Читать книгу Shadow Lane Volume 4: The Chronicles of Random Point, Spanking, Sex, B&D and Anal Eroticism in a Small New England Village - Eve Howard - Страница 6
ОглавлениеChapter One Miss Oliver (A Retrospective Random Point Story)
One Friday afternoon in the early autumn of 1958, sunny Miss Oliver, who taught first grade at The Crescent Elementary school in Random Point, Massachusetts, was walking towards the teachers’ lounge with the amiable Mr. Johanson, who taught sixth grade, when both were witness to a small scene in the second floor corridor involving the strict, third grade teacher Miss Kranz and two of her female pupils. The little girls hugged the corridor wall, looking up at Miss Kranz with abject terror as she took turns shaking them by the shoulders and demanding to know what they meant by spitting at each other in her classroom.
“But we were just saying ‘petunia,’” one of the children tried to explain.
“Never mind that, you’re both disgusting!” accused the very thin and stylish Miss Kranz.
It upset Miss Oliver to see a child scolded, no less manhandled, and she averted her gaze. But Mr. Johanson gave Miss Oliver a long, hard look, as they passed, not bothering to conceal his disapproval of her manner.
“I want you to put your tablets on my desk, girls. I’m writing you both notes home,” said Miss Kranz to the trembling children.
“Yes, Miss Kranz,” the two frightened girls replied and ran back into their classroom.
Once they were well beyond the classroom of Miss Kranz, Mr. Johanson scowled, “What makes that girl so mean?”
“Do you think she’s really mean?” Miss Oliver didn’t like to think badly of anyone.
“One of those little girls’ father has an awful temper and will probably spank her tonight when she gives him that note to sign.”
Miss Oliver felt a queer little thrill ripple through her core when Mr. Johanson mentioned spanking. She’d felt the sensation before, particularly while watching certain episodes of I Love Lucy and Wagon Train, and was certain that her own interest in the subject of spanking was naughty and possibly not to be shared with anyone. (Unless they brought it up first, as Mr. Johanson had.)
“Don’t you approve of spanking, Mr. Johanson?” Miss Oliver asked daringly.
“Oh, enthusiastically, but only for adults,” he replied, thinking how badly Miss Kranz needed one.
“I’d love to see you spank that naughty Miss Kranz!” Miss Oliver giggled, accepting a cup of tea, which Mr. Johanson prepared for her in the lounge. “You’d probably do a very good job with those strong, pianist’s hands,” she added ingenuously, for Mr. Johanson was considered the most gifted musician on the faculty.
“I wish you were the naughty one, Miss Oliver,” Mr. Johanson mused. “You’d be fun to spank!”
“Me?” Miss Oliver blushed all over and hid her confusion by lighting a cigarette. She wore a white blouse, a light grey cashmere cardigan over her shoulders and a charcoal wool straight skirt. Her pumps were high enough to feel best when she removed them, but they set off her elegant legs to perfection. Miss Oliver had creamy white skin, a long, high, blonde ponytail and a 24” waist. Taken all together, she was far too young and lovely for Mr. Johanson to flirt with, but for the fact that he had never felt so attracted to a girl in his life.
Miss Oliver was only 24, fresh from graduate school and in command of her very first class. Mr. Johanson was 38, had been teaching at Crescent for 15 years and was thought by all of his associates to be a confirmed bachelor.
“Yes, you, Miss Oliver. Why, you’re probably the most spankable girl I know.”
“Me?” she laughed again. “Why?”
“Because you’re so cute.”
“I could be naughtier, Mr. Johanson,” she suggested flirtatiously.
“You wouldn’t know how to if you tried, Miss Oliver.”
“I am tediously well behaved, aren’t I?” she lamented. “It’s always been that way with me, Mr. Johanson.”
“Don’t feel badly about it, Miss Oliver. You’re going to make some lucky man a splendid wife some day.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I’m going to get married,” she told him seriously.
“Not get married?” Mr. Johanson had never heard such a statement from a young schoolteacher before.
“Oh no, Mr. Johanson. I believe in free love,” Miss Oliver replied.
“I see! Miss Oliver is progressive, even radical. I suppose that on the weekends you migrate to the coffee houses of Boston to listen to beat poetry and jazz?”
“How did you know? Do you like beat poetry, Mr. Johanson?”
“Indeed I do, Miss Oliver.”
Miss Oliver waited for him to speak again.
“Miss Oliver?”
“Yes, Mr. Johanson?”
“Perhaps we could go into Boston together some weekend to listen to jazz.”
“Oh, Mr. Johanson, that would be so wonderful! Sometimes when I go alone I get approached by the most inappropriate people and I don’t know how to get rid of them.”
“They’ve probably guessed your views on marriage.”
“You think so?”
“Don’t all girls who hang around coffee houses share those views?”
“I don’t know. I never manage to talk to any girls,” she reflected. “But many of my classmates at college did.”
Mr. Johanson looked at the clock and saw it was time for them to claim their classes from recess in the schoolyard. They walked out together and continued to talk, this time about Charlie Parker and Miles Davis.
“What a splendid girl,” thought Mr. Johanson as he watched Miss Oliver walk across the yard to find her little ones. Miss Oliver turned to wave at him, and in turning back, walked into Mr. Albrecht, the stern Vice Principal. Mr. Albrecht was in his middle thirties, lean, sandy-haired, nattily suited for a man in his position and handsome in spite of his perpetually unsmiling visage. He terrified all young children.
“Careful, young lady!” he scolded, deftly sidestepping a full force collision with Miss Oliver.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Albrecht,” cried Miss Oliver, blushing with embarrassment.
“That’s all right, Miss Oliver,” he replied, a fraction of a smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips for an instant before he continued across the yard.
“That man would be so much more attractive if he’d only smile now and then,” thought Miss Oliver, gathering her class into two lines and shepherding them back into the school building.
If Miss Kranz was Mr. Johanson’s least favorite faculty member, Mr. Albrecht was certainly Miss Oliver’s. She hated the way he bullied the little boys, dragging them into the bathroom and roughing them up to frighten them. Miss Oliver had no idea what Mr. Albrecht did to the little boys in the bathroom, but she suspected it involved some form of corporal punishment. She didn’t think that it was spanking; Mr. Albrecht’s was more the shake-and-slap type.
Once Miss Oliver had been both shocked and ashamed to see Mr. Albrecht pick a little boy up by his ears for violating the no-talking rule during a fire drill. She had never seen a child’s face get so red. She wondered what she would do if Mr. Albrecht ever dared to lay his hands on one of her small charges. Indeed, she knew that she would not allow it. To his credit, she had never seen him concern himself with the behavior or discipline of little girls. To be sure, there was no need as little girls always behaved flawlessly in his dread presence.
Miss Oliver resolved to discuss Mr. Albrecht in great detail with Mr. Johanson when they were alone in the city. A delicious thrill ran through her as she remembered Mr. Johanson’s flirtatious remarks about spanking.
“I’ll bet I could get him to spank me one of these days!” thought Miss Oliver, while she put the children in their cots for their nap. Then she sat down at her piano in the back of the room to pick music for the day’s singing lesson. As Miss Oliver picked out three simple songs, she reflected upon how beautifully Mr. Johanson played the piano. It wasn’t everyone who could play Gershwin’s Concerto in F. The sound of his piano wafted intoxicatingly out the windows of his fourth floor classroom every lunchtime.
“Imagine Mr. Johanson knowing about the beat poets!” Miss Oliver reflected, putting on her smock for finger-painting. “He is truly a man of many abilities,” Miss Oliver thought. “And he isn’t all that old. It’s just those dowdy clothes he wears. I wish I could do something about that!”
Miss Oliver had very little personal experience of spanking. She had received a few spankings from her father as a child, but thought of these as scary and humiliating rather than exciting. The kind of spanking that interested her the most was the kind she saw in movies and on TV, where a handsome man spanked a grown-up lady. Just seeing a wonderful movie spanking was enough to make Miss Oliver flushed and restless for weeks.
