by Bridy McAvoy
I chuckled. “You did that for me?”
She nodded. “I have to be honest with you, though. I’ve done it before—a long time ago.”
“I guessed. How else would you know you couldn’t be seen?”
“Who says I knew anything of the sort?” She laughed. “Now, why don’t we go sit on the dock and watch the sun go down from there.”
We sat on the dock, feeling the wood bob up and down below us gently with the slight current on the lake. It was only natural that we’d sit close. For the moment, I didn’t mind.
We sat there side by side for twenty minutes while we sipped a bottle of beer each. It seemed only natural for me to slip my arm around her shoulder and she shivered and cuddled under my armpit for warmth. We just sat there, enjoying the sun sinking down below the horizon, I guess making the dock ours rather than hers. There wasn’t a lot to say that should be said outside where we might be overheard. We hadn’t seen anyone since our arrival but it was still exposed and public.
Given her little show, I was quite sure my wife was so overflowing with gratitude that she’d have done anything I’d asked. Gratitude for the fact I was still here, and gratitude for solving her problem with the newspaper. If I’d told her to strip and get on all fours on the dock so I could fuck her, she’d have done it in a heartbeat. Not that I would—public sex had never been my bag.
I felt her stir beside me. “I’d best go get dinner on, honey.”
“Okay.”
“You stay here and have another beer.”
She was giving me time on my own too, not pressuring me—well, not more than the quick striptease and the warmth of her unfettered breasts pressing against my side could be called pressure.
* * * *
An hour later, fed on microwaved pizza—something neither of us particularly liked under normal conditions, but the only thing she could cook in the time we’d had—we settled back into the living area. The blinds were drawn, shutting out the cool from the lake, and we settled down with a beer again. We’d sat together on the couch to eat, and I guessed she was getting nervous once we’d cleared the plates away after dinner. Another problem with the little condo—no dishwasher, and no room for one.
When we returned to sit down, I took the lead and sat down in the chair. I heard her intake of breath but she sat down.
“Time for me to hear some more of your story.”
She nodded. “One condition.”
A raised eyebrow asked a question.
Sam answered that with one of her own “Promise you sleep in the bed with me tonight?”
“I told you I wouldn’t sleep on the couch.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been casting seductive eyes at the floor, and the chair you’re sitting on. So promise, please.”
“Okay, I promise.”
“Thank you.”
“I might insist on lying on the edge of the bed and then screaming if you touch me.”
“Simon!”
Chapter Nine – The Dating Game
Something seemed to change in my relationship with Mr. Bryant after that Christmas. He’d made me drive home in that hideous outfit too. He had allowed me to put my blouse and skirt back on over the top, but it looked ridiculous with the ridges of white fur trapped underneath. As it was a Thursday, my blouse was, of course, a thin one, so way too much showed through. I was mortified.
When we went back after the Christmas break he seemed a little more distant and I wondered if my lover had lost interest in me. We started back on a Tuesday, and at closing time I went to his office door.
“Will that be all, Mister Bryant?” I was coquettish in tone, my voice deep and earthy. He looked up from his desk and I struck a pose, leaning against the door jamb, one hand above my head, my back arched, pushing my chest out.
“Yes, thank you, Samantha. See you tomorrow.”
He turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk, and I just froze there, not knowing what to say. I’d expected to give him his evening blow job, and I’d gotten wet in anticipation. He was denying me and I hated it.
Something similar happened on Wednesday too, then it was two o’clock Thursday and I was a mess, a bundle of frustration, about ready to explode, which of course was what he wanted. I’d spent the entire Christmas break on my own, and I was climbing the walls when I went back to work. I didn’t realize it but he was moving things onto a different level again.
The second I walked into his office he barked an order at me, something he hadn’t done, or needed to do, for months before Christmas. Now, though, he was very authoritarian.
“Get that blouse and skirt off, now!”
“Wha…?”
“I didn’t say ask me about it. I said strip, and I said now.”
I gave him a hurt look. I could feel my eyes starting to brim with tears but his face was impassive as he stared at me. Even though I was trying to silently implore him to tell me what I had done wrong, my fingers were busy working down the line of buttons on my blouse. Once they were undone, I moved my hands to the middle of my back and undid the skirt then wiggled out of it. I’d worn the black underwear that day because he’d told me I looked beautiful in it. He’d said I looked slutty in the red, and virginal in the white. He never returned the panties from the other white set. The stuff he’d bought me himself, he’d told me were one-offs, and I could keep them, but not wear them on Thursdays, which I thought was odd.
As I stood there in my black bra, panties, garters and stockings, I felt goose bumps form on my naked skin. That building was hot in summer, but often quite cold in winter. I’d started wearing cardigans to work—you know, the standard grey wool librarian cardigans. I never wore them after lunch on a Thursday though. He had no interest in having me remove them, let alone removing them himself. Actually, now I come to think about it, a few weeks later there was an incident with a cardigan—but I digress.
He beckoned me forward until I was standing with my body just touching the edge of his desk—he was still sitting the other side.
“Bend forward.”
