The Boss

by Monica Belle

  He gave a solemn nod.

  ‘A few paces, perhaps. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for causing a crash.’

  ‘How about a few hundred paces, and right in among the trees?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, but I do need somewhere to sit. Hmm, perhaps this pile of logs?’

  ‘You’re not suppose to climb on the log piles, in case they collapse, and anyway, you’ll get pine resin all over your trousers.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.’

  He walked on, but only a little way, stopping where a footpath cut across the track. The stile was perfect, at least for sitting on. He turned to me.

  ‘OK. A little variation this time, I think. Take your knickers down, not off, just to the tops of your thighs.’

  ‘What, here?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I couldn’t help but look sulky as I obeyed him, reaching up under my skirt to push my thumbs into my knickers and lowering them to the tops of my thighs. Nothing was showing, but I felt intensely self-conscious with my bottom bare under my skirt. It was risky too, with every chance that somebody might come by, and if they did they would see me getting my bare bottom warmed. Or so I thought, but Stephen had other ideas.

  ‘Let’s walk a little further, shall we? Leave your knickers as they are.’

  He wagged his finger at me, his face full of amusement at the state he’d put me in. I found myself pulling a face, but there was no denying my rising arousal, and I knew only too well how high he could take me with a little time and a little cruelty. He took my hand and we walked on along the track. I could feel my bare skin moving against the inside of my skirt, keeping me constantly aware of my exposure. My knickers had also begun to work their way down my thighs as I walked, until I was sure they were showing.

  ‘Hang on, Stephen.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘My knickers are falling down!’

  He laughed, his eyes full of mischief, and watched me in open delight as I adjusted myself, pulling my knickers up but not all the way, so my bottom remained bare, the way he wanted me. It was perverse, pure and simple, real dirty old man stuff. Before I could never have imagined myself getting off on it. Now I was already wet and wondering how high he’d take me this time.

  We moved on, deep into the woods. Twice we passed people walking their dogs, both women, and each time we exchanged nods and brief, polite remarks. I was already shaking and sure that anybody else who passed would notice, and guess. We’d crossed the Sariton Road before it happened: an elderly man with an Alsatian appearing around the corner at the exact moment I’d stopped to adjust my knickers for maybe the fifth or sixth time. I was sure he’d seen, and although it was absurd I was equally sure he’d guess what was going on. When we drew level his dog began to sniff around me, putting me into a state of agonising embarrassment. Stephen merely chuckled, but I was fit to burst and found the words tumbling out as soon as the man was safely out of sight.

  ‘I can’t take this. If you’re going to spank me, do it.’

  ‘If you insist.’

  He immediately pulled me towards the trees. They were big pines, fully mature, with a lot of open space beneath their trunks, only thinly grown with ferns. There was nowhere to sit either, and the ground was damp, making Stephen consider.

  ‘Hmm, how awkward. Still, one must always oblige a lady. Hold onto that branch.’

  The one he meant was sticking out from the nearest pine trunk, well above my head height. It was dead and broken off short, with only about half a metre of barkless wood sticking out. I reached up, on tiptoe before I could take hold, and it felt anything but secure, forcing me to brace myself as he came up beside me.

  ‘Perfect, although I do like to feel your body as you lie across my knee. I suppose a little variety won’t do any harm.’

  As he’d spoken he’d pulled up my skirt, tucking it into the waistband along with the tail of my jacket. My bottom was now completely bare, showing behind in a frame of my dishevelled clothing, and very much vulnerable. He began to touch, stroking my skin, and then to spank, slapping upwards to make my cheeks bounce. I clung on, wriggling just a little, my mouth pursed against the stinging pain, mild but very rapidly making my flesh warm.

  I knew there was a chance of being seen too, the path not so very far away between the big trees. I heard the slap of Stephen’s fingers on my cheeks loud in the still evening air, although I was doing my very best not to make too much fuss about it and risk drawing attention to myself. Even then I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be seen or not. The thought was alarming, deeply embarrassing, but compelling too, bringing me all those strange mixed-up feelings that come with a smacked bottom.

