Читать книгу Eroticizing Discipline: Dominance, Submission and Exquisite Pleasure - H. Hargrove - Страница 7

Remembering

Down to just about one passion that’s working. Can’t see too well…can’t read much. Can’t hear much either… which is a blessing with chattering, blathering nurses. Head still swims like I’m drunk. My juices haven’t flowed full speed since the damned accident. But that shudder and hint of warmth I feel in my loins is comforting. And my memory is still a steel trap. Eyes closed, head back against my pillow. If I’m not interrupted…maybe I can start my afternoon off right.

After many years the image remains crystal clear. I was sitting in the living room of the large, elegant brownstone on Lyme Street in Boston. Beacon Hill. Prestigious neighborhood. Mr. Johnstone walked in…tall, ramrod straight posture, distinguished, full head of silver hair, perfectly attired in a charcoal gray, double breasted suit and blue tie. He possessed the angular, fine features of a patrician, which he was. I was twenty two, and in these surroundings, in the presence of this man…I was impressed.

The interview didn’t last long. There were the standard questions in Mr. Johnstone’s impeccable, formal British brogue, about my prior employment and method of managing the cleaning and general upkeep of a residence of this size and quality. My work ethic? Could I accept the fact that I would be rewarded for being efficient and resourceful? And disciplined for errors of judgment, carelessness, and neglect? Whoa! My first clue, but his line of questioning quickly moved elsewhere after I instinctively nodded and murmured “yes”.

It would be my second job as a housekeeper after becoming disenchanted with secretarial school, and my experience and enthusiasm must have hit the right chord, because he handed me an employment agreement, told me to look it over and sign and bring it to his office if it met my approval.

The pay was excellent. I would have quarters, a room of my own, and based on the size of the living room and rich furnishings I assumed I would be significantly elevating my standard of living. I would be the only housekeeper and have both responsibility and leeway to make decisions. There was a section of the agreement which dealt with acceptable standards of work, attention to detail, the requirement of obeying orders or directions from both Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone, and treating them with respect and reverence for their position. Position was never clearly defined, but in addition to being the Lord and Lady of this very fine house, they were apparently also a Lord and Lady in some official capacity, as members of the gentry in their native land.

There was a short, two sentence paragraph stating something like initiative, efficiency and exemplary completion of assigned duties will be rewarded with either cash bonuses and/or compensatory time off. Neglect of duties, failure to meet required standards in all tasks, and any signs of disrespect will result in discipline, which, if warranted, will take the form of a reasonable application of corporal punishment.

Well…there it was. I had a choice. I looked around, read the agreement again, felt a twinge of fear…the slightest tingle of something else…apprehension, maybe? I wasn’t sure…and signed it.

When I walked into the study, directly off the living room, to return the signed agreement to Mr. Johnstone, Mrs. Johnstone was standing by his desk. She was also tall, stunningly beautiful for a woman who looked to be in her forties, with a trim figure, perfect, fine, sculpted facial features, and a bun arrangement of thick, blond hair. She nodded and offered a faint, regal smile when Mr. Johnstone introduced me. I was aware of her eyes never leaving me as I accepted the position and handed the agreement to her husband.

I was told to report the following Monday, with my bags, ready to move in and begin work. I was then shown the door.

It was at least two weeks, during which time I earned an afternoon and evening off, along with a crisp twenty dollar bill for my exemplary work and attitude, before Mr. Johnstone confronted me with a problem. I don’t remember the exact problem…just the result. I was told to report to his study after I had finished cleaning from the evening meal.

Concentrating was difficult for the rest of the day. But I didn’t want to make matters worse. Thinking back, it’s difficult to separate my thoughts then from what I know and feel now. There was certainly some fear…and a good dose of anxiety…and again a hint of something else.

The ritual never varied from that first time. I walked in at the appointed time and found Mr. Johnstone sitting at his desk. He described the problem, then told me he was going to discipline me. He stood to his full, erect height and regal bearing, opened his desk drawer and took out a brown leather belt without a buckle, then told me to bend across his desk and raise my skirt. I had been issued three uniforms when I arrived for work that first day. Short, light blue skirts and blue and white blouses. A fairly standard, but classy, housekeeper outfit.

I remember thinking I should protest…refuse…but I stayed silent and obeyed. I was uncomfortable…but not only scared. Something else. Confused feelings.

