I was delighted to find in the weeks following this punishment session, that the kitchen gleamed and the house was as neat as a pin, and there were less petty arguments to plague our dinner meal. It turned out to be a very satisfactory arrangement, laying down the law so to speak.
And I was rather proud of myself for discovering this unrivaled manner of keeping my boarding house in order.
I took her by the arm. “Over the bench my dear .”
“Oh no!” she gasped.
The Razor Strap & the Red Rose
I knew the bookstore well. I’d probably passed it a dozen times; on the corner of a busy street, it was a quaint relic of time passed. Looking at it now however, I couldn’t imagine what secrets it would hold for me inside.
He’d answered my ad, a spur of the moment idea to advertise my plight in a spanking publication. Just reading the ads excited me. And when I submitted my own, I never expected the number of replies that appeared in my post office box. There were dozens, some sweet, others I threw away immediately, and then there was Geoffrey’s. Short and to the point.
“I’d be delighted to discuss your needs. Please call.” He included a card with his name, phone number and the address of the bookstore. I appreciated his openness.
“Mr. Geoffrey Riordan?” I inquired when I phoned.
“This is,” the voice replied.
“My name is Julia, you replied to my ad.”
“Yes Julia, how can I help you?” He seemed so kind.
“The spankings, the discipline?” I found myself at a loss for words.
“Yes?”
“You said you’d discuss my needs.”
“Over lunch perhaps,” he suggested, as if he knew how much I was trembling at the thought of putting my bare bottom in a stranger’s hands.
We met at a diner just down the street from the book shop. He was indeed kind, though far younger that I expected, perhaps thirty-five. I’d expected an older man, someone more like my father. Geoffrey was a pleasant surprise seeing his mellow handsome face. Though I could see behind his kind eyes a sterner man with a hidden resolve that could quickly turn him from his gentler self to a man uncompromising and severe.
“So why do you need this Julia?” he asked, after we’d exchanged some insignificant talk about the weather and the food.
“I’m not certain why I need this, I just know I do, I suppose you could say I crave it,” I replied honestly. “At night? Sometimes it’s all I think about.”
“Getting your bottom spanked?”
“Yes.”
“This began in childhood?” he guessed.
I nodded.
“And have you had someone help you with your need before?”
“Not since I left home, there was a time when my dad just didn’t do it anymore. How could I tell him that I missed it? I mean after eighteen, I just wasn’t doing those things that warranted punishment. But that didn’t mean that the need was gone. I get agitated sometimes, and the thought of a firm hand or a paddle, or a strap across my ass … calming maybe, I mean after it’s over?” I was only speculating since it had been so long.
“It sounds as if you’re in a constant state of agitation?” Geoffrey offered.
“Sometimes it feels that way, I try to ignore the fantasies of my rear draped over some man’s lap, but they just don’t go away. I don’t understand it, I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the way my father would spank me when I was young, kicking and screaming… .”
“Needs change Julia,” he said certain of his message to me, “needs change and reasons change, though the act may stay the same.
“I don’t understand.”
“What your father no doubt gave you in strokes on your bottom, was punishment. What you require now may be something else as well as punishment; spankings create their own brand of “heat”, both in the man and the woman.”
“You mean sexual?” I asked, not believing how boldly I spoke to a man I hardly knew; yet it seemed so comforting to speak with some openly about my long held secret fantasies.
“Sometimes,” he answered, “sometimes it’s other things. I’d suggest you wait and see what happens when you have my hand soundly paddling your rear… and afterwards … you may be surprised.”
I nodded as if I understood, though I still didn’t. I had accepted that he was likely right; that things had changed in ten years, and that at twenty-eight, my desires for spanking and the strange notions in my fantasies might have a far different quality than what I’d know from the straightforward discipline in my childhood.
