by Jaye Peaches
The air moved behind and then next landed. With pinpoint accuracy, Rob lay the second stroke in a horizontal parallel line next to the first.
There was a howl and then a number uttered. The welt rose up, and he rubbed his hand over the mark, checking that her skin was unbroken.
The tears came with the third blow. She wanted him to see her disappointment manifest itself clearly and unambiguously, so she did not hold back with her pathetic weeping.
The fourth resulted in little movement. She had adjusted to the level of pain. It was expected and no longer novel to either of them. Casey had learnt through experience how to process pain. Her voice remained barely audible.
The fifth hit lower, nearly on her upper thighs. She released a silent scream, then increased her grasp. Determination kept her from standing up or rubbing her bottom.
The sixth was the coda. She sobbed and bawled at Rob. A stream of apologetic words came out of her mouth. Inside her body, a string of tension had snapped. She hated that she had allowed Rob to see her bad side—the person she hoped she had left behind. All she sought, amongst her contriteness, was his forgiveness.
The cane clattered on the wooden boards, and the next thing Casey knew was she was wrapped in Rob’s embrace.
“Done,” he said. “No more. You have been punished. The matter is finished.”
“I’m forgiven?” she hiccupped between coughs.
“Yes, Casey. I always forgive. Do not forget today. Remember how it feels, this. Use it to avoid similar deficiencies in your behaviour. Now stand in the corner and compose yourself.”
It was difficult, and she felt ashamed to be treated so childishly. He insisted her skirt remained high and her welted bottom exposed.
“Deep breaths,” said Rob calmly from the other side of the room.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat. The technique Rob had taught her to help process pain and frustration. Feeling her behind, the pain had not abated; if anything it felt worse. She dreaded sitting on it. Still not quite lunchtime, she had to finish the rest of the day’s work seated on her poor bottom.
Ten minutes later, Casey was instructed to go lie on their bed. She tottered out of the room, eyes barely dry from her copious tears, and made her way to the master bedroom. Once there she flopped on the bed and buried her head on the pillow.
He approached Casey almost inaudibly. From the click of the bedroom door closing to her bedside, his stealth-like actions were similar to a predator’s. With trepidation, she scrunched the soft pillow between her hands and kept her face hidden. Her skirt was lifted up once again and the air brushed against her tender bottom. Casey went rigid and turned to look over her shoulder. Seeing what he had in his hands, she relaxed.
“Arnica cream,” he waved the pot. She felt the cool cream on her fiery bottom. He gently applied the lotion to her welts.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“I’ll make us lunch, some sandwiches,” he said, putting the cream on the bedside table.
“Okay,” she said.
“Then, we’ll come back here, and I’m going to fuck you.”
The word, the gratuitous expression of lust, made her insides rumble. She liked the word and the connotation. Forgiveness in action; to have sex was excellent therapy.
“You will,” he said the word with emphasis, “come for me.”
“Yes, sir,” she tried not to snigger.
“Then you will sleep.”
Casey swung round to face him. “What about my work. Have you fired me?” she said with alarm.
Rob laughed. “Good grief, no. I want you to rest. Clear you head. Then come back afresh with renewed purpose. Can you do that for me?”
“Oh yes, Rob,” said Casey with determination. “Yes!”
Chapter Six: Entertaining Friends
Brushing her hair, Casey kept half an eye on Rob. She could see him in the mirror’s reflection, propped up in bed, watching her. She was seated at the dressing table on a stool and each stroke of the hairbrush went from root to tip. Her hair was long, and she brushed it twice a day. Once in the morning, after a shower and again in the evening, before bed. The art of hair brushing was never to rush, and Casey took her time.
From his vantage point he would be able to see her in the reflection as she tilted her head from side to side, letting her strands flow down. Casey had struggled with accepting her pretty looks. They had dawned on her face late, after the braces had left her teeth and the acne had dried up. Then, rather like when the ugly duckling had discovered it was really a swan, Casey had been unearthed as a beauty, much to her parents’ dismay.
It was clear from her own childhood recollections that she had been sought after by her fellow students. Fortunately, she had held off their temptations until she reached womanhood, then she had slipped between the sheets of one young man for her initiation. None of her attempts at exploring her sexual side had lasted more than a few weeks. Though her beauty had attracted her choice of men to bed, she had failed to identify a feature of masculinity that appealed to her own wishes. Tumbling between the sheets and falling asleep afterwards had not triggered an applause of rapture, merely disappointment.
Casey had taken to Rob’s bed with very little fear. Though he had already spanked her many times for misbehaving, she had not equated what he did in his study with the thrill of a bedroom spanking; the two scenarios had remained distinct and served different purposes. Rob often remarked on Casey’s natural ability to absorb pain and turn it into something sensual and pleasurable for them both to enjoy. Casey was no longer disappointed with her bedfellow.
The brush was laid down on the glazed surface of the mahogany table. Casey paused, and under her long eyelashes, glanced up at Rob. There in the reflection, he remained fixed on her actions. Inhaling deeply, Casey rose and turned to face him. About her she wore an ivory satin robe, and it shimmered in the lights. A gift from Rob following their first bedroom encounter. The smooth fabric glided between her fingers as she began to peel back the gown from her shoulders. It was all that was required as the remaining length slipped onto the floor, revealing her nudity.
