"On your feet again now. Raise your skirt," he ordered softly, and with a suppressed gasp, Mary-Anne obeyed him. Now was the moment to reveal the pretty panties for his perusal, and also seamed stockings and a narrow lace suspender belt.
"Very nice," he said, steepling his long narrow fingers, the touching their tips to the center of his sculpted lower lip, "Very pretty... Now slip down your panties to your knees."
It was exactly the command she'd expected, but hearing it made her shake, and get wetter than ever. This was no longer a fantasy, a supposition, a story written by either one of them; it was real and the pain would soon come. Her face flushing, she grasped her skirt with one hand, and used the other to lower her underwear. Mortified with embarrassment, she parted her slim legs, so the knickers - perceptibly fragrant with her feminine aroma - would remain caught around her knees and not fall.
"Come to me," her Master quietly ordered, then he smiled as her discomfiture increased.
It was very difficult to move with poise and grace when your panties had to be prevented from falling. Hobbled, and feeling inelegant, she scuttled towards him, her face now bright red.
"Very good," he said, his pale eyes glinting, then in a movement that was completely unexpected, his passed his narrow hand between her legs. "You're very wet," he teased, "and that's so naughty. This regime hasn't come a moment too soon."
Unable to help herself, Mary-Anne moaned. The touch of her Master upon her, even one so fleeting and casual, had almost precipitated her climax. She felt her intimate flesh quiver, and her silky fluid run and run in helpless flow.
"Come along, let's have you across my knee," he continued, his velvety baritone magisterial and businesslike. "That bottom needs the weight of my hand." As he spoke he reached around her and squeezed it, and Mary-Anne gasped as her arousal grew stronger.
Still feeling graceless and clumsy, she arranged herself across his strong thighs. Moving his legs slightly, he adjusted her position, and made her bottom rear up perfectly before him. Mary-Anne closed her eyes in an ecstasy of shame, then whimpered as he began to examine her.
Clever, clever fingers traced the curves of her cheeks the dipped into the deep cleft between them. She cried out, as shrill as a little girl, when his touch lingered against her tiny rosy portal, then she shook and kicked as his finger patted and teased her there. "Tut-tut," he said sternly, as he circled and tantalized, "Don't you realize this bottom here is no longer your own property? That it's mine to play with and to do with as I will."
Sobbing her apologies, she felt her sex surge and ripple, roused to pleasure by the profoundly rude play.
"Now, my dear, to business. Let's proceed with the task that you're here for.."
His voice was low and crisp, and a second later his hand was fiercely hard. Mary Anne had never expected this much force from just a simple bare palm, and she squealed out in her pain and pure shock.
"Ah yes, my dear, it smarts, doesn't it?" he observed in amusement as that hard hand rained down a fearsome volley. The spanks seemed to come faster than a human arm could deliver them, and cover her whole bottom with an uncanny precision.
Smack! Smack! Smack! The impacts continued remorselessly, covering her bottom cheeks with glowing veil of pink. She could feel her skin tenderizing, becoming incredibly hot, and the wetness between her legs gently flowing. Cupping one cheek in his fingers, her mentor stretched her open, then laid a series of smart spanks across her anus.
More excited than ever, Mary-Anne cried and cried, tears of confusion, and wonder, and yes, pain. It hurt like hell, but she didn't even try to escape him. It was his will to spank her thus. His will to seek out the most sensitive and intimate parts of her bottom, and turn them to flaming soreness with hot blows.
His will, but also hers equally. A befuddling miracle, but exactly what she'd craved for a long, long time.
When her bottom was a steady throbbing scarlet, her Master paused for a moment in his task. Once again, he began a close examination; pressing and squeezing at the redness he'd created, and letting his fingertips rove freely in her cleft.
"So wet," she heard him murmur, and one digit bored inside her. "It's unseemly that a girl could flow so much."
