Her Stern Gentleman

by Tabitha Rayne

  Lizzie is utterly gone. Her clit is aching and buzzing, surging with the need to come; he’s been pounding her harder than he ever has before and she is beyond thrilled at this connection. She would reach to her clit but she doesn’t; she feels it’s important. He’s kneading her ass with his mighty baker’s hands just the way she’s always dreamed he would and she can hear the thump and blow of the dough in her mind. It is perfect. It is exquisite, and as he pushes in as deep as she’s ever felt and pauses, she could cry with emotion and love. He releases her ass and she can only imagine how red it must be. She hopes there will be bruising. She hopes it will ache to sit down for days. Just as she’s lost in her sweet achy daydream, he grasps her hair in a bunch at her nape and lifts her head back even further. It is uncomfortable but erotically so. With the other hand, he finally reaches round and thrums between her swollen lips, spreading her juices around her slick curls finding her peaking clitoris. He rubs hard and noises are coming from her stretched throat. She’s whimpering and groaning and becoming that place, that place of sheer pleasure as his fingers and buried cock work their magic on her desperate cunt.

  “Yes. Yes,” she grunts as he begins to fuck her again, thrusting hard, holding on tight to her hair and clit, and she’s building and building, the crest of the wave, the event horizon. She hits the stillness and hangs there; it could be eternity, the silence and stillness. The Zen of it all. No breath or noise, just suspension. Just as she lets herself fall off the edge and into the sweet oblivion of orgasm, he leans in close and whispers in her ear:

  “You’re mine, Lizzie. Only mine.”

  The shudder that races through her entire body only enhances the blast that over takes her. She comes and comes, hot wet seas engulf them both, pouring from her heart, soul, and cunt in the heat of the moment. He holds her tight on the end of his cock and lets her writhe and spasm until with a few bucks of his hips he finds his own pleasure deep inside her.

  * * *

  As they lie together she doesn’t roll away. He traces a fingertip down her shoulder and arm, astonished at how it is still warm. She hasn’t run to put on bed socks or smacked his hand away declaring he raises cold goosebumps when he touches her like that. She’s creating her own heat. She still has his softening cock held in her pussy. He doesn’t want to let it slip out and pushes his pelvis up against her buttocks. She seems to understand and pushes back, squeezing her muscles gently around him, trying to keep him inside.

  “I love you, Lizzie,” he says into her hair. They’ve done something here. They’ve fixed something. He’s still unsure of what he feels about the method—yes, his body is fine with it, it’s just his mind that has to catch up. When he thinks of her with her own wet fragrant knickers stuffed in her mouth, he begins to feel a little better. She’s such a strong opinionated woman; it may take him a while to get his head around this need of hers to be dominated.

  He thinks again of the scene in the poker room, the spread of dampness in the silk crotch. It is an erotic image that will stay with him forever.

  “Lizzie?”

  “Yes?” she says in a sleepy voice.

  “Do you own any peach-coloured silk panties?”

  “No!”

  Her body tenses and he is sure he feels her cool, she’s just about to pull away from him but he grabs her tight around the waist and hips, holding her still. Realisation sweeps through him. His heart is racing and every muscle is on alert. He takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose into the hair behind her ear. Her body is suddenly rigid and he feels something new begin to dissipate. He pulls her in even tighter.

  “Then we must get you some…” he purrs and after a few seconds of what he assumes is uncertainty, her body goes limp in his arms.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  The tell-tale quiver of a sob escaping has his heart melting for her.

  “I think you would suit them.” He nuzzles deep into her hairline, hoping the relaxation of her muscles extend to her mind. “I really do love you, Lizzie. This is a new start for us.”

  * * *

  Tears spill down Lizzie’s cheeks as she turns and rolls into her husband’s chest; the juices of their lovemaking trickle out onto the bed but for once she doesn’t jump away to repel their cooling spread.

