‘What, sharpening a razor?’
‘No. You know.’
‘I don’t. Enlighten me.’
‘As a thing to, to, hit me with.’
‘Oh. As an instrument of punishment, you mean?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘On your hands?’
‘No, Sir, not my hands.’
‘Where then?
’
‘Uh.’ I put a hand behind me, providing a dumb show I hoped he would pick up on.
‘I’m not a fan of mime, Sarah. Say the word.’
‘On my … bottom,’ I whispered.
‘Oh, I see. That’s what you thought about while you were rubbing my razor strop all over your soaking wet cunt, was it? The way it would feel on your bare bottom?’
The word ‘cunt’ made me quiver with shock, and yet it also made me want to hear it again, in his rich, dark voice, again and again.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Well, now we’ve arrived at the truth of the matter, I have an idea of what I should do with you.’
‘Do you, Sir?’
‘Yes, I do. Bend over the desk, Sarah, with your elbows, yes, like so.’
He pushed my spine into position and moved my arms until they were the optimum width apart. I looked down at the green leather I had so often admired, and the gold-leaf pattern that surrounded it.
Jasper Jay, the famous film director, had his palm on my rump, rubbing at the cotton skirt that covered it, assessing its thinness. His other hand lay heavy on my shoulder, holding me down, steadying me. He had placed the strop across my back, resting it there, as a sort of permanent reminder. Was he really going to use it on me?
‘Let’s see how you take this,’ he said, to himself.
He took his hand from my rear and let me experience a moment of pure anticipation before he brought it cracking back down, hard, across my outthrust buttocks.
It forced a breath from me, but not a cry. It was piquant rather than painful, spicy and peppery, moreish. He knew it, so he gave me more, fed my craving, for another dozen strokes, during which I shut my eyes and gave in to the delirious knowledge that I was having my bottom smacked by the internationally fêted Jasper Jay. Lucky old me.
‘What do you think of the show so far?’ he asked, his hand falling relentlessly.
‘Mm hmm,’ was all I could think of to say to that. I hoped he interpreted it as blanket approval.
‘I’ll take it easy this first time,’ he said, though I was beginning to gasp. ‘But one day, Sarah, when we know each other much better, I promise I’ll make you cry.’
One day when we know each other much better. What did he have in mind? I almost pushed myself up, twisted my head towards him, curious to know more.
But he stopped just then and began lifting my skirt, and all other thoughts rushed away, replaced by the imminent display of my pink lace briefs.
His hand pushed the fabric up my thighs, rippling over the protuberant curve and gathering at my waist. Extra warmth, on top of that which he had spanked into my skin, soaked through the lace when he touched it, then he grazed it with his fingernails and the sparks snapped through me.