Strange man and strange woman looking at my arse, checking it for heat and redness, could it be real? My overthinking head interfered with the scene, refusing to allow me to let go and swim into the fantasy. I could only think of the absurdities and practicalities. I was not in the headspace.
Perhaps if he spanked my bare flesh …
Soon my thoughts were broken up and overwhelmed by the intensity of the pain. Stop, don’t stop, racing through my head in a rhythm that echoed Justin’s swats, small squeals coming thick and fast.
He began to lecture me, and then it happened – then I fell. I was the secretary, being punished, learning her lesson, thinking about how much I deserved this and how determined I was not to let it happen again.
‘I can see by your compliance that you’re starting to feel penitent,’ said Justin. ‘Am I right?’
A low, suffering ‘Yes,’ fell from my lips. I was beginning to jerk right and left across his lap, trying to angle my bottom away from his endlessly descending hand, but my room for manoeuvre was small and I was doomed to failure.
‘I hope that, every time you open and shut that petty cash box, you think about what’s happening today. I don’t want you to be able to handle cash without remembering how sore your bottom was. And remember, we will both be watching you very carefully from now on. Imagine this happening in front of everyone in the company. That will be the next step in the disciplinary procedure.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I panted.
His hand fell for the last time.
‘I hope so,’ he said.
He rubbed my skin, in a slow and thoughtful manner. I remembered that I was incredibly turned on, something I had forgotten amidst the pain, and tried to clamp my thighs tight, hoping I hadn’t given myself away.
His continuing scientific survey of my hot behind did little to help my concealment of this, however, and I almost wanted him to start spanking again, to deflect attention from it.
‘Good,’ he said at last. ‘You’re starting to understand that your actions have consequences. But I’m afraid I’m not finished yet. I have to be satisfied that you have truly learned your lesson first.’
‘I have,’ I said quickly, but he chuckled and patted my rear in an indulgent fashion.
‘Still trying to pull the wool over my eyes?’ he said. ‘No. Go and bend over the arm of the sofa, please. Marianne, can you find me the short leather strap?’
Oh, woe was me as I bent my spine in the recommended pose, gripping the arm for dear life. Stuart had me like this when he used his belt on me. The memory strengthened me, a little something to hang on to.
The sting, once it was imparted to my flesh, was like a sweet reminder. At least, it was for the first few strokes. If I shut my eyes, I could imagine Stuart behind me, flexing that doughty naval forearm, strong fingers gripping the thick leather.
Oh God, I wish you’d come back. You’re the sailor, but it’s me who’s at sea here.
By the fifth or sixth slap of cowhide on girlhide, the sweet memory was fading, replaced by the immediacy of the burn. The heat was penetrating below the protective outer layers of my skin, sending a throbbing alarm call from my arse to the rest of my body. Particularly those that were implicated in sex.
I began to yell with each stroke, losing my grip. What was that word? Mars. No, I didn’t want to use it. Not yet.
Justin gave me twenty then dropped the strap.
‘Not so cocksure now, are we?’ he said. ‘What do you have to say to me now?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whimpered, again. I was a shivering mess, my face pressed into the sofa. It hurt, but it hadn’t hurt enough yet. I needed more. I needed the pain to obliterate me.
‘You’re doing very well,’ said Maz reassuringly. In role or out? I couldn’t tell any more. They were both tormentors, regardless of what act they put on. They wanted to hurt me. They wanted to see me suffer.
I wanted them to see me suffer.
‘Just a little bit more, just to make sure,’ said Justin, and his voice was gentle. ‘We need to finish the job off properly. Marianne, the paddle.’
I didn’t know what to expect, never having felt anything wooden against my buttocks before, but the first stroke soon shook me out of my doubt.
I screamed.
How many of these could I take? Surely no more than three? Unlike the elegant sting of the strap, this packed a brutal punch, settling itself straight down into my deep tissues and staying there. I would be bruised in the morning.
‘Oh my God!’ I yelled. ‘That hurts.’