by Monica Belle
‘All clear. Right, stay as you are.’
She heard the faint rasp of his zip and something warm pressed into the crease of her bottom, his cock. He began to explore her, tugging at himself as he stroked and slapped her bottom.
‘I thought you said you weren’t going to make love to me?’
‘I’m not. You must understand the distinction between making love, which we do together, and a fucking, which I do to you. I’m going to fuck you.’
Laura gave a powerful shudder. What he had said might have been drawn straight from one of her favourite fantasies. She pushed her bottom out, her hands still on her head as he began to rub himself between her cheeks and fondle her breasts, amusing himself with her body as he pleased. Her cane welts ached where he was pressed to them, bringing her punishment back to mind as his cock grew slowly stiffer, her fear and the terrible pain, then the bliss that had followed.
‘In we go.’
He had moved his cock lower, still holding one breast as he guided himself deep into her until she felt his balls press to her sex. Taking her by the hips, he began to thrust deep, making her gasp and moan as she thought of what he’d done and what he’d said. She’d been beaten and now she was being fucked, punished and then used, as if she were his property, to do with as he pleased. That was what he wanted, to make her his completely, not in the way most people meant it, as a promise of faith, but completely, his plaything, his slave.
Laura cried out at the thought, now fighting to keep her hands on her head as he pushed into her ever faster and harder. She needed to touch her breasts, her sex if she could, but he had told her to put her hands on her head and there they would stay until he gave his permission to move. Not that he would. He was having far too much fun with her, which made her frustration and denial all the more satisfying as she was brought right up to the edge of orgasm before he came deep inside her. Even then she stayed still, holding herself in place until he was fully finished with her, and after, in the same lewd, available pose as he tidied himself up. At last she could bear it no more.
‘Can I … please can I play with myself?’
He gave a soft chuckle.
‘You want to masturbate?’
‘Please, yes.’
‘Say it.’
Despite her arousal, Laura felt herself colour at his demand, but said it anyway.
‘I want to masturbate.’
He slapped her bottom.
‘Properly, Laura.’
‘Please, Mr Latchley. I want to masturbate.’
‘Hmm … I’m not sure. You’re very sensitive to words, aren’t you?’
‘Yes … yes, Mr Latchley.’
‘OK. Ask permission to rub your cunt.’
‘Oh God. OK … OK … Please, Mr Latchley. I’d like to rub my cunt.’
Her words broke to a sob as she said it and he chuckled, a sound so wicked that she found it easy to imagine herself really being tormented by the devil.
‘Again.’
‘Please, Mr Latchley. I’d like to rub my cunt.’
‘No. I’ll do it for you.’
As he spoke he had taken hold of her, his hand between her legs. Laura gasped as two fingers slid inside her, and his thumb had begun to rub on her anus as he spoke again.
‘Tell me what I’m doing, Laura.’
‘Oh God … Charles, please … you … you’re fingering me. You’ve got your fingers in me. You’ve got your fingers in my cunt.’
‘And?’
‘And … and … I don’t know. Yes I do. You’re touching up my bottom hole, and … and now you’re rubbing me properly, rubbing my cunt, right on my clit, oh God, Charles, your thumb’s up my bottom you dirty pig. You’re rubbing me off … rubbing my cunt off with your thumb up my bottom, you dirty pig, and I’m going to come!’
Laura screamed as her orgasm hit her, scaring the birds from the trees. Charles laughed once more.
17
LAURA AWOKE WITH her head cradled into the crook of Charles’ arm and her mind flooding with bittersweet memories of the night before. They had stayed up late, talking and sharing a bottle of wine before retiring to bed, where he had made love to her with the same affection of their first time the afternoon before and a great deal less haste.
He was still asleep, and Laura made no effort to rise, instead thinking of all the things she had experienced and learnt during their short time together. She had realised so many of her fantasies, and more importantly come to understand them and accept them as part of herself, while it was wonderful to be able to discuss things that had previously been shameful secrets with a man who understood. Never before had she felt so free and yet at the same time so much under a man’s wing.
When she finally got up she didn’t bother to put on the pyjamas she’d brought with her, but went naked to the bathroom. Her welts had faded a little, but some bruising had come up around the lines, slightly spoiling the elegance of the striping that marked her as his. She was still tender as well, something she’d found had made a pleasant addition to sex and served to keep her constantly in mind of her position as a woman subject to discipline from her lover.
Having washed, she went downstairs, intending to make coffee and bring it up to him in bed, only to find his kitchen so meticulous neat that she didn’t dare disturb anything, while she was sure that any attempt she made to use the new and complicated looking coffee machine would only end in disaster. There was orange juice in the fridge and she poured herself a glass, which she took out onto the lawn, enjoying the warm morning sunshine on her bare skin. It was gone eleven, bringing her a trace of regret for the first time that weekend, for the knowledge that in a few hours she would have to go home.
She began to explore the garden, admiring the way Charles had designed it to ensure that the lawn was invisible from all sides and sheltered from the wind, yet able to catch enough sun to be warm and pleasant. He had obviously thought it out in advance, while the bushes were only just tall enough to serve their purpose, presumably having been planted soon after he first moved in. One puzzling feature was a dense shrubbery at the end, where two fields came together to create a sharp angle.
