The Alexandra Series

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “I’m surprised you showed up,” he said.

  “I can’t help myself,” the auburn-haired woman replied. She couldn’t hold her head too high and act too proud, not considering what she was asking. “You will do this for me?” she said with some insistence.

  She had waited a long time to be spanked, and she refused to wait any longer. This man would grant her wish, if she could in the least determine her fate.

  Fate was shining down on her. Destiny catching up with her need.

  “You realize that I’m stern with a paddle, most eager with a strap, and ruthless with the cane. My submissives have no choice but to comply.”

  “I expect nothing less,” she answered, tossing the long auburn hair back over her shoulder. One lock lingered against her black sweater. Her bright lips defined a wide mouth that could grin broadly, though this was not a time for smiles. “I need this,” she added. He sat there looking into her eyes, while he was making his decision.

  He pushed away from his desk and stood up. Opening a cabinet against the wall, he pulled out a heavy wooden paddle and laid it on the desk.

  “I favor the woodshed,” he said formally. His voice was clipped, the attitude reminding her of many years of punishment at the hand of a stern father.

  My cunt warmed just reading these words. That stern father routine was like nothing I’d experienced, but it was everything I’d fantasized about. Was this how I felt about Reggie?

  She nodded at his announcement.

  He took off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. She watched him unbutton the cuffs of his starched white shirt and roll up the sleeves almost to his elbows, with a precision reminiscent of the man that had punished her as a child. She needed this re-enactment, she felt her pounding heart all through her body, especially between her legs, where this curious fascination always played out.

  Picking up the paddle with a steady grip, he motioned the submissive woman to the office door and followed her out. She waited for him in the foyer, not knowing where they would be going, which one of the many doors they would be using to exit the man’s massive home. When he took the lead, she followed him through a narrow hallway and out a swinging back door into the faded evening light. There was a single light burning over the door of an old brown shack at the back of the property. The rickety entrance lent an old-fashioned air to the proceedings, as if the two were turning back the clock to a time when this practice was not so unusual.

  The woman looked the part of some 1940’s youth. Her calf length wool skirt and matching cardigan reminded him of times when he’d taken undisciplined school girls to the shed to encourage more proper behavior. He could only imagine this woman’s crimes, thinking that they had to do with the lewd way he’d seen her sway her round rear end. The conservative clothes were likely just a costume hiding a flagrant brat that smoked and drank and let young men take liberties with her shapely body.

  Her choice of conservative attire was amusing in itself, for her generous bosom was all the more defined in the smooth sweater; and the skirt’s tight fitting style clung to the curves of her hips and gently moving bottom.

  “Remove the skirt,” he told her.

  “Remove it?” she asked, nervously.

  He didn’t honor her question with a response, expecting her to follow instructions, not question them.

  She saw this in his eyes, and unbuttoning the skirt, she lowered it to her feet and then placed it atop the dusty workbench. A satin slip remained making her jiggling bottom all the more observable to his gaze.

  My mind followed the tale easily as if I’d lived though this very act a thousand times. I expected the slip to be dispensed with, but I was wrong.

  “You’ll bend over and grasp the post,” the man informed her, referring to the rough hewn beam in the center of the shed. To hold on to the post required bending over a table that made her rear jut out prominently. She followed his instructions with a pounding heart and her doing crazy flip flops. She leaned in, grabbed the post, and made her buttocks readily available for punishment.

  She felt his hand reach down to pull up her slip, which he tucked into her sweater out of his way. Then he proceeded to lower the yellow panties, the last impediment to a fully exposed rear end.

  Once his eyes had savored the sight of her luscious globes of jiggling flesh, he picked up the paddle, and pushing up the shirt sleeve of his punishment arm, again, he brought his arm back, then leveled the paddle at the center of those quivering cheeks.

  She let out a loud gasp, as the paddle connected with its target.

  Waiting was worth the sensation that resulted. The place of impact burned instantly with a fire that rose like an angry storm. The resulting satisfaction was instantaneous. With the next stroke there was the same response. Each successive smack of the unforgiving wood was laid on in equal measured time, as if a metronome was ticking in the back of his mind. In time, the sensations of pleasure gave way to pain, a horrible pain. The auburn haired woman and her disciplinarian experienced the punishment of by gone days, as if they’d just escaped to that forgotten time. That too was significant, this was a complex passion.

  I stopped reading, needing no more help picturing the moment in my mind, my imagination could take over from this point. I didn’t need the words to capture the feelings in my aroused body and take them to a climax; but there was some satisfaction in reading this woman’s story that so clearly paralleled my own.

  My sexual needs burst, one great raging raw place between my legs demanding relief. I leaned back and fingered myself, jumping in my mind from the auburn haired woman to a creation of my own imagination, to Reggie with his perfectly groomed countenance gazing in judgment at me with those icy blue eyes and a trace of a smirk in the expression on his lips.

  I took a detour in the flight of submissive fantasy to imagine his next punishment turning into a moment of breathtaking climax. I felt his hand with some unplanned affection bringing me to orgasm in measured strokes, as controlled as the painful punishment that brought me to the edge.

