke her hot bottom.
Jo realised with a jolt that he was hard. Had it been through watching her punishment? Or was it just because she was half naked?
Whatever the reason, it was all the encouragement Jo needed. She raised her head and kissed him on the lips, refusing to allow him to break the kiss, forcing his mouth to open to hers and pushing her tongue inside.
“Joanne!”
The sharp reproach made her jump. In her pleasurable daze, she had completely forgotten that the tutor was still here. She took a guilty ste
p back from Chris and lowered her head.
“You see, Chris,” said Mr Anderson, “what a difference a good spanking can make?”
Chris gave a sort of growling chuckle that made Jo want to jump on him and tear off his clothes with her teeth. But she resisted.
“That’s all for today. Your classes start at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Jo allowed Chris to say their goodbyes for them and kept her head lowered, hearing only the tutor’s receding footsteps and then the creak and thud of the door as he left the suite.
The moment he was gone, Jo half fell forwards against Chris’s chest.
“Oh fucking hell—please fuck me! I feel like I’m going to explode!”
Chapter Eight
Chris had never seen Jo this turned on before. Her face was flushed, her eyes were glazed, and she was breathing like she had been running a marathon.
“Please, fuck me,” she whimpered again, pressing herself up against him, pushing as close as she could, her arms tight around the back of his neck.
He allowed himself to be dragged down and swallowed up by her desperate kisses. It wasn’t like he wasn’t horny as well. Watching her getting spanked had been… well, a bit weird at first. Chris had worried it would end up being like some bawdy, seaside-humour cringe-fest. But Mr Anderson had shocked Chris by going all out and giving Jo what Chris would describe as a “proper hiding”.
Watching her bottom shake and clench under each smack and gradually get redder and redder… hearing her gasp and cry out… Chris’s initial concern had turned into something else.
When she had finally given up fighting… sinking down and even—he couldn’t quite believe it—pushing her bottom up to meet the tutor’s punishing hand and clenching her thighs together… Chris hadn’t been able to pretend to himself any longer that it wasn’t turning him on.
He was no innocent, after all: he’d seen enough porn to know about all the wild and interesting things people could get up to, but witnessing it in the flesh, witnessing Jo’s reaction… seeing the flush in her cheeks now and feeling the heat coming off her bottom as he squeezed it hard… all he wanted was to take her into the bedroom and fuck her ‘til they both exploded.
He pulled back from her kiss—which was easier said than done—and said, “Come on.”
Jo needed no persuading and kept her arms tight around his waist as he drew her after him into the bedroom.
The minute he lay down, Jo was on top of him, her lips found his neck as her right hand started grappling with the zipper of his jeans. Chris dragged her knickers down over her sore bottom—she made a low moan in her throat at that—and pushed them as far down her thighs as he could reach just as she started yanking his jeans down over his hips.
Chris helped her out with his boxers, his own desperation to fuck now matching hers, and they were barely past his cock before Jo had knelt up and sunk down onto him.
Chris groaned and pushed upwards, as the whole of his cock was swiftly enveloped in tight, wet heat.
Jo ground into him, her movements rough and erratic, and Chris pushed up into and against her, his enthusiasm matching hers.
Both gasped and groaned as they heaved and thrusted on the bed, their upper bodies still fully clothed, their jeans and underwear bunched around their knees and ankles.
Chris reached around to grip Jo’s bottom, squeezing tightly as he pushed up into her, feeling the residual heat from her spanking and replaying her punishment in his mind over and over again as the pleasure building inside him grew and grew.
Jo’s hands were gripping tight bunches of the pillow on either side of his head and her face was red, her mouth open and breathing in shallow gasps. Her eyes were half-closed, staring at nothing, and she moaned aloud as Chris gave her bottom an extra hard squeeze.
God, she was so beautiful. He had to kiss her. Chris shifted up and forced his lips against hers, pushing in with his tongue just as she had back in the lounge area.
It was too much. He had to fuck her hard.
With a grunt and a heave, Chris rolled them both over until he was on top. Still crushing her mouth with his, still hollowing her out with his tongue, he plunged into her again and again, bracing his knees against the mattress for support, grinding against her clit with each thrust.
And now Jo was writhing underneath him, her hips twisting and pushing upwards…
…and then her legs were around his back and her arms were around his neck and it felt like every possible inch of their bodies were touching. Chris could feel the pressure rising and rising inside him…
…and then Jo was screaming into his mouth, her hips writhing and pushing upwards as her orgasm took her…
…and Chris’s own pleasure exploded and he groaned aloud, wringing out every last drop of sensation before collapsing next to Jo on the bed.