  “I hope so, James,” she says before burying her head into him and sobbing. She knows he knows. She also knows he knows she knows. Does he forgive her? Would she forgive him? She doesn’t know. All she does know is that she has never felt more full of love for this man in her life. She knows now, this is a man she never wants to let go of. This is a man she wants to be with and submit to for the rest of her life.

  She also knows that for the first time in a very, very long time, she feels truly warm from the inside out.

  * * *

  As the huge ship pulls into the dock, the buzz of excitement surrounding everyone waiting to disembark is palpable.

  James and Lizzie walked down the gangway arm in arm, warmth in warmth toward their new adventure together. Lizzie pauses once to look back at the row of sailors watching the passengers leave. She catches the eye of her sailor for the briefest of moments and he smiles and tips his hat.

  She clutches James’ arm a little tighter and squeezes her thighs together a little as she walks. She is grateful. Grateful for the sailor, grateful for this new adventure, but most of all, she is grateful for her husband. The truest gentleman of all.

  She basks in the glow of her silk petticoat skimming across her hot bruised buttocks. James, it seems, is very quick to learn.

  Chapter Seven

  Lizzie can’t believe how she’s changed—grown under the gaze of a strong-handed man and a vibrant noisy city. Montreal is everything she thought she hated—a city full of busy people, clashing colours, and billboards advertising drinks and a better life with garish neon. She’s amazed to find herself invigorated by the hustle and bustle. She walks with a sway to her hips on the arm of her man who now has a certain swagger as they sashay into the jazz clubs to hear sultry renditions of ‘Summertime’ and ‘Mack The Knife.’

  They have rented a small apartment right in the hub of the city overlooking busy traffic and neon-signed bars where they fuck hard every night until Lizzie’s hair is plastered to her forehead and cheeks, and her bottom is red and ringing out with heat and pleasure. She can barely believe this new world they live in. They don’t speak of it too much but they both know this carefree existence is nearing a close—James has been enquiring at bakeries and Lizzie has tentatively pushed letters through the doors of dingy-looking offices to speak of her secretarial skills. She’d earned a Pitman award for shorthand and hoped that it would get her some work somewhere.

  There was a little confusion over how long they would be able to work here but she left all that to James now. He would keep them right.

  So tonight is the last Friday night they will be able to dance until dawn in complete abandon with no worry about work on Monday—they had spread out their money well and calculated they had enough for one more big blowout. Lizzie is excited. She’s bought magazines on how to apply makeup and even how to shave her legs like the movie stars do. She’s sitting in the bath with James’ day razor. She doesn’t think a straight razor would be a good idea at all. The worn nub of shaving soap sits on the edge of the enamelled tub and she rubs it vigorously up and down to raise the lather. Something about the action sends a shrill of sensation through her chest and down to her abdomen, nestling nicely in her pussy. Baths have always been the one place she feels her reptilian tendencies ease away. Usually it would be to heat her up, ready for sex but today she is alone, getting ready for her date with her husband later tonight. He’s popped out for a few hours, giving her the time to luxuriate in her ablutions. She didn’t ask him where he was going—residual guilt about what happened on the ship makes her feel he is entitled to his secrets.

  Lizzie gives the brush one last twirl over the phallic-shaped soap and licks her lips. Lifting her right
leg out of the water, she rests it on the side of the bath, admiring her ankles as she points her toe. She’s always known she has pretty legs, her mother had told her long ago and she’d been pleased to please her in such a way.

  Lizzie rubs the foamy bristles onto her shin; it feels velvety and naughty somehow, like she’s a girl doing a grownup thing. As she drags James’ razor carving a path through the suds, she wonders what he’ll think of it. When red spreads through the foam, Lizzie’s stomach lurches and her hand trembles. Dropping the razor, she dips her leg into the bath and swooshes off the soap. She hadn’t felt anything but now that she’s lifting her leg back out to inspect the damage, an almighty stinging has her clenching her teeth and yelping.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” she mutters as she sees a ribbon of red all the way up her shinbone. “Pretty sight I’ll look tonight.” She abandons the razor and pulls out the plug while she hops out of the bath grabbing the first towel she can find. In seconds she is standing in a pool of blood and bubbles and she cannot fathom how so much of it can be produced by such a shallow graze.

