MISS HARDING'S SPANKING CHAIR
She was clearly a lot older than him, but she was stunning, hypnotic, sophisticated and beautiful, and he couldn't take his eyes off her. Geraldine Harding had arrived that week as replacement for his boss's secretary, and Tim was immediately fascinated by her. He guessed she was in her mid forties, and she was tall, almost six foot, and not what you would call slim, but certainly not overweight. Sturdy, toned and well proportioned, and every bit a curvaceous woman. She had shoulder length brown hair, cool, piercing brown eyes, and from the moment her eyes fell on his, he was in awe of her. She exuded self-confidence and authority, and wasn't the first to look away when seeming to visually appraise him as he sat down at his desk that Friday morning.
Tim worked as part of a telephone sales team that sold investment products for a fund management company. It was high pressure work, where poor results soon resulted in unemployment, but good results were very generously rewarded. Tim was one of the more successful of the sales team of ten, and was earning a very comfortable income. Recently the sales team had been increasingly working from home, but were expected to work one pre-arranged day in the office each week, as the sales manager, Jack Heaver, believed in eye-ball to eye-ball meetings to keep his sales team motivated. Geraldine Harding had joined on the Monday, so had already met the rest of the sales team. He nodded in her direction, with a shy smile, as her appraisal lingered uncomfortably. Eventually, she dipped her face with just the hint of a nod, then she glanced at her watch, before her attention returned to he computer monitor. Tim had the feeling that she had already made her mind up about who he was and how she would treat him.
Tim had never felt so nervous in the company of a woman he'd just met, and he was quite sure he was sending out all sorts of signals to that effect. As he logged into his sales plans, trying to focus on what he would report to Jack when he was called into his office for their weekly meeting, he glanced up again at his new secretary, and was sure she registered it, then smiled to herself. It made him even more in awe of her.
He should have introduced himself, he realised a few moments later. Feeling uncharacteristically timid, he rose hesitantly to his feet, then walked the five or so metres to her desk. He expected her to look up as he stood awkwardly in front of her, but she didn't, not for several long seconds, even though she knew he was there.
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Tim Clarke.”
Her eyes rose to meet his. Close up, he found her cool eyes even more intimidating.
“Yes, I know who you are. I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Geraldine Harding.”
“Pleased to meet you too,” he replied, trying to sound casual, “You can call me Tim, by the way.”
“You can call me Miss Harding,” she replied, regarding him for a few more seconds, before dropping her eyes to her computer screen.
Tim continued to stand awkwardly in front of her desk. He seemed to have been dismissed.
“I hope you are happy here,” he offered, weakly.
She kept him waiting, before her eyes rose from the screen.
“Time will tell, Tim. Perhaps there might be some promise.”
There was a hint of a smile, then her eyes returned to her screen, and he returned to his desk. Even her voice was silky smooth. She was obviously well educated.
Concentrating on his sales report was almost impossible. What did she mean by 'promise'?
Half an hour later he was called into Jack's office to deliver his report. He was very aware that Miss Harding's eyes followed him, and even felt that they were roaming over his body as he passed her. Something was happening, but he had no idea what it was.
Jack seemed happy with his sales report and performance, and told him he was second to top salesman of the week. However, he did comment that his expenses seemed a bit high, but it was nothing more than a passing comment, and Tim wasn't asked for an explanation.
Tim did consider asking about how he was finding his new secretary, but thought better of it. When he left Jack's office he again felt the eyes of Miss Harding following him, but when he sat down at his desk, she appeared to be engrossed with her computer screen.
“May I have a private word with you, Tim?”
He looked up to see Miss Harding standing behind him. They had hardly spoken in the two weeks since he had introduced himself, but she had been almost continually on his mind. He was fascinated by her and found her hugely attractive, but shyness had prevented him doing anything about it, and he was intimidated by her. He imagined she thought she was out of his league.
“Yes, of course. What would you like to talk about?” he replied, quickly glancing around the office to check they were not being listened to.
“It's somewhat delicate,” she said quietly. “I wonder if we might talk later this afternoon, when everyone has left, if you don't have to rush off, of course?”
“I don't have to rush off. Can you give me a clue as to what it's about?”
“As I said. It's a delicate matter. I'll explain later.”
Tim had to wait for three long hours in suspense before they were alone in the office. He was both intrigued and apprehensive as he waited. Eventually, as both he and Miss Harding must have appeared engrossed in work on their computer screens, the last salesman left the office. He watched as the door closed, then turned to see Miss Harding looking at him.
“We can use Mr Heaver's office,” she said, rising to her feet, “He won't be back. I've booked him for dinner with a client.”
Tim followed her into the boss's office, unable to resist fixing his eyes on her seductively swaying hips, and her superb, tastefully full, shapely bottom. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?
Miss Harding took the boss's expensive, leather, swivel chair, so Tim was forced to sit where he normally did. She regarded him for an uncomfortably long time before speaking.
“I wondered, Tim, if you have some sort of problem with me? Ive noticed that every time I look up from my work, you're looking at me. I did consider speaking to Mr Heaver about it, but I thought it only fair to speak with you first.”
“No, no, no, Miss Harding, really, I don't have a problem at all. Far from it,” he blurted out, feeling himself blushing.
“Then perhaps you can explain your behaviour?”
Those cool eyes of hers were reading him like a book. He was sure of it. She knew exactly the effect she was having on him. He was momentarily lost for words, and feared his face had now flushed bright red.
“I'm waiting. I want an explanation,” she said, quietly, her eyes never leaving him.
“Well, to be honest, Miss Harding,” inwardly cringing with shyness, “I find you attractive, quite beautiful, in fact, and I feel myself drawn to, well, admiring you. I've not been able to stop myself. I'm so sorry that it's caused you concern. I'll make a point to stop. I'm really sorry. You won't need to speak with Jack, er Mr Heaver. I'll stop, I promise.”
While he had gushed his unprepared explanation, he had noticed her face mellow, and the hint of a smile appear. She continued to regard him for a few moments.
“You're only twenty-five, Tim. I'm old enough to be your mother. Perhaps your eyes should be looking elsewhere.”
“Twenty-five is only a number,” he replied, able to offer a shy smile.