  Stephen was simply having fun, enjoying my nudity and enjoying my reaction, but very cool about it, applying accurate, methodical slaps to my quivering bottom even as I wriggled and gasped my way through the punishment. In no time I was hot and ready, not just happy to make myself available to him, but eager, even if he laid me down on the wet ground and took me like that.

  The spanking stopped finally, leaving me glowing and badly in need, too excited even to cover myself, and still clinging to the low branch with my now red bottom pushed out for his attention. Stephen gave his cock a brief squeeze through his trousers, but that was it. He had folded his arms across his chest as he stepped away from the tree.

  ‘Very pretty, and I do like the way you respond, so much emotion. Now, food time.’

  ‘Don’t you want me?’

  ‘Naturally, but the ground is a little wet. I tell you what: you can walk back to the car like that if you like, to keep you in the mood. With your skirt down, that is, unless you’d rather go bare?’

  ‘You are such a bastard, Stephen.’

  He merely chuckled, obviously fully aware of what he was doing to me. The thought of walking all the way back to the car with my red bottom showing was immensely powerful, but just too embarrassing for me to cope with. I pulled my skirt down, but left my knickers as they were, knowing that he’d manipulated me into doing it, and liking it.

  Every step of the way back I was aware of the condition I was in, from the feel of my knickers around my thighs and the heat in my bottom, keeping me in a constant, jittery state of arousal. We passed several people, and I was sure they’d realise how badly I was shaking, or even smell my excitement, making my feelings stronger still. On reaching the car and safety I was filled with as much regret as relief, and I stayed as I was for the journey to Brettenham, which seemed to take minutes.

  Stephen was as cool as ever throughout, chatting casually about this and that, but with the occasional remark thrown in about my spanking to keep me on edge. Even back at the mill he remained calm, even though I was ready to be had on the doormat, merely going to the fridge and extracting a bottle of wine as he spoke.

  ‘How’s your cooking?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t really.’

  ‘Then you must learn. It is the most civilised of skills. I shall show you how to chop garlic. Come here.’

  I came to stand beside him where he had laid out a thick chopping board and a large cook’s knife. There was a string of garlic bulbs hanging above us and he carefully cut one off, explaining as he began to prepare it.

  ‘First, you top and tail the clove, like so, then squeeze gently, which loosens the skin, making it easier to get off. Once the clove is bare, you then slice it as finely as possible, pile up the slices and chop, like this.’

  He demonstrated, holding the knife lengthways across the board by both handle and blade so that he could make little brisk cutting motions, dividing the garlic into tiny pieces.

  ‘You try.’

  I took the knife, and after a couple of false starts managed to get the hang of it. Meanwhile he was washing his hands, and spoke again as he shook the water free.

  ‘Why don’t you do the rest?’

  ‘If you like. What are you going to do?’

&nbs
p; ‘We can’t do anything else until the garlic’s chopped, so I shall have a glass of wine.’

  He’d come close, taking hold of my skirt. I managed a sigh of mock protest, imagining I was about to be taken over the work surface, but he merely tucked everything up as he had before, leaving my bottom bare to the room.

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Pig!’

  ‘Now, now.’

  He chuckled and turned to attend to the wine bottle, opening it and pouring out two large glasses. I was given mine and he took his to the sofa, relaxing back into one corner with his legs crossed as he sipped the wine and watched me work. There was no denying what he was doing to me, but I imagined with mixed feelings a future of doing his cooking and housework while dressed in nothing but a pinny. Barefoot in the kitchen was bad enough, but bare bottom in the kitchen was something else.

  At least it was sexual, and not genuine chauvinism, or not entirely. When he’d had his fill of watching me he came back to the work surface, quickly preparing some tiny onions in a saucepan of hot olive oil, then adding tomatoes and my garlic, all done with precise, fussy movements. I was clearly only there for decoration, so stepped back and tried to lay the table, only to discover that there was a right way to do that as well: his way.