  She winces as she wraps her leg in the towel, pressing it hard to stop the flow. Usually, she doesn’t bleed heavily at all. She wonders about this and makes the assumption that her blood vessels are dilated and close to the surface from the hot water. She begins to breathe easier, knowing that the injury is surely not as serious as it is giving the impression of being.

  “Bloody magazine,” she says, kicking it as she limps past to the bed. The sun is shining and she basks in its glory as she lies down onto the sheets, being sure to hang her leg over the edge. She’s naked and delighted to be. Opening her legs to the sun, she’s confident that nobody can see her in this top floor apartment but not so sure she’d mind terribly if they could anyway. A new Lizzie has emerged, carefree and ready to embrace life and all the wonderful experiences it has to offer.

  She’s deliberately left the door unlocked. It had been a mistake the other day, she’d simply forgotten but James had been livid. Lizzie lets her eyes flutter shut as she remembers the punishment for her crime…

  “Lizzie, Lizzie?” His voice is gruff and she starts, dropping the rolling pin and spilling the flour too.

  “Yes?” She turns and goes to him, twisting her dough-clad fingers into her apron. “Everything ok?” Her heart is hammering in her breast as his look becomes more thunderous.

  “No, everything bloody well is not ok, Lizzie.”

  Instinctively she reaches to him, wondering if he’s been involved in an accident or lost the last of their money in a damn poker game. He grabs her wrist and marches her to the front door, which is wide open.

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice is meek but it begins to dawn on her when she sees the keys dangling from his index finger.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, it slipped my mind.” Sir, she knows he loves it when she calls him that. She loves it too. To think she might be in trouble gives her a delicious thrill down her spine.

  “Lizzie, it simply is not good enough. This is not our quaint little village in England. There are gangs and hoodlums out there.”

  Lizzy almost snorts out a nervous giggle at his use of hoodlums—what a word! He senses it and grips her wrist tighter.

  “This is no laughing matter, Elizabeth. I gave you one simple instruction and you chose to ignore it. I am extremely displeased.”

  Lizzie twists against his tightening fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulls the door shut with a bang, making her wince.

  “I think I ought to teach you a lesson about deliberately disobeying orders.”

  Lizzie is burning up inside. Emotions and thoughts rage against each other—she’s humiliated at being so chastised over nothing. She feels her temper rise but also her excitement.

  “I just forgot, I’m sorry,” she says, tottering after him as he pulls her to the kitchen area and turns to face her.

  “Take off that filthy apron and wash your hands.”

  Lizzie is trembling as she reaches being her back to untie the knots. Her nerves have her fumbling and his look is incredulous, all dark eyebrows and black pupils. Turning to the sink to wash, she hears a chair being dragged across the lino; the squeal makes her shudder.

  When her hands are dry, she turns to see him sitting on the kitchen chair with his knees slightly spread and his feet planted firmly on the floor. He pats his thigh and stares at her with such intensity, she makes no mistake about her instruction.

  She’s trembling as she leans over his lap, lowering until she is draped across him. The chair creaks at holding the weight of them both. The air around them is buzzing with anticipation and Lizzie can barely tell if she is breathing or not.

  Silence seems to roar through the space between them and Lizzie is relieved when he lifts her skirt; the ruching sound of her petticoats breaks the strange static spell and she breathes in hard.

  James places a hand over her buttocks and just leaves it there. Lizzie is thrown off guard again. She was anticipating the strike and is still tense. “You need to relax, Lizzie. Tightening up will not make it any easier.” His voice has softened to almost buttery tones. Oh, he’s enjoying playing with her like this, she can tell. Will he remover her knickers or not? She’s not sure which she would prefer. A bare-bottom spanking—so deliciously naughty. When his fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, a thrill runs up her spine. He tugs them down to just below the join of her buttocks and thighs—how terribly undignified, she thinks, and blushes.