Miss Oliver often fantasized about spanking before she went to sleep at night. She was not a virgin. She had a boyfriend in high school, a boyfriend in college and another in graduate school. She had been a free thinker since reading the autobiography of Isadora Duncan at age thirteen and did enjoy making love. But she didn’t fantasize about it the way she did about spanking, which seemed so much more delightful.
Once or twice she got one of the boyfriends to spank her, but the resultant experience had been somehow lacking. Miss Oliver wanted a man who would think of spanking her naturally, like in the movies. Mr. Johanson seemed as though he might be that kind of wonderful man. He seemed to share her opinion that spanking was cute and enjoyable. Or at least he spoke as though he did.
When Miss Oliver had taken over the first grade class from Mrs. Sampson, the retiring teacher had told Miss Oliver not to forget the tradition of giving birthday spankings in front of the class. But Miss Oliver could not bring herself to ever implement the tradition herself, because her own feelings about spanking were so strong. She longed to communicate about her fixation to someone who might understand and sympathize, and wondered if Mr. Johanson might be a good choice.
Mr. Johanson was the cleverest teacher on the faculty and always taught the sixth grade honors class. He was witty and well read, informed on all current events and full of amusing anecdotal knowledge of the past. Of the men she knew, Peter Johanson seemed the most open-minded and flexible. But there was also a quaint, old-fashioned quality about him, from the sprinkling of grey in his temples to the throbbing pulse of Tin Pan Alley that sprung from his nimble fingers when he sat down at the upright in the back of his class. There were 14 years between them, but when he smiled and his blue eyes crinkled, she saw the boy was still alive in the man. However, she greatly disapproved of his moustache and did not scruple to tell him so after three or four innocent dates.
Peter had invited Jessie to dinner at his cottage on Lilac Cove. He himself had prepared their meal, which was a good deal more savory than if she had done so. In fact, Jessie blushed when she regarded the perfect serving of Chicken Kiev and pilaf on her plate, remembering the macaroni and cheese casserole she’d presented him the previous week in her apartment in the village.
It was very romantic, here on the cove, with the pounding surf so close. They dined by candlelight and Peter opened a good bottle of wine. Jessie was thrilled by these cultivated attentions. The wine went quickly to her head and sex, rendering her reckless and aroused.
“You know, Peter, you’d look ever so much more youthful without that horrid old moustache,” she blurted out, shocking even herself with these words.
Peter was taken aback. And to think that tonight of all nights he was going to try to kiss her for the first time!
“So you don’t like my moustache, eh?” Peter pretended that he wasn’t hurt.
“It makes you look like William Powell.”
“I thought it looked rather distinguished,” he returned, clearing the table.
“That’s just the problem. You’re too young to look distinguished.”
“I’m afraid I’m not very young at all,” he smiled, going out of the room with the dishes. She scooped up several plates and followed him into the kitchen.
“I want to help.”
“Very well,” he told her, opening up his perfectly organized linen closet and getting out a chef’s apron. “Let’s see how you look in this,” he slipped it over her head and turned her around to tie the bow in back. When he was done he gave her one light pat on the bottom. “Okay, get to work!”
Jessie quickly busied herself at the deep, old-fashioned sink to hide her fierce blush. The little smack stayed with her for many minutes, causing her to flush again and again, while her tummy contracted with pleasure.
No more was said about the moustache and no kiss was attempted. Jessie sat quietly by the window looking at the cove while Peter played for several hours, a troubled frown creasing his brow every now and then.
The next date they had was for Halloween, which fell on a Friday. Peter had made reservations for dinner in Woodbridge at an inn and later they were going to the revival movie house to see a double feature of Frontier Gal and The Wax Museum.
The movies had been Jessie’s idea, after she chanced to see the lobby cards for Frontier Gal the previous week while shopping in the neighboring coastal town. One of the cards pictured the spanking of beautiful Yvonne de Carlo across the knee of handsome Rod Cameron, and all Jessie had been thinking of the whole week was how delightful it would be to watch just that kind of movie with dear Peter.
Jessie arrived at school that morning thinking that she had never felt so happy in her young life as on that splendid, golden autumn day. She was wearing a dove grey fitted wool dress and matching cropped jacket with a white linen collar. Her brand new light grey gloves, pumps and purse were all of suede and bore the label of Saks Fifth Avenue. Underneath all of this elegance were a charming little corselet and silk panties. For tonight of all nights, she cherished hopes of being unwrapped by her gentlemanly escort.
The moment she entered the schoolyard to assemble her class she looked for Peter, just as she had done so every morning for several weeks. She saw him right away across the yard and waved, then turned back to her class with the impression that something was different about him today.
It wasn’t until the morning recess break that she got a closer look at Peter and realized that he had shaved his moustache and now seemed to look a lot more like Dick than William Powell. All at once she could see his face for the charming face that it was, not the prematurely middle aged one he had made it. Jessie noticed he had also gotten a sharp haircut, had his shoes shined and even seemed to have brushed his jacket that morning.
Jessie wasn’t able to talk to Peter until lunchtime, when she found him sitting under a tree with his paper bag lunch spread out on the bench beside him. She had brought her own brown bag and added its contents to his.
“Peter, I’m overwhelmed that you took my criticism so seriously and shaved your moustache. How long did you have it?”
“Too long, Jessie. I was in a rut and you were right to point it out,” he patted her hand fondly.
“You look ever so much more attractive now, Peter,” she said, abandoning her plain cheese sandwich for one of the delicate tuna salad sandwich quarters he had prepared. “Mmmmm! You really know how to prepare food!” she murmured appreciatively, causing Peter to glow.
“The capers make all the difference,” he explained.
Jessie gazed at him and smiled, more than pleased at the change, which the shaving had wrought. Was it possible she had really been seeing this handsome man for weeks without the exchange of one single kiss or squeeze? Jessie hoped that his admirable housekeeping and culinary acquirements were not symptoms of latent homosexuality.
“Now you get to change something about me,” Jessie suggested.
“I wouldn’t change an atom.”
“How gallant, Peter. Some people don’t share that feeling,” Jessie said meaningfully.
“People like who?”
“Oh, horrid Mr. Albrecht. I inadvertently flicked him in the face with my ponytail while I was straightening up from the water fountain today.”
“Oh dear, and what did he say?”
“He said I was too old to be wearing a ponytail and that it wasn’t appropriate for a teacher anyway.”
“Hateful man. I love your ponytail.
“I’m going to have to pin my hair up from now on.”
“No!”
“Just during school hours,” Jessie smiled.
It was at this pleasant juncture Mr. Albrecht strode past the two teachers on his way back to the school building. He nodded briskly to them both and looked thoughtful as he proceeded on his way.
Lionel Albrecht had been watching Miss Oliver ever since the semester began and wondered whether she was available for extracurricular activities. Now that she was apparently beginning to warm up to Mr. Johanson of all people, Lionel’s vigorous and competitive libido began to send messages to his brain to make a move. The notion of losing the precious Miss Oliver to Mr. Johanson irritated the Vice Principal. And never more so than when he overheard them making plans to meet that evening for their date.
It seemed to Lionel that the only possible reason a girl like Miss Oliver would consent to date a fossil like Mr. Johanson was loneliness. Therefore he resolved not to waste another moment before inviting her out himself.
Lionel found an opportunity to speak with Miss Oliver during afternoon recess in the schoolyard. Pausing on his usual patrol around the yard he greeted her in a manner of unaccustomed friendliness.
“I hope I wasn’t too short with you this morning, Miss Oliver,” he said, with the energetic determination of a young man with sex on his mind. “About the ponytail, I mean.”