She continued to regard him in an almost motherly way for a few moments. There was a warmth in her eyes. He sensed she was actually interested in him.
“I'll be honest with you, Tim. I do find you of interest, and I'm obviously very flattered that a good looking young man like you would find a lady of my age attractive, but there are some things you really should know about me.”
“What are those, then, er, Miss Harding?”
“I'll tell you shortly, Tim, but first, let's talk about you. I already know a few things, I've read your personnel file, so I know where you live, your age, obviously, qualifications. I know you like to play rugby. Do you have a partner?”
“No, Miss Harding. Recently split up.”
“Me too,” she replied, smiling, “I know something else about you, Tim. I've been looking at your expense claims and I know they are regularly fraudulent.” Her smile remained, as the colour drained from his face.
So this was what all this about! How cruel of her to lead him on, only to expose him as a thief. Surely she hadn't been employed to snoop on staff expenses claims.
“It's not a lot,” he replied, defensively, “Everybody does it.”
“I don't,” she replied, still smiling.
“So what happens now?” he asked, confused, scared and angry.
“I don't think you need to worry too much, Tim. Your secret is safe with me, I wouldn't dream of reporting you a relatively trivial misdemeanour. Unless, of course, you did something to upset me.”
“I'm not planning on doing that,” he replied, feeling relief flowing through him.
“Excellent, Tim. So now I'm going to tell you something about me that you need to treat as confidential. I don't want anyone but you to know what I'm about to tell you. If I so much as suspect that you have betrayed my trust, I will be upset. Do you understand me?”
“I promise I won't, Miss Harding. Believe me. Anything you tell me will remain absolutely confidential.”
There was an uncomfortably long silence, as she looked into his eyes. She appeared hesitant, deciding if she could trust him. It made him nervous.
“I have a sadistic streak, Tim,” she said, firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “I enjoy spanking men's bottoms, and as soon as I laid eyes on you, I knew I'd enjoy spanking yours.”
Tim was speechless. Shocked, excited, confused, amazed.
“I don't know what to say.” he said at last.
“Then don't say anything, especially not to anyone else,” she said, rising to her feet. “Think about what I've said, and if this interests you, contact me on my private email address. If not, this conversation never took place.”
She handed him a slip of paper, then left the office. He remained sitting in his bosses office for a good ten minutes, trying to digest what she'd suggested. Then, in a daze, he also left the office.
It was Friday. He wasn't due back in the office until the following Friday, so he wouldn't see Miss Harding for almost a week. His mind was in a turmoil. She had told him what she had planned to tell him, after first taking steps to ensure she could depend on his discretion, then left him to decide what to do about it. She had made it quite clear what she wanted to do, and the prospect was both incredibly exciting, and terrifying.
Tim had always been quite excited by the idea of being spanked. He'd never experienced it, and it had never bothered him too much, because he imagined it would hurt. But as he went over the conversation he had had with Miss Harding, he realised that the prospect of being spanked by her was incredibly exciting. There was something very special about this sophisticated lady. He felt he had to send her an email. If he left it until he next met her in the office she would probably assume that he wasn't interested, then lose interest in him, and he suspected he might regret that for the rest of his life. However, the prospect of a spanking was frightening, and she hadn't given any details. That night, sleep evaded him, as he went over the events of the day over and over again.
The following morning, Saturday, nervously, he composed an emaiL:
Dear Miss Harding,
Thank you for talking to me yesterday.
I am interested in what you said to me. In fact, I haven't been able to think about anything else since. I am, however, very nervous, as I have no experience in such things. Perhaps we can discuss what exactly you have in mind.
I look forward to hearing from you.
After much hesitation, he clicked on 'send', and immediately wondered if he'd regret it.
He checked his emails ten minutes later, and was startled to discover that she had already responded. He saw that his hand was shaking as he opened her reply:
Thank you for your email, Tim. My phone number is 00777799118. Phone me at once.
Now he was very nervous. This was all happening too quickly. He felt he needed time to get his head around what he might be getting himself into. He was flustered, excited, frightened, confused by his emotions. He made himself tea to give him time to think. With the tea made, he sat, looking at his phone, trying to find the courage to make the call. He suspected that, if he did call her, he would fall under her spell, and submit to her desires. Eventually, with hands trembling, he picked up the phone, then keyed in her number.
“Hello. Miss Harding?”
“How lovely to hear from you, Tim.”
“I wondered if we might talk?”
“What about, Tim, your spanking?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Well, I'm very nervous about this.”
“And so you should be. Anticipation and fear are just some of the essential ingredients of a good spanking.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Oh, yes,” she purred, “Your naivety is really quite sweet. Of course it will hurt, and I consider it my responsibility to make sure it does hurt. I'm sure you realise that that's the whole point of a spanking. If it doesn't hurt, it doesn't work. There won't be any lasting damage, but you'll be quite sore for a while. Any other questions?”
“Well, er, will I need to remove any clothing?”
“No, Tim. You won't need to, because if you don't, I will do it for you. Spankings from me are always on the bare bottom, because it stings more, and because I enjoy watching the colour of bottoms change to red, and because humiliation is maximised. Anything else?”
“Well, no. I'm very nervous about this.”
“You've already said that, Tim. You're repeating yourself.”
“I'm not sure what to do. I'm a bit frightened.”
“This is what you will do, Tim. I'm going to send you my address. I'm only ten minutes drive from you. You will arrive here by eleven o'clock. That's one hour from now. If you arrive on time, I will administer your first spanking. If you arrive late, your spanking will be harder. If you don't arrive, then nothing will happen, and I will conclude that we are wasting each other's time. If that is all quite clear, then I think the talking is over.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“Then I look forward to seeing you in an hour.”
Tim sat holding the phone, staring into space, seeing nothing, as panic welled up inside him. How did this all happen so quickly? What had seemed like erotic fantasy had suddenly become frightening reality. Not turning up was, for reasons he couldn't quite understand, not an option. Miss Harding had spoken with such authority, that he felt compelled to obey. Also, he knew deep down, that he would never forgive himself if he messed up any chances of getting closer to this amazing lady. He was becoming infatuated with her.
