That evening, as it was about time for their select patrons to arrive, she watched him. It usually began that way, looking at Evan as something other than her tormentor. She imagined herself with him again, what it would be like to be at his side, in his bed, fixing his breakfast, and doing all the other things that being his lover would require. Would it be so bad? Wouldn't it be easier to have him and be done with it, to forget about other men? He knew her better than any one else; he didn't balk at all her obsessive needs; he didn't even scowl or judge the crazy stops and starts when it came to sex.
Most of all, Evan enjoyed the really deviant side of herself, the one that thrived on old-fashioned over the lap justice, corporal punishment, complete with tongue lashings—that healthy dose of scolding that made her tremble.
Breaking in another lover would be so very difficult. So few men understood these curious needs in her, and had the creative inspiration to play her games with as much pizzazz as she required. Evan did. He had the capacity to be a breathtaking dominant, to hold her grasped in his authoritative presence, so that she'd shiver right down to her panties.
The gallery was glowing, the incandescent light flickered just enough to make the artwork glimmer. It was a small, but perfect showing, and it was hers.
"Mr. Hawke, may I take your coat?" Liza asked. The burly bearded fortyish man was Evan's most precious client. He looked typically "Hawke" that night, brusque, in scruffy blue jeans, cowboy boots and a black suede shirt.
He handed her the coat and eyed her carefully with his cold eyes, a penetrating stare that went right through her, as if he could see every detail of her soul. "You look remarkable this evening," he said, and walked away.
For three years Nathan Hawke had been coming to the gallery and never had he so much as spoken one personal word to her. Whatever possessed him now? Liza wondered. He always did business with Evan alone, always ignoring her. She had long considered that he was a throw back to the Neanderthal notion of women in their place, and their place was not in the business world—even an art gallery. Once, but just once, he'd eyed her while he waited in the reception area for Evan, and posing such an ominous picture, his stare so unnerving, she quickly found a reason to excuse herself to another part of the building.
What did he mean by "remarkable?" she wondered from the safety of her assigned place at the front door. He was sitting with his back to her, waiting for the auction to begin. His rudeness fascinated her. He'd make a fine character in one of her novels.
She stood with eyes glued to him, when he suddenly turned around and looked at her with a severe stare, then smiled lightly. He'd caught her.
He should have politely turned back around, but he didn't. Instead, he continued to stare, watching her squirm uncomfortably. She didn't want to blush, but she did anyway. Evan's appearance at the front of the room, ended the peculiar encounter, as Nathan turned his attentions to the auction.
When Liza figured the accounting the next morning, Nathan Hawke had purchased $30,000.00 in art, an impressive sum.
"Good God, he spent a fortune!" she announced.
"I love it!" Evan exclaimed.
"What does this guy do?" Liza inquired.
"I really don't know, stocks I think, but lots of rumors surface when you're as rich as he is. All I care about is that he loves my art, and he loves to pay for it," Evan said flippantly.
"Well, he must have loved my art last night," Liza reminded him.
"Oh, you want to take credit for this?" he said.
"And why not? I did a damned good job on the showing."
"It'll do," Evan said absently, going back to his books.
"Maybe if your Mr. Hawke wants more, I could show him some things personally," Liza suggested, trying to rouse Evan's interest.
"I don't think so, my dear."
"And why not?" she replied, baiting him.
"Don't set your sights on him," Evan said in a typical warning tone.
"He's a nasty ass with women." Evan didn't even bother to look at her as he continued to pour over his accounts.
"Not married?" Liza inquired.
"I have no idea, I'd be surprised if he was." He looked up at her. "I can't imagine your sweet sensitive self in biker bars, and going to boxing matches, and the race track every Thursday."
"That's what he does for fun?" she asked.
"That's what I hear, that and shelling out a lot of money for a print that should have only gone for about half the price." Evan smiled deviously.
"You're kidding, I thought that was a fair price for that piece."