My mother spanked me. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t dread it. Mainly a nuisance. She loved me too much for it to really hurt. I’d have to go across her knee, or for serious misbehavior I was sent to fetch a switch from the backyard willow tree.

Mom remarried when I was twelve. The last time she spanked me I was fourteen, and a bolt of panic shot through me when she announced my punishment in front of Frankie. Was he going to watch? When I was ordered to my room he didn’t follow, but after she finished and I glanced at my red bottom in the mirror, I thought of him again and felt a tiny shudder. There would be thousands of those shudders throughout the rest of my life. Many not so tiny. My body and thoughts had been changing rapidly. Frankie was Italian, dark, handsome, really built, with a full head of wavy black hair, and five years younger than Mom. He was hot. The thought that he could have watched… seen my bare bottom arched and squirming over her lap… or even spanked me himself. An early…confusing image… and feelings.

Mr. Johnstone was very formal and reserved, with slow, measured movements as he walked around the desk and stood in back of me as I was bent forward over the massive, hand carved, antique desk. I raised my skirt and held it above my waist…then waited. For a few moments nothing happened, then I felt his fingers slip under the waistband of my panties and lower them to just above my knees. Now, suddenly, I felt panic…and something else. I was bent forward, my bare bottom and likely my pubic hair and lips of my pussy in clear view of a very handsome, distinguished gentleman…and he was going to spank me. I still remember that moment I realized the something else feeling was sexual arousal. And the almost instantaneous thought of confusion that flashed through my mind.

The spanking hurt. But not that much. After the first couple of blows and the initial sting - I was fairly certain I was safe. Then I felt the first hint of warmth. Before he was finished I pressed my legs tightly together so he couldn’t see the wetness I felt between my thighs. Later, in my room, lying in bed, my mind raced with contradictory thoughts and feelings as I relived my punishment. My hand slipped under the waistband of my pajamas and I again felt the wetness I had sensed while being punished. Within seconds of finding the tiny knob of my clitoris with my finger I exploded with a rush of ecstasy.

After lying very still…with my eyes closed…I realized I wasn’t ready to sleep. Again my fingers slipped inside my waistband. My other hand found the nipple of my breast. I was quickly wet again. It took a bit longer the second time. I pulled my knees toward my chest and spread my legs. The convulsions were almost as strong… and they lasted longer. I went to sleep confused…but content.

BJ was the house chef, and the only other full time house employee. He was an Indian boy from New Delhi, a couple of years older than me, and very handsome with his dark skin and eyes, narrow, angular face, and slender, muscular build. He was a very accomplished cricket player, and spent his off hours in Cambridge competing with Harvard and MIT students with a similar love and passion for the game. The Johnstones had spent a good deal of time in India, loved the food, and hired BJ from a local restaurant.

I was hesitant to discuss the discipline I was receiving on what seemed like a fairly regular basis, but I was also curious about what BJ knew or experienced. There was, I perceived, an attraction or connection of some sort between us from the first day I was at the house, but we initially kept our distance and were formal in our interaction. Then one day I blurted it out. “When you mess up do you get disciplined?”

“What do you mean, Irene?” His English was impeccable.

I gave him a quick version of what happened in Mr. Johnstone’s study and although he listened quietly, I could sense more than a polite interest in what I was telling him. He was about to speak when the phone rang and he began a long conversation. I thought it was best that I leave.

I had been at the Johnstone house a couple of months when I was told to report to the study after dinner for failing to promptly pick up an order of dry cleaning. An important jacket that Mr. Johnstone wanted for an event wasn’t available to him. As I entered the study Mrs. Johnstone, standing just inside the door, offered me a slight, tight smile.

After Mr. Johnstone disciplined me the first time, and my hours of bedtime pleasure, I realized that the discomfort was more than compensated for by the pleasure. Or was the discomfort a necessary ingredient for that heightened level of pleasure? I hadn’t sorted it all out…and to this day…lying in this bed years later…still haven’t. But I now know enough to realize that for me there was always that delicious mix of anxiety, apprehension, having something done to me that I don’t really want…or maybe really do… being forced…ordered…being exposed…vulnerable…and punished.

Now, with the presence of Mrs. Johnstone, there was an interruption of the apprehension and warmth I had come to expect. Serious confusion of thoughts and feelings. My mind raced…between the moment and what was coming.

