by Jaye Peaches
She had asked, but Rick had told her to wait and see. It gave her butterflies in the stomach; she knew it was the promised consequence that awaited her.
The car pulled up on a side street, alongside a row of shops. Opposite, on the corner of the street was a solitary door with a sign about the entrance. It was to this establishment that Rick led her, gripping her hand tightly.
“It won’t be open,” she said, scampering along next to him.
“It will be for us. I know the head barman,” said Rick, ringing the bell.
A middle-aged man appeared, wiping his hands on a tea towel and led them into the nightclub. It wasn’t one Leah had patronised before now. The balding man greeted Rick and handed him the keys. “Just finished cleaning up last night’s mess. It’s all yours, mate, lock up and post the keys back through the letter box. I’ve a spare set. Have fun.” With a chuckle, the man disappeared through a side door.
“I don’t understand,” muttered Leah. All about her were tables and chairs, laid out clean and tidy, ready for the evening’s extravaganza. At one end of the dimly lit room was a small stage for live bands to perform on, at the other a long bar with high stools. It was to one wall that Rick headed. Leaning over the jukebox, he scanned the listing. “Some of your favourites here.”
“Are we going to dance?” asked Leah optimistically.
Rick ignored her request. “Every night this place fills up with punters. My mate, Denis, keeps the place ticking over. He watches from his bar as people have a good time. Most people. Some don’t.” Rick came and perched on the edge of the stage.
“Don’t?” said Leah, creeping forward.
“They think they’re having fun, but really they’re not. They’re making fools of themselves, embarrassing themselves. At the time, they can’t see it, but Denis does. He has to deal with the aftermath sometimes. The broken glasses, the vomit, the fights, and the tears.”
“That’s not me,” said Leah quickly.
“No,” agreed Rick. “Not yet. You came close the other night and you know it. You’re better than these places and you know it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Not me, you,” he said. “I want you to take off your scarf and hat, the boots and your knickers. Then you’re going to bend over the edge of this stage.”
“What! You’re joking!” she exclaimed, trying to contain a half-hearted grin.
“Nope,” said Rick, his face unmoved.
It was only then that Leah noticed what was in his hand. The tea towel, the one that Denis had been using, and it hung down by his leg, looking very damp.
“You’re going to spank me with a wet tea towel?” she said with disbelief.
“I am. Then afterwards, you can pick a tune from the jukebox and we will dance to it, together.” His other hand slipped into his trouser pocket and took out a shilling. He put the coin on the table in front of him. “Well?”
Leah scuffed her boots on the lino flooring; she could see the countless stains of spilt drinks, never to be removed even after a frequent mopping. The club was empty; there was no one else to witness their little performance. The butterflies, which had been fluttering in her stomach ever since they had entered the club, now released their wings and took flight all about her body. They reached her little nub, the shameless sex organ and kissed it alive. Erotically she felt charged with enthusiasm, especially for the dance, but before the tempting reward, he would give his punishment, his verdict on her drunken display, a centre stage spanking for an audience of one.
For the last three days, Leah had been waiting. Occasionally distracted at work, she couldn’t explain to her colleagues the reason for her wandering mind; how could she? How to explain she allowed her chauffeur to spank her; submitted to the humiliation and shame it entailed. The ludicrous idea plagued her and at the same time, she yearned for Rick. The stern expression under his chocolate hair and the way a smile would break out of his stony face, showing his true nature underneath—a man who cared about her deeply.
Nobody had reached inside her and found her before Rick had appeared on her doorstep. Her father, aloof and constantly busy, had sent her to boarding school at the tender age of eight. She didn’t resent his decision; she probably had more fun at school than being alone in a great mansion with no friends nearby. It had left her with a false sense of independence, that she didn’t need anybody to keep her, to be there for her when things went wrong.
