Authors: Emily Tilton
“Oh my God…” I said, for my entire body suddenly felt like it was being turned inside out with arousal at his way of talking about me, about my body, about us.
“Listen to me carefully, now. In a few moments, I am going to spank you for pleasuring yourself in the café bathroom.”
I mewed as he emphasized these words by rubbing just a tiny bit with his middle finger.
“But that spanking will be nothing compared to what you will get if I catch you masturbating in the future, after I have claimed your cunt. Your first spanking will be merely to teach you that you have come into the power of a man who knows what a girl who has a little wank in a public bathroom needs. From this point on, if you decide to submit to me today, your punishments will be for breaking my rules.”
He returned my gaze for a long moment, and then he bent his face towards mine and kissed me. He used his lips to open my own, almost brutally, and thrust his tongue inside my mouth, and then having asserted his right to enter me, he withdrew. No one had ever kissed me like that before. I hadn’t known even that it was possible to be kissed like that—to feel that a man had used my mouth and established an intimacy against my will—or, rather, without the slightest regard for my will. It was the equivalent, in the language of the kiss, of what his fingers were doing down below, between my thighs.
The shame of the thing was unbelievable. Even stranger, I was shocked to find that the experience of being pinned like a butterfly to that wall—of having my ability to flee from the shame that Geoffrey was enforcing upon me taken away—actually seemed to feed upon itself and increased my arousal in a way that was simultaneously delicious and painful. I realized that at least under those circumstances, I loved and craved degradation.
Still pinning my wrists to the wall above my head and still commanding my vulva with his open palm, Geoffrey held his head back and looked at me intently in the eyes. “It’s time for you to begin to learn my rules,” he said, softly. “The most important rules, the four I’ll teach you today, have numbers. After I tell you a rule, you will repeat it in the form of a promise. I can tell that you are a clever enough girl to figure out what I mean by that.”
I felt so deliciously belittled that I couldn’t hold his gaze, and I found myself looking down at his buttons again. He gave me another dominant kiss—this one to force me to look at him again.
“I’ve already told you about rule number one, actually,” he said. “Rule number one is simply that I get my way. I want you to think hard about this, though. If you want, I’ll take my hands away—”
“Don’t,” I breathed. “Please…”
He smiled, and I saw, to my surprise, a kindness in his eyes that seemed to me to want to respect how new this all was to me. I realized that he wanted paradoxically to be tender in the way he was rough, and it made me aware of how gentle, really, his hands felt despite where they were on my body, pinning my wrists and claiming my pussy.
He kissed me again, more softly, and I moaned up into his mouth, as his fingers soothed me, between my thighs, softly. “I want you to think hard before you make your promise,” he repeated. “This is the moment when I take you in hand and you start to belong to me, and I want you to understand that although we’ll discuss the terms of your submission before I take you home today and you’ll be able to back out then, too, this is the moment when you will become my property.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, not only because I was afire with lust for him and for his way with me, but also because I was beginning to understand that he had a wisdom that I needed. He had it not because he was a man and I was a woman, but because there were things he knew about and knew how to do that I didn’t, and because his temperament was beautifully suited to helping me figure out who I was, and who I wanted to be.
Geoffrey’s tender smile broadened, and he kissed me again, more insistently. Then he said, “Alright, promise time. Show me how clever you are, Chloe.”
“I promise—” I began.
“Sir, I promise,” he corrected.
I flushed and began again, “Sir, I promise to give you your way.”
“Very good, Chloe,” he said. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the gift of your submission. Now, it’s time for rule number two, which you also know. Rule number two is ‘Chloe’s cunt is my property, and so is the rest of her body, especially her mouth and her ass’.”
This time my shame was so great that even another dominant kiss couldn’t return my eyes to his. He had to murmur, menacingly, “Look at me, Chloe.”
I raised my eyes again and whispered, “Sir, I promise that my cunt is your property, and also the rest of my body, especially my mouth and my ass.” Somewhere that felt like it was high above me, a part of my mind was screaming, “What the fuck are you doing?” The voice was vanishingly soft in comparison to the raging flood of arousal that was coursing through my body here on the ground—standing against the wall in Geoffrey King’s house, with his hand physically and palpably claiming the property I had just in words yielded up to him.