“My assistant, Miss Wills, has a session with me tomorrow, perhaps you’d like to witness that. Of course hers is strictly punishment, she has some rather disturbing errors to make amends for. But still, you can see just how serious I pursue this. And it would be good for Miss Wills, after her behavior, I think an unfamiliar audience would be a perfect addition to her punishment.”
“Tomorrow?” I was astonished at how fast this was happening, suddenly my head was spinning, realizing that my fondest wish might soon be real! Just talking of this was raising heat in my rear; it tingled as if it were preparing for firm strokes against the quivering flesh. Fear and anticipation combined to make a potent brew in both my mind and body.
“Yes tomorrow,” he confirmed, “at five-thirty, the shop will be closed then, but I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”
He was so accommodating, though not altogether encouraging. I had the distinct impression that it was important that I be willing, not coerced or forced. This was clearly my decision.
“I do warn you Julia,” he added, “I’m not as mild mannered when I discipline, as I am now.”
I looked at him trying to picture what he’d be like with his eyes flashing, his arm raised to smack some waiting bottom.
“And I might add,” he continued, just to make sure I understood very clearly, “I’ll only spank your ass bare, naked,” he said the word naked with wide-eyed knowing fascination, “I don’t think it’s effective otherwise.”
I trembled wondering what it would be like to watching the bare rear of end of some other woman, bouncing jauntily on his lap. I wondered too, what it would be like for mine to bear the blows, exposed to his gaze. “I’ll be there tomorrow,” I said boldly. I knew if I didn’t go, I never would. This was a chance I wouldn’t miss.
For the remainder of our lunch, things changed ever so slightly; he was more stern, his eyes darkening. Was it just my imagination, or was it really happening? Had he changed, or was it me? Then again, did it matter? I studied him carefully, trying to discern what kind of dominant he would be… thorough and unyielding, I could tell from the set of his jaw and the way his eyes, for just the briefest moment, glimmered darkly as he spoke. My mild mannered “friend” had other sides I was soon to see.
The following day, when I crossed the street, it was almost five thirty. I didn’t want to be late. Geoffrey Riordan was a punctual man. As I entered the shop, a bell tinkled overhead. And once inside, I felt as if I’d been transported to another world for the shop was as antiquated inside as it was out. Shelves lined with books were of a dark polished wood, covering all the interior walls. And at one end of the shop there were several more cases of books rising at least seven feet high. There was the smell of wood polish, of paper and dust, and ancient things, that was almost as pungent as stepping into an antique shop. Though this was more fascinating for me. I loved books and on another day I’d love to browse about and find the treasures he had hidden there. Perhaps this common love, was why I’d chosen Geoffrey Riordan.
“Good evening Julia,” he greeted me with a smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m glad you’re prompt. Miss Mills is about ready.” He was no nonsense, business like, though his behavior hardly gave away the intention of my visit.
There were still a couple of old ladies perusing the stacks of books; I imagined he would wait for them to leave. And Miss Mills, a young woman that could not be more than twenty was dusting and inspecting b
ooks on the far side of the room. I stared at her for a moment, as I fidgeted nervously with my purse. She looked nervous too.
When the ladies had left, Geoffrey closed and locked the door, pulling down the shade. It was an ominous sign. Even though I was not the one there for a “session” that night, I could feel the tension in the store, between Geoffrey and Miss Mills.
“Miss Mills,” he said, “To the back room.” His voice was firm, raising goose bumps on my arms. It was exactly as I imagined it should be.
The young woman dutifully stopped her work, her face slightly flushed, embarrassed no doubt by my presence. I followed her and Geoffrey through a door, into a back room that looked like a smaller version of the store, its walls also lined with bookshelves. But in addition to the books, there were two straight back chairs and a table in the center. It was intended as a “reading” room, though for Geoffrey’s purposes it was far more than that as well. I wondered how many woman had bared their asses for him in this room.
