‘Oh, it hurts,’ she complained, pouting her full red lips.
‘It’s supposed to,’ I told her gruffly, noting at the same time that her nipples had grown even more erect. I could see that the excitement was still there in her eyes, and I guessed our little session had yet to run its course.
‘But I wasn’t such a bad girl,’ she protested, pushing out her chest so that she was flaunting herself again.
‘Right, there’ll be more for that.’
‘More for what?’ she demanded defiantly.
I grabbed her and pushed her against the bed. She fell across it, face down and bottom out. There was a black hairbrush on the dressing table and I picked it up and weighed it in my hand.
‘Please, not that, Paul,’ she wailed, her eyes open wide with horror when she saw me with the brush.
‘I’m going to teach you a lesson, young woman,’ I told her. In moments her pretty lace panties were around her ankles and her backside, patterned red by my hand, was fully exposed. Her bottom cheeks were slightly parted, and I could see the dark bud of her rear hole and the puffy lips of her sex. She looked delightful, so exposed, so vulnerable, her punished body exuding a kind of raw animal sexuality.
The first impact of the brush on her bottom cheeks echoed around the room, accompanied by her yelp of shock and pain. I reached out and smoothed my hand over her buttocks, able to enjoy the heat that flamed on her skin. She moved back, pushed her bottom towards me, enjoying being touched and caressed on the seat of her punishment. Her correction had yet to end, and soon her cries of pain were a constant refrain as I let go with half a dozen hard blows with the hairbrush. I moved round and smacked her again, each time landing the brush precisely on her lithe young body.
Her behaviour changed subtly. Her cries were deeper, breathier, and she was lifting herself, offering me her rear for every blow. I made sure that I tanned her body evenly, smacking her hard on the buttocks, at the top of the thighs, and even between her thighs.
Her strangled cry of pleasure as she climaxed suddenly brought me to my senses. What had I done? I looked down on her reddened posterior, at her writhing body, at the look of sweet pleasure that marked her face. I had punished her for sure, but much to my surprise she had found pleasure in her pain.
‘Are you all right?’ I whispered, letting the brush fall to the floor.
She opened her eyes and looked at me. ‘That was so good,’ she sighed. ‘That felt so different; it hurt me but I enjoyed it too. I don’t know why…’
‘You’d better get dressed,’ I told her. My eyes travelled down over her body, her bra had fallen and her breasts were patterned pink, her rosy nipples so enticing. Her sex was wet and pink where the brush had touched her. As for her buttocks and thighs, they were deep red and had never looked so good.
She nodded. For once she had nothing to say, as though the pain that was smarting on her pretty little backside had robbed her of the power of speech. I watched as she covered herself up, wrapping a red robe tightly around her body, looking quite chaste compared to the way she normally flaunted herself in front of me.
I went downstairs for another drop of scotch and left her standing awkwardly in her room, her eyes lowered and her face quite pale. The drink tasted good, I savoured every drop as I waited for her to come downstairs, knowing she would have found the experience thoroughly disorientating. I wondered whether it had been the first time she’d ever been chastised. Certainly there had been none of the shock and horror I would have expected.
‘Paul…’ I turned and saw that she was standing in the doorway, her dark soulful eyes looking at me nervously.
‘Back to say you’re sorry?’ I asked her sternly.
‘Sorry? But you’re the one that punished me,’ she whispered softly.
‘Will it be the last time?’
‘It stings,’ she complained, neatly avoiding a reply to my question.
‘Show me,’ I demanded, setting my tumbler of scotch down on the counter and advancing towards her.
‘But… but I haven’t got anything on under this robe,’ she told me breathlessly, her face colouring slightly.
‘It’s a pity you weren’t so modest earlier, isn’t it? Now, show me.’
‘No, I won’t show you,’ she told me defiantly, her lips twisting into a smile. Her eyes were burning again, with an intense glow of excitement.
