I turned. She was standing there with a drink in her hand. Her
lips formed a smile as faint as the Mona Lisas.
"No," I said when I could speak, "For the
art."
The smile did not leave her face. "It is bad art." she
said. "It deserves to be spat at."
I looked at her for a moment and pointed to an abstract on the far
wall. She cocked her head and peered at it for a long time. "You are right." she
said finally. "There is good art here, too."
"Thanks," I said. "Thats mine."
She looked at me with the same intensity on her face that had been
there when she studied the painting. "You are older than you look." she said.
I rubbed my hand over my bare cheek self-consciously. I had shaved
that evening even though I did not have to. "Im sorry about the melon
seed," I said. "How about dinner tonight to make up for it."
She looked at me again. Two long strides and she was standing
directly in front of me. I was taller than she but her heels elevated her face until it
was even with mine. Her hand came up and took hold of my chin. Her head leaned forward and
her lips brushed mine. Then our lips met, pressing against each other.
"I am hungry," she said and kissed me again.
This time the kiss was deep and passionate. As soon as our lips
and bodies joined I forgot completely where we were. Our arms held our bodies together as
we embraced in the crowded room, oblivious to what was going on around us.
"I am hungry," she said again when we came up for air.
"Let me buy you dinner." I said. "It will make up
for the melon seed."
She looked at me again. Her eyes seemed to penetrate to the depth
of my soul. "A dinner is not sufficient." she told me. "After dinner we
will go to my apartment."
She said no more. She didnt have to. I understood exactly
what she was telling me. I knew exactly what she was going to do.
I could not take my eyes off her beautiful face as we ate. I
answered her questions automatically and made the usual meaningless small talk. I barely
even tasted the food that was put before me. We lingered over our coffee until she set her
cup firmly in its saucer.
"It is time for us to go." she said. She was smiling at
me again.
I did not take my eyes off of her when I put my credit card on the
table. I barely looked down when I signed the slip. Silently she rose and silently I
followed her out of the restaurant. We walked in silence down the street. She said nothing
until we stood in the center of her living room.
"Your trousers." she said. She lit a cigarette and stuck
it in a long black holder as she waited for me to comply. I stared at her pretending I did
not understand what she was saying.
She took a long drag on her cigarette and looked at me with
disdain. "Take off your trousers," she said. "I will not tell you again. I
will not give you another order twice."
I did not take my eyes from her face as I fumbled with my belt and
my zipper. It seemed like a long time until they were unfastened and my pants dropped to
the floor.
She smiled at me like a shark contemplating its dinner. "Not
like that, little boy," she told me, her voice sharpened by a slight bit of anger and
annoyance. "Neatly. Hang them up neatly."
I picked them up and smoothed the fabric. I laid them over the
back of the couch.
She smiled again. "Good. You are learning." Then she
paused. "Now the underpants."
I did not hesitate. My fingers stretched the elastic of the
waistband and, without thinking, I pulled my underpants down and over my feet. Then I
stood there, feeling silly, and waiting for her next order. She smiled at me and left the
room. When she returned there was a wooden hairbrush in her right hand. Moving
deliberately she took an armless wooden chair from the dining area. She placed it
carefully in the center of the room and, hiking up her skirt, sat facing me. I stood there
feeling like a small boy called to task for some mischievous behavior.
Her next order was not long in coming. She shifted slightly in the
chair, settling back into a comfortable position and beckoned me to get over her lap.
I paused when I reached her side and looked down at her legs. Even
my knowledge as to what was about to happen could not stifle my feelings; I could feel my
penis grow with an erection.
As I hesitated she impatiently tapped the hairbrush on her thigh
as if to remind me of her previous warning. I swallowed again as I bent at the waist and
allowed my knees to buckle. I knew that as soon as I was over her lap she would feel my
erection. Embarrassed by that thought, I lowered myself over her lap as gently as
possible. Then I was in position. My weight was supported by her long thighs. I reveled in
the press of my flesh against hers and the delicious pressure of my erection pressed
between our bodies. Her hand moved slowly across my buttocks, covered only by my shirt
tail, creating chills of excitement that made my body shudder from the crown of my head to
the tip of my toes.