She sent her address by email while he was still holding the phone to his ear, as if he couldn't believe what she'd said. He tried to pull himself together. He had time for a shower, and being busy would be better for his nerves than just sitting and waiting until it was time to leave.
Forty minutes later, with her address in his satnav, he was on his way to receiving his first spanking. He was still very nervous and frightened, but the shower had helped to calm him. He was able to gain some comfort by convincing himself that Miss Harding came across to him as a completely honest and responsible lady. He was sure he would be spanked, but he was also quite sure that nothing more sinister awaited him. In short, in the short time he had known her, he judged her to be trustworthy, and he would be safe in her hands.
As he neared the address, the houses gradually began to look more expensive. The next turn took him into a private road, where the houses obviously cost a fortune. He was beginning to think he had made a mistake when copying the postcode into his satnav, when he drove up to the gates of “The Birches” - the name of the house she had given him.
He looked at his watch, it was five minutes before eleven. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he drove his car through the imposing stone entrance with open wrought iron gates onto a long, curved, gravel drive. Mature shrubs and trees concealed the house, until he had travelled almost a hundred metres. The large, detached, house, when it came into view, was stunning. It had probably been built in the 1930s, and was immaculate, mock Tudor, with a multitude of leaded windows, and well trained, mature wisteria adding to the charm of the front elevation. He almost forgot about the spanking he faced as he wondered how Miss Harding could afford such an expensive house. Perhaps she was a housekeeper, he wondered, and the owners were away. Or she'd borrowed it from a friend, or relative.
It was two minutes before eleven. Reality hit him again, he was about to be spanked, and if he was late, his spanking would be harder. Fresh dread surged through his mind as he climbed from the car. He felt he might lose control of his bladder, as he pressed the bell push next to the imposing oak front door. He heard a distant chime far inside the house. He was physically trembling, as he heard the click of hard shoes on a solid floor approaching the front door.
Miss Harding looked so at home, and confident, as she opened the door to him, that he now guessed she was the owner. She was dressed in a figure hugging, black dress, and was wearing stiletto heels, so she now towered over him. He shuddered with dread, or was it lust. She looked absolutely amazing. The dress was more revealing than those she wore at work, and showed her magnificent figure to its best. Although confused, spanking was now upmost in his mind. She was smiling, as her clear brown eyes feasted on his fear. She briefly looked down at her watch.
“Cutting it a bit fine, Tim” she said, “come with me, and close the door behind you.”
Without waiting to see him cross the threshold, she turned her back, then set off gracefully down the large, oak panelled hall. The sound of her stilettos echoed off the hard, chess board patterned, tiled floor. He closed the door, then fell in step behind her. Although terrified, he was acutely aware that the sight of her gracefully swaying, curvaceous, hips was the most delightful sight had ever set eyes on. Her sex appeal was meteoric, huge. He had never experienced such craving to touch. He sensed that she knew exactly the effect she was having on him, and she was loving it.
She led him to a large, sumptuously furnished room, that he guessed she might call her drawing room. She sat down on a large settee, then looked up into his frightened eyes, as he stood in the centre of the room.
“What a big day this will be for you, Tim. Just think, there can only ever be one first spanking in your life, and today will be yours. I'll endeavour to make it memorable for you. Take your jacket off, and leave it on that chair.” She pointed to an armchair to his right.
Her eyes never left him, as he nervously complied.
“Shoes off,” she ordered, as soon as he had put his jacket down.
“I usually offer my guests tea,” she said, as he removed his shoes. “I'll make you tea when I've finished spanking you. Come here.” She pointed to the floor, to her right.
Tim's heart was pounding, and his legs felt like jelly, as he made the few steps to stand to her right. It was then that he noticed a sinister, dark, oval, wooden hairbrush on the settee beside her. His fear escalated to dread.
“You're not going to use that on me, are you?” he almost sobbed.
“I shall use whatever I choose, Tim, and you will be extremely wise to address me as Miss Harding when you speak to me.”
“Sorry, Miss Harding.”
“Now, loosen your belt and take down your trousers,” she ordered, firmly.
It was all too much for him. He felt ridiculous! What was he doing? He was a grown man, about to bare his bottom for a spanking over the lap of a person he hardly knew. It would probably be very painful, and certainly extremely humiliating.
“I don't think I can go through with this,” he said, unconvincingly.
“You are here to be spanked,” she said, as her hand began to unbuckle his trousers, “and I am going to make sure you are. And you didn't address me as Miss Harding. You will learn that my instructions must be obeyed.”
Before he knew what was happening, she had pulled his trousers down to his knees, followed by his underpants. His face was flushed red with humiliation, as his state of arousal was revealed. Her eyes lingered on it for a few moments, before she firmly pulled him over her lap. He felt her hand raise the tail of his shirt to fully bare his bottom, as his erection was pressed hard against her bare thighs.
“A nice, bare, flawless, firm, bottom, just crying out to be spanked,” she purred, as she gently stroked his bottom.
She slapped his right bottom cheek, firmly. The sting was sharp, but not unbearable. She gently rubbed his stinging bottom cheek in the most erotic manner, and he felt his erection harden.
She repeated the procedure on his left bottom cheek. His erection hardened even more. She must have felt it.
He gasped, as two stinging slaps rained down on each bottom cheek. These were harder, and the sting was more intense.
Once again, she then gently rubbed his bottom cheeks, soothing the burn.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! …
He cried out in shock as the spanking began in earnest. She was spanking him hard, and methodically. The sting quickly escalated, and she wasn't stopping.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! …
He was gasping and struggling over her lap. The pain was incredible. He had never imagined a spanking could cause such and intense sting. His right hand shot back to shield his burning bottom, but she was ready for it. She grasped his wrist with her free hand, then pressed it into the small of his back. The spanking continued as he writhed and gasped.
It probably lasted only about a minute, but it was a very long minute. He thought it was over, and relief flooded through him. His bottom was on fire. Then he remembered the hairbrush.
“Now, Tim, I shall help you to remember to address me as Miss Harding,” she said, a little breathlessly, as she picked up the hairbrush.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! …
His eyes widened and he gasped in disbelief, as the heavy, wooden hairbrush was brought down enthusiastically on alternate bottom cheeks. The intense sting was off the scale. Within just a few spanks, his bottom felt like it had been placed in a furnace.