I strode across the room and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her towards the armchair. She struggled but her heart wasn’t in it, her squeals and complaints were empty and passionless. I positioned her beside the armchair and lifted the back of her robe, exposing her beautiful backside, which was tanned a deep pink that contrasted with the white skin of her thighs. I could still make out my handprints on her flesh, but stronger than that was the array of oval marks that the hairbrush had imprinted. I stroked her buttocks and she winced, her punished flesh warm to my touch.
‘It’s a shame that one session hasn’t been enough,’ I told her, shaking my head sadly.
‘What do you mean, Paul?’ she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.
‘I mean that your wilful behaviour hasn’t changed.’
‘You can’t mean…’
I knelt down and slipped her dainty slipper from her left foot and then straightened up. She gave a wide-eyed look of horror when I flexed the rubber sole, testing its mettle before deciding it was a good enough paddle for her posterior.
‘Ten strokes of this,’ I explained, ‘and any nonsense and you’ll get extra.’
She bit her lip and nodded, then, without prompting, she bent over the thick padded arm of the chair. Her position was perfect, backside nice and round, pink and inviting, her thighs very straight, her breasts rubbing softly against the seat of the chair. I raised the slipper and brought it down swiftly, retribution laid against her pert young buttocks. She tried hard not to cry out as the first smack burned on her behind. I touched her, felt the heat of impact with the tips of my fingers. The second and third strokes were on the same buttock, spreading that heat evenly. The fourth stroke I switched target, and when it landed heavily on her right bottom cheek she let out a howl that goaded me on for strokes five and six.
‘How many have you had?’ I asked, pausing for a second, wanting to keep the suspense and raise the tension further.
‘Seven, Paul,’ she whispered miserably.
‘You’ll get extra for that lie,’ I whispered.
I cut off her complaint with a hard stroke of the slipper, aimed between her thighs. She cried out, but this time I noted the sigh of pleasure mixed in with the pain. Again, another stroke that brushed the underside of her thighs and touched her sex. It was happening again, she was stealing pleasure from her punishment. She was pulling herself down and sticking her bottom out, forcing herself into the stroke, accepting it eagerly. She shuddered as I dealt the last hard blow between her buttocks, a sharp stinging lick from her slipper.
‘Stay there,’ I warned her.
I waited for a while, relishing the view of her punished backside, of her twin globes blazing red and pink. I wondered whether she was getting off on being exposed, after all, there was no doubt about her exhibitionist inclinations; that was what had got her into trouble in the first place.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ I asked casually.
There was a long pause before she answered. ‘Sort of…’ she admitted hesitantly.
‘Do you want more?’
‘No!’ she cried at once, without hesitation at all.
I nodded to myself. She found pleasure in her chastisement all right, but it was punishment all the same: painful, humiliating and to be avoided at all costs.
‘Stand up and face me,’ I instructed. ‘You can forget about covering yourself up too,’ I added.
Her eyes were lowered, and I was pleased to see that
her face was as red with shame as her bottom was red with punishment. Her breasts were ripe and attractive, her hard nipples pointing out enticingly. I noted that her skin was flushed, with that radiant afterglow of orgasm.
Without warning I raised the slipper and brought it down sharply on her right breast. She squealed with shock, but the red imprint on her flesh made her nipples stand out even more. The left breast got the same sharp treatment, a spanking with the slipper that made her cry out.
‘You can go and get dressed now,’ I told her at last, satisfied that her punishment was complete.
‘First this,’ she said softly. She knelt down and crawled forward and touched the outline of my cock, impressed on my trousers. In seconds she had loosened my clothes and released my aching erection.
‘You are such a naughty girl,’ I told her tenderly, sighing as she stroked my hardness with her slender fingers.
‘You can always punish me…’ she whispered, and then closed her luscious red lips around my helmet.