Slipping under the sheet, she lay on her side, facing Rob. Eyes met, and her skin prickled with goose bumps.
“Tell me again, Casey, what are your dreams?” asked Rob softly.
Casey recounted once more the fantasy she had revealed one night after he had brought her to an ardent conclusion. Her voice quivered, and her heart pounded as she answered him.
“To be objectified,” she said, trying hard to hide her embarrassment.
Rob smiled at her. “And?”
“Please you with my body.”
“And? You said something else,” he corrected her.
Her voice squeaked like a tiny mouse. “Be touched by others.”
Rob grinned. “I do love your little fantasies.” He reached over and turned off the bedside light, leaving only a faint glow from the uplighter on the other side of the room. His finger traced down her body, her shoulder, over her breast, and down to her navel. Her rapid breathing could be heard, and he leaned forward. “One day, all I will have to do is kiss you, and you will come for me,” said Rob with confidence.
Casey thought he was close to achieving his wish that very night. However, she discovered it was a game he liked to play with her. The art of brinkmanship was one Rob excelled at in the sexual arena. A man who had been trained in the art of rhetoric and legal arguments, he could easily outwit Casey with his teasing verbal play.
“You like being touched here?” said Rob, trailing a finger down her slit, parting her lips and lifting the hood of her clitoris.
A shiver shot down her body, sending goose bumps to the surface of her skin. She could not answer him with coherent words and mumbled a response. Between his finger and thumb, he held her clitoris in a small pinching grasp.
“This little thing,” he smirked, “has such control over you, doesn�
��t it?”
“Yes,” she piped, feeling the heat rise in her chest. A pulsating burst of engorgement grew between his digits, and alongside it an intense need to move her body against his. But that was not going to happen. She remained lying on her back, with Rob propped on his side next to her. One hand remained between her legs, while the other held his head in place, enabling him to watch Casey as she squirmed.
“And do you know who controls this?” he said giving her clitoris a tiny wriggle.
“You, you!” she squawked.
“Me, me,” he chuckled. He let go of her, and she exhaled in relief. Her undulating breasts rose and fell as she tried to anticipate his next move. Rob rolled over and lifted his body over Casey’s. With a hand planted firmly on either side of her head, he trapped her there and began to tease her again. Not with his fingers, his cock had expanded in all directions, and he knocked it against her sex, slowly rubbing the shaft against her already besieged clitoris.
“You’re going to miss me, aren’t you?” he said softly.
“Yes, of course,” replied Casey, gazing up at Rob as he hovered ready to strike.
“You’re going to be good?” The word ‘good’ coincided with a shriek from her mouth. A swift stab of his cock had taken him partially inside her sex.
“Yes… sir.” Casey writhed and pushed her pelvis up to meet his own gyrating hips.
“No bad mouthing people?” Another push, and Casey could feel her insides give and stretch about him—an elastic female trap for a manly organ.
“I’ll be good… sir,” said Casey, staring into his glistening eyes. She knew he had her at his command, unable to twist or turn away, and she waited, gaping for the hard thrusts to begin.
“If you’re not, what will happen when I get back?” Rob drove deeper, then lingered, awaiting her reply.
Casey felt undone by his slow penetration. Her past sexual exploits had not been leisurely indulgences. Her previous lovers had entered, plundered, and pumped out their fluid before collapsing about her. Rob took his time, almost to the point she thought he must be inhuman. How did he hold himself in check so comprehensively? His hardness was contained, while she could barely hold back her own orgasm.
“I will be spanked, sir!” said Casey. She clenched about him, hoping to squeeze him into action. He shook his head at her slightly.
“Patience, Casey,” he said. “I’m not done with my little lecture.”
“Oh, Rob, please!” Reaching up, she grabbed his narrow waist and tried to draw him lower, closer to her.
“This,” he said rocking his pelvis back and forth, “doesn’t answer to you.” His swinging hips were too gentle to stimulate her successfully, and she let her arms drop away and closed her eyes. There was no point trying to dictate to him. The more she sought to shift him into gear, the longer he took to please her. The lesson she took away from his sexual teachings became increasingly clear—his methods were paramount to all they did together. In bed, in his office, and wherever life took them.
The tension lifted out of her. She was not losing momentum, she had accepted her helplessness and simply allowed herself to let go. It was then that Rob began to move, to grind his cock into her with increasing speed and power.
“Oh, hell, I’m coming!” Casey could not stop herself. Her control was not perfected to Rob’s standards, but she had tried. Long after she had melted into the bed, soaking around him with her juices, he continued to thrust and build his own satisfying climax. As he filled Casey with liquid warmth, he lowered his mouth on to hers and gave her a gentle kiss between his exerting breaths.
“Not bad,” he grinned.
* * *
In the early morning, Rob left—a dawn departure to catch a flight to the USA for a conference he was attending. Casey was left behind with a list of tasks and a mention of good behaviour being well rewarded.