A path led in beneath an archway covered in climbing rose, to a cool, dim passage flecked with sunlight. Intrigued, Laura followed the path, to find a hidden space in which a tall wrought iron structure stood on a concrete plinth, something like an aviary although the size of the door and the heavy padlock holding it shut suggested that it was not intended for birds. She reached out a hand to touch the cool hard metal, sure that it was built as a cage and wondering how it would feel to be locked within.
His voice called from the house and she started back quickly, unsure whether she was supposed to be exploring the deeper recesses of his garden. He was in the kitchen, putting breakfast together, and his eyebrows rose a fraction as he saw her. Laura laughed.
‘Sorry, I almost forgot I was naked. It seems so natural.’
‘Go as you please. The garden is designed for seclusion.’
‘So I see.’
‘Did you find my oubliette?’
‘The cage? Yes. What was that word?’
‘Oubliette, literally a “little forgotten place”, although in this case a little place of forgetting would be more accurate. It’s a French word, meaning a cell, usually underground and with only a hatch in the ceiling through which a prisoner would be lowered and then put out of mind. All very unpleasant, but it amuses me to borrow the names of real horrors, while my purposes are very different.’
‘Would you lock me in there as a punishment?’
‘No. I would lock you in to allow you to forget yourself.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You would, after a few hours, although it’s not easy to explain unless you try it. It’s also the perfect place for a girl to meditate on her behaviour, or to keep you if I need you convenient to hand. Not today though. I want you with me.’
‘I would like to try, but you’re rig
ht. Time seems rather precious.’
‘So it is, but I hope we’ll have plenty together.’
‘As much as I can spare. I need to be back by eight, or nine at the latest.’
‘Then I suggest breakfast and a walk along the cut. We’ll see what the afternoon brings. How do you like your eggs?’
‘Why do I love what I ought to hate?’
Laura had asked the question as they reached the top of the long straight bank. Ahead of them the placid water of the New Cut stretched into the distance, a set of parallel lines vanishing to haze and with not another living soul to be seen. They had walked for miles, talking of this and that, occasionally stopping to kiss or for him to lift Laura’s dress to her neck, exposing her, or for her to briefly take his cock in her hand or mouth, as if they were teenagers and exploring each other for the first time. Twice they had come close to being caught, helping Laura’s mood of mischievous abandon, but as they approached the Cut their conversation had grown more serious. Charles didn’t answer, but began to walk along the arrow straight path as Laura carried on.
‘Because it shouldn’t make sense, should it? I don’t like pain, but I like to be spanked, and as for the cane, I couldn’t believe how much it hurt, but afterwards, that was lovely … a really beautiful experience.’
He treated her to a smile before replying.
‘The scientific answer is that the pain makes your body produce chemicals called endorphins, which cause feelings of well being, even exhilaration. The exhilaration is sexual because it’s your bottom being smacked, which brings the blood to your genitals and stimulates the nerves that supply the area. I suppose the smacking sensation may also be like the way a man’s hips push against your buttocks when you are entered from behind, which would of course have been the normal position for sex for millions of years before we started to do it lying down.’
‘Yes, but why me? Spank most girls and you’ll end up with a knee in your groin, or in court.’
‘Very possibly both. You’re right, of course, it’s mostly in the head, but the way I see it is that you are more in touch with your primitive sexuality than most women. They have allowed social constraints to overcome their natural desires. You haven’t.’
‘True enough. So you’re saying all women should like a good spanking?’
‘I’m saying all women are physically capable of enjoying a spanking. Whether they would be able to accept it mentally is a very different matter.’
‘And the cane?’
‘The cane is far more painful, as you found out yesterday. The principle is the same, but very few women could get past the initial pain.’
‘I couldn’t have done, not without being in the straps, and gagged.’
‘There we are then. Most women, if not all, enjoy their bottoms patted as part of foreplay. Spanking takes that a little further, and the cane further still, but you each have your limits.’
‘Fair enough, I suppose, but what about my sense of embarrassment? I mean, I ought to hate having my knickers pulled down to expose me for punishment, shouldn’t I, and it is deeply embarrassing, but I love it?’
‘That’s rather trickier to answer. Exposure is all to do with social conditioning. It’s natural for women to enjoy sexual display, which is all part of the urge to reproduce, but as we normally wear clothes nudity itself becomes sexual display. Then we’re taught it’s wrong by various idiotic institutions, and so it becomes embarrassing, even humiliating. Why you find that embarrassment exciting I can only guess. Perhaps if being naked is embarrassing then growing aroused when embarrassed gives you a better chance of reproducing?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, the girls who get embarrassed and turned on get fucked, the ones who get embarrassed but don’t get turned on don’t get fucked. No fucking, no babies. But that is just a guess.’
‘It makes sense, I suppose. So how about being helpless?’
‘Perhaps a man who can hold you down is likely to be a better protector and provider than one who can’t?’
‘So it’s all in my genes?’
‘I suspect so, although no doubt your environment has some effect. You were saying that you didn’t want to be spanked before reading about it in a novel?’