  With thoughts and desires raging madly through me, I came quickly, but lingered long, until I drifted away mindlessly, letting my body please my mind and soul.

  Chapter Six

  To find Reggie at my door for the second time in as many days was astounding to me. I suspected he might schedule our next rendezvous before the weekend was over; though I was not altogether pleased that I’d be punished again so soon. The ass cheeks he’d prevailed upon so well the morning before were still tender. In a couple of places there were faint marks from the cane; though it had been a surprise to me that a day later there was so little evidence of the punishment.

  Funny, my first thought on seeing him at my door again . . .” Does he ever show dirt? The crazy question dashed through my fevered brain as his handsome appearance shocked me one more time.

  “Good,” I’m glad you’re expecting me,” he announced when he saw me on the other side of the door. No other introduction seemed necessary.

  “Was I expecting you?” I said.

  “You didn’t go anywhere, did you?”

  “Do I usually Sunday night?” I snapped sarcastically.

  “You want to snap at me, I’ll make this personal,” he warned. There was a familiar twitch in his jaw, showing displeasure with my flippancy.

  “I already thought it was personal,” I answered, maintaining my jaunty tone of voice. It gave me some measure of control not being too submissive at the start; though I could see by Reggie’s expression that I’d better not push too hard.

  “You’re going to have me here?” I asked, as he walked past me into my living room with a purposeful air in his stride.

  He didn’t answer, but set down an overnight bag on the carpet. I assumed he didn’t plan to spend the night, and I watched him curiously as he opened the zipper, and withdrew some sophisticated video recording equipment.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “A little something
for posterity.”

  “You’re not going to record this?”

  He looked up at me and smiled. “You should find the possibilities intriguing, given your appetite for good lusty theatre.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” I’d imagined him putting me through many trials, but never this!

  “That’s my concern, Alexandra, not yours.”

  He was careful with his task, setting up the tripod, fixing the camera to it, and then toying with the focus and lighting, so that it was exactly what he wanted.

  “Go put on a garter belt, stockings and some slutty bra,” he ordered me, as if he suddenly found my peering eyes annoying. He waved me off with his hand while he continued to adjust the complex looking camera.

  I knew how to dress for him, though I wondered what else I was dressing for, how many other eyes would see me receive whatever punishment he had in store for me. I hated the fact that this was arousing me.

  Being photographed in sexual positions was one turn-on that Will and I enjoyed. He’d made several movies of me, and had taken dozens of pictures. But never had he photographed me in any stage of punishment—likely because he never punished me, not in the way Reggie did.

  I found a rose colored bra, garter belt and stockings. Vain as I am, I wanted to look good for the video recording. A pair of beige spike heels, a little fresh make-up, and I looked like some man’s wet dream, even though I was horribly self conscious. Not that Reggie hadn’t seen me in all states of dress and undress, not that he hadn’t previously orchestrated all kinds of sexual exploits for me as his submissive; this was something altogether different with my reddened rear about to become the focal point for another kind of pornographic movie.

  When I returned to the living room, he looked up at me, and smiled vaguely.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to instruct you how to dress. At least that’s something you didn’t forget how to do.” He stared at my crotch. There were no panties to hide me, just the few wisps of pubic hair trimmed into a neat triangle.

  “You taught me well,” I answered politely.

  He chuckled. “Seems I taught you only what you wanted to learn,” he answered back. Though he didn’t sound sarcastic, the dig was obvious.

  “Maybe you should charge admission,” I suggested lightly, observing the way he tinkered with his equipment.

  “You’re having a problem with this, aren’t you?”

  “No more than usual, maybe I’m just more vocal about it. I was a much more cowering submissive four years ago.”

  “You’re more bratty now, yes, and hardly submissive at all.”

  It was strange to hear him use the adjective ‘bratty’ to describe me. It sounded parental and condescending, and all I could think of was the story I’d read. Reggie was the ‘hired’ disciplinarian; and I the auburn haired woman in the story, finding myself aroused by the whole damned scene.

  “I don’t ever remember you calling me bratty,” I said.

  “Fits, doesn’t it? Go stand by your couch. And move for me a little.”

  I obliged him, finding myself in front of the video camera, thinking actress, thinking what kind of performance I was going to give. It was potentially intriguing, even though I was still worrying over who this video was for.

  When he was finished with the set-up, I knew the camera was rolling, hearing a soft whirring sound in the background. He put himself into the picture, joining me at the couch, sitting down comfortably so that the camera was at a forty five degree angle to us. There was something very purposeful about the placement of the camera and the couch.

  He stared up at me as I waited for his next instruction.

  “You forgot the hairbrush,” he said, sounding annoyed.

  I shook my head puzzled, because that command hadn’t been given, but I took it as an order and went back to my bedroom to find what he wanted.

  The old-fashioned mode of punishment intrigued me – the thought of his taking me over his lap again, this time with a hairbrush in hand. It was quaint.

  However, it wouldn’t feel quaint at all once he got started. Taking the hairbrush from me, he pulled me down with an efficient motion, and had me with my bare behind high, wiggling and ready for him to begin. The first crack of the brush left me breathless, and the dozen stinging swats that followed were equally intense. In seconds, a significant burn was flaming its way all across my ass end. Then the hairbrush was flying everywhere, smack after smack creating the nastiest pain.