  Dinner was delicious, veal that melted in my mouth and a sauce packed with flavour. I even forgot about the state of arousal he’d put me in but it came back as we lay together on the sofa afterwards, sipping wine as he gently caressed my neck and stroked my hair. So few men are ever patient, always too eager to get started and finished too soon. Not Stephen. He had put some soothing classical music on, the only illumination from the slowly gathering dusk. I let myself slip into a pleasant, erotic haze which he could have taken advantage of at any time, but didn’t.

  In the end it was me who broke the spell, my need simply too strong to hold back. I was cuddled into him, and it was simply more than I could resist not to reach out and ease his fly down, but his hand closed on top of mine before his zip was half open.

  ‘Tut, tut, aren’t we forgetting something?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m more than ready, believe me.’

  ‘No doubt, but a treat is always better if you have to wait for it, don’t you think?’

  ‘Who’s getting the treat here? I was going to give you a suck.’

  ‘A great pleasure, no question, but I want you to learn to look on being allowed to touch me as a privilege, which I assure you will make it far more worthwhile.’

  I really wasn’t having that.

  ‘No way! It’s touching me that’s the privilege, that’s just the way it works.’

  ‘I rather think not.’

  I’d sat up as I spoke, a big mistake. His arm was already around me, and before I could even react I’d been flipped across his legs, bottom up, with his arm tight around my waist. I managed a single squeal of shock and surprise as my skirt was hauled up, he jerked my knickers down with one quick motion and I was being spanked again.

  ‘Ow! Stephen, this isn’t fair!’

  ‘Yes it is. You agreed to be punished, did you not?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . ow! Ow! What about in the . . . ow, woods?’

  ‘Merely an amusing diversion, now do be quiet.’

  Despite myself I shut up, although I was far from quiet as he completed my spanking, applying maybe a couple of hundred firm swats to my bottom, which left me hot and red and blazing with resentment, but more in need than ever. Finally it stopped and he let go, sending me tumbling to the floor, where I sat, kneeling, with my hands back to caress my cheeks and completely unable to stop pouting. Stephen gave his little chuckle as he opened his legs and casually peeled down his fly to extract his cock and balls.

  ‘Now you may have your treat.’

  I called him a bastard even as I leant forward to take him in my mouth, and as I began to suck I was wondering if I would ever be able to come to terms with the way he handled me. Nobody made me feel the way he did, not even Martin. Nobody could make me grovel on my knees, grateful for the privilege of taking his cock in my mouth, not even Steve. Nobody, but nobody, could spank me and shame me and make me like every second of it, except him.

  He knew too, as if he could read my mind, his face set in easy bliss as he watched me suck his penis and lick his balls, all the while stroking my hair and tickling me behind my ears and at the back of my neck. I knew I couldn’t hold back for long. It wasn’t even worth trying. I was already holding my smacked bottom, and more for the pleasure of touching my hot, roughened skin than to soothe myself. In just moments I’d slipped a hand around to the front and down my half-lowered panties, to touch myself.

  Stephen merely gave a knowing chuckle as he saw what I was doing. I didn’t care. I wanted him to know, wanted him to realise what he did to me, how he took me to places I’d never been and could never even have imagined. He was hard, and as I used my tongue and lips and mouth it was true worship, his cock and balls godlike to me as I knelt at his feet, masturbating.

  I thought of how he’d treated me, flipping me over his knee for a punishment spanking, so casually, and I hoped he’d do it again, many times. I thought of how he’d made me work with my red bottom showing to the room and I hoped it would become part of a daily routine. I thought of how he’d made me walk through the woods with my knickers down under my office skirt, and I was hoping he’d make me go like that all day. I thought of how he’d made me cling onto the branch above my head and spanked me in the open where there was a chance of being seen, and I wished we had been seen, not just seen, but watched, with me held tight across his knee as he sat on the stile and spanked my bare bottom in front of half the population of Hockford.