The wide-eyed first grade teacher looked back at him with amazement, noticing that he was actually trying to smile at her, though the effort seemed a painful one.
“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Albrecht. I understand. No one likes getting hit in the eye. I should have held my ponytail while I was drinking at the fountain,” she readily conceded, with a charming smile.
“Say, Miss Oliver, do you like the theatre?”
“The theater? Oh, I adore it.”
“I have two tickets to West Side Story in Boston next week. Would you care to join me?”
“West Side Story?” she thrilled with excitement.
“Have you seen it?”
“No!”
“Will you come with me then?”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, after only a slight twinge of guilty hesitation.
“After all,” thought Jessie, “Peter hasn’t even kissed me yet. You can’t really say we’re going out. And Mr. Albrecht can apparently behave quite nicely when he wants.” But then she remembered the way he treated the little boys and suddenly felt shocked at herself for accepting a date with him.
What would Peter think? Should she tell him? No, that would be awkward. But if she didn’t tell him and he found out later, he would wonder why she had concealed it. Jessie decided to be perfectly honest with Peter and confess to him, right after the movies tonight. After all, she doubted that Peter could resist an invitation to see West Side Story himself, so he would surely understand.
Peter had never seen Jessie in a merrier mood. Once they entered the theatre it was all he could do to pull her away from the lobby cards for Frontier Gal. He noticed her staring at one in particular, the one with the spanking of Yvonne de Carlo. This publicity still seemed to mesmerize Jessie. Suddenly she turned to meet his eyes and blushed.
“That looks like a such thrilling scene,” she explained, allowing herself to be lead away by the hand. Peter pondered this remark while House of Wax unfolded for them in 3-D. During the intermission they walked outside and Jessie smoked a cigarette. Peter bought her a lemonade and a paper of cotton candy for the next movie. The moon was up and dead leaves rattled through the windswept village street. “This weather makes me tingle,” she confessed.
“Something about the wind does stir the blood,” Peter agreed, encouraged by the open expression of her animal spirits. Her obvious fascination with the spanking photograph was not lost on Peter, who was a highly intuitive man. He had wondered why she had been so eager to see a western from the 40’s with no big stars. All week she could not hide her excitement at seeing this particular movie. Now he understood why. She was for some reason fixated on the spanking scene!
Jessie never removed her eyes from the screen during Frontier Gal and was rewarded with the unexpected spanking of the stubborn, six-year-old daughter by the handsome cowboy daddy halfway through the film.
“Wasn’t that darling?” she whispered to Peter at the conclusion, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with her handkerchief. Peter smiled at her and patted her tiny gloved hand.
“You’re darling,” he told her.
By the end of the film, watching her reactions and remembering certain snatches of conversations they had had, Peter was firmly convinced that Jessie had a spanking fetish. This pleased him no end, from both an erotic and a practical point of view. Faking an interest in the beat poets had him skating on thin ice, but when it came to a subject like spanking, he felt confident of delivering the goods. It was also heartening to realize that in spite of her liberated views, Jessie still entertained an old fashioned respect for the dominant male.
Peter took Jessie back to her apartment in a state of enchantment. When she invited him in for a bottle of wine, he did not demur but followed her immediately up to the third floor of the Victorian triple-decker house where she rented a sprawling apartment.
“Is a male visitor at this hour going to be a problem?”
“Goodness, no. My landlady is an artist with two lovers,” Jessie replied, letting them in.
Peter lit a fire while she brought in the wine and glasses.
“Let me see that,” he grabbed the bottle, read the label critically, then uncorked it and let it breathe.
“Is it okay?”
“Oh yes, excellent choice.”
“You’re just being polite.”
“If it gets you tipsy, I’m satisfied,” he candidly admitted.
“Oh, Peter, you certainly don’t have to get me tipsy to take advantage of me. Not you of all people.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, but I have a confession to make.”
“A confession?”
“Yes, Peter. I did something today of which I think you might disapprove and it’s been troubling me.”
“Oh?” Peter was mystified but very happy to learn that his approval mattered to Jessie. “Tell Peter, you’ll feel ever so much better,” he encouraged her.
So Jessie stammered out the news about her upcoming date in Boston with Mr. Albrecht. Peter had not seen this coming and felt momentarily shaken. Mr. Albrecht was younger, slicker, presumably more savvy, better dressed and earned more money than Peter. Moreover, Peter feared the vice principal’s ruthless masculinity and cruel Richard Widmark lips would touch a cord in the latent masochist which would make her his slave in record time. Except for the fact that at this particular moment, he and he alone knew the secret to her heart.
“Peter?” she asked at length, “Aren’t you going to say anything? Are you upset with me?”
“No, dear. Of course not,” said Peter kindly. “It’s not as though we have an understanding.”
“But, we might have an understanding some day,” she suggested, accepting a glass of wine.
“I’m sure you know that’s entirely up to you, Jessie.”
“Oh, I wish I hadn’t said yes to that theatre date!” she declared, “But if I break it off now I’m sure he’ll be offended.”
“I suppose we don’t want to offend Lionel,” Peter reflected seriously.
“But I certainly don’t want to offend you either!”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he reassured her. “I wouldn’t think of rushing you into a commitment when we’ve only known each other six weeks.”
“Oh, Peter, you’re so understanding.”
“Jessie, may I speak quite frankly without offending you?”
“Of course.”
“For the sake of your reputation at school, soft peddle the free love stuff while you’re out with Lionel.”
“I will,” she agreed thoughtfully, “or else he might think I’m easy and try something.”
“Jessie, he’ll try something in any case, but if you manage to look like the injured party rather than the - forgive me - sexy little piece that you are, you’ll find it easier to control the situation in the long run.”
“Do you really think I’m sexy, Peter?” Jessie glowed with pleasure and unconsciously wriggled in the tight, lacy one-piece foundation garment.
“I think you’re naughty,” he replied. Jessie blushed at this accusation, wondering where it would lead.
“Me? Oh no!” she demurred, her heart throbbing with anticipation.
“No? You don’t think it’s naughty to practically have an understanding with one man then make a date with another?”
“But, you said you weren’t upset about that, Peter.”
“I’m not upset, but I do think that we’d both feel much better if I were to give you a good spanking for making that date.”
Jessie sat absolutely speechless while he took her wine glass away, removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. She had never felt such a blissful sensation in her life as the first moment he turned her over his knee. Peter had a comfortable lap and large hands, one of which curved around her small, corseted waist, to hold her firmly in place while the other rested dormant on the rise of her perky bottom. She could feel how large his hand was as he rested it on the seat of her skirt, almost covering it, for Jessie was rather slim hipped. He patted her lightly, sending thrills through her entire body with the touch of his hand.
Then he began to spank her, quickly and rhythmically, on either cheek, with a firm, sound stroke that caused a startled little “Oh!” to escape her lips the first few times his palm came down. The sounds she made thereafter were confined to pretty sighs and whimpers as the spanking progressed. Jessie had no desire to struggle away from her captor as the girls did in the movies. It felt too delicious to do anything but lie across his lap like a good little girl and take her spanking.
Peter had intended to stop after 20 or so swats, as they’d seen in the movie that evening, but when he saw how transported the spanking left Jessie, he carried on in the same style for a good twenty-five minutes, until he could feel the heat rising through her skirt. From the sounds she made and the way she wriggled and ground against him, Peter was certain that she was deriving many benefits from her spanking and felt deeply privileged to be the first one to bestow these upon the sweet girl.
Meanwhile, he himself was not unmoved. It felt exquisitely erotic to have the darling Jessie in this position, her tender sex pressed flat against his own burgeoning erection, through several discreet layers of clothes. He adored her bottom. And it was exhilarating to discover that he possessed the power to arouse her to such a degree. For never in the course of his (rather modest) love life, had he inspired such a vibrant response. He had always believed that spanking wasn’t for children. Now he knew why.