His words were absurd. He called her a girl, but he wasn't even all that much older than she. It was simply a strategy, and a fulfillment of all they'd discussed, in correspondence. She'd played the role in her letters of a naughty, confused neophyte, which was true in a lot of ways. She'd expressed faux horror at getting aroused over the thought of pain, and of her bottom being bared and punished, and he'd promised to teach her a lesson about "real" punishment. The fact that her sex was wet and swollen was a sign of sweet success in their mutual endeavor, not a wrong-doing in need of further discipline.
"Clearly, a hand-spanking goes nowhere in taming you," he said. His severity was feigned too, but it still made her tremble, "We must now progress to harsher measures."
Tipping her off his lap, he instructed her to stand in the corner, with her skirt raised and her pants still round her knees. Mary-Anne was aware that her crimson bottom would be on show to anyone who came into the room now, and almost longed for her Master to have a guest. She imagined herself standing there for quite a considerable period, while tea was served to a number of interested visitors. She heard imaginary conversations. Unknown people discussing the condition of her bottom: its shape, and its redness, and its suitability for various canes and whips. She almost felt inquisitive observers reaching out to finger her fieriness, and test the firm resilience of her cheeks. Some might even slip a finger into her sex.
She was almost swooning as her Master came across to her.
"Still nice and hot?" His voice was like silk as he tested her flaming bottom cheeks with an ungentle hand. "Answer me, please, Mary-Anne," he commanded, pulling her this way and that, then massaging her cleft, slowly and wickedly
"Yes... Yes, sir, I'm still v... very hot," she faltered, gulping furiously as he slid a hand round and caressed her at the front too, fingertips working in a pattern.
"Then it's time to make you even hotter," he said, whisking away the delicious pleasuring touch. "Come with me, and we'll see what we can do."
Still hampered by the knickers dangling around her knees, and flooded by the tantalizing shame of it, Mary-Anne followed her master out of the room and up a flight of stairs. At the top, he urged her to shuffle along a corridor, and around a couple of corners, and then conducted her into a sober, mahogany-paneled room. It was another elegant bookroom in reality, but in her imagination, and possibly his, it was a dungeon. She imagined them surrounded by punishment implements of every kind, hung from racks and from pegs, fearsome but imaginary.
The only real dungeon fixture was a small, but sturdily made oak trestle that stood in the center of the room. The crosspiece was thickly upholstered and covered with soft red velvet, and each upright had a restraint at its base.
Had he purchased it, or had it made, specially for her?
"Now, Mary-Anne, I want you to take off all your clothes, then drape your beautiful white body across that bar, as elegantly as you can."
Slowly, Mary-Anne obeyed him, taking every care to move as gracefully as she could. It wasn't easy. Her nerves made her tremble, and, aware of his preferences, she retained her panties around her knees as she removed her other things. She even kept them in place as she removed her stockings; unhooking her suspenders and holding the knickers at half mast as she tugged her hose down her legs from beneath them. The last item she dispensed with her suspender belt, spreading her thighs to retain her panties as she unhooked it.
"That's charming, my dear," said her Master, sounding pleased, and if she wasn't mistaken, impressed. Keeping her smile to herself, she felt just as pleased herself. "So much so that I think you may keep your little panties."
Mary-Anne tried not to breathe hard. Her tangled knickers made her feel even more naked, even more "presented" and subjugated. They were a symbol of her loss of free will and to be in that state made her sex ache and get wetter than ever.
"And you may wear these too." He held out some objects he'd retrieved from the sideboard while she was busy undressing: a thin, black velvet choker, and a pair of very high heeled black patent leather shoes.
Knowing she must look foolish in her hobble, Mary Anne fastened on the choker, then stepped into the high stiletto heels.
In them she swayed, almost fell. She had no grace, no power, she was at the mercy of her own sense of balance. Nor could she set her feet apart and brace herself, with her panties around her knees she was next to helpless.
"Come along, Mary-Anne," her master urged gently, "I'm waiting... Don't you want to obey me?"