She had given that responsibility to Rick: an agreement that was unspoken, unwritten, and almost completely undeclared. He had simply slipped on the mantle as if she had handed an invisible cloak to him and now she could not bear the thought of disappointing him. Looking about the club, the cheap décor, the stink of tobacco, and the peeling wallpaper, she couldn’t believe she frequented these places and saw them as sanctuary from her troubles. Her grief. Daddy had left her, but she wasn’t alone, not really.
Blinking back the tears, she caught Rick’s hazel eyes. Still waiting patiently for her obedience, as he had done since she had refused to get out of bed and he had promised her consequences. This was no heat of the moment punishment; he had thought it through carefully, planning it and making arrangements. He gave her the tiniest smile of encouragement, a little reminder that he would never hurt her and perhaps, and she dearly hoped it were true, he felt something deeper for her, something passionate and romantic.
Slowly, she bent over and began to unzip her leather boots. Peeling them off, she removed her stockings, hat, and scarf and placed them on the table, next to the little shilling. She came to her knickers and paused, looking over to Rick, still resting on the edge of the stage.
“Please, will you take them off?” she asked politely.
Rick smiled and tapped the edge of the stage. “Over here.”
She tiptoed towards the wooden platform and began to lean over. It was sufficiently high that she didn’t have to bend more than ninety degrees and as she bent, her skirt rose up. His fingers slipped off her knickers, letting them slink down her calves and, crouching down, he eased them around her feet.
She could feel his warm breath on the soles of her feet, and a gentle caress of his hand followed, travelling up her legs towards her skirt. He lifted the hem high and out of the way, and once again she bared her bottom for him.
“How wet is the towel?”
“Wet enough,” he said vaguely.
“How many?”
“I think this time, we should see how many you can take,” he said evasively. “Push your bottom out more.” His tone sharpened, as did her breathing.
Her legs wobbled, waiting for the slap of the towel. He flicked it a few times in the air. No more than a foot in length, it twirled itself into a twist of chequered fabric, a mix of blues and whites.
It was a whipping, she realised, as the first few swipes landed on her bottom. The damp towel snapped over her cheeks, landing in quick succession. Rick had quickly mastered the art of flicking the towel with his wrist, as if he was aiming for a smaller object than her butt. It stung terribly, forcing her to hop on her feet.
Tears smarted as he continued to aim at the crease between her upper thigh and buttocks. The noise sounded just like whip, with a swish of air and then a strident snap as it made contact with her beleaguered flesh.
After a dozen, Rick stopped and made an inspection. He rubbed down her cheeks, tempering the furnace that he had lit and then to her incredulity, he slid his finger down, over her little puckered bud and then between her folds and into her slit.
He didn’t comment on her overt wetness, her readiness for something more than a spanking. “Another dozen should do it.”
Now, his intentions confused her. Would it complete the punishment or make her ready for something else? The next twelve jolted her back into the here and now. Shrieking, she wriggled and kicked her legs. Long strands of hair dangled down past her face, sweeping the surface of the stage as she shook her head.
The last flick and rot
ation of his wrist, the final swat of wet fabric whipped across her inflamed rump and then he tossed the towel onto the stage by her head.
“Well done,” he said, “but don’t get up.” His hand nudged her back down and he moved directly behind her. Leah, resuming her humiliating pose, peered down through the strands of hair, noticing her fingers had left clammy prints on the dusty wooden platform.
Breathing rapidly, she heard him move; he had crouched down to inspect her once again. Starting at the base of her spine, steady thumbs traced the curvature of her bottom, slid between her buttocks, carefully parting her, seeking and probing her flaunted pussy. She pictured her pink puffed lips, his thumbs delving between them, separating and examining her wetness, the image framed by two blushed buttocks. Rick emitted a murmur. A deep purr, like a primal sound of delight. Without thinking, Leah clenched, capturing his penetrating thumbs. In response to her reaction, the noise from behind her deepened.
Seeing his actions in her head wasn’t necessary any longer; she could feel the liquid arousal dripping out of her. The seconds ticked by and she could barely stay on her feet as he combined his digital exploration with stroking the heat out of her globes.