“No! Please, Miss Harding. I can't take any more!”
His pitiful begging was totally ignored. The spanking continued with vigour, and the sting defied belief. He was writhing in a frenzy, gasping and sobbing, but there was no mercy. At one point, he almost managed to wriggle off her lap, but she was a strong woman, and she managed to pull him back in place. She increased the tempo to hard and fast. The sting was absolutely unbelievable.
Suddenly it was over. She released her grip on his wrist, and he slid off her lap onto his knees. His hands shot back to cup his burning bottom cheeks. Tears flowed down his cheeks.
“I like to save the hardest until last,” she said, smiling, as she smoothed her dress down where it had ridden up over her thighs.
“As this was your first spanking, you can consider it over,” she said, as she rose to her feet. He looked up into her face, and through his tears, he could see that she was flushed. He sensed she was aroused.
“In future,” she said, “if there is a future, I may not be so lenient. Understood?”
“Yes, Miss Harding.”
“I expect you'd like tea. You may dress yourself while I make it.”
“Thank you, Miss Harding.”
He knew what he would like, he thought to himself, as he nursed his burning bottom, with his eyes on Miss Harding's superb figure as she left the room. He wanted her so badly that it hurt. His state of arousal was beyond boiling point.
Tim's bottom was still burning and throbbing, as he finished dressing. He could hear the sound of Miss Harding making tea. He slipped his shoes back on, then tried to arrange his clothes in an attempt to conceal his stubborn state of arousal. He noticed that Miss Harding had left her wicked hairbrush on the settee. He shuddered, as he picked it up to study the implement that had been the main cause of his very sore bottom. It was made of very dark wood, almost black, and it was heavy, with a beautifully finished almost flat, oval head, with nicely rounded sides.
“It's made of ebony,” said Miss Harding, as she stepped into the room with a tray. “It's a very strong, dense, heavy wood, perfect for spanking. It's quite old, perhaps Victorian.”
“I can't believe how much it stings, Miss Harding,” he said, as he put it down, and she put the tray of tea down on a low table.
“I have another one upstairs,” she said, smiling, as she sat down facing the low table, “her big sister. She's also made of ebony, the same beautifully curved proportions, but little larger and heavier. That really can produce a sore bottom, and it proved too much for my ex-partner. Take a seat, Tim.” She patted the settee next to her.
“I can't believe anything could sting more than what I've just experienced,” he said, as he carefully lowered his tender bottom onto the settee next to Miss Harding.
“Well, I suggest you had better believe it,” she said, smiling. “How do you take your tea?”
“White, no sugar, please.”
“So, how did you enjoy your first spanking?”
“Unbelievably painful, Miss Harding. I had no idea it would hurt so much, and I didn't imagine you would spank me so hard.”
“I can spank harder that that. As it was your first spanking, I held back. That was only seven out of ten, and you wriggled deliciously. I’ll be only too happy to demonstrate ten out of ten.”
“I really don't think I could take that, Miss Harding,” he replied, sincerely, as he took a welcome sip of tea.
“I do have the facilities here to ensure you have no choice,” she said, with a sparkle in her eye.
He shuddered at the thought. He imagined she meant she would like to tie him down, so he was helpless.
They sipped tea in silence for a few moments. Miss Harding seemed quite relaxed.
“It's none of my business, Miss Harding, but I wasn't expecting the bosses secretary to have such a nice house.”
“Yes, I can imagine it might seem strange. I don't actually need to work, but I don't like to be idle. I used to run a management consultancy business with my partner. We did rather well, but we decided, amicably, to go our separate ways last year. He kept the business, I resigned and kept the house, plus a share of the value of the business. I've spend too much time sitting around in recent months, so I thought I'd see if getting a job might stimulate me. I'm quite enjoying the work, without the responsibility of being a business owner, and, of course, you wouldn't be sitting here with a sore bottom if I hadn't.”
She smiled at him again. She was making it clear that she had enjoyed spanking him, and would be more than happy to do it again.
“It must be quite a lot of work to keep everything looking so tidy, especially the garden.”
“Yes, it is, but I do have help. I have a cleaner who calls in once a week, and I have a lovely man called Gordon, who looks after my garden. He does it for a very reasonable fee, but he does like to have his work inspected by me, and if I find anything I'm not happy with, which I invariably do, then he is spanked. The arrangement suits us both well.”
“Do you spank anyone else, Miss Harding, apart from the gardener. I hope you don't mind these personal questions, but this is all new to me?”
“I don't mind at all, Tim. After all, we share secrets, now. At the moment, no I don't have anyone to regularly to spank, apart from Gordon, but he can't take it at the level that I seem to need. Nor could my ex-partner, Daniel. I seem to have an insatiable appetite for administering really hard spankings, and as I said, it proved too much for Daniel.”
“What is it you particularly like about really hard spankings?”
“I'm a sadist, Tim, simple as that. I have no wish to impose my discipline on anyone who doesn't want to be spanked, but when a good looking young man crosses my path, and is keen to submit, then I'm more than happy to oblige. What really excites me, is feeling a man writhing over my lap. I love to hear the gasping, pleading and howling. Generally, the harder I spank, the more frenzied the wriggling, and the more it excites me. As far as spanking is concerned, the harder, the better is how I feel about it. One of the things I like about this house is that it's set well inside its own grounds, so however much noise a spanking produces, it won't be heard by anyone but me, so I don't need to moderate spankings.”
The passion with which Miss Harding explained her disciplinary tastes left Tim in no doubt that she was totally sincere.
They sat in silence for a few moments, as he tried to digest what she had said, what she had done to him, and more importantly, what lay ahead if she invited him to her house again. He suspected she might, and if he wondered if he would have the courage to submit to another spanking from her. It was pretty obvious that any future spanking from her would be even more severe than the spanking he had just received.
“So, Tim, she said, as she finished her tea. I have things to do, and perhaps you have too.”
“Yes, of course, Miss Harding. I'd better be on my way.”
“I've probably given you a lot to think about, but I will tell you that it was a delight to administer your first spanking, and I will be more than happy to spank you again. All you have to do is phone or email me. I will do the rest.”