It was heaven, admiring her punished backside while she mouthed and sucked my cock. She knew what she was doing. I had never felt so much pleasure. She teased and caressed until I thought I would be the one screaming. And then I felt myself explode, filling her lovely mouth with wave upon wave of thick creamy come.
‘You’d better clear up,’ I told her later, kissing her mouth and stroking her hair.
‘Sure,’ she agreed lazily, ‘Jim will be home soon. Let this be our secret, our little secret.’
I nodded, that was what it was exactly, our little secret. The last thing I wanted was for my son to find out what I’d been doing with his girlfriend.
Marianne
Stephen stood up and went to the window. The sky was a uniform milky grey, leeching the colour from the day and leaving everything dull and flat. He stood for a moment, looking out across the fields to the thin line of trees on the horizon, the thin green plumes pointing to the hazy white disc that was the wintry sun.
‘If we’re going to do this then we have to do it properly,’ he had said earlier in the bar. She had agreed readily but had avoided his eyes, looking instead into the roaring flames crackling in the brick fireplace.
The air felt heavy, the atmosphere was already very tense, filled with an expectation that was almost tangible. He returned to the desk and buzzed Marianne, jabbing a finger forcefully at the intercom.
‘Yes sir,’ she responded breathlessly. He could imagine her sitting on the edge of her seat, waiting for his call, her legs crossed so that the tight skirt revealed the perfect shape of her thighs.
‘I want your personnel file please,’ he said clearly, managing to conceal the tremor of emotion with an air of cool formality.
‘My file?’ she asked with a note of genuine surprise.
‘Yes please,’ he said, and cut the phone off, her quizzical note still hanging in the air. He leaned back, sinking into the welcoming comfort of the leather chair, and waited for her to come in. The Sullivan account file lay on the desk in front of him, the buff folder containing the full details of the most important account the company had. It was the first file he had asked for when they had both arrived that morning. He remembered the nervous look in her eye as she handed it over, as if she wasn’t sure that she wanted him to see it. But the account had been lost and he had to see the file.
Marianne entered and smiled coolly. It was an efficient smile that managed to conceal whatever feelings she had, yet managed not to look false. ‘My file,’ she said, carefully handing him the blue folder with her name neatly stencilled on the cover.
‘Thank you, Marianne,’ he said, deliberately placing it next to the Sullivan file.
‘Is there anything else?’ she asked, hovering in front of the desk nervously.
‘No, thank you.’ He looked down at her file, not bothering to wave her away. She hesitated for a second, standing in front of the desk, one leg crossed in front of the other, hands together, fingers locked tight. It was only when she turned to walk away that Stephen looked up again. She was wearing a smart navy skirt and jacket, with black seamed stockings and black high heels with butterfly bows on the heel. Her skirt was tight and her hips swayed slightly with each step, emphasising the constraining tightness of the skirt and the elegant curves of her body.
She lingered at the door for a moment and he felt sure she was going to say something, but if she was she changed her mind. She closed the door gently and he felt a sigh of relief. These situations were always so difficult, so very tricky. He skipped through her file, flicking through the pages, not even pretending to read through it. He knew all he had to know, but he was stalling for time, wanting just those few extra moments to think things through. He leaned back in his seat once more and looked around at the comfortable office, at the framed certificates on the wall, at the book-lined shelves, at the painting by the door, at the drinks cabinet in the corner. Success – everything reflected the success of the company, and of the people who worked there. Until now.
He buzzed Marianne again. She responded too quickly, her voice just a little too loud and a little too eager. ‘Marianne, I’d like to see you for a moment, please,’ he said, as calmly as he possibly could. His heart was thumping and his throat had gone impossibly dry.
‘Yes, Stephen,’ she said when she came in. Her smile was more nervous than it had been a moment earlier, as if she realised that things had finally come to a head.
‘This is going to be very difficult,’ he said, playing with a pen nervously, finding it easier to look at that and not at her. ‘Very difficult,’ he repeated softly, ‘for the both of us. You’ve been with us a long time now, and sometimes that’s not a good thing.’
