I shiver and let out a little moan as his shiny, smooth hand rubs itself all over my bottom and thighs, grazing the soft inner flesh, taking a few sly pinches that make me jolt, as far as I can.
‘Ready, Sophie?’ he says very quietly.
‘Yes, sir,’ I whisper. I wish I could see him. I feel like one of those hog roasts on a spit – a piece of doomed meat, stripped of all dignity. But I like it. I want it.
I want it even more when Lloyd’s palm falls, stinging but sweet, on my arse. Those gloves soften the blow and give it a sexy edge I haven’t felt before. I want to squirm and offer myself up, higher, more. Give me more. He does.
He spanks firmly and thoroughly until every inch from the bottom of the corset to my stocking tops feels warm and glowy.
‘She likes that,’ says someone in the crowd, knowing I can hear, knowing I am watching them speak. ‘Dirty girl. Bet she’s wet.’
‘She is,’ says one of the people behind me.
I am.
‘Well, that’s nothing new,’ says Lloyd, his hand falling over and over again, speeding up the pace until I start to bite my lip and dig my fingernails into my palms. ‘A spanking always gets this little trollop good and wet. Sometimes I’ve had to fuck her first, so she doesn’t get too excited by it. Anyone else tried that?’
They start swapping topping anecdotes while their submissives blush and flutter their eyelashes. I’d be amused, if Lloyd’s hand wasn’t starting to really hurt. A gasp jerks out of me, then several cries.
He stops, indulges in a bit of chat for a while, leaving me to process the heat and soreness of my arse and lament the fact that my first public spanking is far from over.
The people behind me are sent away again, and a new clique takes their place. They admire my bottom and my juicy pussy while Lloyd taps the paddle upwards from the backs of my thighs, preparing me. I am a little relieved to feel that it isn’t one of those ping-pong bat shaped numbers that wham themselves into the whole of your bum with each stroke, but a slightly wider version of a ruler. It’ll hurt, but not in such a universal and overwhelming way.
The first stroke is mild, but the second is not. I notice the audience cringing in advance of the ruler’s impact and I know it’s going to be hard, so I shut my eyes.
Busted!
They all rat on me in chorus and Lloyd tuts.
I’m too busy trying to absorb the sharpness of the blow to care. It fell right at the curve of my bottom and it throbs.
‘I’m going to let you off that one,’ he says, ‘because it was a little harder than I intended. I seem to have the spanker’s version of an itchy trigger finger. But make sure you keep your eyes open for the rest.’
He manages to keep his paddling arm in check for the remaining strokes, which fall with an even sting across my already warm bum, taking the heat deeper, broadening the pain.
I know that a bigger and bigger crowd is watching my shameful treatment, but somehow that seems to help me take the pain. The encouraging, somewhat wistful smiles on the faces of the submissives remind me that this is what we all love, what we come here for. They all understand the dynamic, which very much lessens the potential humiliation factor. What they see is a girl having a great time with her lover, where someone outside the scene might see a girl being exposed and punished.
The tops are seeing it differently, though – I can tell by their flushed cheeks and cruel smirks. They are enjoying my pain, silently judging Lloyd’s technique, hoping he’ll make me scream, or beg, or cry. I avoid their eyes and focus on the peak-cap domme’s very handsome sub.
Lloyd’s final stroke – a doozy – coincides with my sudden recognition of the handsome sub as the barista from upstairs. He gives me a heart-melting smile of sympathy when I yelp inelegantly and puff out my cheeks.
Lloyd puts down the paddle and rubs my other cheeks all over. The leather is not cool enough to soothe but I don’t care. I want those slick smooth fingers inside me. He fails to oblige, though.
‘Warmed up now?’ he asks me, leaning down over my ear.
‘Yes, sir.’ My voice is syrupy, breathy. I am well on my way.
‘Good.’
He puts a hand on my neck, standing beside me. I can almost make him out in full profile if I strain my eyes.
With his other hand, he beckons the winning domme.
She pats her sub on the head and orders him to behave himself before crossing the floor and taking up her position behind me.
‘Lovely leather,’ I hear her say.
Then Lloyd shifts the spanking bench around one hundred and eighty degrees, so my arse faces the crowd and I am looking up at the domme, watching her stroke the triple tongues of the tawse with blood-red taloned fingers.