"I made a killing. He wanted that print. I don't know why, but I made certain he paid exactly what I wanted him to."
"Maybe he doesn't have to care about money?" Liza speculated.
Evan shrugged. "I suppose he doesn't, but what do I care?"
Liza stared at her boss. To her dismay, her loins began to respond. Why when he was being such an ass did she fantasize about his prick, and all those other things?
He looked up, catching her expression. "You look as if you'd like an interlude in the stockroom, maybe play our little games again, now that you're free of who was it? Aubrey?"
She couldn't stop staring.
"Yes, Aubrey," he repeated. The memory of her latest love amused him. "How about some rope, care to be tied up?" he asked.
"No," she replied determined. That had been years ago, why did he think of it now? She was surprised he even suggested sex with her, he was suppose to be embroiled in a raging relationship with a little nineteen year old "friend of the family."
"I think you're lying, Liza," Evan said, rising from his desk, and moving around to put his hand gently on her chin. While she tried to keep from looking at him, he lifted her head, so that her eyes couldn't help but look into his.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Evan," she replied, though she was already beginning to lose her resolve.
"Oh, but that doesn't matter does it? You can't help yourself."
"I can," she countered.
"Perhaps, but you won't." He dropped her chin, and took her hand, leading her into the stockroom.
"See," he said, pulling out a leather strap from the closet. "It's still here, right where we left it."
Liza shuddered looking at it, remembering how many times she'd had the thing peppering her bottom with one mean stroke after another, while she gasped in excited, panting, throbbing need.
"How long has it been?" he said, while his eyes gleamed.
She didn't want to give herself away, but she was certain that he knew her mind and loins anyway, no matter how indignant she acted, or how she might protest. She didn't know how long it had been since the last time he'd strapped her ass, except that it had been too long. At least two years, and the feeble attempts she'd made to get her bottom royally spanked since then had failed miserably. The other participants just hadn't had the knack required for a really good session. Unfortunately, Evan did.
"How apropos. You wore a skirt," he observed looking directly at her groin.
"We can't do this," she whispered. Though even as she said it, it was as if she was moving down a path from which she could not veer, not even for an instant. She responded as if a compulsion had taken over and she was no longer in control of herself.
Evan smiled, because he knew she would do exactly what he said. With his foot, he kicked an old antique metal stool into the center of the room. He'd used it before, for just such a session. They both remembered it well.
"Kneel down and bend over," he ordered.
"Don't try to control this, my love. I know you much too well. You get your ass over that stool or I'll cane you too."
Caning she couldn't stand, but this she could. And he was right, why try to avoid it?
She knelt as she often had before. The floor was always too hard on her knees, but she would forget halfway through the episode, when all she cared about was the way her ass burned, and the rising heat between her legs.
When she was bent over the stool, she could lay her stomach on the flat part; the rest of her, her breasts, arms and head, dangled over the edge. Her back side remained open and vulnerable to whatever punishment Evan devised. The strap might be one of the worst, but it was certainly one of her favorites.
Evan briskly tugged at her skirt, so it was quickly bunched at her waist.
"My, how lovely your rear is," he commented, admiring the flesh he hadn't seen in some time, but remembered well. "But panties? Really Liza, that's hardly appropriate for a good submissive," he taunted her.
"I've had no recent training," she reminded him meekly. Something about the position always made her turn so very humble. She'd likely call him "sir" in a moment, if she wasn't careful.
"Well, I'll have to take care of that, won't I?"
Liza didn't reply.
Evan tore at her panties. The tiny bikini's ripped away easily, leaving her bottom completely naked, her ass thrust out lewdly, her legs parted just as Evan liked them, so that her bottom cleft was wide open, her sex available for his view.
Drawing his arm back a good distance, Evan brought the strap down on her bottom with a good measure of zeal. It had been some time since Evan had had this kind of satisfaction, and he was going to enjoy it.
"Oh, gawd," Liza gasped aloud, as she remembered how wonderful and how horrible this would feel, all at the same time.