I shivered. That put one thought into my head—he was going to fuck me doggy style, and I liked that position best of all. It gave more depth to his penetration, and I came more often in that position. I did pout a little at the thought I wouldn’t get to suck him, wouldn’t be allowed to worship his cock as I had been doing, but a fuck was a fuck, so I did as he asked. Once my upper body was lying on the desk, he smiled down into my upturned face.
Remember that desk is huge—as you know, I’ve still got it. I even let you take me on it once, remember? Just before we moved into the new building. You have no idea how hard I came that night.
“Give me your hands.”
I twisted so my arms came out from under me and, grabbing my wrists, he pulled my arms out straight. They just reached the edge of the desk on his side. He turned my hands palm down and used his fingers to make mine curl around the edge of the desk.
“Stay there, and don’t move. Don’t let go.”
I had no idea what my lover was going to do, but I was getting wet anticipating it. My nipples were hard inside my bra, scratching at the leather top of the desk through the intervening lace of the bra cups. As he walked around behind me I felt my breath catch in my throat—I was ready, more than ready, for him to fuck me.
His hands descended to my butt, caressing my cheeks, stroking my flesh, and I started to pant as I anticipated him pulling the crotch of my panties to the side and pushing either his fingers or his cock into me.
Remember, I was naïve. I had no idea people did certain things in real life. Certainly, I’d seen things on the net but I didn’t believe people actually did them. As a result his next action caught me totally by surprise.
Smack!
The sound reverberated round the room like a gunshot as he brought his hand down smartly on my upturned and well-presented rear. Although the lace of my panties still covered most of my ass, it was only thin. The blow stung and a mo
ment later the pain transmitted itself to my brain. I yelped and made to get up.
“Stay still.”
“Ow…ow!”
“Ssh…baby, lie still.”
Slap!
He hit the left cheek this time, and I bounced on the desk, my breasts pushing against the hard surface underneath. My hands let go of the far edge of the desk and I grabbed my ass, both to check it and to protect it.
“Put your hands back where they were, baby.”
“It hurts!” My voice sounded plaintive, just like a child’s, but his actions were anything but like someone dealing with a child. Although his tone hadn’t been harsh, there’d been an undercurrent of steel there, one that said ‘don’t mess with me’. Today we are playing the spanking game. I forced back a sob and stretched my arms back up, grasping the far edge of the desk and tried to turn my head to look back at him.
“Look at the window, not me.”
I felt so humiliated, so small, and I was trying to choke back the tears as he touched my butt with gentle hands. He caressed my ass, running his fingers over the surface of the tender flesh. It was tender too, and I knew it would probably be turning red. My father had never laid a finger on me as a child, but my mother had spanked me a few times when I’d been especially naughty. That had stopped by the age of seven though, and nobody had touched me like that ever since. His attentions, though, were anything but parental.
His hands withdrew and I knew what was going to happen next. I gripped the desk hard, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Slap!
Slap!
Smack!
Slap!
Two blows in quick succession on each cheek. This time I ground my teeth and forced myself not to cry out. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, but those blows hurt—I mean, really hurt. Then he was caressing me again. Although the blows had stung, and I was really unhappy with him, his caresses felt good, really good. I guess the fact he’d sensitized the flesh made them feel better than ever. Despite the pain, my pussy was wet and my breathing labored—that might have been the position I was in, though.
The caresses stopped and his fingers moved round to my waist, hooking into the waistband of my panties. My eyes shot open as he jerked them down. The front gusset actually stuck to my pussy—I was that wet. Then they were around my thighs and his hands returned to my ass, caressing again. As his fingers dipped lower I shuffled my legs further apart, allowing him to reach between them and run a finger along my slit. I groaned at the contact—this was more like it—then his hands withdrew. I hoped he was undoing his fly, pulling out his cock and was about to stick it in me, but he, of course, wasn’t doing that.
Slap!
Slap!
I jumped again as his hand made contact with my bare flesh. It stung, it hurt, even more than before, because I had no protection of course. My fingers were turning white from the strength of my grip on the rolled edge of his desk and I was sobbing, unable to stop myself, as he spanked me again and again.
I don’t know how many times he hit me, but it was quite a few. Between each set he caressed me, running his fingers over my butt, dipping down the crack of my ass and circling my asshole, and between my legs to tease my soaking wet slit. I was in a constant mix of pain and arousal, I guess linking the two together somewhere deep in my psyche. That had been his intent all along.
He stopped and I gasped for air, only to find he’d stopped as well, and was now pushing his cock into me. I grunted as he parted my lips with the blunt end of his cock, then he thrust all the way in. No foreplay—I guess that’s what the spanking had been for him. I was wet enough to take him with ease. Thirty seconds later I was cumming around him as he finally gave me what I’d been craving all week.
My pussy convulsed around him and he groaned and thrust harder. I let go of the end of the desk, gathered my arms beneath me and rose to my elbows to push back at him. The pain in my butt was still there, but it was nothing like what it had been. My pleasure was overriding it.