“Thank you, Miss Harding. It was an unforgettable experience. I have a whole mixture of emotions running through my head that I have to sort out, so I will probably like to talk to you when I have.”
“I don't think there needs to be any more talking, Tim. I've told you all you need to know about my views on spanking. If you do phone me, or email me, I will take that as confirmation that you need to be spanked again, and you will be required to follow my instructions from that moment on. Be quite clear on that, you will be committing yourself to reporting to me for a spanking, and I will not permit you to back out. I will not discuss details of exactly how any spanking will be conducted, because I don't know myself. It will depend on my mood on the day. A spanking from me is about what I want, not what you want. You will take whatever spanking I deem appropriate at the time. That's how it must be with me. You should, however, be aware that any future spanking from me is likely to be more challenging than the spanking you received today. Is all that very clearly understood?”
“Yes, Miss Harding.” Her firm words were arousing him again. She was studying him intently. He had the feeling she was reading his thoughts and knew the effect she was having on him, and enjoying it.
“I hope to hear from you, Tim,” she said, as she rose to her feet to show him out, “but in the meantime I think it would be sensible to minimise office gossip. I don't think there is anything to be gained by anyone in the office knowing that we have any interest in each other.”
“I agree, Miss Harding.”
Even before he reached home, he was already craving to be at her mercy again, but he needed more, and she knew it. She was teasing him. The prospect of a spanking that would be more painful than the spanking he had just received was absolutely terrifying. It was also hugely exciting and erotic. He was torn. If being spanked by Miss Harding was ultimately to lead to a sexual relationship with this amazing lady, then he felt he would take any spanking she cared to administer, but if she had no intention of this ever happening, then he knew it would drive him crazy. He had to know.
He wasn't surprised, when he arrived home, to see that his still sore bottom was vividly coloured with red and purple bruising. He imagined it would be sore for some days.
Sleep evaded him. All he could think of was Miss Harding. He was hopelessly infatuated by her. He did, eventually, drift off to sleep, but as soon as he woke up, his sore bottom immediately reminded him of the previous day's spanking from the woman he was now obsessed with. He had to do something. He wasn't due in the office until the following Friday, so he wouldn't see her until then, but even then, he wouldn't be able to talk to her about anything other than work. She had made quite clear that he should only contact her outside of the office if he needed a spanking, and she had also made it quite clear that the next spanking would probably be harder. The prospect was even more terrifying than it had seemed the day before, but it was incredibly erotic to be over her knee, and he longed to be the focus of her attention so badly that it almost hurt.
He went for a Sunday morning walk to clear his head, and to think more rationally about what he could do to get closer to Miss Harding, but his feelings for her was just as intense when he reached home. He felt he had to do something to let her know how he felt about her. Another spanking from her, he concluded, was inevitable if he wanted to see her again. Once he had got this into his head, then the decision of what to do was easier. He would send her an email, letting her know his feelings, promising to report for a spanking as soon as he had recovered from yesterday's spanking:
Dear Miss Harding,
Thank you so much for seeing me yesterday, and administering my first spanking. Although I was shocked by just how painful it was, I found it to be the most erotic experience of my life, and I would love to report to you again as soon as I have recovered. I imagine this might take about a week.
I have to tell you, Miss Harding, that I find you to be just the most beautiful and erotic lady I have ever met. I also suspect you are perceptive, so I imagine you already know how I feel. So, although the prospect of another, perhaps harder, spanking from you is a very frightening, but also erotic, I am happy for you to be spanked so severely because you have told me it excites you, and I wonder, Miss Harding, if another spanking from you might lead to, perhaps, erotic interaction between us. I think you know how much I would love this to happen.
I look forward to hearing from you.
He read it, re-read it, then bit the bullet, and pressed 'send'. As soon as it had left on its journey to Miss Harding, dread overwhelmed him. Yesterday's spanking had been absolutely excruciating, and now he had committed himself to an even more agonising spanking. On the positive side, he was sure she would be pleased to have received it.
She was, but her response shocked him. She replied within five minutes:
Thank you for your kind words.
I require that you report to me for a spanking at once. I can only conclude that, for you to feel the need for another spanking so soon after your first spanking, that I was far too lenient with you. Therefore, your spanking today will certainly not be lenient. I expect you here within the hour. No excuses will be accepted.
Miss Harding x
Even while he was reading it in shock and disbelief, she sent him a text:
Check your emails at once!
Surely she wasn't going to spank him while he was still so sore! It didn't bear thinking of. In panic, he sent her another email:
Dear Miss Harding,
I am still extremely sore from yesterday's spanking. Do you think it might be better to wait until I've recovered?
Her response was almost immediate:
You must learn never to argue against any decision I make. You will pay dearly for that. The fact that you are still sore is good, because it will ensure that your spanking will hurt more, and the more it hurts, the more I'm going to enjoy it.
Report to me at once. I will not tell you again.
Miss Harding x
Panic overwhelmed him. He simply could not bear to think of how agonising a severe hairbrush spanking on his poor, sore bottom would be. Even sitting down was uncomfortable. But if he defied her, she might never want to see him again. He had no choice but to comply. He took a shower, and was once again reminded of how sore his bottom as the hot water reignited the sting.
He drove to Miss Harding's house in a daze, trying to block out the memory of just how agonising her hairbrush had been. He tried to convince himself that he would be able to cope with it, after all, it was just a sharp sting he would need to endure. He just needed keep telling himself that she would not cause him any lasting damage, she was an intelligent, responsible lady. She was just spanking him for her own pleasure, for fun, and it would excite her, and hopefully lead to the erotic encounter that he craved.
All too soon he had arrived at her address. He hesitated at the entrance gate to her long drive, then took a deep breath and drove through, then slowly up the long drive. As the house came into view, his eyes fell on the solid oak front door. Once he had stepped through that, she would have him in her clutches, and his fate would be sealed. The spanking promised to be a lot more painful than his first, and he felt a sudden twinge on pain in his right bottom cheek, as the slow healing of the bruising progressed. In a few minutes, he knew, the agony would be re-ignited, then surpassed. Suddenly, panic completely overwhelmed him, and he knew he couldn't go through with it. Feeling a complete failure, he turned the car, then drove out of her drive. He parked in the street outside, then sent her a text message:
Dear Miss Harding,
I'm so sorry. I arrived at your door, then panicked. I can't go through with it, I'm too frightened. I don't know what else to say.