Geoffrey moved directly toward a closet on the far wall and pulled from it a wooden paddle. The forbidding instrument was as antiquated looking as the shop. It’s dark wood glistened, well polished. It had a handle wrapped with leather for gripping securely, and the paddle itself was about four inches wide and eight inches long; it’s cool surface was capable of warming a naughty posterior, covering quite a bit of flesh with one stroke. I imagined it would burn dearly. I recalled when my father had taken me across his lap; at times, he used the smooth back of my mother’s hairbrush and that was always the worst. I would have much preferred his hand. I wondered if Geoffrey guessed my fear of this dreaded paddle, though for the moment he was not paying much attention to me, as he was preparing for Miss Wills.
Geoffrey slid a chair across the floor, placing it an open area large enough to accommodate his needs.
“Julia is joining us this afternoon Miss Wills, she needs the same treatment I give to you,” he informed her. “And for you my dear, I think an audience would be appropriate.” There was some unspoken meaning in his voice.
I wondered about the cause of her punishment, what had made Geoffrey so stern and cold.
The girl looked at him warily, though she didn’t resist. This wasn’t the first time. As he sat down, and he ordered her to turn around.
“Raise your skirt,” he said, a rich resonate commanding tone in his voice.
She raised her skirt revealing her long legs and a firm round ass, that was as naked as a newborn’s, pink white with just a few specks that looked like tiny bruises, healing from her last foray.
I let out a little gasp. The reality of Miss Wills plight suddenly becoming very acute. I couldn’t believe what I was about to witness. I’d never been an audience, just a participant in the numerous spankings my father had seen fit to bestow on my rear end. The sight of those white round mounds of flesh, trembling as they waited, gave me a strange thrill. I wondered how I’d feel seeing this girl bouncing on Geoffrey’s lap. To my amazement my already churning body, churned even more. Was it desire or fear?
“Over my knee,” Geoffrey ordered. I couldn’t believe how he’d changed, mild mannered no more! His eyes flared with a need all his own, as he guided the girl so she was lying squarely on his lap, her bare rear end poised and ready. She had an ample ass with lots of pink white to redden.
Geoffrey picked up the paddle making certain that Miss Wills was aware that he was about to begin, though the onset would be at his discretion, only when he decided he was ready. The wooden paddle seemed all the more ominous as he held it over her bare ass making that fateful decision. I watched as Miss Wills expectant bottom clenched and relaxed and then clenched again. Briefly, Geoffrey lowered the paddle to her rear, and allowed the smooth surface to caress her waiting posterior, then … .
Smack! the first blow stuck with a resounding crack. Hearing it reminded me of my earlier years, when that same sound engulfed me, as I tried to struggle free of father’s angry grasp.
“Ow!” she cried. Her body jolted, her bottom quivered, her round mound already turning pink.
Smack! Smack!
Several more in quick succession landed evenly over her fine rear end. Geoffrey worked intently, smacking her bottom all over, so that there was not one place where the wooden paddle did not land.
“Ow, ooooo, pleeeeses,” his victim pleaded, to no avail.
Smack! Smack!
He settled into a regular rhythm of blows, covering again her bouncing jiggling bottom. She continued to struggle against it, but it was to no avail.
“Ooooooo,” she pleaded. “Ooooo, please stop.”
“I’ll stop when it’s time to stop, you’ve not even begun to pay for your insubordination. You’ll not even want to sit when I’m finished with you!” He was seething, I wondered what it was that had angered him so much?
“Oh, please stop!,” she cried, “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again.”
But her pleas meant nothing. He continued to cover her rear several times, each time her ass glowing more brightly red, the crimson flame looked raw and painful, as he struck again and again. The pain would not go away for some time.
“Oh gaaawd!,” she whimpered, softly sobbing as he continued.
I could see the grimace on her face as she endured each blow. I wondered if he’d ever stop.
Though after several minutes of his repeated blows, it seemed to change. It was almost imperceptible. Geoffrey’s fervor was no less, but Miss Wills cries were becoming less vivid, less sharp and pleading as if she’d reached some particular place where it didn’t hurt so much, or maybe the hurt was turning pleasing?