He fucked me hard and I thrust back into him, over and over again. I came again, and a third time as he shot off into me, before he collapsed down onto me for a few seconds then pulled out. I could feel our juices running down my thighs and starting to soak into my stocking tops. Straightening up, I looked down to see my ruined panties on the floor. At some point in our frenzy they must have ripped. Anyway, they were nothing more than a rag on the floor, and I didn’t have a spare pair with me.
I knew then I’d need to go and buy some more Thursday afternoon special underwear. After an accident with the red ones, I only had the white left!
Mr. Bryant returned to his seat and motioned for me to stand up straight and turn around. I could hear him laughing as he told me to go and clean up in the washroom and make sure I got a good look at my butt in the mirror. Cleaning up didn’t take long, and then I turned my back to the washstand and looked over my shoulder to see my reflection in the big mirror on the wall behind it. It was bright red, really, really red!
“You bastard!” I knew he’d heard me from the huge burst of laughter that echoed back from his office.
Thoroughly humiliated, I didn’t feel like seeing him for a while, so I walked along the corridor to the kitchenette and made myself a coffee. Halfway through I realized part of me was on autopilot—I was making two mugs, not just my own. I hadn’t intended making him one at all.
Walking back in the office carrying two mugs brought a smile to his face. “Thank you, Sammie, that’s very thoughtful of you.”
“You’re still a bastard.”
“No, I knew who my father was. Now sit yourself on the desk.”
I handed him his coffee, put mine on the desk, and hitched myself up onto the hard surface. Immediately I yelped and jumped down again. My butt was sore, and sitting on it was torture.
He shook his head. “Baby, you are going to be on top of my desk for a while. Find what you consider a comfortable position, but on top of my desk you will be.”
His instructions just heaped humiliation onto me. I didn’t have any panties to wear, so all I had on was my bra and, of course, the obligatory garters, stockings and heels. In the end I settled on my stomach in front of him. That meant, of course, I couldn’t drink my coffee in that position. Mr. Bryant reached out one hand to the middle of my back and flicked the catch of the bra open, motioning for me to roll over onto my side and face him. Since the undone bra could do little, I stripped the straps down my arms and discarded it, before lying facing him, naked.
At least I could drink my coffee in that position. We drank in silence until the coffee was gone, his eyes roaming over the length of my body, taking in my breasts and my stomach. My legs were positioned in such a way that he couldn’t see my pussy—he could see my landing strip, but no lower. I knew he wanted to be able to see more, but I was determined to make him ask rather than voluntarily open my legs for him. I was still mad about the spanking.
Although he had me naked, Mr. Bryant wasn’t going to do anything for a while. He wanted to talk, which surprised me.
“Tell me, Sammie, what did you do over Christmas?”
I shrugged, which isn’t easy when you’re lying on your side, but I felt my breasts move and saw his eyes had been drawn to the movement. My nipples had softened while I’d been drinking my coffee, but they hardened under his direct gaze. “Not a lot. Cooked a chicken on the day, enough meat on that to last me for the next two.”
“You were on your own?”
I nodded.
“That’s ridiculous. Why didn’t you say something?”
“To what effect?”
“You could have come and had Christmas dinner with me and my three.”
I shook my head. “No way. I’d have been too embarrassed to be sitting round the table with you while those two boys of yours flirted with me in front of the man who’d fucked me two days earlier, and then made me ride home in that ridiculous outfit.”
He chuckled, closed his eyes for
a moment, obviously remembering how I’d looked. I’d thought the outfit had been silly, but he’d loved it.
“Well, what about Christmas Eve—parties?”
“I’m not a party girl.”
“So you spent the entire Christmas break on your own?”
“Yes.”
“That’s terrible. I wish I’d known. What about New Year’s Eve?”
“Curled up on the couch with a decent merlot and a good book. There was crap on the TV.”
“Don’t you date?”
I shook my head. “Not since Junior High.”
“That’s ridiculous! We have to fix that.”
“Why? Do you think I’ll find a boyfriend that will share me with you?”
I was getting a little angry. He seemed to be worried about my life, but I was actually in quite a happy place. Well, I would be without the sore ass, but still, happy with the way things were. I’d been a loner all my life, self-sufficient, and although I’d had friends, I didn’t want to live in their pockets. That had only got worse still after the death of my parents. Sure there was my semi-regular Skype conversations with Simone, but that was talking about her life at college, and my work. Obviously, I didn’t talk about the other half of my life, but we seemed to both agree not to talk about dates.
“Why not? I’m not going to tell them, am I?”
He paused for a few moments, then reached out and gently stroked my cheek with one finger, then rubbed it across my lips. I opened my mouth in invitation but he didn’t stick it in. He did, however, run his finger along my bottom lip and drop his hand to my breast where he ran the wet finger across the nipple. I sighed and arched my back, pushing my chest toward it, but he seemed distracted by his train of thought. It still felt good though.
“What we have won’t last forever, you know.”
The thoughts of losing him, losing what we had, came flooding back. I guess my lip trembled a little at that because he drew my attention back to the present by pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp.
“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to dump you now. I’m only just getting started. Your ass is just the first sample.”