Each successive blow landed, jerking her body, and creating a sudden and vivid pain that made her bottom feel as if it were on fire.
The spanking continued with blow after blow raining down on her in rapid succession. Evan was not a slow methodical spanker. Liza always wished he would be. Instead, he let his fury be spent in quick blasts, that sometimes lasted only a minute, and on other occasions as long as ten.
"Oh, gawd, pleeese," she began to cry, even as she wanted more. Her loins wiggled lewdly for him, revealing the extent of her arousal and her need.
"Such a little spanking slut you are," Evan observed, as he watched the lusty display. "You've really been deprived." Evan was never content just to administer a paddling, the taunting was half the fun.
He figured she had at least this one good punishment in her, and he would give it his best; though it was not in the least, as hard and thorough as it might have been. After all, he was still seducing her back to him. He didn't want to cause her too much distress. It was a very precarious line he walked; his ephemeral "girl friend" had to be handled delicately. Although he was quite certain that he'd win her into captivity once more. He had not only the strap, but his charm as well, to dazzle her into his bed.
"My gawd, Evan please, not that," she squealed, as he landed one particularly nasty blow, right at the top of her thighs. How she hated that!
"Oh, you'll take that too, I'm just getting started."
Evan watched her bottom turn a vibrant crimson, as a wild rush of feeling surged through him. He saw the nasty slap at the top of her thighs turn pink, and with another snap of the strap, it turned red, like the rest of her ass.
"Yeeeeaw," she cried.
He backed off and stared at her.
Her cries dwindling away, it was so quiet, Liza could hear her own heart beating; and Evan could hear his own elevated breathing. As her bottom swayed in the cool breeze of the storeroom, the warmth spread throughout her thighs and belly and back, seeming to move everywhere throughout her.
"Please," she murmured as she teased him with an almost unconscious gesture. She wanted more.
He brought the strap down on her bottom again, another round of fury unleashed, until she was protesting and fighting away her tears.
"I told you, little bitch, didn't I?" he taunted her.
Why the hell did he have to be so right? Liza thought to herself.
Though she was ready for a ruthless punishment, she worried that she wouldn't be able to tolerate the painful strapping that he'd give her. It had been such a long time, she could imagine that he'd have lots of pent-up rage at her to expel. But thankfully, he was not without mercy.
Dropping the strap, he pulled her to her feet, though he was hardly finished with her. He pushed her over the back of a chair, so that her punished bottom was as exposed as it had been over the stool—the perfect height for a meaningful violation.
Unzipping his pants, he pulled out his cock and thrust it between her legs, into the warm succulent womanhood that could hardly wait to be filled by a stiff erection. He pounded her eagerly while she moved lewdly against his thighs. With each thrust he spanked her bottom with his hand, reminding her how much her bottom hurt; though by then, it was all sexual arousal, even the pain.
When she heard him cry out as he climaxed, she pressed her red bottom against his groin. Then, his hand reached around her thighs to find her swollen throbbing sex, where just a few tender soft strokes brought her to an exuberant edge. He stayed with her until she peaked and thereafter, while she was catching her breath from the reckless fuck.
When Evan withdrew from her, she remained poised over the chair, listening to the sound of him zipping his pants.
He dealt a spirited smack to her rear.
"Refreshing, Liza, refreshing," he said jauntily. Winning a battle for him was something to gloat about. Winning it in Liza's presence, winning it over her in particular, there was just nothing that quite compared with it. "Don't bother with the panties, they don't become a good submissive. Since you're back in that role again my love, I'd suggest you behave yourself, or you'll be spending more time back here bent over the stool than you will in the gallery."
With that, Liza stood. Back in the role? The phrase was daunting to say the least. Was she captured again, reduced to being Evan's submissive one more time?
Being abused by Evan was exquisite torture; why she craved it was her private torment; that she craved it was a fact that had been with her for so long, perhaps it was time to quit denying it.