"Well, little boy," she said as her fingers danced
across my bottom. "You are comfortable."
She was right. My position was humiliating. I was being treated
like a juvenile. I was being treated with the cavalier disrespect appropriate for a
misbehaving child. She was making it plain that neither my dignity nor my feelings
mattered in the least. I was, nevertheless, comfortable.
Then I felt her fingers on my legs and the tail of my shirt being
folded over my back. My rear end was exposed to the air and to whatever she wanted to do
with her wicked hairbrush.
"Little boys are not supposed to be comfortable when they are
being corrected." she told me. I could almost hear her chuckle as she spoke to me.
"Little boys are supposed to be very sorry when they are naughty. You are not sorry
now. You will be sorry very soon."
I did not respond. I expected her to say something else. She
didnt. She had a more effective way to communicate with me.
The back of the hairbrush crashed into my backside with a sound
like a book being dropped from a great height and landing flat on a wooden floor. I felt
my groin being pushed against her legs by the force of the blow. Then my vision went white
as the pain flashed across one side of my rear end. She did not even pause.
*SPLAT*
Before I could even catch my breath from the first swat the
hairbrush landed on the opposite buttock creating a new fire. I was surprised at how much
just two spanks had hurt. And, worse, I knew she was far from finished.
"Ouch." I cried. "That hurts."
This time I heard her low, throaty laugh. "My little boy is
no longer comfortable." she said. "Now you are starting to learn how to be
sorry."
She said nothing else. The hairbrush clutched in her long fingers
spoke for her. Its electric message came through loud and clear. I didnt even have a
chance to catch my breath; the paddle began to land on my bottom an instant after she
spoke.
It stung.
It was even worse than that. It felt like someone had taken a
burning torch and dropped it on the soft flesh of my bottom. It didnt take long for
me to start to cry out. By the time she had given me a dozen hard swats my whole bottom
felt like it was on fire. I gripped the legs of the chair to keep from reaching back. I
kicked my legs in the air.
Then it got worse.
The hairbrush started to revisit spots that it had already set on
fire. The stinging got worse. Between each spank I could think only of the pain in my
bottom. Then the hairbrush would crash down again and the fire would burn even hotter. My
rear was so sore that even a light tap would have created waves of pain. She didnt
give me any light taps.
She didnt stop just because I was yelling and kicking and
wriggling. She continued to swat my buns with that evil paddle until my eyes clouded over
and, unable to stand any more. I could feel tears in my eyes as I reached back with one
hand and tried to cover my bottom.
"Please," I cried out. "No more. Im burning
up. I cant stand anymore."
She stopped then.
When she stopped paddling me, I thought she was finished. I took a
deep breath and told her how sorry I was. I was wrong.
"Stand up." she ordered.
I almost jumped to my feet. My hands flew back and tried to
comfort my throbbing buttocks. I was so intent on rubbing my bottom that I did not notice
her maneuver me between her legs. I was not aware of what was happening until she started
to pull me down again.
"What?" I exclaimed.
She did not pause until I was draped over one of her legs. I was
bent at a very acute angle with my nose almost on the floor. Then I felt her other leg
push against the back of my legs, pinning me in position.
"I am not done yet, little boy." she said. "You are
just starting to learn your lesson." I could almost hear the chuckle in her voice.
"No." I cried. "No more," and reached back
again to protect my rear. She grabbed my wrist and pushed it up into my back. My nose
bumped against the carpet and the back of the hairbrush fell again on my bottom. Her
strong leg and hand firmly immobilized me. I could not move as my sore heinie stuck up as
a perfect target for her hairbrush. I have never felt so helpless in my life. I struggled
and wiggled but my bottom stayed in position and the hairbrush continued to fall.