“I think that’s enough for now,” he told her gently, finally pulling her up. She looked dazed and seemed to shudder when she looked at him. Then she smiled and put her arms around his neck.
“That’s enough spanking for now,” she corrected him, offering him her lips.
The next week was dreadfully confusing for Jessie. Friday night held her date with Lionel Albrecht in Boston and she couldn’t help feeling guilty about not breaking it off in view of what had happened between her and Peter. But at the same time she had begun to wonder whether she could get Lionel to give her a spanking too. He seemed so naturally severe that the possibility did not seem nearly as remote as it had with pleasant, kindly Peter. But how to plant the suggestion in his head?
Jessie’s parents lived in a large duplex apartment in Back Bay and it was to this residence she returned on nights when she attended the theatre in Boston. On this particular weekend, Jessie’s parents were out of town, a fact that was not lost on Lionel as he asked to be invited in for a nightcap.
With a rapid pulse, Jessie offered him a brandy and sat down beside him on the loveseat facing the fire, which he had just lit. Possessing none of Peter’s style or circumspection, within three minutes he was groping Jessie’s firm, high bosom and running a hand up her leg.
“No!” Jessie said, pushing his hands away and moving away from him on the couch as much as possible.
“No?” he looked abashed. Lionel wasn’t used to spending fifty dollars on a date and not getting something.
“Did you think I was that easy?” she pretended to be highly ruffled.
“I thought all Sarah Lawrence girls were broad-minded.”
“Possibly, but not undiscriminating,” she replied coolly.
“Hey, what’s the matter with me?”
“First of all, you’re rude. If attacking a girl is your idea of sophisticated seduction, you’re sure to be rebuffed by any woman worth seducing,” Jessie informed him.
“Humph,” Lionel grunted, “you seem to know a lot about it. I assume you have been successfully seduced in the past?”
“You shouldn’t assume any such thing, Mr. Albrecht!”
“No?” Lionel smiled at the idea of this quietly sophisticated young woman being a virgin.
“You might ask me what I consider to be permissible liberties,” she temptingly suggested, emboldened by the several glasses of wine she’d consumed at the cafe after the theatre.
“Permissible liberties? Yes, do tell.”
“Well, I will permit myself to be kissed, bitten lightly on the shoulders and– spanked.”
“I’m sorry, did you say spanked?”
“Even a virgin can enjoy these innocent sensations, Mr. Albrecht.”
“Call me Lionel,” he said, removing his jacket and tie and taking her in his arms to kiss her. Jessie was amazed that he hadn’t balked at her strange request and wondered as he kissed her and nibbled her ear lobes, whether he would remember to spank her as well.
Hot thrills exploded inside her as he lightly bit her shoulders, which were exposed by her sweetheart-cut cream velvet gown. Lionel, who was far from a brilliant conversationalist, did know how to handle women and soon had Jessie squirming.
In another instant he had pulled her across his lap and pushed her gown up to her waist. Jessie was astonished at the speed with which he had exposed her cream and pink ruffled panties, worn over a cream garter belt, which held up her sheer, nude tinted, seamed hose.
“So you’re too discriminating to let me make love to you, are you?” Lionel brought his hand down hard on the exact center of her bottom. “And you say I’m rude!” Smack! His hand came down again, first on the right side, then on the left, then in the middle again.
“Remember, Jessie, you suggested this,” he told her, hooking his fingers under her waist band and tugging her fancy briefs down to reveal her perfect, blushing bottom. “Now, spread your thighs,” he ordered, pulling off her panties entirely, “you’re getting a real spanking.” And so saying he began to spank her very soundly, not neglecting to smack her tender thighs or hold her cheeks apart and spank her in between them as well, which drove her slightly mad with pleasure.
In a couple of minutes, Jessie became so wet with her own girlish essence that she began to smell deliriously provocative to Lionel. Spreading her labia gently with one hand he administered several light pats to her sex and brought his hand away wet.
“Explain yourself, young lady,” he demanded, sticking his hand under her nose. “Or I’ll have to punish you more severely,” Lionel threatened, jumping into his new role as bedroom disciplinarian with shrewd alacrity. Lionel was not an epicure like Peter, but neither was he entirely crude and he could not fail to link Jessie’s tangible excitement to the attentions he was paying her beautiful bottom. He had never been able to get a girl so wet so fast before. Not to mention the fact that the act of spanking her was more than enjoyable. He loved asserting himself over women.
“I’ll teach you to flick me with your ponytail,” he remembered with some satisfaction, as he brought his hand down vigorously on her already deeply reddened bottom. Meanwhile she was panting and squirming across his knee with every evidence of extreme pleasure. “Lie still,” he ordered at length, “I need to examine you.” Then she felt him pulling her open and inserting first one, then two fingers into her tingling sex. For a long time he held her down across his lap and alternated between masturbating and spanking her. Enraptured with this treatment, every thought of Peter fled and she gave herself up entirely to Lionel’s stern, probing hands.
Finally, he unzipped his trousers, bent Jessie over the sofa arm and using her natural slickness to lubricate her anus, began to penetrate her bottom while firmly spreading her apart. Taking women in the bottom was Lionel’s favorite way to have sex and he instinctively felt that if there was one woman who wouldn’t protest this intimate intrusion, it was Jessie. After all, she had asked for a spanking.
Jessie was shocked and afraid when she felt his intention. She balked and pulled away.
“Jessie, this doesn’t have to hurt. Just lie still and take what you’ve got coming like the bad little girl you are.”
“It will hurt!” she insisted. “I can feel how big you are!”
“I know what I’m doing. Besides, once you relax you’ll like it better than the other way.”
“But I’m afraid!” she tried to pull away again. But Lionel had lost his patience with arguing and instead placed his hand in the small of her back and administered a dozen hard smacks to her up thrust backside.
“Now, are you going to cooperate or am I going to have to take off my belt?” he threatened, causing a fresh tremor to run through her.
“I’ll cooperate,” she squeaked, squirming with a mixture of acute embarrassment and unadulterated lust as he once again separated her cheeks and fed his engorged cock into her bottom.
“Relax!” he ordered, smacking her sharply on the thighs several times. Jessie took a deep breath but could barely let it out for excitement and fear, for she really was a virgin this way. But little by little, Lionel, who was a skillful sodomizer, changed that status, giving her the full length of his cock before very much longer and allowing her to flutter to an unexpected climax during the first few minutes of deep insertion.
Having done this much, he then felt more than justified in putting all his mighty thrusting power behind the twenty or so subsequent plunges necessary to spur his own exuberant orgasm.
“We weren’t supposed to do that,” she observed a few minutes later, while they were setting themselves to rights.
“I hope you’re not sorry,” he told her fervently, grabbing her hands and kissing them. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a better time in my life.”
“I never meant for it to go so far,” she fretted, suddenly feeling horribly guilty about Peter.
“Well, what did you expect with an invitation like that?”
“Just some innocent thrills.”
“And wasn’t that exactly what we had?”
“Not really. You sodomized me.”
“Was that the first time?”
“Yes!”
“I told you it wouldn’t hurt.”
“It did hurt a bit, at first. But then even the pain seemed exciting. And then the pain disappeared and it just felt very naughty. And then I came.”
“And then I came. Isn’t nature wonderful?”
“Now you won’t respect me.”
“Nonsense.”
“You’ll talk about me all over school.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“Now you think I’m cheap. Your kind always does.”
“What do you mean my kind? Are you being fresh again? Because I still have some energy left to turn you over my knee one more time.”
“But, did you enjoy it too?” she blurted out, flushing all over at the new threat.
“I’m telling you quite honestly that it was the best.”
“You were rather abrupt,” she critically observed. “Why, you didn’t even give me the opportunity to decline the sex. You slapped me harder when I tried to!”
“You didn’t really mind, did you?”
“I suppose I didn’t, really. But I hope you don’t act that way with every girl you go out with!”