So sorry again,
As soon as he'd sent it, his panic instantly faded, and relief flooded over him. However, the relief was short lived, as he recognised what he was throwing away. He had just spurned the most desirable lady he had ever encountered. She had been interested in him, and there was the chance of a meaningful relationship with her. He's just thrown all that away because he was frightened by a bit of pain, very erotic pain. What a fool he was. She'd just see him as a waste of time. Perhaps she would reply to his text so she could change his mind. He put his hands over his face and groaned to himself in despair. The passenger door opened, and Miss Harding climbed in to sit next to him. She looked sensational, in a figure hugging, short, beige dress. He looked down at her shapely thighs, then up into her eyes. As her cool eyes met his, he knew she had him. There was now no escape. He was terrified, but incredibly excited. He was also very relieved that she hadn't given up on him.
“Your car could do with a clean,” she said, as she ran a finger over the dust on the dashboard.
“Yes, I know, Miss Harding. I keep meaning to do it.”
“There's a CCTV camera on top of the gate, so I could see you sitting here.”
As he turned to look at the camera, she leaned across him, and before he could react, she had removed his keys from the car ignition.
“You'll get these back after I've spanked you,” she said.
He nodded in defeat.
“Sometimes you have to follow your instincts, Tim,” she said, “and my instincts tell me that you would have regretted running away from me.”
“You're probably right, Miss Harding. I'm just so frightened.”
“Being frightened is fine, you're entitled to be, but letting me down isn't fine, so I'm not going to permit it. Understood?”
“Yes, Miss Harding.”
“It's time to go inside.”
She climbed out of the car, then Tim took a deep breath, and also climbed out. Miss Harding fiddled with the keys until she managed to lock the car, then set off up the drive, with Tim following like a lamb. Although absolutely terrified, he did wonder if today he might be allowed to savour the superb body in front of him. It was a long walk, and his legs were unsteady. Eventually they stepped across the threshold. She closed the front door behind them, then led him to the drawing room, where she turned to face him.
“Take off your clothes,” she instructed, “everything, including your watch. I want you totally naked.”
“Yes, Miss Harding,” he replied, his voice trembling with fear.
As he slowly removed his clothes, she took them from him, then folded them and put them on the settee. Eventually, he stood before her completely naked. She slowly circled him, with the hint of a smile, as her eyes roamed over the body she was about to punish. She stopped behind him, then he felt her hand gently caressing his sore bottom. Nothing was said. He heard her open a drawer behind him, then something metallic being handled.
“You're a strong young man, Tim. You almost wriggled off my lap yesterday. That won't be an issue today.” She appeared in front of him, then snapped steel handcuffs over his wrists. A thick rope, a few metres long, trailed from where it was secured to the handcuffs.
“I had a special spanking chair fitted in a spare room some years ago. So it's now my spanking room. With the addition of some simple restraints, I can concentrate on spanking, confident the bottom that is the focus of my attention remains exactly where it should, no matter how much frantic struggling is going on. So that's where we are going now.” She picked up the end of the trailing rope, then led him from the room, like a prisoner.
Everything she had done over the past several minutes had been to further reduce the opportunity for him to avoid his spanking. As she led him upstairs, he was aware that there were no more opportunities. His fate was sealed.
As she led him along a long, tastefully decorated landing, they passed what he guessed was the master bedroom, with a huge, sumptuous bed. Even in his state of dread, he wondered if he would ever share that bed with her. Perhaps, if he did, then the agony he was about to endure would have been worth it.
The room she led him to was quite small, with bare wood floorboards, and sparsely furnished with just a high backed, old wooden chair and an old chest of drawers. The room had no windows. It was the chair that his eyes fell on with dread because this was obviously the spanking chair. It looked very sturdy and possibly antique. It had a hard wooden, flat seat, and was curiously sited with the left side of the chair about a metre from the rear wall of the room. The wall to the side of the chair had been fitted with a row of six wall hooks about a metre off the floor, and in between these was a sturdy metal cleat, the sort that that might be used to secure a boat to a jetty. Then he noticed that each of the four, sturdy, square chair legs was securely bolted down with heavy duty angle brackets. Also, set into the floor between the chair and the wall, was a single, large, metal eye bolt. Two further eye bolts were set into the floor on the opposite side of the chair, about half a metre from the chair, and about a meter apart. With increasing dismay, the purpose of this elaborate set up around the spanking chair was dawning on him.
While he was taking in the sinister spanking chair, and associated equipment, Miss Harding had removed two heavy duty leather cuffs from the chest of drawers. Each cuff was fitted with a sturdy metal 'D' ring, which in turn was fitted with a heavy duty spring snap hook. Miss Harding stooped down behind, then fitted a leather cuff to each of his ankles. He was almost losing control of his bladder, he was now so frightened.
She wasn't finished with the preparation for his spanking, as Miss Harding produced two thick, wide, leather belts, with buckles. Each was also fitted, midway, with a heavy duty, steel 'D' ring, and to one of these was fitted a heavy duty spring snap lock. She tightened one belt around his waist, with the 'D' ring sited to his left. Then she buckled the other belt, snugly, around her own waist, with the 'D' ring and snap lock sited to her front. Miss Harding had obviously gone to an awful lot of trouble to make sure her spankings were taken with no chance whatsoever of escape.
“Move forward, and stand with one foot adjacent to each eye bolt,” she ordered.
“Please, Miss Harding,” he sobbed, “can we do this another time. I really don't feel ready for this.”
“Of course we can do it another time, Tim,” she replied, cheerfully, “But we are also doing it today, and I suggest you comply with my instructions without question. You would be most unwise to make me cross, wouldn't you?”
“Yes, Miss Harding,” he replied, miserably, as he stepped forward to stand just half a metre from the side of the spanking chair, with his feet about a metre apart. Within seconds she had anchored his feet to the floor with the spring snap hooks.
While he looked down at his secured feet, she was reaching into the chest of drawers again, this time producing the wicked hairbrush she had spanked with yesterday, and then her big sister, a terrifying looking, dark, oval, hairbrush. He couldn't suppress a sob of dread, as she hung the two hairbrushes on wall hooks, to be in easy reach when she was seated.