All I could think about was my bottom. The rest of my body seemed
to become nothing more than dead attachments to a spot of pain. My buns seemed to swell
and pulsate as she continued to spank me. Finally I realized that I was no longer kicking
or struggling. I was crying; I knew that because I could feel the tears rolling down my
cheeks and I could taste the salty drops as they dripped into my mouth. I was begging; I
knew that because I could hear incoherent pleas pass my lips between my sobs. Otherwise I
was just laying there absorbing each swat. My bottom no longer throbbed. All I could feel
was a deep ache that seemed to penetrate even deeper with each of her regular spanks. I
thought that I had been over her lap forever.
She stopped then.
She stopped spanking me and laid the back of the hairbrush on my
back. She held me tightly in position as her hand played with the sore flesh of my bottom.
"I think you are sorry now." she told me.
"Waah." I cried like a small child. "Im
sorry. Im sorry." I bubbled like a naughty child trying to appease an angry
parent.
"I think you have learned a lesson."
I sobbed again and gasped as I tried to talk. "Yes," I
told her between sobs. "I have. I have."
"Good," she told me. "When you get up, kneel and
thank me. Then you can kiss the hairbrush and thank it for helping to teach the
lesson."
Even though the fire was still raging in my bottom I realized what
a humiliating ritual she was ordering me to perform. I balked.
"No." I said. "Dont embarrass me like
that."
"I see I was wrong." she said. "I see that you have
not learned your lesson."
She did not use the hairbrush now. Her hand was sufficient. She
slapped one buttock and then the other. There was not much force behind the blows. There
did not have to be. Even the light slaps made the stinging worse.
"No." I cried. "Ill do it. Ill do
it."
She paid no attention. As I cried and protested, she slapped me a
dozen times before she stopped again. She held me in place for a few seconds.
"I will release you now." she told me and, as she spoke,
I felt her hands leave my wrist and the pressure depart from my legs.
Free at last, I rolled onto the floor. I stood, stumbling as I got
to my feet. My hands were on my bottom as I hopped and danced around the room. Nothing
helped. The pain continued. The throbbing continued.
She allowed me to bounce around the room for a moment before she
issued a sharp command to get my attention. "You were not told you could do
that." she said sharply. "You were told what you had to do. Do you wish to be
spanked again tomorrow?"
I ignored her.
The pain in my rear was too great. I continued to caper around the
chair rubbing at my sore bottom.
She spoke again. "If you do not stop that right now, I will
put you back over my knee."
This got my attention. I did not question her right or ability to
do so. I forced myself to stand still and then walk over to her. She spread her legs to
provide me with a place to kneel.
I forced my knees to bend until they touched the floor. I could
feel her knees close against my sides. They touched me and held me in place. I looked and
saw the hairbrush extended to me, hanging in the air just inches from my lips.
I tried to talk but could not. I swallowed and looked up at her.
There was a stern expression on her face and I knew what I had to do.
"Thank you," I choked out. "Thank you for
correcting me."
I stopped talking.
"And the hairbrush." I shivered at the commanding tone
in her voice.
I put out a hand to steady the brush and bring it to my lips. It
felt warm as though heated by the exercise of beating my behind.
"Thank you," I told the inanimate object. "Thank
you for the lesson you taught me."
I looked up again. There was a smile on her face now. It was a
smile of amusement and of pleasure. It was a smile that said that she now owned me and
that this scene would be repeated whenever she thought it necessary. I did not care, for I
knew that I would be with her.
Her hand reached down and caressed my chin. With gentle pressure
she lifted me up. Our lips met for the first time since we met in the gallery. Her tongue
probed deep into my mouth.
"Now," she said. "I will show you the
bedroom."
She patted my sore behind before she took hold of my hand and led
me back into her apartment.
I knew that I would belong to her forever. I knew that I wanted to
belong to her forever.
The