by Nia Green
Surprisingly, the little thrill of fear that went through me at those words contained a small thread of… desire. The idea of getting spanked by this man, of being punished, made the heat pool in my belly and my toes curl.
“Would you mind telling me about spanking?” I asked.
He smiled.
“That’s not unappealing? You could get behind the idea of being bent over my lap?” he asked.
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I simply nodded, looking down at my lap.
“All right, I have a suggestion. Why don’t you touch yourself while I tell you about it?”
“Sure,” I said softly.
At that point, I was perched on the edge of a slippery leather armchair, wearing nothing but a khaki miniskirt and a thong. I could see my bra on the floor a few feet away, but I wasn’t certain where my shirt was. Roger was fully dressed and smiling his kindest smile at me from the large sofa. I looked totally debauched, but I didn’t mind as much as I perhaps should have. He was such a nice man, and he was being so sweet to me.
I waited for him to start talking, to tell me more about the discipline that had piqued my interest.
He stretched, and I watched his muscles bunch and relax underneath his expensive outfit, as I’d done so many times before - generally, though, while fully dressed!
Finally, I broke the silence.
“Um?” I began, before trailing off again.
“I’d be happy to start talking once you fulfil your part of our little bargain,” he said.
“Oh!” I replied.
I had to start touching myself again, knowing that his eyes were on me.
I crossed my legs and, blushing, reached up to touch one of my pearled tips, which was already achingly hard and proudly erect. The barest brush of my fingers against it made me shiver and muffle a moan, and when I grasped it in a tighter hold, I leaned my head back and shut my eyes with pleasure.
After that first teasing caress, it was easier to touch myself.
The same hand that had just begun to stroke and pet my nipple grasped my entire breast and gave a soft squeeze, and then stroked down my belly to the waistband of my skirt.
I hesitated. Should I tease myself on the outside of the fabric, or would he like to see me take it off?
For now, I decided, I needed to go ahead and touch myself through the fabric. I was so tormentingly aroused that I wasn't sure a touch to my bare skin wouldn't make me explode.
Carefully, I started tracing little patterns on my skirt above my most sensitive parts. Little circles around the nub I knew was hiding there, occasionally an X that crossed right over it to make me moan.
Roger started saying "My dear girl, this is the best show I have seen in a long time."
His voice was lower than I'd heard it. Did desire make it so?
"If you were anyone else, when you marched into my house nearly a full week early, I would have kissed you, and grabbed a handful of your ass, and perhaps slid a hand up your shirt to squeeze one of your nipples - hard. I'd like to see you squeeze one of your own nipples that way, would you mind doing that for me?"
My hand left off what it was doing and slowly slid up my stomach to my breast, and, with only a slight hesitation, I squeezed one of my nipples.
"Harder," he said, quietly.
I pressed my fingers together more forcefully, the pain making me breathe raggedly for a moment as the desire swelled within me.
"Very good," he said, "I like that. Next, I would have taken your hand and led you into the living room, this room right here. I would have brought you right over to the chair where you're sitting now, only I would have had you bend over it, fully dressed."
I shivered and returned my hand back to the cloth of my skirt, pressing harder at the aching little spot that was waiting there.
"I would have gone ahead and spanked you once, on the fabric of your little skirt, just as a warm-up."
I slipped a single finger between the waistband of my skirt and my underwear, feeling the softness of my pubic hair.
"Then I would have lifted your skirt up over your back, so I could see what underwear you were wearing, and look at the white globes of your ass. What underwear are you wearing, my dear girl, would you mind showing me?"
Slowly, I removed my finger from my waistband and uncrossed my legs, before spreading my creamy thighs and lifting my skirt up to touch my belly, so he could see the little lacy thong between my legs. I knew from a naughty peek in a mirror a few months ago that this thong barely covered my hidden sex, so I was almost bare to his eyes.
"Oh, that's very nice," he murmured. In a louder voice, he asked "Is this helping you? Would you like me to continue."
"Yes, please," I said.
"I would have carefully run one hand over both of your asscheeks, to feel how soft your skin was, and then I would have pulled my hand away and slapped one of them. Not too hard, just enough to startle you and see if I could make you moan. Yes, just like that. You're very good at this."
Now that my thong was exposed, I started running my finger down the length of it, over all of the parts that craved to be touch, the parts it was barely containing. I could feel how damp it was growing, letting me slide my finger smoothly over the lace, faster and faster as it grew wetter and wetter.
"If you were silent, I would remind you after that to count the blows for me, to say 'one, sir' as I'd taught you."