  “I thought you decided this was too mundane for me!” I exclaimed when he finally paused. I recalled his words to Mr. Winningham, when he took me to his shop and introduced me to the toys I thought would define my punishment.

  “I lied,” he said. He immediately began again, the fierce thing making its way across my rear cheeks with a terrifying zeal. With smack after smack, I wiggled and squirmed, and wailed nonsensical things into the air. To deliberately protest was clearly out of line. I was learning that lesson, or at least trying to.

  Reggie seemed to center the spanking on the fleshiest part of my rear, but he was not beyond letting the hairbrush slip, laying several sharp smacks on the base of my rear and my upper thighs. I howled miserably when he hit those tender places. And at one point, I tried to get off his lap, raising the silliest full scale protest. I was reminded that Reggie was a lot stronger man than he looks behind all those perfectly starched clothes. Feeling the muscles in the arm that held me fast, their steely strength assured me I was going nowhere. I must have looked like a silly child, flailing myself the way I did. And to my further anguish, the awareness of his physical strength only stimulated me sexually in the midst of the dreadful pain.

  When he suddenly stopped and pushed me off his lap, he looked at me with the same cruel coldness I’d often seen from him.

  “Your brattiness exceeds your charm, Alexandra. You say you want this but your protests make me wonder. We’ll see how much you want what’s ahead.”

  I wanted to cry, and it probably showed it.

  “Careful of the theatrics,” he warned. “They only inspire me to greater heights of creativity.” His smirk was devastating. As I listened, I remembered that this was all on film, my humiliation, my red burning bottom and the expression of helpless chagrin that was likely blazoned across my face. I hardly needed to ‘act’ the part of bratty punished submissive.

  He pushed my face to the floor. “Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

  “But…” I started to protest, even as I tasted my prickly carpet.

  “Hush,” he retorted. His hand at my waist felt like steel.

  I adjusted myself to the position with my head and shoulders pressed against the hard surface, and my reddened rear cheeks raised high and facing the whirring camera. The heart of my most private place was now being filmed in all its flaming glory for God knows who!

  The worst part of the position was my hands clasped behind me and held together by Reggie’s firm grasp. I was as bound as I would be if he’d used ropes to tie me.

  The leather spanker, I assume the one he used on me in his office, replaced the hairbrush as the instrument of my punishment. Sitting on the couch, Reggie leaned in and laid a bevy of ruthless smacks on my stretched tight rear. The center of my bottom, that had for a moment calmed to a soothing warmth, was now flaming again from the wicked burn. The fierce punishment became one long rude roar of stinging pain that swept through me like a forest fire.

  When he stopped for a moment, the pause was such a sweet relief, I wanted to bask in a sudden pleasant feeling that was replacing the pain. Unconsciously, I swayed my ass for Reg and the camera.

  “You’re so ripe for this kind of thing, Alexandra. You never cease to amaze me.” His hand replacing the paddle, firmly kneading my sore ass cheeks. I replied by wiggling my bottom, thrusting it high to signify my approval of the vigorous fondling. Instead of continuing with the massage, however, Reggie picked up the leather spanker again, and began to wail on me with yet another ro
und of smacks. He spent some moments on my thighs, while I roared with a noisy string of four letter words.

  From mid-thigh to where my legs and ass joined became the target for a good dozen strikes. I wanted to collapse into the carpet to get away from them, but he pulled me up with his hand and barked some command, which I didn’t really hear, though I clearly understood his displeasure. Then he came down only harder against the sore stinging flesh.

  “Please NOOOOOOOO!” I wailed at last, the first really clear protest of the session.

  “Don’t like this?”

  “NOOOOOOO!” I repeated my angry cry.

  “Then remember who you’re doing this for, Alexandra,” he retorted nastily. The spanker walloped me again and again, though he’d changed his aim and was coming down again on the center of my bottom. I was exhausted and crying, tears dampening the carpet.

  All was quiet once he finally finished. I remained in my awkward posture, waiting for him to do something, but I wasn’t really thinking of anything at all but my blazing bottom. I came to, realizing that Reggie wasn’t on the sofa anymore. The whirring of the camera had stopped, and there was a chilling silence. Assuming that the punishment was over, that whatever he chose to record was complete, I waited for him to give me some kind of instruction.

  I expected him to leave swiftly; Reggie’s abrupt changes could be called his trademark. With a wealth of raw, prickly, agitating energy gnawing at me, I’d be left to feel the after effects of the punishment with nowhere to find relief but by my own hand. For the moment, I tried to ignore the sexual warmth that was descending through me in powerful waves, but that was impossible. I knew Reggie could sense my anguish, and that gave him power over me. Still I could do nothing to inhibit what my body so dearly desired.

  I expected him to grab up his camera and walk out the door. But then he shocked me, pulling me up by my locked hands. With a much more tenderness than I ever expected, he guided me to my knees and then to my feet. Holding my hands from behind, he walked me to the bedroom, his body so close that I could feel the rustle of his shirt and the soft silky feel of his pants.