  With that I came, an orgasm so long, so glorious that I seemed to be floating, and all the while sucking on his beautiful cock and holding the image of myself being spanked in public in my head. He came too, just as I was finishing, adding a final perfect touch both to my climax and to my worship.

  That was only the beginning. The rest of the evening and most of the night passed in a golden haze of sex and wine until at last I was drifting towards sleep in a state of blissful exhaustion, still cradled into Stephen’s arms.

  Saturday was much the same, padding naked around his flat, walking in the local woods and beside the river, lunching on the lawn beside the mill, and being kept in a permanent state of sexual readiness. I stayed the night again, now content that it was where I would be living, but decided that I really ought to go home on the Sunday, to give Mum the good news and figure out how I was going to move all my stuff.

  For all his sexual dominance, Stephen was doing his best to be accommodating, only voicing concern when I asked if I could set up my drum kit in his flat. I’d always been banned from keeping it at home, meaning I had to practise in Josie’s garage and pick it up from there when we played. Fortunately, the state Josie’s dad was in most of the time he wouldn’t have noticed if we’d let a bomb off under his chair, and Stephen eventually managed to persuade me it was best to keep things that way.

  Otherwise there wasn’t much I needed. Stephen still didn’t know how I usually dressed, but that wasn’t really a problem, more an excuse for a huge shopping spree, which I could now afford. Mum was going to be delighted about that too, because she’d been expecting me to grow out of my punk phase for years and getting increasingly exasperated when I didn’t.

  I wanted some time to sort things out by myself as well, so I asked Stephen if he’d drop me off and collect me in the late afternoon. He agreed readily enough, and I ended up at home, or rather what had been home for so many years, with the smell of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding drifting from the open kitchen window. Inside, they were getting ready to eat, Mum fussing around, my sisters squabbling over who was sitting where, Steve teasing my baby brother by pretending we were eating roast dog. I immediately felt deeply lonely at the thought of leaving, but I wasn’t given a minute to reflect, Mum immediately thrusting an ove
n cloth into my hands.

  ‘There you are, Felicity, just on time as usual. Could you drain the vegetables, please.’

  I drained the vegetables, helped put out the plates, put some new butter in the dish and finally managed to sit down as Steve began to carve. There was no sign of Archie Feltham, slightly to my surprise, as he was always keen to freeload Mum’s Sunday roasts. Mum seemed a little stressed too, so I posed a careful question.

  ‘No Archie?’

  Her answer left no room for doubt.

  ‘I am no longer seeing Mr Feltham.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘Never mind. I know you didn’t like him anyway. Could you pass the pepper please?’

  I passed the pepper, and waited until the complicated little ritual of getting all the right food on all the right plates had been completed before speaking again.

  ‘I’ve got something very important to tell you. Stephen has asked me to move in with him and I’ve said I will.’

  I could see the mixed emotions on Mum’s face even before she answered.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely. I am glad. He seems such a nice man. He lives in Brettenham, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, in a converted mill. How did you know?’

  ‘We often talk, at Cuatro Cortado.’

  ‘Oh. Anyway, I’m going.’

  Only Mum seemed even vaguely interested, making me feel even more sorry for myself. Steve was doing his best to get his dinner in his mouth, but finally found the time to say something.

  ‘D’you want to borrow the van?’

  ‘No thanks. There’s not really that much I want to take. I’m leaving my drums at Josie’s.’

  ‘Best place for ’em. She wants to see you, got a gig, I think.’

  ‘Oh, right. Where, Hockwold Airbase?’

  ‘Nah, your show was a bit dirty for them. Billy got torn off a right strip. It’s someplace called the Flying Fortress, a club I think.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll go over later.’

  I settled down to eat, now wondering how I should broach the subject of Rubber Dollies with Stephen. He knew I played the drums, he knew I played venues occasionally, but he had no idea of the details. I could hardly see our brand of retro punk gelling with his tastes, but so far at least he’d been tolerant save in his conviction that his opinion was always definitive.