I nodded quietly to myself and continued enjoying the little sparks of need that my body was giving in response to this dramatic story.
"Now, now, I think you can listen to the rest without touching yourself," he said.
I pulled my hands reluctantly from my body and placed them on the arms of the chair.
"If you had been anyone else, I would have given you twenty strokes of my hand to make up for the crime of disobeying my wishes. You would have counted them properly, and when I was done, I would have felt your little thong, just like you just did, to see how wet you’d gotten.”
Eyes still shut, head still thrown back, I moaned a little and sunk further into the comforting bulk of the armchair.
“How wet have you gotten, Kiara?” he asked softly.
“Uh… very wet. Really wet. I don’t remember being this wet before,” I babbled.
“May I come feel how wet you are for me?” he asked.
I nodded and spread my legs a little wider.
“You’re so good,” he murmured. “Did you like hearing about the spanking?”
I nodded again, a flush spreading across my cheeks.
“Would you like a little spanking of your own?” he asked.” I could spank you, just a few strokes, and then feel how wet it made you.”
A third time, I nodded.
“I’d like that,” I said, my voice barely emerging.
“Why don’t you get in position for it?” he asked.
I stood slowly up, still dressed only in skirt and thong. When I opened my eyes, I saw that his pants were unzipped and his hardness was standing free, his hand giving his shaft long strokes as he looked at me.
“Well?” he asked, smiling at me again.
I walked around to the side of the chair, facing away from him, bending over the leather-clad arm until my ass was in the air. To steady myself, I reached to the opposite arm and held it with both hands.
I heard him stand up, and soon I felt one of his hands rubbing my ass, just as he’d said they would. My cheeks clenched and I trembled, knowing that next would come a blow from one of his powerful hands.
It didn’t take long. The first strike was fairly light, I heard it more than I felt it, especially as he had yet to lift my skirt up, but it still stung a little, and I shifted my feet, wiggling my rear around.
His hand returned to rubbing my ass for a moment, soothing the prickling skin.
“I think you’ve forgotten something,” he said.
What could I possibly have forgotten? I was bent over the expensive leather armchair, just like he’d descri
bed. He didn’t say that I had to stay still and quiet.
Oh. That was it - he had, in fact, specifically said that I was not supposed to be silent. I remembered the hot scenario that he had just described for me, how hearing him say the words in his deep voice turned me on. Would it turn him on to hear me count each and every spank, just like in his fantasy?
“One, sir,” I said.
“Good girl,” he replied. “Now, I think that you’re a little over-dressed for the occasion, don’t you?”
I nodded shyly, my head down.
Another strike! This one was harder, and I yelped a little.
“Two, sir,” I said, my voice shaking a little. Why had he spanked me again? I thought he was going to lift my skirt up.
“I think you’re wondering why I just spanked you. When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me out loud if possible,” he said. “You may call me ‘sir,’ although if we’re in public or we’re not playing, you may still call me ‘Theo,’ of course.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. How would it not be possible for me to answer out loud? I wondered, before remembering how my mouth had stretched around the head of his cock. Oh.
“Good girl,” he said softly.
He rubbed my spanked cheek a few times before his hand slid down to the hem of my little khaki miniskirt.
“May I lift this up, Kiara?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, “I’d… I’d like you to.”
He lifted the hem of my skirt above my hips, covering part of my back but exposing the two firm globes of my tight ass.
“So gorgeous,” he murmured. “You have one of the best asses I’ve ever seen.”
I blushed a little from the compliment, and then felt ridiculous. Roger had spanked me and I’d sucked his cock, but a compliment on my rump was embarrassing? How silly that sounded to me.
“All right,” he said. “I’m ready to give you a little spanking. Are you ready to get one?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“I’m serious,” he went on, “If you didn’t enjoy the first two smacks, with your skirt between my hand and your-” he squeezed one of my cheeks “- cute little ass, you won’t enjoy more of a spanking, and this is all about fun. I don’t ever want you to really be hurting.”
I nodded.
“All right…” he said, “Go ahead and start counting again. Those two little things didn’t really count, now, did they?”
Busy listening to him talk, I really wasn’t expecting the first blow on my bare butt. It smarted, but it didn’t hurt.
“One, sir,” I said.
The next blow, coming while I could still feel the tingles of the first, stung a little more, but, to my surprise, I enjoyed that strike even more.
“Two, sir,” I said.
The third and fourth blows at regular intervals that I counted each made me gasp, and the warmth spread all the way across my cheeks and started to spread outwards.
“Five, sir, and ow!” I yelped. The fifth blow had been the hardest yet, and it really hurt!