Suddenly, Rick lifted his hands off her, rose and helped Leah to her feet, then he turned and picked up the coin. “Go, choose something. The dancing will take your mind off the pain.”
Leah ran her finger down the glass, viewing the options available. Putting the coin in the slot, she punched the number of the song. The Wurlitzer jukebox lit up and the ancient mechanism sounded especially loud in the empty club. Eventually, the needle landed on the record with a startling crackle.
There was the familiar pulse of nothingness as the record rotated and then the guitar started up. The cymbal joined in, followed by the rattle of quiet tambourine.
“Marvin Gaye,” said Rick over her shoulder. “A good choice.” He tugged on her hand, drawing her towards his chest.
His hands perched on her hips, while her own circled his neck. She swayed from side to side in time to the strum of the guitar. She crooned a few words as their feet shuffled to the beat. “Heard it through the grapevine, ooh, I’m just about to lose my mind.”
His face buried in her long hair, and he let out a groan. She knew his resolve was being broken with each line of the song. The small circles they moved in on the meagre dance floor grew tinier and less noticeable, until their feet stopped moving and the kisses began.
As the record ended, he walked her backwards, kissing her lips the whole time, until she bumped into the jukebox. The slanted front of the box was a perfect height. He lifted her up a fraction and she perched her bottom on the cold glass of the display. Her skirt had risen up high, showing her pussy as she opened her legs up wide. Any sense of discomfort in her whipped bottom had been forgotten; she felt only the glass under her cheeks.
His thumbs held apart her labia, seeking out her wet hole and at the same time, she reached for his zipper and released his hardness. Steely and upright, it had been bulging in his pants for some time; she had seen it after the spanking, waiting for her, like her wetness for him. Rick lowered his head between her legs and licked her slit, his tongue lashing up and over her emerging clit.
“Oh, my,” she muttered, leaning back on the jukebox.
His cock now fully exposed, it sprung to attention and he grabbed hold of her hips, aiming the tip for her impatient pussy. With one thrust he speared her and the box rocked slightly on its footings. He rose up on to his toes, lifting his cock up higher into her, hitting her inner belly with his firm erection. His length reached into her core and she grasped the edge of the jukebox for support. What began as gentle thrusts quickly transformed into hard pummels, rocking the jukebox on its casters. The records clattered in their slots and the coins in the box jingled as Rick fucked Leah into oblivion.
She screamed when she came, just like she would do at a pop concert. A release of energy and the orgasm rippled out in a continuous stream of pulses. A rhythmic climax to rival one produced by the jukebox.
Rick did not stop. He grunted, holding her body tight to his as he continued to use her, jerking his pelvis back and forth. Catching his breath, he eased out of her and, taking her arms, pulled her body around so she was bent over the box, her face pressed against the glass.
“Rick?” she said nervously.
“Hold still, beauty. Time to give you a good hard fuck,” said Rick into her ear.
* * *
She looked divine to him. Bent over, legs apart, pussy dripping with juices, and her hair cascading about her flushed face. Her bottom looked barely blemished: the towel had managed to deliver an effective spanking.
It didn’t take any force or effort to penetrate her. He slipped into her hole with ease.
He kissed the back of her neck and below, her dishevelled top had twisted about her torso. He knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits were far too tempting a target, jiggling about as he danced with her and then bouncing up and down as he fucked her. He reached underneath and cupped both shapely small breasts in his hands, giving them a squeeze. Leah gasped and about his cock, she clenched her pussy tighter.
“Good,” he groaned. He squeezed again and she repeated her strangulation of his erection.
He couldn’t help holding her hair. He didn’t pull tight on her long strands; he looped them around his fingers, using the locks to anchor himself to her, to make another connection to her body. She moaned softly as he thrust into her repeatedly, picking up his pace. His balls slapped against her bottom and with each rock of his hips, she made tiny noises. The sweet sounds of a woman in a state of bliss.