‘Pretty much so. It still seems unacceptable, but now I realise it was what I needed all along, or at least, part of what I needed. I always liked my men to be in control.’
‘You’ve come a long way, and much faster than most.’
‘I’m like that, impulsive. But what about you, have you always liked to be in charge, and when did you find out that you got off on spanking girls?’
‘I’ve liked to be in control for as long as I can remember, and I suppose my desire to keep my partners disciplined is part of that. As to getting off on it, show me the man who doesn’t get turned on by having a wriggling, bare-bottomed girl over his lap.’
‘Most men wouldn’t dream of spanking their girlfriends!’
‘More fool them, but I didn’t say anything about spanking, just enjoying a girl’s bare bottom. But the power is intensely erotic as well. Just as you enjoy feeling helpless, so I enjoy having you helpless, whether I’m holding you down, if you’re tied up, or simply because you’re too excited to resist, like last night.’
‘That was nice.’
‘Yes it was. I thought you might appreciate being made to use crude language.’
‘I never do, but it really got to me.’
‘Exactly. Just as with exposure, so with crude language. You find it exciting to break your social conditioning. There are other ways of doing that too.’
‘Such as?’
‘You’ll learn.’
‘You seem to know so much. I like that, but it makes me feel a bit small.’
‘I’m experienced, it’s true, but if I’m to be your mentor that can only be a good thing.’
‘That’s true. How many girls have you trained, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘From scratch? Just two, but I’ve helped many more along the way, and learnt for myself in the process.’
‘How do you get to meet the right girls?’
‘I’ve come to recognise the symptoms, as I did with you, but there are internet sites, and clubs, mainly in London but there’s one in Peterborough.’
‘Will you take me?’
‘Once you are collared, yes. Meanwhile, there’s something that needs attention.’
‘What’s that?’
Charles didn’t bother to reply, but took her by the hand. They had reached a sluice, now closed so that the concrete channel was dry. Laura realised his intention immediately and allowed herself to be helped down out of sight. Nobody had been visible on the bank, leaving them safe for at least several minutes and probably a great deal longer. She made no protest as he peeled her dress up and off to leave her in nothing but her shoes, nor when he turned her to face the sluice gate.
‘Take hold of the frame and stick out your bottom.’
Laura obeyed, setting her feet a little apart and arching her back to give him the best possible view from behind her. He gave a pleased nod, then planted a hard smack on her bottom.
‘Ow! I thought you said I’d only get spanked when I deserved it?’
‘No, you only get punished when you deserve it, but do you really think that calling me a dirty pig is acceptable?’
‘You stuck your thumb up my bottom!’
‘That’s no excuse. Stay as you are.’
‘Yes, Mr Latchley.’
Laura hung her head, her hands gripped tight to the iron frame as her bottom was firmly and methodically smacked, making her already bruised flesh ache and sting. After just twenty slaps he stopped, ordering her to her knees, and fed his cock into her mouth. Laura sucked willingly, her eyes closed in bliss and her hand already between her thighs, revelling in the warmth of her bottom and doing her best to ignore the slight chill in the wind that signalled the approach of evening and the end o
f her time with her lover.
18
WHEN SHE WOKE on the Monday morning, Laura’s first thought was that she would be visiting Charles again the following weekend. Her second thought was that she would be seeing him again within a couple of hours, which produced a sharp thrill. She bounced out of bed and began her morning routine with an energy she hadn’t felt for years. The shower seemed more refreshing, her coffee delivered a better kick, while her enthusiasm infected Smudge so strongly that he was behaving like a puppy.
She had been forbidden to wear knickers until further notice, an instruction that kept her obligation to obey Charles firmly in her mind as she dressed and as she walked to the station. He now came first, before work and before her home life, her feelings for him so strong that she realised she had never really understood what love meant before, while all the unpleasant aspects of her life she had previously struggled so hard to put from her mind now seemed trivial.
The train was full as usual, but she found herself smiling brightly at Hovis Boy and Mr Brown, and avoiding Darcy’s eye just in case he got the wrong idea. When Charles got in she immediately embraced and kissed him, now keen to show that they were together and no longer obliged to pretend she didn’t know him. He returned her affection, even patting her bottom and briefly moving her skirt over her bare skin to check that she was knickerless.
On reaching Cambridge she walked a little way with him before a last kiss, then hurried to work. Even there she felt a new enthusiasm, applying herself to the presentation they were putting together for a Spanish firm with such efficiency that Mr Henderson complimented her on her work. At lunch she was able to give several of her friends a carefully edited version of her weekend, provoking both excitement and envy for her experiences. The inevitable result was that the entire office knew that she was in a new relationship by the end of the day, and she was able to snub Brian and Dave with a new assurance.
Tuesday was better still, as she’d managed to tidy her flat properly and was able to invite Charles back in the evening. Just to be with him felt wonderful; walking the dog, eating and talking together, then christening her cane with two middleweight strokes put across her bottom as she knelt on the bed. They made love twice that night, to leave her with a warm glow in the morning, but also a little tired. It had been after two o’clock before they’d got to sleep, while she had woken early to the feel of her hand being placed on his morning erection.