Mr. Johnstone’s lecture was familiar, though being without his favorite jacket at an important function seemed to raise his level of irritation beyond what he normally displayed. When he stood and took the belt from the drawer I was very aware that Mrs. Johnstone had not moved an inch. “Bend forward over the desk and pull up your skirt, Irene.”

I was nervous. Beyond warm apprehension. I hesitated for a moment, then moved to the edge of the desk. I sensed Mrs. Johnstone taking a step forward. I pulled up my dress, and, as I remember it now, Mr. Johnstone was even more deliberate…even slower with his movements…as he pulled my panties down, this time to my ankles. I knew goose bumps covered my flesh as soon as the cool air touched every crevice and opening…and I shuddered slightly. There was a long pause…longer than before I believe…before I felt the belt sting my bottom.

I don’t know if it took longer with Mrs. Johnstone there…but my pussy still got wet. I had stopped holding my legs together during my punishments, as I hoped Mr. Johnstone’s hand might end up between them after he finished spanking me. It never had. On this occasion I did press my thighs together because I surely didn’t want her to notice.

“Darling, I’m not sure your spanking is having the proper affect. We surely wouldn’t want it to give Irene any comfort. Spread you legs, Irene.” I hesitated. “Now.” Her tone was very firm. “You don’t want me to have to punish you.”

I quickly spread my legs apart. I knew. And I knew she knew. Mrs. Johnstone moved closer…until she was directly in back of me…only a few feet away. The spanking resumed and lasted longer than the others I had received. As soon as Mr. Johnstone laid the belt on the desk, she said, “I want you to check her, Darling.”

I felt fingers slide up the inside of my thigh and along the lips of my now-dripping pussy. “She’s very wet, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Mr. Johnstone answered his wife, “she’s very wet.”

His fingers slid into me, lingered, gently probed, found my clit, then moved slowly up between my cheeks until they brushed across my anus. I was fighting not to orgasm. His caresses continued. I couldn’t help myself, spread my legs further apart, and arched my bottom higher. His fingers went back deep inside me while his other hand slid slowly between my cheeks. Suddenly he stepped back. There was a long silence. I stayed very still, bent forward, my legs spread, my glistening pussy and bottom on full display.

“We’ll have to decide how to handle this situation, Darling,” she said as she walked out of the room.

“Very well, Irene. You can put yourself back together now.”

God, how I wanted him to stay.

I was too turned on to accept bringing myself to orgasm, so I headed to the kitchen to find BJ, with the excuse of looking for desert if I needed it. He was putting away groceries.

“Damn, I just got it again.” He looked puzzled. “You know, disciplined.”

He pulled out a chair from the desk, sat down, and asked, “Please tell me exactly what happened.”

I began describing what happened…starting with Mr. Johnstone’s order that I report to the study for neglecting to pick up the laundry. Before I mentioned Mrs. Johnstone’s appearance I related what I had come to expect…told him in detail what had happened the first three or four times I had been spanked. He constantly interrupted me. Asked me to repeat certain descriptions. Suddenly he stood up, moved forward and embraced me. His lips were all over mine and his tongue slid into my mouth.

Within a few frantic moments we were in the large pantry and he was on his knees pulling my panties down. He slid his hand up under my blouse and bra, across my breast; then, still on his knees, held my skirt up with his other hand, put his mouth over my pussy and started licking me. I was pinned against jars of tomatoes, but it was intense, explosive pleasure. His fingers and tongue seemed to be all over me at once, and a warm wetness teased, then entered me in more than one place.

After a few minutes of gasping ecstasy, BJ stood up, quickly removed my clothes, pulled his pants and undershorts down to reveal a beautiful, large, dark, swollen cock, turned me around, and plunged deep into me from behind. We managed to cum almost in unison.

It was a few days later, at night, again in the kitchen, and this time we were having dessert. BJ brought it up. “Has Mrs. Johnstone ever had anything to do with disciplining you?”

“Well,” I said with a wink, “you didn’t let me finish my story the other night. It was the only time, but she watched.”

“She only watched?”

“She said a few things.”

“Well, I have a story for you. But first, tell me what she said.”

“No, you owe me a story. You go first.”