Rick paused, holding back, and he gyrated, teasing her sensitive entrance with the tip of his cock. The scent, the musk of sexual fluids, swam about him, overriding the stale tobacco. He nibbled on her neck, nudging the loose strands of hair away with his nose. Such a delicate neck, petite like her waistline, with an obvious pulse in her jugular as it vigorously pumped her blood, increasing her flushed tone and showing her arousal beyond its core.
“Touch yourself,” he sighed into her ear, and then glided back into her.
Her hand reached round and she began to rub frantically, fingers twirling, drawing out another orgasm and she tightened about him as she came, keeping him in her clutches. Bursting with renewed energy, thrusting his shaft to the hilt, Rick continued to hold off the inevitable. He wanted the moment to last forever and he told her to keep touching herself.
Leah slammed her palm down on the jangling machine. “Oh, I… my…” she screeched as she erupted into another orgasm.
Rick couldn’t contain his pleasure, the wondrous sensation in his cock. His lungs felt like they would burst if he continued to fuck her. With a growl and a wheeze, he pumped into her pussy, sending his hot spurts deep inside. Breathing heavily, he rested his hands on her warm buttock cheeks and gave them a squeeze. She made no sound, other than an ebbing sigh.
“Okay?” he said finally, slithering out of her pussy. Leah nodded an affirmation. “Let me get that towel.”
“What?” she squeaked, turning to look at him over her shoulder.
Rick chortled. “To clean you up. What did you think I was going to do with it?”
Leah blushed bright pink.
After she had collected up her clothing and reassembled her appearance, Rick began to turn off the lights. She joined him in the entrance foyer as he selected the correct key for locking up. Smiling at her, he kissed her lips. She tasted gorgeous, still fresh and minty from her morning tooth-brushing.
“Thank you,” he said in a hushed tone.
“No, thank you,” she whispered back.
Chapter Six
One dress was white, quite plain with blue pockets and a small collar, the other floral with puffed sleeves made from chiffon. Leah kept switching between the two as she held them up to herself in the closet mirror. She simply couldn’t make up her mind. Her wardrobe had expanded, not only with homemade clothes, but
with ones she had sent up from London. Since her interest in fashion had taken off, she had to see the latest styles, feel the fabric. Pictures in catalogues didn’t hold the same fascination.
An arm looped around her waist, then a set of teeth nibbled on her earlobe. She giggled, trying to push him off her, but he was insistent and began to kiss her neck with tiny pecks.
“Rick!” she shrilled.
“Mmmmm,” he murmured without stopping.
He had crept up behind her, dressed only in his underpants and she could feel his erection hard against her spine.
“If you will swan around in just your knickers,” he complained jovially.
“Which one, this or that?” She shook the two dresses at him. He waved indiscriminately and she sighed. “I really should make up my mind.”
“Yes, you should,” he said, sniffing her hair.
“About whether I quit Littlewoods and do my own designs…”
“Oh, yes, that too. No rush, my love.” His hands had found her breasts, cupping each one and rolling her nipples back and forth between a finger and thumb. Leah tingled across her bosom, shoved her bottom backwards and tried to shake him off again.
“I haven’t time for this,” she huffed. “I’ve got to get to work.” Turning to face him, she saw the broad grin and heard his low chuckles.
“What?” she said, pushing him in the chest.
“Who would have thought you would be telling me to hurry up in the morning.” His smile dropped away. “Seriously, I’m pleased. These last few weeks, you’ve changed so much. No lateness or getting ridiculous drunk. It’s remarkable.”
“It is all your fault. One whisper of bad behaviour on my part, and you glare at me,” she said, putting the floral dress back and opting for the white one. Facing him again, she had to admire all of his wondrous attributes; even the morning sheen of stubble couldn’t detract from his handsome features. His richly coloured hair, tousled and curling around his face, while neat sinews of muscle framed his physique perfectly. She sometimes had to pinch herself. Rick really was the man she went to bed with every night. He had forsaken the spare room completely and their lives revolved around each other constantly.