At the moment of impact, I thought “No!” and I had just about decided that that was enough for me for good, but then the pain was matched with an equally strong surge of heat and arousal, and by the time I’d finished saying ‘ow,’ I’d changed my mind. With only a small flash of shame, I realized that I was grinding into the arm of the chair I was bent over, so desperate to be touched that I couldn’t stay still. The sharper blow had lit incredible passion in me and I wanted to feel that again.
The next blow didn’t come, though. Instead, Roger spoke up again.
“May I touch you?” he asked.
I knew that he meant touch me to feel how wet I was, like he’d said when he was turning me on with a description of a spanking.
None of my boyfriends in high school had ever touched my sex - okay, well, also, none of my boyfriends in high school had ever gotten me wet. I hadn’t even let them touch my breasts through my sweater. They simply hadn’t interested me enough to let them do something that seemed so naughty. I didn’t think of myself as a naughty girl, after all, and the last time I’d gone on a date, I’d been only seventeen. Somehow, eighteen seemed so much more grown up.
Roger had already stroked my nipples, though, and spanked my bum. Was I ready to let someone touch me in so intimate a fashion?
The burning arousal that the spanking had lit inside me decided the question. I was so past ready to be touched, and I trusted him completely.
“Yes, sir,” I said. It felt right to keep calling him that.
“Oh, what a treasure you are,” he breathed, and I shivered happily.
“I’m going to touch you now to feel how wet you are,” he said. “Would you like me to take your thong off first or leave it on?”
I struggled with the decision, the arousal clouding my brain.
“Leave it on,” I said. After all, if he took it off, that would delay him from touching me.
He slipped his hand between my thighs and nudged one. I scooted my feet apart on the floor, spreading my legs open for him.
I moaned as I felt one of his thick strong fingers run along my damp thong, starting at the aching nub of pleasure hidden underneath the lace and ending just below my sex.
He chuckled, and retraced the path, a little more firmly. I gasped in pleasure and pushed backwards against his hand, struggling to get more sensation.
I stopped thinking about what was proper and what was new, stopped worrying about my first time being with an older man instead of some boring teenage boy that I was supposed to want. No boy had ever made me as wet and desperate as this man did, and I trusted him enough to surrender my innocence.
“Oh, Theo,” I moaned, “more, please.”
“More what?” he asked.
I thrust back against his fingers.
“More everything,” I gasped, “I want to feel more of you.”
I wanted to feel his cock again, but I was too embarrassed to say so.
Apparently, though, that’s exactly what he wanted.
“More of me?” he asked, running his whole hand back and forth along my sex. “Like this?”
“Noooo,” I moaned.
“Like this?” he asked, taking his hand that wasn’t tormenting me and running it over the bare skin of my back.
“Nooo,” I moaned again. “More of, um, more of you I haven’t felt!”
He chuckled behind me, and he moved both of his hands to my hips, sliding his powerful thigh between my legs and pulling my hips down, grinding me against his pants.
I panted with desire, pushing myself down onto his thigh, trying to get the sensation back, but it was a poor substitute for his devastatingly clever fingers.
He pulled his thigh away, leaving me rubbing fruitlessly against the air, and I almost sobbed with need.
How could I lose my virginity when he wouldn’t fuck me?
“Oh, you dear girl,” he breathed. “How badly do you want to feel my fingers again?”
“So badly,” I wailed. I collapsed against the chair even as I thrust back towards him once again.
“I’d like to hear you tell me exactly what you want. Do you even know what you want?” he asked.
“Um,” I said, slightly muffled by the chair, “I want to feel you. You stopped… I don’t want you to stop!”
“I think I have to stop, for a few minutes, or I won’t be able to control myself,” he said. I could hear that his voice had gotten rougher, wasn’t quite as cultured and smooth as it usually was, although somehow it sounded even richer. I loved the way he sounded when he wanted me, and I wanted so badly to hear him keep talking.
He stepped away from me, and I sighed and stood up.
"I suppose I should get all this together," I said, gesturing at the clothing strewn over the floor. I'd never seen Roger be anything but tidy, and I didn't want to irritate him or make him think I was too immature to pick up my dirty clothing.
As I bent over to pick it up, I could hear him
growl a little deep in his throat, and he came over behind me and squeezed my sore ass hard. I yelped, and he laughed.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, "I just can't resist your tight little ass, now that I finally get to touch it."
"Finally?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," he said, and smirked at me. "Your ass didn't suddenly become amazing in the past week, it's been amazing for a long, long time."