  She breathes out, taking her awareness into her muscles, trying to release them one by one. Blood is flowing to her head, making her feel quite strange and giddy.

  As soon as she lets the tension in her bottom go, the strikes come. Three times gently in quick succession, gaining in strength. He pauses for a second then continues, a rhythm develops, smack, smack, smack, his palm roams across her flesh making sure no spot is left unattended. Harder and harder the spanking gets until she is rocking forward on his knees with each blow. It is intense and the heat and pain penetrate deep into the muscles of her ass, biting and searing into her very being. She breathes more deeply, trying to concentrate on experiencing the pain as a different sensation.

  Smack, smack, smack, it really is stinging now and Lizzie is using all her effort to keep still and calm. She can feel a battle inside her. The acquiescent Lizzie who wants to be subservient to her master, versus the dominant Lizzie who could rise and slap his face for humiliating her so. She knows she is at a tipping point and if she can just free that part of her and let it go, she could truly become this moment.

  “Are you sorry for disobeying me, Lizzie?” he says, not breaking rhythm.

  Her flesh is ringing out with pain and that battle is currently being won by the other Lizzie who wants to say, “No, I’m not fucking sorry, I’m not!” but a particularly hard spank just at the point where her right buttock meets her thigh has that Lizzie banished.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wails, her body liquefying as she lets go and submits fully to her husband.

  “Good,” he says, and the spanking stops and he just holds his palm flat onto her flesh. She is racked with disappointment. She was on the brink of something, she’d finally let go and he’s stopping. Other Lizzie threatens to return but he speaks again.

  “Yes, that is good, Lizzie, and I believe you, but I’m going to give you ten more hard spanks just to make sure. I suggest you prepare yourself because I want to make them count. Are you ready?”

  Lizzie is aglow. He knows her, he must feel this internal struggle she has! She is so in love right now at this moment.

  He leans down and growls words softly in her ear. “I asked if you are ready, Lizzie.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I’m ready,” she says, panting through her dishevelled hair that is plastered over her sweat-streaked face. She hadn’t realised how hot she is.

  “Good.”

  Cool air flits across her buttocks as he removes his hand and hovers it above her.
She almost clenches but manages to get back into that place of calm just before the first smack comes.

  “One.”

  She is rocked to her core.

  “Two.”

  A piece of her fragments off and she sags into his thighs.

  “Three.”

  Lizzie can barely hear his voice now; the next blows seem to come from far away.

  “Four, five, six…”

  Lizzie is gone. She feels as though she is in another realm. Her body is being thrashed but her spirit is soaring.

  “Seven, eight, nine.”

  She is euphoric. There is a suspension of time and place, everything stills in anticipation for the final blow.

  “Ten.”

  Lizzie feels like she has burst through something. She can feel James soothing her behind as she slowly returns back into the here and now, back into her body.

  Her flesh is burning; her ass feels like it truly is on fire. She feels James breathe onto her bottom, trying to cool it down.

  He uses his other hand to lift her head and pull her hair away from her face. She realises it isn’t sweat sticking her hair to her cheeks, it’s tears. She’s been crying this whole time. But she knows it’s not sorrow, it’s utter joy.

  “There, there my love,” James soothes and keeps caressing her body, easing her up and off his knee. He stands and pulls her into his arms, lifting her off her feet and carrying her through to the bed where he lays her gently down.

  She feels like she is floating through time and space. Every place he touches her skin, stars of sensation burst and pop sending thrills through every nerve ending.

  “I love you, Lizzie.” His face closes in on hers, kissing her gently on the forehead.

  “I love you too,” she replies, feeling deep warmth from the pit of her soul.

  “Will you do as I say now, Lizzie?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She smiles.