At that moment Geoffrey raised his hand and struck her all the more fiercely, his arm coming down with the paddle in unbelievable strokes. There were a half dozen sharp blows in succession that sent Miss Wills screaming, that brief lull when I thought her punishment was turning into pleasure, was over! Could I even begin to tolerate this abuse. Could I stand what Miss Wills endured, I’m afraid I’d struggle and kick and fight. Or would I?
Geoffrey ended with several quick sharp blows. His victim cried out this time, with a screeching wail that pierced my ears.
When he was done, the pained young woman remained over his lap for several seconds, no doubt to calm her churning, shaken body. When he set her on her feet again, he steadied her with his hand.
“Miss Wills,” he said sternly, “can I expect your behavior is going to change?
“Yes sir,” she answered without question.
“No more talking on the phone all day?”
“Yes sir.”
“No work left for me?”
“Yes sir.”
“And no more rude remarks to our customer’s?”
“Yes sir.”
“And especially no taking “little” loans from my cash drawer?” He added this with a particular emphasis.
“Yes sir, I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“I hope you are, though I would imagine only your future behavior will tell us that.” She was sniffling, wiping the tears from her eyes. She looked well punished, well corrected for the long line of offenses Geoffrey had named, but oddly she looked incredibly erotic. Her full womanly chest was heaving, as if she were in the act of sex. Her trembling legs and thighs looked as if they were inviting Geoffrey’s attention. I couldn’t believe the picture of arousal she created in my mind. I wondered how aroused I might become after the same zealous treatment. I longed to be standing in her place.
“Now, you can calm yourself in the corner, while I take care of Julia.”
Miss Wills looked at him, the added indignity made her blush bright as her bottom in embarrassment.
“In the corner,” Geoffrey repeated, “or I’ll start again.
Miss Wills quickly scampered for the corner.
“Now Julia, your turn,” Geoffrey said turning his attentions to me.
It took a moment for his statement to register, I was so engaged with Miss Wills intriguing state of “
body.”
“What!” I exclaimed with my eyes widening, when I realized what he meant.
“Your turn Julia,” he stated again.
“I … I … . thought that I was just here to … .”
“Do you really want to wait?” he asked me. I loved looking into his stern eyes, I stared at him for what seemed like hours, though it could only have been a moment or two. I realized that indeed I wanted over his lap, the paddle coming firmly down on my naked ass. But I was scared and speechless.
“No… . . no,” I stammered.
“Up with your skirt,” he ordered, his no nonsense manner taking over, where my fear left me trembling and hesitant.
I waited too long.
“Up with your skirt,” he repeated, this time more sternly.
“I tugged at the hem of my tight skirt, raising it to my waist.”
He looked displeased.
“Next time, no panties, and no panty hose, take them off!”
I blushed embarrassed, this perfect stranger watching as a removed my stockings first and then my panties. A curious, even erotic rush raced though me, remembering all the times I’d fantasized in bed at night this very scene, this very compelling, arousing, fascinating scene, as I stripped myself of the last barriers between my dominant master and my waiting body.
If he was aroused I couldn’t tell. I only hoped he wasn’t aware of the dampness between my legs. I wonder if it had been arousing for Miss Wills too, or just punishment?
Yet he had other things to attend to than my arousal. He grabbed my arm and guided me over his lap, taking great pains to settle me there exactly where he wanted me, so that I could not squirm away. The warmth of his legs while initially comforting, soon became as hard and unyielding as the paddle he was about to wield. I felt it momentarily caressing my rear, it was as smooth as it looked, almost comforting.
SMACK!
The first blow was a rude surprise.
“Yeoow!” I cried. My bottom burned with just one stroke, how could I take more?
SMACK! A second blow landed squarely on the other cheek of my bottom, my twin mounds with twin pains.
SMACK! A third blow landed directly on the first, compounding the sting.
Tales of Pleasure and Pain Page 6