“Every girl I go out with doesn’t ask for a spanking.”
“Oh, I’m sure that had nothing to do with your actions,” Jessie perceived. “After all, you were groping me before I discussed permissible liberties.”
“What are you saying?”
“With all due respect, you practically raped me.”
“Oh, nonsense. You were wetter than any girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it is.”
“Perhaps I’m just perverse enough to respond to your rough attentions, in spite of myself. But I daresay your approach would scare the living daylights out of most girls.”
“I understand what’s happening here,” said Lionel, who had been a psychology major at NYU. “You feel guilty because you had a climax, so now you’re trying to pin all the responsibility on me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll have to ponder that.”
“Do. Meanwhile, I’ll say good night.”
Jessie walked him to the door and let him kiss her, wanting very much to tell him the real reason for her unease. But still not knowing Lionel’s true character, she hesitated to introduce Peter as a rival. Her growing feeling for Peter made protecting the gentle teacher an imperative.
“Good night, Lionel,” she said.
“Will we see each other again?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she replied steadily. This reply was not the one he wanted or expected and his lips compressed into a thin line.
“Okay, fine. Just keep kidding yourself you’re a good girl,” he snapped and strode out into the corridor to punch the elevator button. Jessie closed the door behind him feeling as though she’d behaved as badly as she could have that night, both to Peter and Lionel.
Jessie spent the weekend in torment, not knowing what to tell Peter when he asked her about her date. She still hadn’t decided on a story when rainy Monday morning arrived. Mercifully, lunchroom duty made Jessie unavailable for their usual bench date. However, Peter made a point of stopping by the lunchroom and handing her a little brown bag with a sandwich and cupcake. Jessie almost cried, feeling more guilty than ever. Noticing her stricken look, Peter instantly apprehended much of what had passed between Lionel and Jessie and felt quite awkward as he made a hasty retreat from the lunchroom.
It seemed a perfect eternity to the three o’clock bell and Jessie’s nerves were in tatters by the time it rang. Now there were raincoats to be buttoned and galoshes to pull on, all of which took another ten minutes. Finally she was able to usher the double line of sturdy little six-year-olds into the yard to be claimed by their parents, big brothers and sisters or the school bus. By three-thirty the yard was clear. Jessie unfurled her beige umbrella and began to walk home through the village, picking her way through the puddles in her high heels wrapped in dainty, clear plastic button-up over-boots. On the way she stopped at the tearoom and cheered herself with a pot of tea and a dish of French pastries.
“Hi, Jessie, mind if I join you?”
Jessie looked up at Miss Kranz, who was very chic in a belted, black raincoat and matching cloche over her short-cropped, light red hair.
“Not at all, Lorna,” Jessie declared, welcoming the distraction from her worrying.
“They say it’s going to rain for the next week,” Lorna Kranz informed her fellow instructor.
“M’m,” Jessie wondered if the strict third grade teacher was going to say anything interesting to her. Then, all at once, she did.
“How did you like West Side Story?” Lorna slyly asked.
“Pardon me?”
“I saw you at the performance the other night. With Lionel Albrecht.”
“Oh! Well, it was just wonderful. Wasn’t it?”
“Magnificent.”
“Yes.”
“So, are you seeing Lionel?”
“No. Decidedly not!” Jessie replied vehemently. Then she took a second look at the impeccable twenty-five year-old across the table. “Why? Do you like him?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I never thought of him as being available until I saw him with you.”
“That’s funny. He never thought of me as being available until he saw me with Mr. Johanson. But the truth is, Mr. Johanson is the one I have the crush on.”
“How interesting.”
“Perhaps if Lionel knew that you were interested in him he’d ask you out.”
“But you’re not interested in Lionel yourself?”
“Not really. I like Mr. Johanson,” Jessie said fervently. Lorna actually smiled. As with Lionel, the act seemed both painful and difficult. “You’d be much better suited to Lionel than me,” Jessie suggested.
“Really? Why do you say so?”
“Well, with all due respect, you’re both so strict.”
“Strict?” Lorna didn’t understand.
“With the children.”
“Oh!” the third grade teacher again tried to smile.
“Why are you so strict with the children?”
“Because it’s the only way to make them pay attention. You don’t know that because your little first graders are docile and frightened of their own shadow. But third graders can be extremely rambunctious.”
“I see,” Jessie nodded, wondering if she hadn’t misjudged Miss Kranz.
“As for Lionel, he has to be tough. Remember, he’s dealing with boys as old as old as ten and eleven. Would you rather they ran wild and turned into delinquents?”
“No,” said Jessie meekly.
“Discipline is crucial to education.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“So you really think that Lionel and I would be compatible?”
“Oh, I’m convinced of it. Now that I think of it, I’m sure I’ve seen him covertly admire your beautiful figure before.”
“You’re sweet,” said Lorna, putting some change down on the table for a tip. “I’ve got to run, honey. But thanks for the chat.”
“It’s all confidential, though,” Jessie warned.
“I understand,” Lorna actually gave her a wink as she breezed out of the tearoom and into the rain swept street.
Now Jessie was able to continue home with a spring in her step. Lorna Kranz liked Lionel Albrecht. She now knew he was available. She was not the type of woman the average mere male (which Lionel certainly was) could resist. Not with legs and a waist like that and a closet full of designer copies. News like this might possibly mitigate Peter’s disappointment at her behavior once she made her awful confession to him.
Generally Jessie did her errands and chores between four and six, dined simply and worked on her lesson plan for the following day directly after dinner. But today she was so distracted she knew if she didn’t do her lesson plan first, it might never get done. So the moment she got home, she made herself a pot of coffee and arranged her textbooks upon her kitchen table. By five thirty she had finished her work and leaned back in her chair to enjoy a cigarette. Then she reached for the phone and dialed Peter’s number.
“Hello?” he answered on the first ring.
“Peter, it’s Jessie. What are you doing?”
“Just peeling potatoes for dinner.”
“I didn’t have a chance to get to the market today, myself.”
“Why don’t you come over? You know I love feeding you.”
“May I?”
“Please do, but drive carefully. It’s raining pretty hard.”
“I will!”
In less than fifteen minutes she was at Peter’s cottage door, clutching a bottle of her father’s best burgundy, which she’d pilfered over the weekend. Peter studied the label and smiled.
“Thank you!”
“What are you cooking?”
“Roast beef.”
“Mmmm! I picked the right night to invite myself for dinner.”
“You know you’re always welcome. In fact, I wish you’d never leave,” he declared, then went out to the kitchen with the wine to hide his embarrassment. She hung her raincoat in the closet and followed him out to the kitchen, where she sat down on a wooden settle and asked him to help her remove her outer boots.
“With pleasure,” he told her, unbuttoning each one and yanking it off with the efficiency of a man who’d been tugging galoshes on and off children’s tiny feet for fifteen years.
“Oh, Peter!” she sighed, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him hard. This gesture made it fairly clear to Peter that whatever had happened between Jessie and Lionel, it hadn’t won her away from him yet. In fact, she looked as happy to be in his house as he felt to have her there.
“All right, young lady, come clean. What happened this weekend in Boston between you and Lionel?”
The question popped out so abruptly that for a moment she could only stare at him with wide eyes. Then she dropped her gaze and looked ashamed.
“I’m afraid I didn’t behave very well in Boston, Peter,” she admitted, watching him pop the sliced potatoes into boiling water.
“Oh dear.”
“I did everything wrong thing I could possibly do!” she confessed passionately.
“I guessed as much when I saw you at lunch today.”
“You’re going to be disappointed in me,” she told him with conviction.
“Only if you tell me that you’ve fallen in love with that brute.”
“Oh no! I could never love a man of so little finesse! Not to mention his harshness with the children.”
“Then I’m not losing my girl to Lionel?”