‘It’s about the Sullivan account,’ she said quietly, barely whispering, her sharp blue eyes suddenly full of tears.
‘Yes. The Sullivan account.’ He paused, exhaled heavily. ‘But that’s not the first time, is it?’
‘But it wasn’t my fault,’ she whispered, her lips trembling.
‘I’m afraid it was,’ Stephen said softly but firmly, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene. ‘You were late with the tender documents. We missed the deadline for the contract and they lost the job. They lost a major contract because of us, and it was our fault. Your fault. They were our biggest client and now they’ve gone. This was the third time Marianne, the third. We’ve given you chances before, too many perhaps. We just can’t go on like this.’
‘Please, I’m sorry,’ she said, the anguish etched miserably on her face. Her skin was pale, making her red lips more prominent, pouting, alluring.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he said, closing her file and pushing it towards her.
‘Please Stephen, I’ll do anything…’
He shook his head sadly, exhaled slowly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, looking up into her eyes for the first time.
She looked at him, eyes wide, her body trembling. Then she looked away. ‘Please…’ she whispered.
‘What else can I do?’ he asked reasonably. ‘You’ve been warned before. You’ve been given chances. What can we do? It’s as if harsh words aren’t enough. Sometimes I think there’s only one thing you’d respond to. Sometimes I want to…’ He stopped, suddenly aware that he’d said too much, gone too far.
‘What? Do what? I’ll do anything, you know I would,’ she said earnestly.
He looked at her. She was beautiful, even the tears in her eyes and the anguish on her face were seductive. His heart was racing. He had said too much, letting the tension and the emotion get the better of him. ‘Nothing. Forget I said anything,’ he said apologetically.
‘Please Stephen, what were you going to say? It’s not fair, you can’t do this to me. You owe me more than that.’
He nodded. ‘I was going to say that sometimes I think you’d only respond to being properly punished.’
/> She looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean treated like a naughty child. Punished with more than just sharp words.’
There was a moment of tense silence and he regretted ever opening his mouth. It hadn’t been a smart thing to say and it was going to make a difficult situation impossible.
‘Yes. Maybe you’re right,’ she said very quietly, her face flushing pink. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, avoiding his own questioning look.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, maybe you’re right. Maybe I do need to be punished.’
‘No, I don’t think you understand. I meant punished as in smacked on the backside and told to behave.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed quietly. ‘That’s what I thought you meant. Perhaps I do want to be punished like that.’
Stephen breathed deeply, his hands trembling. ‘Remove your stockings,’ he said, his voice almost hoarse.
Marianne’s face was burning red, her embarrassment clear to see, yet she obeyed. She turned her back to Stephen and pulled her skirt up at the front. She reached under and fiddled with her suspenders. Stephen stood up and walked round to the front of the desk, his eyes fixed on her long elegant thighs. She looked away from him but made no effort to cover herself. Her stockings were dark against her soft white skin, and when she rolled them down he felt the heat rising within him. It was like a dream, something he could hardly believe was happening. She slipped her shoes off and pulled the stockings off completely.
‘Bend over the desk,’ he said, putting a hand to her shoulder to stop her picking up her stockings. She stepped back into her high heels and then went to the desk. She bent over at the waist, pressing herself flat against the smooth leather-topped desk, pressing her face against the cool surface, her hands up by her face.
Stephen stood behind her, enjoying the sight of her skirt pulled tight over her backside, pulling the buttocks apart slightly. Very gently he took the hem of her skirt and lifted it high, up and over her waist. Her long legs were smooth and straight, the knees locked tight so that every muscle and sinew was stretched tight. Her snow-white panties were pulled tightly between her thighs, deep between her rounded bottom cheeks. The darkness between her thighs was unmistakable, the outline of her sex clearly visible.
A Strict Seduction Page 6