“I think we're ready to start,” she said, as she sat down in the spanking chair, hitching her dress up slightly, as she did. She obviously wanted bare flesh against bare flesh while she spanked him. She reached across to take the rope that was attached to his wrists, then reached down to her left, to thread it through the single eye bolt, then up the wall to loop over the top of the wall mounted cleat.
“Over my lap,” she ordered, tapping the top of her bare thighs.
This was it! He was now only seconds away from agony. Sobbing with dread, he lowered himself over her firm thighs.
“Reach down to touch the floor with your hands,” she instructed. As he did so, she drew the slack rope up through the floor mounted eye bolt, pulling it tight, so his wrists were anchored to the floor. She secured the taut rope to the wall cleat with several figure of eight loops. Next, she secured the belt she was wearing around her waist to his, using the attached snap lock. Now they were joined at the waist, and he was totally helpless, over her lap, with his sore, bare bottom exactly where it was needed for her to spank.
“You won't will be going anywhere, Tim, until I decide you have been spanked to my satisfaction.” She purred, as her hand erotically caressed his bare bottom, “I suggest you take a deep breath and prepare yourself for a spanking that will be impressed on your bottom for weeks, and on your mind for the rest of your life.”
If it was her intention to scare him, she had succeeded. He was absolutely terrified.
She seemed in no hurry to start, instead continuing to stroke the bottom she was about to set ablaze, savouring his fear and utter helplessness.
“Tell me Tim,” she said, as her fingers continued to gently trace the contours of his helpless bare bottom, “If you were asking a lady out on dinner date, on only your second date, would you ask her if there was any chance of a fuck afterwards?”
“No, Miss Harding.”
“Then why did you suggest exactly that when you asked me for your second spanking?”
“I'm sorry, Miss Harding. It's just that I find you so attractive.”
“So you do want to fuck me, Tim?”
“I don't know what to say, Miss Harding,” he sobbed. “I don't want to say anything that offends you.”
“Just answer the question, Tim.”
“Well, yes, Miss Harding,” he replied, with his voice trembling, “More than anything, I'd love to.”
He thought he heard her quietly chuckle. She gave his bottom a gentle slap with her hand, then he sobbed again, as she reached for the hairbrush she had used on him yesterday. The toned muscles in her arm reminding him how powerfully she could spank. He held his breath, as she transferred the hairbrush from her left hand to her right hand. An involuntary sob passed his lips as she now gently tapped the hairbrush against his right bottom cheek, Even these gentle taps stung his already sore bottom. His face grimaced, as he felt her body tense.
She hadn't held back. Even after just one stroke, the sting was totally unbearable. He gasped in utter dismay. The prospect of even one more hard stroke with the wicked hairbrush was terrifying, but he was facing many, many more. Panic completely overwhelmed him.
He howled as she brought the hairbrush down hard on his left bottom cheek. The sting was eye-watering, but she had, he knew, barely started.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! …
Over the next minute, Miss Harding spanked hard, methodically and mercilessly. Every part of Tim's writhing, wriggling, bare bottom was set on fire. The steady, sharp, CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! was accompanied by gasping, howling and shrieking, and the rattling of the steel restraints. His desperate pleading was not just ignored, but seemed to encourage Miss Harding to spank his wildly gyrating bottom even harder.
The spanking stopped.
“Now let's see how much you enjoy her bigger sister,” she said, breathlessly.
“Please! I beg you, Miss Harding, please, no more!” he pleaded, desperately, as he saw her reach for the heavier hairbrush through tear filled eyes.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! …
The spanking resumed with increased venom. The heavier brush producing an escalating burn that defied description. Tim's writhing became a frenzy, as he gasped, sobbed, and squealed. But even as he desperately struggled with his unyielding restraints, he became aware that Miss Harding was also now gyrating her hips, grinding her shapely bottom into the seat of the spanking chair, her thighs grinding against his writhing hips. The tempo and venom of the spanking increased, and the fierce burn escalated to beyond white hot, as Miss Harding experienced her first ever orgasm while spanking.
The spanking stopped. The brush was dropped to the floor. Both Tim and Miss Harding were gasping for breath, and freely perspiring, as Tim now lay limply over her lap, with his vividly coloured, burning, throbbing bottom being cooled by the air.
He saw Miss Harding's left hand reach across to release the rope from the wall cleat, and the tension on his wrists slackened. She unclipped the waist restraint that secured them together, then helped him off her lap, and he dropped to his knees beside her. They were both still breathless, and he could see that Miss Harding was flushed. She rose to her feet, smoothed down her dress, then produced a key.
“I'm going to take a shower,” she said, as she unlocked his handcuffs.
She left the room, leaving Tim to release himself from the remaining restraints, which he then placed back in the chest of drawers together with the two wicked hairbrushes.
“Until next time,” he said to himself, as he closed the drawer, then cupped his burning bottom with both hands. It would probably be painful to sit for the next week, he thought to himself, as he heard the sound of a shower running.
Five minutes later, Miss Harding appeared in the doorway, wearing a white, silk, dressing gown that didn't conceal much of her beautiful figure. She looked radiant and happy.
“I see you've put everything away, Tim,” she said, smiling warmly, “so nothing to spank you for again, yet.”
He was still clasping his burning bottom with both hands, and not bothering to conceal his arousal. She stepped behind him, then lifted his right hand away from his bottom cheek.
“That was a particularly delicious spanking,” she purred, as her hand gently stroked his burning, throbbing, flesh.
“Take a shower, then join me in my bedroom,” she said, crisply, as she turned her back on him, then left the room, leaving him to find the shower room.
Taking the shower was a blur, as he anticipated what was waiting for him in Miss Harding's bedroom. He gasped when the hot water re-ignited the stinging of his bottom cheeks, but it was insignificant compared to the sting of the hairbrush.
* * *
“How did you find your second spanking?” she asked, as stepped into her bedroom, showered, naked and very aroused. She was lying back on one elbow, on the bed, still in her dressing gown, and made no attempt to conceal her glances at his erection.
“Unbearably painful Miss Harding. Totally unbearable. I never dreamed that such agony was possible.”