“You’re doing very, very well, Chloe. Just as well as I had hoped you would do. There will be just one more rule for right now, and I would like to instruct you about it in the proper position for that instruction. First, though, my fingers are rather sticky, and I would like you to clean them, please.” Keeping my wrists pinned above my head, he withdrew his hand from under my skirt, and brought his fingers to my lips. “While you lick my fingers clean, young lady, I want you to think about the relationship of what you are doing to rules number one and two.”
I opened my lips, slowly. I felt Geoffrey slide his three middle fingers inside them. I licked, and tasted myself, a taste I knew reasonably well, having pretended so many times that a man was doing exactly this to me. But now, watching the face of the man who was dominantly moving his fingers, covered in my wetness, inside my mouth and across my tongue, I did think about his first two rules. He was having his way in the mouth that belonged to him, and I was the instrument of his enjoyment. I closed my eyes and suckled Geoffrey’s fingers.
“Lovely, Chloe. Lovely,” he said. “You are being a very good girl for your new master, aren’t you? Master has to admit that he really would like to fuck you today, since you are turning out to be even more fuckable than master thought you would.”
I moaned around his fingers at these words.
“But what kind of master would I be if I let you have your reward before you’d earned it? No, it’s time for you to learn rule number three, isn’t it, little slut?”
Abruptly his fingers left my mouth, and he loosed my wrists above me and stepped back. He pointed to a corner in the sitting area off the kitchen. “Go stand with your nose in that corner, Chloe, and hold your skirt above your waist to display the area where your misconduct was committed. I am going to go get my paddle.”
I walked slowly over to the corner, while he did not move. Feeling, I thought, exactly like I was supposed to feel, I looked back over my shoulder at him with a sorrowful look.
“Get in the corner, Chloe, and get that skirt up, now,” Geoffrey said. “Or you’re going to get your first punishment for disobedience long before I thought you would.”
Somehow, I made it to the corner and stared at the off-white paint in front of me. Somehow I found the courage, fighting against the delicious shame, to reach my hands down and take hold of the hem of my black skirt on either side of my thighs. Somehow, I even managed to raise it, feeling the air move against my never-before-spanked bottom.
“That, Chloe,” I heard Geoffrey say, from behind me, “is a very beautiful bottom. I am proud to be its owner, and I look forward to doing many shameful things to it. I will be back to give it its first spanking in just a moment.”
I heard him walking away down the hall and ascending a flight of stairs that I had not yet seen. I felt a tiny bit of fear about what the spanking would actually feel like, but at the same time, I knew that something for which I had longed for years and years was finally about to begin. I heard Geoffrey returning. I heard him sit down in the chair behind me.
“Come here, Chloe. It’s time for your spanking.”
I turned around and saw that he was sitting in a high-backed, armless Windsor chair.
“Lay yourself over my lap now, girl,” he said, “your head on my left and your toes on the floor on my right.”
I didn’t move, but said, “Sir? Am I going to get the paddle right away? This is my first time.”
“No, Chloe,” he said. “I’ll almost always warm up your lovely bottom with my hand first. Among other things, you can expect me not to forego the pleasure of feeling your backside get what it deserves from my own hand directly. Now, come and do as I asked, or you’ll make it worse for yourself.”
I moved towards him and stood next to him. He reached up and put his right arm around my waist, where my one silk blouse met the waistband of my skirt, and with a certain roughness that made me cry out in surprise, he pulled me downward and over his legs. For the very first time, I went over the lap of a man to be punished. My head hung down the way it was supposed to, my arms were stretched out, downward, the way they were supposed to. On my tiptoes, I raised my bottom to present it to Geoffrey. I thought he would begin the spanking immediately, but instead I felt him rubbing me across my cheeks, down on my upper thighs, and right at the place where my bottom and my legs came together.
“Rule number three,” he murmured, “is perhaps the most obvious of the three basic rules. Naughty girls get spanked.”