“Oh never, Peter!” She went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind to press the whole length of her torso against his straight back.
“Please, Jessie, not while I’m slicing an onion,” he scolded, his eyes watering profusely. She released him and retired to a kitchen stool.
“So you’re not upset?”
“Why should I be upset?”
“Because of what I did.”
“Well, Jessie, I’m not sure I understand exactly what you did do.” He deftly carved radish rosettes.
“I allowed Lionel to sodomize me.”
Peter stared at her in surprise. “You did what?”
“I pretended to be a good girl, as you suggested, but got greedy for sensations and told Lionel that he might spank me. He interpreted that as an invitation to take my bottom, thus satisfying his need to humiliate me while preserving my alleged virginity.”
“You told Lionel about the spanking thing?” Peter was more shocked by this than the idea of Lionel inserting his undeserving penis into Jessie’s divine bottom.
“I offered it as a substitute for sex.”
“But you wound up having sex anyway.”
“He virtually forced himself on me, Peter. Though once I’d become visibly aroused from the spanking, my protests had a hollow ring. He’s a sexual predator, just as you suspected and I was easy game.”
“Well, how was it?” Peter asked stiffly, for some reason feeling more piqued at the other man for spanking Jessie than violating her.
“You mean the spanking? Well, as you might expect from Lionel, it was rather too hard. All the same, I knew he was only thinking of sex and not of correcting me at all.”
“But you said you became aroused,” said Peter, shucking corn and dropping it into boiling water.
“Well, of course I did. I get aroused when Little Nancy in the comics gets a spanking, so of course when a handsome man does it –”
“Lionel does cut a dashing figure, I suppose,” Peter granted gloomily.
“But I find you a hundred times more attractive, Peter,” Jessie confided.
“Still, Jessie, I thought you shared your special secret with me because you liked me and knew you could trust me. Now here I find you’ve told it to a man you neither like nor find trustworthy!”
“As I said, Peter, I was recklessly curious.”
“And look what happened! Lionel took advantage of you.” Peter found himself actually becoming angry with Jessie.
“He certainly did.”
“You know, if you’d behaved like the good girl you were pretending to be and said goodnight on the stoop, none of this would have happened.” Peter declared with a degree of irritation that set Jessie’s tummy fluttering.
“I intended to be good.”
Peter checked the kitchen clock and saw that he had about ten minutes before the corn had to come out of the water. He therefore purposefully removed his apron, pulled a heavy oaken chair into the center of the floor, sat down on it and patted his thigh. “Come over here, young lady.”
Jessie gingerly approached him and within an instant of coming into grabbing reach, found herself thrust face down across his sturdy lap.
“I can’t believe you allowed that reprehensible bully so many liberties,” he sternly declared, bringing his hand down hard on her skirted bottom.
“I’m very sorry,” she gasped, startled by the vigor of his first few smacks.
“You had no business accepting that date in the first place,” said Peter in a way that filled Jessie with secret contentment.
“You should have insisted I break it!” she asserted, casting him a look at him over one shoulder.
“Oh? It’s my fault, is it?” Smack! Smack! Smack!
“You should have forbidden me to go!” she interjected at the first pause.
“I might have if I’d known that you were going to behave like a little tart.”
“Oh!” she cried, twisting on his lap to avoid the next swat, “how dare you call me that?”
“It’s the mildest word I can think of for a girl who acts like you,” he informed her, locking her hand to her side and continuing to spank her soundly.
“To apply that word to me is quite unfair,” she interrupted him haughtily.
“Oh? How so?” he paused to rub the sting away for a moment.
“Because it implies immorality and neither of us believe that sex outside of wedlock is immoral!”
“What it implies is disloyalty, and you know quite well that you’re guilty of that!”
Jessie pondered this accusation as the spanking continued.
“You let another man possess you when you know you love me!” Peter declared with sudden confidence.
“Yes. That is true,” she softly agreed, gladdening his heart. He stopped, let her up, took her back on his lap the right way around and embraced her. “Is my spanking over?” she shyly inquired.
“For as naughty as you’ve been? By no means. But I have to tend the stove for a few seconds now,” Peter said, putting her off his lap. She rubbed her bottom through her dress while she watched him turn off the heat under the corn, turn it down under the potatoes and baste the roast. Then he turned to her. “We’ve got about a half hour until it’s all ready. Shall we go upstairs?”
A winding wooden staircase led to a bedroom loft. “Sit down,” he told her, motioning to the wide upholstered bench at the foot of his large maple four-poster bed. She obeyed in quiet excitement
“Now, Jessie,” he began, leaning against the wooden wardrobe opposite with folded arms, “in view of your recent admission that you love me–”
“Did I say that?”
“You didn’t disagree when I said it.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she smiled at him.
“As I was saying, in view of the fact that you love me, your behavior over the weekend with Lionel seems all the more inexcusable.”
Jessie hung her head.
“Jessie, like you, I believe in the validity of free love, but what happened between you and Lionel does not fall under that classification.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, you simply allowed a man you don’t like to pressure you into sex. No love entered into the equation as far as I can see.”
“Except for my love of spanking and Lionel’s love of sex.”
Peter was momentarily taken aback and realized with excitement that he had finally met a girl who could think.
“Nevertheless,” he replied firmly, “if we’re going to be lovers, you can’t see other men.”
“I won’t!” she promised fervently.
“I tried treating you like an adult, trusting you to go out with Lionel and behave yourself, and look what happened. Now you say I should have forbidden you to go. Does that mean you need to be restricted like a child? Threatened with corporal punishment at the first hint of mischief?”
“Oh, yes, please!” Jessie cried. Peter picked up a hairbrush, tossed it in the air and caught it. She followed its path like a cat enthralled with a bird.
“Now, Jessie, if you really are the good girl you pretend to be, you won’t feel easy until you’ve been properly punished for your crimes against our love, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a soft voice that thrilled him.
“In fact, you’ve been so naughty that a simple spanking will not be enough.”
“What else then?” she grew wide-eyed with curiosity, wondering whether he would take off his belt.
“Have you ever been given an enema?”
“No,” she slowly replied, her face reddening instantly.
“Oh, it’s quite a popular punishment for naughty little girls.”
“I wasn’t punished much as a child.”
“Well, we can make up for that now.”
“But why would you –” she faltered for words, “– do that sort of thing to me?”
“Well, for one thing, I think it would help you pay better attention to your spanking.”
“But I would do that in any case!”
“Jessie, I’m not going to argue with you. Take your dress off and hang it in the closet right now.”
Jessie had on a white silk full slip under her dress and a matching combination of bra, garter belt and panties under that. She shyly hung up her dress and turned to look at him.
Peter took a couple of pillows out of a linen chest and piled them one on top of the other in the center of the bed.
“I want you face down with the pillows under your tummy,” he ordered. She slowly assumed this position. “No, dear, don’t lean up on your elbows, lie down.” When Jessie obeyed him he sat beside her on the bed and slowly arranged her exactly the way he wanted her for the delicate operation to follow. “Perhaps you’d better close your eyes and just let this happen,” he told her, pulling up her slip, and lowering her lace trimmed briefs to mid-thigh. Her bottom was as white and pink as a hybrid rose from the spanking and her sex gave off as heady a scent.
“I’m going to leave you for three minutes and you are going to lie quite still until I return. Do you understand me, young lady?”
“Yes,” she meekly replied, squirming with embarrassment over the pillows, though she knew she must look very attractive with her new panties and garter belt from Paris framing her smooth bottom.
Peter disappeared into the adjoining bathroom for the promised three minutes, returning with a pile of towels and a jar of petroleum jelly, which he set on the bed.
“Close your eyes,” he told her, which she did the moment she glimpsed the very full hot water bag which he somehow contrived to suspend from one of the posts of the bed. “Lift up, darling,” he said gently, tucking several towels under her tummy before pressing her back down on the pillows. “Now just lie still and let me examine you,” said Peter, choosing one of Jessie’s favorite words.
