“Oh, God, I’m not sure about this.”
“If you don’t want to—”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll give it a go.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded and leaned towards him, wondering how people generally got themselves into position for a spanking. He helped her out, grabbing her around the waist and tipping her over his lap. He raised one leg, positioning her jeans-clad bottom more prominently. She kept her legs straight, feet on the floor, arms dangling over the other side. It felt remarkably comfortable, almost relaxing. Von Ritter rested one hand loosely on the small of her back while the other spread across her denimed bottom.
“I’m going to make it clear, Lydia,” he said, patting her jeans, “that I don’t stand for lateness. In future, you will arrive on time or expect to be punished. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I didn’t hear that.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, Sir.” Saying the word made her pussy clench. Von Ritter’s thighs were strong and the pressure of his hand on her back had increased, as if he was gearing up, getting ready to strike.
“You will think of this next time you are getting ready for a rehearsal,” he said. “And it will help you with your timing.”
The first smack fell on her tightly stretched jeans. The thickness of the material spared her some of its impact, but it still penetrated her flesh with a shock of pain.
“Ow!” she exclaimed.
“Did you think it wouldn’t hurt?”
“I don’t know. My thinking isn’t working very well at the moment.”
“Well, let’s see if this helps.”
He continued the spanking, keeping the strokes slow and measured, covering all of her bottom methodically, down to the middle of her thighs. The pain was nothing she couldn’t handle, but soon she started to be uncomfortably aware of the warmth, trapped inside her tight jeans, circulating all around her lower regions, especially evident in her cunt, which tingled and throbbed alarmingly.
The denim chafed her pussy lips and her clit, making her want to twist her hips and frig herself on the itchy fabric while von Ritter spanked away. It was one of the most powerfully erotic sensations she had ever experienced.
He must have noticed that she was up to something, because he stayed his hand and nudged her off his lap.
“Take off your jeans,” he ordered.
“Oh…must I?”
“Yes, you must. And if you forget the ‘Sir’ again, I’ll add to your punishment.”
“Sorry, Sir.” She smirked, still finding the word hard to pronounce, and unbuttoned her jeans. The smirk left her face once she started to push them down over her hips and thighs. What a position to be in, undressing in front of the conductor who had just spanked her bottom. Her knickers, once revealed, clung to her and she hoped von Ritter wouldn’t detect the wet patch between her thighs.
The jeans discarded, after some effort, she clasped her hands in front of her and waited meekly for further instruction.
“Back over, please,” he said.
Oh, dear. More to come. She had thought he might have finished with that—just a light introduction, indicative of greater pleasures in prospect.
With a sigh, she draped herself over his lap again. His hand on her cotton knickers felt much more intimate, especially when he moved it down below the elastic, his fingers drifting over her heated skin where her buttocks met her thighs.
The sting when his palm slapped down this time was much increased, and she cried out. What was that word? She said ‘Paganini’ over and over in her mind, fearful of forgetting it, though she wasn’t ready to speak it out loud yet.
Von Ritter peppered her with his palm, increasing in speed so that she barely had time to register one before the next rained down. Soon enough she was jerking and kicking and grabbing at the upholstery, a stream of little cries pouring from her mouth.