“Good, then. You can turn around and unclothe yourself from the waist down, and kneel into the chair in front of you.”
By then my head was reeling as though I’d been on a weeklong bender—though there was not a drop of booze in my system. Actually, the thought of a good stiff belt did come to mind as a way to alleviate some of my nervousness, but I immediately banned that idea, and replaced it with my unspoken obedience.
Following Matherly’s orders, I found the next few minutes as fraught with eroticism as they were fear. Undoing my skirt at the waist, I let it drop to the floor and quickly kicked it aside. Taking a deep breath, I slipped my fingers inside the waistband of my panties, slowly drawing them down my hips, and my plump behind. To show this man the expanse of my pinkish skin, for him to see the bit of a sex pouch between my legs—it was all an exhilarating moment.
As I kicked off the panties, watching them land beside my skirt, I remembered his last instruction and moved forward to the low-backed leather club chair in front of me. Climbing on the seat, I set my knees against the edge—instinct I suppose because he hadn’t been specific with his directions. Once settling in, I leaned forward, then looked back at Matherly as he remained fixed in his seat. He seemed curiously detached at the moment, and I wondered if he felt any of the sexual desire I was feeling. I couldn’t see how we’d keep from ending up in bed with this much dazzling energy passing between us, but I certainly wouldn’t make any moves—not yet.
“Bend over the back,” Matherly said tersely.
I did as I was told, draping my stomach across the cushioned chair back, letting my arms, shoulders and head dangle on the other side.
It was then I heard my master rise, and felt the tingle of air moving on the skin of my ass as his activity disturbed the atmosphere around me. He stood to one side, staring for what seemed like an eternity before I felt anything more than the dread of that first strike to my buttocks.
With that first hit I immediately recognized the slim wooden ruler. In the moments that followed, the stiff, flat thing was briskly whacking my ass at a speed it was impossible to accommodate. The sting fierce, I was soon jumping madly inside the confines of the chair, wishing that I could leave this house and forget the miserable arrangement I’d just agreed to.
“Ouch! Please!” I wailed loudly, thinking perhaps the louder I cried the more pity Matherly would have on me. Unfortunately, my cries seemed only to arouse him more, and the dreadful ruler struck repeatedly until, in one fortunate moment, it stopped altogether. I rose slightly and looked around, feeling the warmth on my skin scatter to cover my entire backside—reaching to my toes, and up my spine. Spine-tingling was hardly the word for the experience. This erotic jolt just added more coals to the combustible heat that had become my body. Despite the fire and pain I’d endured. I could imagine an erotic ending, and looking back at Matherly with vampish eyes, I did my utmost to beckon that sort of response.
To my dismay, his intentions were not mine. He had the spanking paddle in his hand ready to assault me again—as though I needed more. Tucking my head back down, I didn’t need to wait long for him to strike again. He came on me as briskly as before, and to my surprise, initially it didn’t hurt as much as I feared it would. The leather was not as unforgiving as the wooden ruler. Though a good ten swats into the added treatment my ass was burning as badly as it had before and I was writhing about the club chair frantic once again.
“Oh, please, isn’t it enough?” I finally wailed in protest.
“Hush!” Matherly retorted. “I’m only getting started with you, Merrilee.” I thought that meant he’d be going on forever, and certainly the swift strokes went on for some time, driving the pain in me to an unbelievable degree. But then he stopped, and when I was finally breathing more easily, I realized he was finished.
Matherly backed away and returned to his chair, appraising me silently several minutes while the anxiety in the room and the heat on my bottom began to diminish.
“How does that feel?” he finally asked.
Not really, but should I admit that to him? “No, I suppose not,” I confessed.
“But it does turns you on.”
How did he guess? I wondered. Though as soon as the question popped in my head, I had my answer. Of course he’d know. After all, he’d been doing this for years if I was to believe what he said. If he hadn’t, then he was certainly accomplished for the way he was handling me. I wanted only to believe everything he said.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” I replied.
“I suspected as much. This is more than punishment, this is deep-seated desire. You play it out, Merrilee, you’ll find your need for your other addictions will abruptly end.”
I was already experiencing that fact. Did I understand it? Not really, but oddly, I felt better than I’d ever felt in my life. That was all that mattered.
“You can get dressed and freshen yourself in the bathroom,” he said. “And I suggest that you look in the mirror at your ass. You’ll find the sight as intriguing as it is alarming. Get used to it.”
I did as I was told, down to the long viewing of my poor bottom in Matherly’s full length mirror. At first stunned by the sight, I couldn’t agree more that it was as intriguing as it was alarming. Red, raw, a bit singed with a rash in several places. Ah, and how beautiful to my eyes, like my imagination pictured it would be, like vague memories from childhood, like what I’d seen in the spanking magazines of roughed up female bottoms. Touching the surface, I shivered. I felt chastised, miserably so, and supremely happy about it.
When I returned to Matherly’s living room, I stood before him again feeling humbled.
“Your discipline begins today,” he started his lecture. “For the next several Saturdays we’ll repeat this treatment just so you’re inspired to behave yourself. And every evening when you return from work, you’ll page me. When I call, you’ll report the activities of your day, and I’ll decide from there if there is anything more warranted in correction. At the same time, you can let me know if you have any special request. If I think your idea is reasonable I’ll give you permission. Is all that clear?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“Good. Then you can go home.”
“I was planning dinner with friends tonight—plans we made several days ago?”
“And you’ll be home when?”
“By nine,” I guessed.
“Then, I’ll call you at nine to make certain you got back on time.”