Now she felt him spreading her bottom and lubricating her deeply with two fingers.
“I hope you realize, Jessie, that you brought this humiliation on yourself,” Peter told her, spreading her for the nozzle now and gently inserting it between her cheeks. “You wanted to sample new sensations? Well, you’re about to feel a very interesting one.”
“I already am!” she murmured, squirming around the nozzle as he plunged it four inches into her bottom.
“Now hold perfectly still,” he warned her, and holding her in place with one hand on her bottom, he released the clamp on the hose and allowed the flow of water to begin.
“Oh!” she cried breathlessly as she began to feel the warm water fill her. “Are you sure it won’t come out?” she asked fearfully.
“You just lie still and behave, I’ll take care of everything else,” he told her, lifting her by the hips and adjusting her a little higher over the pillows. Then he pulled her panties off entirely, separated her legs and encouraged her to bend her knees slightly, elevating her bottom yet a little higher. “Now you can lean on your elbows a bit,” he told her, moving her into more of a modified all fours position, with her bottom uppermost. “Good girl,” he told her, slipping one hand under her satiny stomach to feel it slowly expand as the water filled her. Jessie gave a little moan of embarrassed excitement as he gently squeezed her abdomen and patted her bottom.
“Jessie, dear?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“This may feel a little bit uncomfortable, but it isn’t supposed to hurt, so tell me if it does.”
“I will.”
Peter shut the clamp several times during the two-quart infusion to let her adjust to the sensation of so much warm water filling her. Jessie became very wet and wondered why he considered this a punishment. Except for the embarrassment, which was substantial indeed, these attentions felt as ticklishly sexy as the anal sex with Lionel, but with none of the pain of forced cramming.
Finally the hot water bottle was empty and Jessie was very full. But still she felt no discomfort, or at least, very little. In a moment he had removed the nozzle and pressed her down on the pillows again. “Don’t move,” he told her, unhooking the enema apparatus from the bedpost and disappearing into the bathroom for a moment.
He returned with a few more thick towels, which he draped across his lap when he sat down on the bed. Then he very carefully pulled her across his lap as well. “But I’m afraid I’ll have an accident!” she cried. “I’m so full.”
“You’d better not have an accident,” he warned her sternly, then calmly picked up his hairbrush.
Since it was a heavy, wooden, square, men’s brush, he only had to tap her with it to leave a bright pink imprint on her pearly flesh. Even so, each slow and measured stroke made her sting and smart. And yet being in this position, with her tummy so full and her whole sex aching with excitement, the pain was somehow merged into rhapsodic pleasure and she could not bring herself to protest, even when the strokes grew more severe.
Jessie had always wanted to take a hard spanking. But she had also feared it. Now, with her senses all aflame through his attentions to her bottom, her mind was open to the discipline. She felt each stroke go through her now and heard herself whimper as they fell, but still she wanted more. She really did want to feel punished, but only by Peter, because she was so certain of his ardent admiration and love.
And then, all at once, she reached her crisis and spasmed violently across his lap, gasping with the delirious sensation of coming from a spanking. He put the brush down and stroked her gently until her tremors subsided and she gingerly slipped off his lap. He pointed in the direction of the bathroom and left her to scamper through the door while he went back downstairs to put dinner on the table.
Lionel knew he had made a negative impression on Jessie, which he attempted to soften by sending her flowers. She didn’t have an opportunity to thank him until the following afternoon when she had just dismissed her class in the schoolyard. It was another stormy day and she was headed towards the village haberdashery to order a Donegal tweed jacket for Peter to arrive by Christmas. Meanwhile, Peter had strolled off to the village jewelers to purchase an engagement ring. For although Jessie had said she did not care to be married, she’d made no prohibition against being engaged.
Lionel fell into step with Jessie, surprising her into a gasp.
“It’s only me.”
“Oh, Lionel. Hello,” Jessie smiled cordially.
“Still mad at me?”
“I was never mad at you, Lionel. And thank you for the beautiful flowers.”
“You said I practically raped you,” he brooded, for he hadn’t quite been able to get that accusation out of his mind all weekend, particularly the idea of her telling people that.
“You did, but I suppose I don’t blame you. After all, I was very provocative.”
“Yes, you were. Listen; explain this spanking thing to me. You seemed to like it.”
“You seemed to like it too,” Jessie observed, wondering whether she ought to change the subject at once, since it was beginning to make her blush and throb all over. She couldn’t look at Lionel’s chiseled profile without remembering that just a few short days before he’d actually taken her across his knee and paddled her quite effectively, not to mention penetrating her most secret place and giving her a very real climax in the process. There was a limit to how unfriendly Jessie could feel towards a man of such abilities, but the memory of Peter’s masterful lovemaking so fresh in her mind confused her emotions.
“Do other women like it the way you do? I mean, is this a regular practice, taking a spanking instead of having sex?”
Jessie laughed, “I don’t know, but I’ll bet it would be fun to try the experiment with Miss Kranz.”
“Lorna? That frigid bundle of nerves?”
“Lionel!” Jessie was shocked. “And she spoke so well of you!”
“Well of me? In what context?”
“I believe she admires you greatly both as a man and an educational administrator,” Jessie revealed.
“Really?” Lionel smiled slightly.
“Don’t you think she’s got the most ravishing figure? And those legs.”
Lionel looked at Jessie sharply. “So I’m getting the brush off, am I?”
“I’m sorry,” she lowered her eyes as they splashed through the cobblestone puddles.
“Was it the way I acted?”
“No, Lionel. I just don’t feel we’re temperamentally suited.”
After they parted at the door of the haberdashery, Lionel walked back to his car thinking about Lorna Kranz.
Over the next couple of days, Lionel and Lorna began to look each other in the eyes for the first time, though hers were always the first to be lowered. And although he preferred Jessie’s rounder contours and rosy face, Lionel certainly admired the appearance of the meticulously groomed and gracefully slender redhead. Her ivory skin was without blemish and he’d never seen such an elegant instep. Lorna always wore the highest heels, which gave her taut, little bottom an additional lift.
“Now there’s a girl who really needs a spanking,” thought Lionel of the fussy and exacting third grade teacher, who seemed the type who would hold out for a wedding ring in the face of any sexual temptation, which was why he had never bothered to pursue her. But Jessie had said that Lorna liked him and this single piece of data took him half the way to liking her.
However, Lionel had no patience with virgins. He had a strong sex drive which he enjoyed exercising and switched partners often. So far he had mostly avoided emotional involvements. Since he was a jagged, driven and not at all comforting male, there had never been much inducement for a girlfriend to want to capture and domesticate him. Women sensed that he was a critical, inflexible man and shied away from him after a couple of dates, in spite of the rather satisfying sex.
He hadn’t gone out with a good girl since high school and wondered whether it was worth the bother. In the end he decided to wait until Lorna made the first move. She did it rather gracefully during a faculty meeting, when Lionel called for a volunteer to head the decorations committee for the Christmas Pageant. This meant several meetings alone in his office for funds to be dispensed and receipts collected.
Lorna had been an art major at Boston University and welcomed the opportunity to show off a few of her skills. Lionel noticed that each time she was due to appear in his office she went to great pains to wear a smart new outfit and her highest heels.
During the week of the pageant she acquitted herself admirably, turning the school auditorium into Santa’s Workshop. Jessie’s class contributed some of the snowflakes. And of course, Peter played holiday songs while the children sang.
“You did an excellent job on the decorations, Lorna,” Lionel complimented her that afternoon after all of the children had departed for the Christmas holidays. “Will you let me buy you an eggnog at the Inn to celebrate your brilliant achievement?” he asked courteously, which thrilled her to the core.
“Thank you, Lionel,” she agreed at once and they walked down the cold, windswept streets of Random Point towards the ancient Bone and Feather Inn.