“Good. That's how it has to be from now on. Nothing less will be sufficient if you are to be permitted to fuck me. Is that quite clear?”
“Yes, Miss Harding,” he replied, as his eyes feasted on the full curves of her body, vividly displayed through the thin silk.
“You will be spanked regularly, whenever I want, even if you are still sore from a previous spanking. You will never, ever, fail to obey my instructions to prepare yourself for a spanking. Is that quite clear?”
“Yes, Miss Harding.” His erection was hardening to bursting point.
“Today,” she said, smiling, as she rose from the bed, “I'd like to be fucked from behind.”
The dressing gown fell to the floor to reveal her superb, curvaceous, naked body to him for the first time. She turned her back to him, then knelt on the bed to present her magnificent, flawless, bare bottom to him. As he knelt on the behind her, she dropped her head down on the bed, then hollowed her back, to welcome his hardness. As he pushed into her wetness, she seemed to draw him in deeper. Her back hollowed further as she pushed her bare bottom higher in the air.
“Tell me how hard you want me to spank you,” she demanded, breathlessly, as he sank his hardness deeper into her greedy wetness.
“Harder than today, Miss Harding,” he gasped, “Much harder, you were far too lenient today.”
“Yes, I was, wasn't I,” she groaned. “It will be harder next time. That's a promise.”
“And I think you need a new hairbrush. A heavier one.” He gasped the words he knew would excite her, as his orgasm approached.
“I will make sure you regret that idea,” she gasped, as her hips began to gyrate wildly. “That's a promise.”
Their joint orgasm was explosive.
ANOTHER DOZEN STROKES
Ross was always very nervous when he reported to Miss Devenish. A caning was inevitable. After all, that's why he went. But he had no reason to be any more nervous as he pressed the doorbell this time, apart that the strange craving inside him seemed stronger than usual. Little was he to know that Miss Devenish was also in an unusual mood. She was always in the mood to wield the cane and place a few colourful stripes across a bare bottom, but today she was in the mood to administer a very severe thrashing.
Ross had reported to Miss Devenish on six previous occasions. She was an elegant and attractive lady in her mid-forties. Well- spoken and educated, she described herself as a professional disciplinarian, and she was exactly the right person to reacquaint her clients with the strict headmistress they so dreaded, but craved. She and Ross had developed what she considered a very enjoyable scenario. Ross reported to her for adult tuition in English Language. The lessons were of an hour in duration and Miss Devenish's mastery of her language made for tuition periods that were genuine in every respect. She would always stress that she expected perfection from Ross and always warned him at the start of the lesson that anything less would result in a caning. Ross always did his best, and he was also well educated, so reasons to cane him were few, but of course, Miss Devenish always found fault somewhere, so Ross's bottom always received a few sound strokes of the cane.
Today, however, something was different. As Ross waited nervously for the door to open his mind was in a bit of a turmoil. He had the insane desire to provoke Miss Devenish a little, perhaps by producing work that was uncharacteristically sloppy. He had never yet been caned on the bare bottom, the worst he had received was six of the best across the taut fabric of his trousers, and while that stung like the devil, today he felt he needed to feel a stroke on the bare. He secretly craved the humiliation of having to bare his bottom to Miss Devenish, then bend over and take the cane. The trouble was, he felt unable to ask. Miss Devenish and he had developed a thoroughly decent relationship. Everything was prim and proper. Bare bottoms seemed most inappropriate.
"Good afternoon, Ross," said Miss Devenish, as she opened the door to see Ross nervously biting his lip. "I trust you've been endeavouring to improve your handwriting, as I suggested when you were last here?"
"Yes Miss Devenish," he replied.
He failed to notice the slight disappointment in her face before she turned to lead him to her study.
"Looking at your last written essay, Ross," she said, looking up from the paper on her desk to regard him with her cool, blue eyes, "I can see that we need to work hard on your handwriting. It is simply not neat enough."
"Yes, Miss Devenish," he replied.
"Very well. I intend to spend this period concentrating on just that. I want you to write in your very neatest handwriting 'Untidy handwriting can usually be improved with the persuasion of the cane.' You may begin. In your neatest handwriting, please. Bring it to me when you have finished, and don't forget that I will have no hesitation in using the cane if your work is less than satisfactory." "Yes, Miss Devenish."
Ross picked his pen then began to write. Miss Devenish always
made him nervous, so it was difficult to write with a steady hand,
but today, with the thoughts of provoking her filling his head, he was even more nervous. The finished result was not particularly neat, but it was probably the best he could do. He rose to his feet, then took the few steps to her desk, then placed the sheet of paper in front of her.
"Not good enough, Ross," she said, after studying his work for several seconds. "In fact it's even worse than the rather sloppy work you produced last time you were here. I think I will have to bring the cane into use earlier than usual."
Ross felt a wave of fear run through him. She normally caned him at the end of his lesson, just before he left. She would usually lecture him, explaining that his progress had been unsatisfactory and that she had no option left to her but to cane him. This time he had been here for less than five minutes, and the cane was already about to be put to use.
"Go and stand at the front of your desk," she said, firmly, as she rose to her feet.
"Yes," she said, flexing the cane into an arc, "I think I'll use this cane
For the first time, Ross saw a sadistic glint in her eye. A slight smile formed on her face when she registered his fear.
"Bend over the desk, grip the seat," she said quietly. "Stay in
position until I give you permission to rise."
Dreading what was to come, Ross slowly bent over the old wooden desk, feeling his trousers tighten against his bottom.
"You will receive one stroke on this occasion, Ross, but I warn you, it will be a little harder than you have experienced in the past. You may find it surprisingly painful, but I have decided that this is what you need."
Ross felt Miss Devenish slowly raise the rear vents of his jacket and fold them up over his back, then he felt her gentle hand smoothing the taut fabric covering his upturned bottom. She had never done this before.
"I'm just making sure your clothes are not offering too much
protection, Ross. I want to be sure you really feel this."
Now he was really scared. This was not what he was expecting.
He tensed as she took her position to his left. His whole body twitched involuntarily as he felt the cane placed across the centre of his bottom.
You can find another free story "Always on the Bare" by Annie Bee on Literotica