‘Oh? What ritual?’
He took out his mobile phone from his pocket and fidgeted with it for a moment.
‘I’ve got a recording of the chimes of Big Ben on here,’ he said. ‘I know it isn’t midnight for another 14 hours, but let’s pretend for a while, shall we? It’s midnight. The old year is ending, the new about to begin. And I’m going to drive all the old, bad stuff out in my own special way.’
I smirked up at him, having an idea of what he might have in mind.
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘Bend over the arm of the sofa, and I’ll show you.’
The arm of the sofa. Where it all began, with Stuart, only a few months before. I snuggled myself into position, legs out straight behind me, a cushion beneath my stomach performing the dual purpose of protecting my abdomen and pushing up my rear end.
‘This is an unusual ritual,’ I said as he flipped up my skirt. ‘I haven’t heard of this one.’
‘I invented it,’ he said. ‘Though I daresay plenty of other secret sadists across the land are doing something pretty similar today. Maybe the entire constituency of MasterMe dot com.’
He was probably right. The sadistic mind did seem to be a highly creative one. He took something from his briefcase which I identified as gym shoe – a large one, size ten at least.
‘The teacher’s weapon of choice, back when I were a lad,’ he said, whacking it down alarmingly so that dust flew up from the armrest beside me. ‘The rubber sole confers a very particular kind of sensation. You’ll see. But first, we need our soundtrack.’
He pushed a button on the phone, then yanked down my knickers to my knees. The dignified chimes boomed out, making me think I was in Westminster, looking up at the iconic clock tower.
‘Out with the old,’ intoned Patrick. ‘Let’s get rid of the doubt
s and the fears that held us back.’
The first stroke. Bong. Thwack. Ouch!
It was perfectly true. There was something about a gym shoe. The rubber burned and sent aftershocks of pain through every fibre of my backside and beyond.
Each stroke was a redefinition of pain, exquisite torture mingling with something more profound – a sense of security, of comfort, even. Despite everything I’d done, I’d never been spanked by someone with an investment in me and our relationship. The feeling that I didn’t have to hang on to every second of sensation in case it was my last was an enormous bonus. This was one spanking, there would be more. This was just one moment among many.
I was home and dry.
Well, not dry exactly …
As the twelfth chime died away and the twelfth stroke of the shoe sank into my burning skin, Patrick reached between my legs.
‘In with the new,’ he whispered and, before I knew it, the condom was on and I was filled.
I rocked to and fro over the arm of the sofa, welcoming his fat, hard cock, spreading my thighs for him, loving the way he slapped up against the warmth of my arse as he thrust.
‘Happy … New … Year, Cherry,’ he grunted, working me hard.
‘Happy New Year, sir,’ I panted in reply.
‘Happy New Year, Chez,’ blurted a worse-for-wear Lou as the countdown began and balloons fell from the ceiling.
‘It will be. And Happy New Year to you.’
As we sang about auld acquaintance being forgot, I thought about Stuart. I hoped he was giving some lucky girl in some faraway port the new year spanking of her life. I thought about Justin and Maz, who were celebrating the season in Australia, getting kinky on the beach. I wished them well. Perhaps we would stay in touch. I thought about His Lordship and that little coterie. Had things been different, I would have been at their masked ball, exhibiting my submission skills. Finally, I thought about Damian. My ghost lover, my might-have-been. I hoped, sincerely, that he would meet his match too, as I had met mine.
And then I cut him loose from my preoccupations, freeing him to find his dream submissive. Auld acquaintance might never be forgot, but this year would be all about new acquaintance.