I thought for a moment about how to turn this rule into a promise, having a very hard time concentrating because of the way Geoffrey’s fingers were now finding out the warmest places within the valley that joined my thighs. Nor did Geoffrey seem in a hurry to demand of me the corollary promise to rule number three.
“Sir?” I finally asked.
“Yes, Chloe?”
“I’m not sure how to turn that one into a promise.”
“Well, why don’t you give it a try, and I promise to let you know if you get it wrong.”
Another long pause, while I sighed at the way he had now reached the middle finger of his right hand all the way down deep between my thighs and had reached my aching clitoris with it.
“Go ahead, Chloe,” he said encouragingly. “You can do it.”
“Um… Naughty—” It was clearly the wrong way to begin, for that was the moment when Geoffrey delivered the first spank of my life to my upturned bottom. There was a sound that in my memory was like a gunshot, and the sensation of sharp pain, which faded almost instantly.
“Try again,” he said and spanked me again.
“Sir, I promise to try to take my spankings like a good girl?”
“Very well,” Geoffrey said. He began to spank me in earnest. He started with a cadence that took him from my right cheek to my left cheek to my right upper thigh to my left upper thigh and then to the center—the far-famed sit spot. At first, the pain of every spank faded immediately, just as the sensation of the first one had. But then, because my bottom was already warm and because I could feel that Geoffrey was increasing the force, the pain became a lasting glow.
After that, the real pain began. Now Geoffrey would linger on one of his five targets for four or five blows, until he heard me cry out in authentic discomfort. That was when he paused and said, “Alright, sweetheart, it’s time for the paddle.”
I wailed in authentic fear. I had forgotten all about the paddle. “Please, sir, I don’t know if I can take it.”
“I will decide what you can take.”
For the first time now I felt real panic welling up inside me, and I actually began to struggle on Geoffrey’s lap. Then I felt his left arm come across my waist to hold me down.
“You are being punished, Chloe. You played with your little pussy in a public bathroom. Now you are learning the consequences. This is for your own good. This is what BDSM is all about. This is what you asked for, and now you’re getting it.”
I felt his upper body shift, and I knew he was reaching down to get the paddle, which I had only had a brief glimpse of—it had looked like it was oak or maple, the face about the size of a paperback book. His left arm felt heavy around my waist, and I thought I could feel his arousal under my thigh, even through my skirt and his jeans.
“Twenty paddle strokes for your naughtiness, Chloe,” he said. “You were a bad girl. Now you will learn what happens to bad girls in my house.” Then he began to paddle me and I began to scream. It was worse than I had ever imagined. By the fifth stroke, I was truly struggling with all my might against his restraining arm. My own arms came up, but of course he grabbed my right wrist in his left hand and held it up behind my back while he continued to punish me, for I was having a true punishment now. A man had come to claim me and lay down rules for me, and I was learning what it meant to belong to him. I was a girl and he knew how to punish girls who played with themselves.
“Hush, Chloe, and take your punishment,” he said. “Naughty girls need to learn what happens when they don’t respect their bodies.”
That was when the thing that’s supposed to happen happened; the resistance went out of me. I hushed, except for the little ow’s and the soft crying. I stopped struggling and I took my punishment.
“There,” he said, with satisfaction. He tapped the paddle against my bottom lightly. I whimpered. “You took that very well, sweetheart—especially considering it was your first time.” I heard the paddle drop to the floor, and I felt him rubbing and realized that my loins were on fire. It was as if I had never even known what it meant to be aroused, before. “Good girl,” he murmured.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, without even meaning to open my mouth, expressing a sort of gratitude so sincere it seemed to come from another age. I don’t often speak utterly without premeditation, and when I do I often regret it. What was happening here in Geoffrey’s house over Geoffrey’s lap was evoking that part of me that I tended to regret, but searching my feelings as he continued to rub my bottom, I found no way to regret it. My response to being called a good girl was a pure desire to please this man who had now, it seemed, taken me firmly in hand. I
wanted
to regret that stereotypical, old-fashioned feminine feeling that haunted my fantasies of being taken in hand just like this, but I couldn’t regret it now that I was here. I had to see what would happen, but to my joy I found that I trusted Geoffrey to guide me there.