I could see immediately that this arrangement was something to get used to, but being numb and calm and peaceful I couldn’t raise one objection to the exacting outline of my days. I realized that if I objected, it wouldn’t have made any difference. This was a take it or leave it proposition.
As I left the cottage that afternoon, staring into the burgeoning emptiness of the lush forest surrounding my master’s home, I realized why Matherly wanted me alone in that woodsy spot. He knew I’d be crying like crazy, and I could do that to my heart’s content with no one around to hear me. It was an interesting agreement we’d made—all of it.
I had no idea what effect Terrence Matherly’s strict regimen would have on me. His influence on my life was so universal there was hardly a moment of my day that I didn’t think about him, or wonder if my actions would meet with his approval. It seemed that I had no freewill at all. Required to check in with him for everything, I could resent that kind of intrusion. And yet, the feeling behind such surrender gave me acute pangs of desire I’d never experienced in quite this way. Perhaps in my fantasies there was something akin to this jarring sensation, but it was so indistinct I couldn’t quite recognize its source.
In the first days of our arrangement, I learned quickly to stop before I did anything and make a mental note to determine if this was one of Matherly’s approved activities for me. While he was normally agreeable to my personal plans, several times I requested permission to go somewhere out of the ordinary and he gave me a quick refusal, no explanation. If I experienced any resistance at all, I bit my tongue, reminding myself that I’d freely entered into this contract of obedience. Normally after a refusal, I found my body heat suddenly sparked—as though the gripping fingers of his directives for me were by themselves aphrodisiacs.
Yet, when he refused my request to go to the library one Tuesday evening, I was so floored by the rejection that without thinking, I blurted out, “What the hell’s wrong with the library?” I was hardly happy and we both knew that by my tone of voice.
“Do you want to repeat that statement?” Matherly asked after a few seconds of eerie silence.
“No, I suppose not,” I conceded quietly. This was yet the first month of our agreement, and I was still having regular punishments on Saturday afternoons. Though he said no more that day, for my next weekly session, he ended my punishment with six cuts from a cane—this a first.
I was ordered to the club chair as I had been at my first punishment—though this time he had me drape myself over the back, not kneel in the seat. Once he finished spanking me with a wooden paddle—a punishment I found excruciating, I turned to see he had a terrifying cane poised in his hand.
“This is for questioning me,” he said. “I’d suggest you dig in hard, this will hurt.”
“Like the rest doesn’t hurt?” I said aloud. I don’t know what came over me to bark that way.
“Unless you want me to double the number, I’d suggest that you take this gracefully, you’ve earned every cut. I’d suggest you remember, when I give you an order your unquestioned obedience is all that is required. Don’t think. I’m taking care of that for you.”
I was too confused at the moment to understand what he was suggesting, and since the cane was about to strike, I just let go his counsel in favor of gritting my teeth and holding on to the forearms of the chair for support. With my red ass sticking out behind me, Matherly was on my backside, promptly delivering the three cutting stripes to the meat of my flesh.
I screamed after the third—it was only then that the pain caught up with my mind. Reflex made me jerk off the chair and so Matherly waited for me to return. He knew I would. Settled again, he ripped off not three more, but five—having increased the number to eight for my beleaguered mutiny.
“You might say our Saturday afternoons have been therapy for your guilty soul. Today was honest punishment,” he explained as I remained submissively posed. “I consider this one light compared with what you’ll feel if you choose to defy me again. Is that understood?”
I rose, dressing myself at his command. And as I returned for his last orders, I found myself wishing with all my heart, that just once he’d take me in his arms and give me some comfort—that comfort might turn sexual. This heat, this body heat, this lusty fire in me needed some way to be spent.
“Sir, I have request,” I found myself speaking my thought.
“I need a lover.”
“Oh?” He looked as detached as ever.
“You mentioned the first time you spanked me if I was aroused?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Sir, I’m aroused all the time. I can hardly contain this physical need—and if there is anything left obsessively nagging at me, it’s sex—and sex was not my vice before.”
He let me stew for some moments wondering how he’d react to my confession and then motioned me to him. At his side, he moved one hand inside my skirt, artfully fingering his way inside my panties. I practically slumped to his lap, though I remained unsteadily on my feet as he played with the folds of skin, the hole and the clit between my thighs. At few seconds of near dizziness, he pulled me to his lap, still fondling the ripe, craving flesh. I came on his hand, my juice flooding over his fingers, and he smeared the frothy liquid on my skin like a soothing cream. It felt cool against my ass.
I was still cumming when his fingers moved deeper into my crack where he found my anus a particular pleasing toy. My pussy still gushing with juice, I clenched tightly, another orgasm just a fleeting flick of his hand from explosion. Pushing me off his lap, he turned me about so I was lying against his desk. Then, attacking me from behind, he pressed his erection into my rear door—I didn’t even know he’d unzipped his pants.
I could hardly manage the unexpected intrusion, never having been violated up the ass, but with Matherly intent on having his way, like another act of obedience I gave in as much with my mind as my body. A heavenly enslavement resulted, my master securing me more completely in his clutches. As I opened for him, he fucked me as soundly as he might have my cunt, and that second orgasm fired off in me like a rocket aimed for outer space.
I was drained an instant later, falling limply against the desk, my eyes, my sensitive fingers and my thoughts oddly focusing on the minute details of the desk’s satin surface—dust, the smudge of fingerprints, my panting breath condensing in a tiny vapor of fog, appearing and disappearing as the stark reality of my surrender cut through the fog in my brain.