“Did you bring
the spanker with you?” he asked her as his hands ran their way
through her tangled hair.
“You didn’t ask
for it,” she answered in a soft vacant way.
“Humm.
That’s too bad then,” he replied, giving her cheek a
tender kiss. “I’ll
have to use the other things.”
“What other
things?” she wondered, still a little too dreamy to make any
sense of words and meaning.
“Don’t play
coy, my dear, I already told you.”
She was waking
slowly. “But I
thought you wanted to make love to me?
You said you wanted to be gentle.”
“And that I’ve
done,” he reminded her. “Now
I want to punish you. It’s
at my discretion, you know.”
His loving gestures laced with caressing tones, did
little to convey his meaning, though the words sufficed.
She squirmed against him trying to love him more.
“Have I done
something?” she asked in innocence.
“Oh, yes,” he
replied gladly. “You’ve
pissed me off a dozen times, and I’ll get it all back.”
“But you said . .
.”
“I’ve changed
my mind. That’s
my prerogative as a man, just as yours as a woman is to be as
puzzling as a spring breeze.”
Michael moved away
from her, watching her all the way to his bedroom door, as the
reclining figure of ribald sexual glamour teased him from the
couch. Legs open,
she appeared to be luring him away from his purpose, but he
wasn’t moved enough to change his mind.
Leaving the
wrappings from the parcel of implements strewn on the bedroom
floor, he brought the paddle and baton with him back to the
living room.
“On you’re belly,” he ordered her, “unless of
course, you want it on your puss.”
Hastily scooting
about, Savannah complied without a second thought, anxious to
bury her tender skinned limbs and chest into the comfort of
Michael’s thick couch. But
her ass end shamelessly bared took a bevy of smacks from the
black lacquered paddle as Michael knelt at her side on one knee,
and used it for more than mere love pats. Even in the dim light, he could see the color of her bottom
change. The
milk-white hue of her skin went from a faint blush, to pink, to
a second shade of rose, the color of an old tea-rose past its
prime. Though she
was hardly wilting like a flower.
Savannah didn’t
like the strike of the paddle as well as she’d liked the
leather spanker. This
so unforgiving made her think more of being punished than having
sex. But Michael
was unabashedly ruthless laying the thing against her cheeks.
She rocked back and forth, though that was a foolish move
when she was suddenly struck in places that weren’t as amply
padded as her ass.
“You must really
be angry with me,” she sobbed, when he stopped.
“Something I’m
only beginning to admit,” he said.
“But that’s only half of it.”
“The other half?
“ she asked peeking out through her muddied eyes.
He handed her a
handkerchief. “No
mascara on the couch,” he informed her.
“The other half, I’m thoroughly enjoying it as much
as you are.” He watched her wipe away the messy make-up.
She wouldn’t deny
the pleasure, the fact that at that instant, after having cried
for him to stop because it hurt so badly, she was feeling the
distinguishing warmth of her hot ass begin to radiate outward in
such a pleasant way that in secret she was wanting more.
Either Michael read her mind or simply desired to
continue for himself. This
time, lifting her from the couch, he sat himself down.
In an old fashioned gesture he then drew his crying brat
over his lap so he’d have easier access to her lush punished
mounds and the passionate heat they gave off.
He spanked her more.
The black paddle took her fading cheeks and raised the
rosy glow again to its most vibrant color. Then, exchanging the paddle for the baton, he let the thin
reed fly against the red, leaving marks with each nasty crack.
“Michael nooooo,”
she roared from her gut.
The cane struck
again. “These are
for Guillaume. (her other lover).
I’m sure he’d approve,” he remarked, before he let
the second one land. That
cut hotly on both cheeks, leaving a burn to linger when the
blush died off.
“Oh gawd,” the low mellow protest filled him with
woe, but it wasn’t enough to deter the third, the fourth or
the fifth sharp cut. “Oh, noooooooo,” were the final forlorn words before the
last strike hit.
“Just one more,
for Guillaume,” Michael announced.
Savannah knew it
wasn’t for Guillaume at all, but himself. At least it was the last one.
And because he turned her over and held her close to him,
as soon as he was finished, she allowed the hurt and even the
pain to die quickly away. The
punishment over, Savannah drifted passionately in his
Michael’s arms enjoying what his ferocity created in erotic
heat.
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