Two eggnogs later, Lorna was giggling in a red leather booth with Lionel.
“How do you plan to spend the holidays?” he asked her casually.
“I’m going to spend the whole time painting,” she confided.
“Oh really? What kind of painting do you do?”
“I paint in various styles. Right now I’m in my abstract impressionist phase.”
“That’s interesting,” he said with surprise, for the last thing he expected Lorna to say was something interesting about herself. “I’d like to see your work.”
“Follow me home in your car and I’ll show you some of it,” she suggested. Lionel almost smiled. This was going better than he expected.
“Where do you live?” he asked as they left the pub and emerged into the rain again.
“I have a studio in the old lighthouse,” she told him, unfurling her black umbrella as they walked back to their cars. Now Lionel was really intrigued. He’d imagined that Lorna lived with her parents.
Lorna’s studio above the pounding surf seemed to Lionel the perfect setting for a seduction. When they arrived she gave him a brandy then went into her bedroom to change into a pair of black Capri pants, a cream silk tunic and black leather flats. Her autumnal colored page boy was perfectly silky and straight, the sort of hair that women never worried about disarranging because it always fell right back into place. She really was a striking young lady, he reflected when she sat down beside him on the divan.
“Well? Do you like any of them?” Lorna gestured around the room to the many oils, watercolors, charcoals, crayon sketches and cartoons that lined the richly painted walls of her studio.
“You’re very accomplished,” he remarked truthfully, his respect deepening for Lorna as he realized that she was anything but ordinary.
“Thank you.”
Lionel waited until she finished her tumbler of brandy before making his move, which was to take her in his arms and kiss her.
Lorna was powerfully attracted to Lionel and had been since the first day they met, the year before. But unlike Jessie, Lorna was coolheaded and quite able to marshal her passions when her common sense sounded an alarm. This was exactly what happened when Lionel began to unbutton her tunic in order to fondle her small and perfectly formed bosom.
“I’m sorry,” she said firmly, pushing his hand away and escaping from his embrace, “but there’s only so far I’m willing to go on a first date.”
“Here we go,” thought Lionel with a sigh. And her artistic sensibilities had given him such high hopes the moment before.
“Okay, I’ll say good night then,” he replied shortly, getting to his feet.
“But, I didn’t mean for you to leave,” she suddenly said, perversely inflamed by his coldness.
“No?” He sat back down.
“Cigarette?” she offered him one and he accepted. She lit his then her own and regarded him thoughtfully before speaking again. “Don’t be sullen just because you can’t get your lust-engorged member wet tonight,” she suddenly shocked him by saying. “Instead you ought to remember the adage, ‘All good things come to those who wait.’”
“How long do I have to wait?” he demanded, looking at her with increased respect.
“I’ll let you know when I decide.”
Lionel didn’t know now whether to go or stay. Normally a situation like this would frustrate him so badly that all he would want to do was get away from the offending female. But somehow, sex or no sex, he didn’t quite feel like leaving Lorna yet.
“I’ll take another brandy while you’re thinking it over,” he told her, handing her his empty glass. As she walked past him toward the pantry he deliberately smacked her on the bottom. Lorna gasped and turned to look at him with a vivid blush, which he duly noted. She refilled his glass and took a long pull on hers as she came to sit beside him again.
Was it an illusion, Lionel wondered, or did that one, sharp smack do something to Lorna? She’d become very quiet and wide-eyed all at once.
“You know, giving you a good, sound spanking would be as satisfying as anything to me,” Lionel proposed, surprising himself as much as Lorna. But the truth was that ever since the week before with Jessie, the thrill of spanking had lingered in his mind, blending in quite comfortably with his aggressive notions about sex.
“A spanking?” She did not sound affronted in the slightest. “You mean, over your knee?”
“That’s right, over my knee. For being a little tease.”
“I am not a tease!”
“You wore four-inch heels to school today, Lorna. Because you wanted every male in the building to follow those long legs wherever you went.”
“I simply like to dress smartly,” she said, still blushing furiously at the promised trip across Lionel’s knee.
“Who do you think you’re kidding?” Lionel took her gently by the forearm and pulled her across his lap, astonished that she didn’t resist.
Lorna wondered whether Lionel had also spanked Jessie and that was the reason the pretty blonde teacher had evinced such a dislike for him. Lorna had never had a man offer to spank her before, but she found she didn’t mind the idea. She had always thrilled to spankings in the movies when the disciplinarian was a handsome leading man. Lionel was certainly handsome. His profession was that of a disciplinarian. And although a petty tyrant herself, she respected his authority as her superior. Perhaps it was partially the fault of the alcohol, but Lorna felt a perfect explosion of butterflies in her flat, little tummy as he pulled her across his lap and locked his arm around her waist.
“Is this what you did to Jessie when she withheld her favors?” she boldly inquired before the first smack fell. Lionel pushed her tunic up to her waist while he decided how to reply. His ego urged him to reveal that Jessie’s favors had not been withheld. He also wondered whether such a revelation might spur Lorna to give in as well, so as not to be deemed less sophisticated than a child like Jessie. But in the end honor dictated the only possible answer.
“Oh, my date with Jessie was strictly platonic.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And besides,” Smack! “She’s not a little flirt!” Smack! “She doesn’t wear jersey dresses that outline her bottom like a glove.” Smack! Smack!
“I wasn’t aware of a dress code for teachers,” she replied, wriggling across his lap under the first few smacks.
“You dress beautifully, darling. I wouldn’t change a thing about it. The only problem is, it makes men think about sex.”
A sound spanking followed, giving Lorna plenty of time to decide whether she liked it. Lorna took every stroke without protest, though towards the end of the count of one hundred, she’d begun to breathe rather heavily. She couldn’t account for it, but the spanking felt distinctly pleasurable. She was aware of a sting and later of a tangible heat rising from her skin and penetrating through the silk trousers, but the sensations she was receiving could not be termed painful. Pain was hitting one’s head on a kitchen cabinet. This sensation was purely erotic.
To Lionel’s great joy, Lorna’s trousers were zipped in back. He had been gratified to the point of a raging erection by the way she had taken her spanking so far and had little reason to doubt she would allow him to pull her pants down. Therefore he unzipped them courageously, waited for her to protest, and when she did not, briskly pulled them down to reveal the sheerest black nylon panties he had ever seen. As in a Vargas illustration, her white skin glowed through the filmy material, highlighted by areas of dark pink.
Now he began all over again on her slim, elegant, oval-cheeked pantied bottom. The pants came off in a minute, revealing her slender legs and Lionel congratulated himself on getting her half undressed without the slightest protest. Amazingly, he’d met the second girl in two weeks who seemed to enjoy discipline.
While he was warming her panties, Lionel thought back to the times when he had impulsively pulled an ex-girlfriend over his knee. The response had never been what he was getting now, so he had eventually stopped doing it. But now that he’d met Jessie and Lorna, he realized that he was deriving a certain indefinable pleasure from domination. Lionel knew he was skillful in extracting sex from women, which was a compulsion in itself. But this felt satisfying on a different level.
Lorna became very responsive. Soon she began to arch to his hand and slightly spread her legs. Lionel smiled, pressing his fingers between her smooth, white thighs and feeling how damp her panties had become. She spread her thighs a little wider, encouraging him ever so slightly to touch her there once more. He still held her firmly around the waist while he stroked and probed her lightly through her panties. Lorna had begun to whimper, quite overwhelmed by the feeling of all these curious attentions and aching to have her panties pulled down.
“I’m not through with you yet,” he told her, slowly pulling her beautiful panties down to expose her glowing cheeks. She did not try to stop him and once they were down, allowed him to caress her warm, bare skin. Now he began to spank her slowly and significantly, making each swat count. She waited patiently, and then caught her breath each time his hand came down.