Jo was the first to recover the power of speech. “See,” she said in a slightly croaky voice, “I knew sending you that email was a good idea.”
Chapter Nine
The sun was in Jo’s eyes. It seemed the massive, beautiful windows had a downside after all then.
Worse than that, they had been made to sit at old-fashioned school-type desks with old-fashioned wooden chairs, and Jo’s bottom was still sore from last night.
Last night…
“Are you paying attention, Mrs Butler?”
Jo started and glared up at her new least-favourite-person-in-the-world, Ms Edridge.
“I could pay better attention if I could see,” said Jo. “I’m getting a headache here. Can’t you lower the blinds or something?”
A nervous ripple ran through the room. There were four other wives on the course: Leah Younge, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, with thick blonde hair and a voluptuous hourglass shape; Emily Parry, who looked about Jo’s age and had pulled back brown hair and a serious, librarian-esque look about her; Nina Wright, who looked to be in her forties and had chestnut wavy hair and a cheerful-looking face; and a skinny, awkward-looking girl called Heather Drake, who had olive skin and long black hair. From their earlier introductions, Jo had found out that Leah, Emily, and Nina were all “living the lifestyle” already, whereas Heather was brand new like her.
All of them, however, seemed to have picked up on the fact that Ms Edridge was not one to be fucked with.
Ms Edridge was dressed just like Darcy—tight black pencil skirt with a white blouse—but the overall effect couldn’t have been more different. Whereas Darcy gave off an aura of pliant sensuality, Ms Edridge gave off an aura of “piss me off and I’ll slap you so hard the police could take my prints off your face”.
She too had her hair pulled back, but instead of a soft, elegant knot, it was a tight, skin-pulling bun. Even though she had to be in her late forties at least, her dark blonde hair showed no signs of grey. Her large green eyes were emphasised by a thick layer of dark eyeliner, and those eyes were now glaring right back at Jo. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked if you could lower the blinds,” repeated Jo. “Please,” she added as an afterthought.
Ms Edridge had been sitting behind a large wooden desk at the front of the class—seriously, what was with all the school imagery?—but now she stood up and leaned forwards, her fingertips resting on the desk’s surface.
“I most certainly will not,” she said, her eyes narrowed and her high cheek-boned face set in severe lines. “And for your disrespectful attitude, I will be writing a note to your tutor. Considering we are only thirty minutes into the first lesson, you should be most heartily ashamed of yourself for earning a note so soon.”
Jo let out an outraged gasp. “What? Just for asking you to lower the stupid blinds?”
There was now a definite shudder of unease throughout the room at this.
“Yes, Mrs Butler,” said Ms Edridge, sitting back down and drawing a notepad across the desk towards her. “And the more you continue with this disrespectful behaviour, the more notes I will have to w
rite for you, and the worse your punishment this evening will be. So unless,” she looked up from her note-writing to glare directly into Jo’s eyes, “you want your backside to be so covered in marks and bruises that you cannot sit comfortably for the rest of the week, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and pay attention.”
Jo gaped at her. “You—?”
“Or of course,” she interrupted, her voice becoming sharper still, “I can always call Mr Anderson and ask him to give you a good thrashing right here, right now, in front of the rest of the class. Is that what you want?”
The room was deathly silent.
“Well?”
Trembling, Jo lowered her gaze to the desk. “No,” she muttered.
“No, what?” snarled Ms Edridge.
“No, ma’am.” You bitch, she added in her head.
“Good. Well,” Ms Edridge finished writing the note with a flourish, “as I was saying, establishing a good house-cleaning routine will turn it from something irksome to little more than a habit that you barely even have to think about. I’ve got an example for you here.” She stepped out from behind the desk and her heels clacked against the floorboards as she walked around the desks, distributing handouts. “You will be able to adapt this to your own homes. You will see that there are some tasks that need to be completed daily, others weekly, others even less frequently.”
Jo glowered at the handout that landed on her desk and didn’t even bother to raise her eyes or say thank you. Her face was burning. She had no interest in being bossed around by some bitch with too-high heels and scary over-made-up eyes. Plus, she’d just been hit in the face by a gust of her too-strong rose-scented perfume and it was making her eyes water.
“Now sit quietly and read through the example document,” said Ms Edridge, returning to her desk. “I will be asking you questions on it later. No talking.”
Jo forced herself to keep her mouth shut. Being spoken to like a child was setting her teeth on edge, but she had to keep reminding herself that she had three more days of this so she was just going to have to get used to it.
Troublemaker Page 3