nary audience across the way was large in my consciousness, and adding to the delirious humiliation of it all. It was keener than the pain, and more pleasurable. I twisted and grunted, but I was determined to maintain the fantasy that I couldn’t stop this with a safeword, and my punishment would end only when Tom decided.
‘Are you sorry yet?’ he demanded, stopping for a breather. ‘Are you still pretending to hate me?’
‘I hate you even more now,’ I panted, smiling to myself at the reaction I hoped my words would provoke.
‘Oh!’ He tried to sound shocked, but there was clear delight behind it. ‘You little…Well, you know what this calls for.’
I didn’t, but I was soon made aware of it when Tom wrenched my lacy black knickers down to my stocking tops.
‘Bare bottom,’ he gloated. ‘Nice and pink already. Imagine all those people across the road, getting a good eyeful.’
I did, although I think the positioning meant that they wouldn’t see much of it. My face, yes. Tom laying on the strokes, yes. But I could pretend that there were more people, standing by the bed, casting fascinated eyes over my exposed rump and thighs.
‘Right then,’ he said. ‘No more Mr Nice Guy.’
‘Owww!’
It was my first loud exclamation, and I hadn’t been able to suppress it. The stroke was a real stinger, swung from further away and landing with a cracking splat across the middle of both cheeks.
‘Taking me seriously now, are we?’ he said, laying on another, just as hard, directly below. ‘I should think so too.’
I tried every trick I could think of to stave off the safeword. I wriggled and jiggled, I rocked over the ottoman, I kicked up my legs, I bit my arm, I pressed my mouth against the stuffed silk upholstery and howled.
At last, after almost rocking the ottoman on to its side, I conceded.
‘Mia Culpaaaaa,’ I wailed, putting my hands over my bottom to shield it. Unluckily, my fingers caught the final swing of the belt, initiated just before I invoked the word of power.
‘Fuck!’ I hissed, whipping them away and holding them in front of me. They were pink and they throbbed, but I would survive.
‘Sorry,’ cried Tom, throwing down the belt and rushing to kneel in front of me. He seized my fingers and kissed them one by one. ‘God, so sorry, El. I couldn’t stop the stroke…’
‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ I breathed, tears coming to my eyes at such sudden kindness after the onslaught. ‘I know.’ I caught a breath and laughed it out. ‘I feel like a wuss.’
‘Good God, why?’ He stretched his eyes at me, then took my face in his hands and kissed me with all the passion in the world. ‘You were so brave. I kept thinking I ought to stop, but I was waiting for you…’
‘I wanted to impress you,’ I sniffed.
‘Oh, you silly fox,’ he said. ‘Come on. Come and lie down.’
He helped me over to the bed. It reminded me of turning my ankle, that night of the subterranean bar date. Was that really only a few days ago? I couldn’t quite believe it.
I flumped on to the bed on my stomach and lay there, trying to lure cold air on to my bottom by the power of my will while Tom fussed over my hair and kissed my neck. His free hand found my hot, sore skin and he laid his palm flat, absorbing some of its warmth.
‘You could fry an egg on this,’ he observed. ‘It looks amazing though. Proper deep crimson, just like in the…’ He stopped himself.
‘In the what?’ I gave him a crooked look.
‘In the spanking movies,’ he admitted. ‘I have a bit of a habit.’
‘It shows,’ I croaked. ‘You sure seem to know what you’re doing.’
‘Do you think so?’ he said, preening slightly. ‘Perhaps there’s nothing Maria can teach me after all.’
‘Oh, I pity anyone who tries to teach you anything,’ I said.
‘Is it very sore?’ he asked, rubbing my bottom in a way that half-soothed, half-tormented me.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It feels tight. Kind of like sunburn.’