“Mrs. Johnstone interviewed me, and she gave me an agreement that sounds like yours. I questioned her about the discipline and corporal punishment part and she looked right into my eyes for a moment, then said, “I’m the one who will discipline you, BJ. Don’t you think you can handle it?” I was stunned, but I sure wasn’t going to say I couldn’t.”

“Nothing happened for about a week. And then I forgot about a request Mrs. Johnstone had for an evening meal. She came into the kitchen after dinner, said she didn’t ever want it to happen again, and told me to come to the study after I finished putting everything away.”

“Sounds like similar scenarios, except she was standing, waiting for me, and holding the belt in her hand. She immediately told me to take off my jeans. I took them off. Then she told me to step over to the front of the desk and bend over it with my chest flat across the top. I hesitated. She was very stern, said something like “Now, BJ. Do as I tell you.” I bent across the desk. Nothing happened for a minute, then I felt her fingers under the waistband of my underpants and she slid them down to my ankles. She told me to spread my legs. Man, was I exposed. She said she was going to give me a good whipping, and I’d get the same every time I didn’t obey her or follow her orders.”

The shudder came suddenly as my mind’s eye pictured BJ bent over the desk, his tight, muscular ass arched up and his beautiful cock hanging down and clearly visible between his spread legs.

“She really spanked me hard. I tried not to squirm but it was tough. She stopped for a minute and I wasn’t sure she was finished, but then I felt her hand wrap around my dick. Man…I was hard as a rock.” He paused.

“And then?”

“BJ, come here, please.” Mrs. Johnstone’s voice cut through the kitchen and BJ was quickly up and through the door.

I figured BJ would knock on my door later that night, and he did. As he slid my pajama bottoms off I asked him to finish his story. Instead of speaking, his mouth went immediately to my thigh, his tongue licked at me, then moved up to find my already dripping pussy lips. After a long session with his tongue sliding up and down my lips and over my clit, he gently rolled me over. His fingers now caressed my pussy, while his tongue started darting between the cheeks of my bottom and lightly flicking across my anus. The fingers of his other hand played with my breasts. I was on fire.

I remember marveling at how skilled and experienced a lover BJ was. From our conversations I believed that he was not actively practicing a religion, but he was born a Hindu, and I would have thought exposure at a young age to that culture might inhibit sexuality. I was employed by the Johnstones for less than a year, but my sexual education moved at warp speed during those months, and my addiction to the amazing intensity of pleasure inherent in an erotic component to discipline was cemented forever.

I was exhausted after the multiple hours of sexual pleasure BJ and I exchanged that evening. I did my best to reciprocate each caress…to each body part. But as I lay in bed I thought that perhaps I still had not had enough. Images were dancing in my mind of Mrs. Johnstone, with her perfectly coiffed blond bun, in her perfectly tailored, exquisite suit, reaching between BJ’s legs as he bent forward across the desk, wrapping his balls and huge erection in the palm of her hand, and squeezing and caressing them until his cum splashed onto the floor…or filling her mouth while she knelt under him…or filling her pussy as she bent over the desk, her skirt pulled up and her panties around her ankles. I vowed to ask BJ what really happened.

It was a couple of days later when I found the time to raise the question again. He smiled, then said, “Okay, but I’m still waiting to hear what she said while she watched Mr. Johnstone spank you. Where did I stop?”

“You were bent over the desk, she had just spanked you and she reached between your legs and put her hand around your cock.”

“Yeah. I almost exploded right then. But I managed to wait. She turned me around, then went down on her knees and started sucking on me. Man, was it hard not to cum. But she seemed to know when to stop.”

“She got up and went over to the couch, then told me to come and undress her…slowly. I remember the slowly part. I took all of her clothes off. She has a very nice body for a woman her age. As soon as I pulled her panties off she grabbed my head and pulled it down to her pussy. I knew what to do. I was really getting into licking her when she pushed me away, turned around and bent over the arm of the sofa. She spread the cheeks of her ass and said, “Now I want you to lick me here.”

“She was really getting hot…moaning and groaning while I was sliding my tongue across her ass.”

“I want you to fuck me now! That’s what she told me. She was panting…gasping. “In my pussy,” she said. But if you don’t do it well I’ll spank you again…harder…then make you fuck me in my ass.”

“Man, that got me going. I don’t think I have to tell you what happened next. Okay, now it’s your turn. What did she say?”