Befuddled by the gorgeous shame, she couldn't speak a word, but just nodded and began to totter forward. When she felt his hand on her arm, guiding her, she almost wept with emotion. She'd wanted to manage alone... and yet in another way, failing was exquisite.
Melting with weakness, yet completely enraptured, she let her Master arrange her across the bar. His movements were neat and methodical, almost impersonal, and in moments she was cuffed and secured. Her belly was pressed tightly against the red velvet upholstery and each wrist was buckled firmly to an upright. At first she was surprised that her legs were left unfettered, but then she realized that her panties confined her as effectively as a set of manacles, forcing her to part her thighs to a precise, revealing distance so the black lace garment slipped no further than her knees.
Mary-Anne felt fearful and defenseless, yet drenched in a strange sense of peace. There was nothing she could do, nothing she had to do, nothing she wanted to do. Her master had relieved her of all responsibility, and the heavy weight of choice. Life was very simple, very clear to her now; there was no decision to make, she only had to submit, and hurt.
And hurt she would.
"I will punish you now, with this," her Master said calmly, holding the familiar ruler before her blurring eyes. It different now, somehow; heavier, gleaming as if he'd polished it, strangely innocuous yet almost sentient with menace. "It will be extremely painful, and you may cry out if you wish to. In fact, I encourage it... But I will not stop until I've administered six hard strokes." He paused then, his cool hand delicately brushing her shoulder, then her throat, and then her jaw, as he raised her blushing face so he could see it. "And after that... Well, we'll have to see what happens afterwards, won't we?"
With that he stepped away from her, behind her, and made ready. Mary-Anne could hear the sibilant swish of the thick ruler as he tested its flight through the air, and its passage seemed to cut her fear in two. She felt ready, accepting, perfectly willing, her peacefulness so deep it glowed in her heart like a radiant light.
She'd never felt happier in her life. Never more in the right place and with the right person.
Then the first blow fell and she screamed, the sound high and thin.
"One," her Master intoned solemnly, while her bottom blazed along a wide, blinding line. White lights danced behind Mary-Anne's closed eyes, and she could hear a voice - hers - keening and whining like banshee or a mad thing. She tried to quiet down, but her mouth wouldn't obey.
"Two." The pain came again, like a cable laid across her, shooting six hundred thousand volts through each soft cheek.
"No! No! No!" she whimpered.
Then heard "Three" as the next stroke whistled down.
The pain was deeper each time: more solid, more biting, more intense. Four and five seemed to merge into one mass, and when six came, she no longer had breath to scream, but whispered "Master... oh Master... oh Master..." as her bottom leapt and danced, her lower limbs no longer under her control.
The agony in her flesh didn't seem to diminish as the moments passed, it simply seemed to alter in its quality. From bright, piercing brilliance, it damped down to a heavy pounding throb. As it wound through her senses, Mary Anne found her perceptions sharpened and intensified. She could smell her Master's fresh, lemony cologne through the pungency of her own scents, and beneath she detected the faint odor of his sweat. On the highly polished floor, she could see a shadow moving slowly yet revealingly - a dark silhouette that seemed to merge and blend with hers. She heard sounds, crystal clear sounds; heavy male breathing, a sliding zip, a tiny gasp.
Finally, and wonderfully, strong hands clasped her bottom, and as the torture flared, she welcomed its flaming kiss. She was lifted, adjusted, and painfully maneuvered. Her panties were ripped, yes, ripped from around her thighs, and then something hard, imperious and latex-clad probed her pussy.
I love you
, Mary-Anne's mind whispered as her melting body opened. She smiled in an ecstasy of joy as he forged into her, thick and imposing, shoving hard in rough thrusts. His animal enthusiasm was completely at odds with the controlled elegance of all his actions thus far, and even though every time he pushed in, he hurt her striped bottom cruelly, his desperation granted power, and equal pleasure, to her too.
His wild, blasphemous shouts exalted her spirit. When she gripped him with her pussy, that made him sob. And redouble his efforts.