Casey instantly missed her lover and employer. Rob was so many things to her, and she often struggled to separate him into his components. Wandering the house, she followed the lingering scent of his aftershave. It was concentrated in two rooms: his study and the library at the back of the house. These were his haunts and very much where he held domain over her thoughts and actions. The rest of the house, such as the kitchen and sitting room, were the places of relaxation and equality. In the bedroom, he became her master and sensual explorer. So many facets under one roof.
The house did not need cleaning. A woman came twice a week to wipe and dust, leaving Casey to vacuum occasionally. Though they cooked, often together or taking turns, when it came to entertaining, a cook was employed to do the catering, relieving Casey of any responsibility to be perfect in the kitchen. She was not—although her culinary skills were sufficient for their daily needs.
A handyman came to fix problems with the ancient plumbing or wiring. The gardens were tended by an elderly gardener, who tipped his hat at Casey through the kitchen window. Rob’s shirts and trousers were ironed by a woman who appeared once a week to collect and drop off the clean laundry. She never smiled at Casey and barely said a word as they met at the door.
All these domestic staff remained a legacy of Rob’s many solitary years. Casey liked having the support until he went away, for there was too little to do in his absence. She whittled down her list of tasks quickly, kept check on his email, post and voicemail, and tidied up documents and the filing cabinets as instructed. Then she roamed the house as a living ghost, unable to settle, a loose end of thread waiting to be drawn back into the fabric.
Permission had been given for Casey to invite three of her girlfriends around for a girlie evening of gossiping. Rob had laid down clear guidelines. They were not allowed in his study nor the library. Excessive drinking was forbidden, and they were to leave before midnight. Casey eagerly accepted his terms and invited her friends to visit before Rob’s return the following day.
Of her three friends, two were from her previous job and the other had come by way of introduction from an old school friend. Together they formed a small cohort of giggles, Chinese whispers, and rumour mongering. A perfect evening began in the sitting room with a bottle of red wine and pretzels.
Sylvia was sly and inquisitive. She insisted on a tour of the house, which Casey gave, excluding the two forbidden rooms. Her tall, lanky friend was suitably impressed, especially when Casey showed off the walk in closet.
“You haven’t half fallen on your feet, Case,” remarked her friend.
Melissa was the shiest and least vocal. Traipsing around after the others, she absorbed the chatter and surroundings without revealing her own opinions. However, once the alcohol was imbued in her system, she began to open up with clever witticism and poignant comments.
“There is more to this house than first appears—it’s like a labyrinth,” she said sipping on her second class of Rioja.
The third visitor was the one Casey was least familiar with and had come by her acquaintance after a desperate plea from an old friend. Lonely and in need of company, Vicky had been adopted by Casey and her little gathering. Vicky blurted out silly comments in the hope of being part of the gang, but invariably hit the wrong buttons. However, her own stories of boyfriends and failed relationships were sufficiently entertaining to include her on their infrequent outings to the local pubs.
Casey felt quite at home with her friends and enjoyed the feminine style of conversing, which was open and verbose when compared to the introverted Rob. With each slurp of the wine, each nibble of the pretzels, the girls began to waggle their tongues inappropriately and almost maliciously.
Casey had already let slip previously that she was in a relationship with her employer. Giggling, they all told her she was fortunate to be attached to such a handsome man. Casey and Rob did not go out together much and certainly were not a sociable couple. Rob maintained the air of a mysterious gentleman, whom others rarely saw. Trying to tear down the barricades about Casey and Rob’s relationship would prove diffic
ult for her friends, since nobody quite knew how the couple functioned together. Casey had been charged not to divulge the nature of her agreement with Rob during one of his early lectures on deportment.
Casey worked hard, through her tipsy mind, to avoid their inquisition and to keep her special relationship with Rob a secret. He would be furious if details of their arrangement slipped out. Her friends picked away at the slightest clue in her words, but she rigidly held firm. The frustrations were evident on their faces as they gave up. As they reverted to the usual topics of celebrity TV and clothes, Casey received a text.
A little after eleven o’clock, and it was the first text of the day from Rob. She eagerly swiped her phone and read it. His working day was finished and he had a breather before attending an evening function. They exchanged pleasantries, asking each other if they were well. Then it happened. He hinted at her sexual status, and she confessed to missing him in bed. Then he taunted her with innuendos, which Casey lapped up and responded in kind. One message asked if she had touched herself. Casey answered defiantly, declaring her innocence and chaste behaviour.
Casey had become disconnected from her friends’ increasingly buoyant conversation and found herself immersed in lewd text messages. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard, and she smirked as she read the replies.
“Look at her—she’s flushed,” commented Sylvia.
“Eh?” said Casey half listening as she remembered her companions.
Sylvia’s warning words had come too late for Casey. Curiosity had overtaken good manners, and Vicky reaching over and snatched the phone from Casey’s hand.
“No!” screeched Casey as Vicky began to read the last message.
Sylvia was there at her shoulder, and her hand covered a gasp. “Why, you naughty girl,” she said.
“Please, give me it back!” exclaimed Casey, reaching out with her hand.
The other two shuffled away on their seats and began to scroll back through the smutty messages. They jointly gaped at the explicit content.