Authors: Jaye Peaches
His hand did not approach at right angles but instead slapped across her cheek as if he were clashing cymbals together.
Left cheek.
Right cheek.
Left cheek, and so on.
Methodically he moved back and forth until tears sprung in her eyes. Her first spanking was painful. The nerve endings had not grown accustomed to the onslaught and seemed super-sensitive. Mr Tolchard had been moderate in his force—though Casey at the time was oblivious to his restraint, and she felt only a pervasive hot burning sensation. Later, she found out what a hard spanking entailed. Back then, her legs stamped on the floor, and she reached behind to try to rub her flaming buttocks. Both actions were admonished by Mr Tolchard in a quiet, stern tone of voice. His other hand lowered her back down with a nudge in the small of the back. It did not frighten Casey to have him push her into position, and she felt relieved when he continued to hold her in place.
She learnt he did not like her to move, that she should not cry out too loudly, and that she should show gratitude and meekness. She learnt to accept that what he did, he did for her and not him.
After several weeks, things progressed. The spankings varied and became enticing to her. The second time he issued his punishment, she felt his cool hands lower her knickers to her knees, and then on the third occasion, he asked her to lay across his lap. Staring at the features of his expensive rugs became a spanking pastime as she tried hard to absorb the smacks. Some of them seriously hurt, but others made her feel wet and desirous. Each time he told her to take off her knickers, she felt his eyes on her. She loved his dark eyes.
* * *
His fingertips nudged her back and brought her back to the present, and as she stood there in his library, she was reminded he had the right to inspect her whenever he wished. It was in the rules. She was hesitating too long, and it did not do to keep him waiting. She knew the procedure well. Reaching up underneath her skirt, she pulled down her knickers and then turned to face the table. With both hands resting on the smooth surface, she bent over.
“Lift up your skirt,” he commanded, and she almost exploded on the spot with the tone of his voice. Immediately, she tried to keep her legs squashed together. There was no way she could hide it from him. He did not need to touch her, he would see she was completely aroused and ready for what may come her way. Except she should not be and was not expected to be.
“Casey, this is most displeasing,” he said softly. “What have you been doing?”
“Nothing, sir,” she said indignantly. She thought he meant touching herself.
“Then why do you appear so wet?” he asked.
“Sir?” she said, and her hands trembled on the table.
“Have you allowed your dirty little mind to tempt you again?” he said leaning over her and whispering in her ear. “What happened to our little discussion about focusing on your tasks?”
“I did, sir,” she said pleading. “It was these books…”
“Books?” He picked one up and thumbed through the pages of sweet making. “They seem innocuous to me,” he remarked.
“I’ve very sorry, sir,” she said. “I did not keep my silly thoughts in check.”
He shook his head in disappointment. “The punishment for failing to keep slutty thoughts out of your head is ten strokes of the paddle, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.
“Remain in position.”
She waited, not moving as he went to fetch his preferred implement. A long wooden paddle with a leather bound handle. The surface was smooth, and the grain of the wood intricate and bold in places. He picked up the catalogue cards and appeared to be shuffling them about into a new order. He gave her his next instructions.
“As I paddle you twice for each book, I’m going to read out the title of a book,” he told her.
“In which language, sir?” she asked.
“English, naturally. I want you to listen carefully.”
Mr Tolchard read out the first title she had translated.
“Bottoms up!”
She lifted her bottom a little higher for him.
Thud!
“One, sir. Thank you.”
Thud! The paddle landed twice on her naked bottom.
“Two, sir. Thank you.”
“Spread them wide!”
She moved her feet a little further apart for him.
The next title and another two strikes.
“Bite down hard!”
Casey gritted her teeth firmly together.
“Six, sir. Thank you!” she barely could say the words without her legs battling to stay still. Her bottom now was ablaze.
“Sucking sweetly,” he said in a softer tone, and she inhaled deeply through her teeth as if she was sucking on a straw. She repeated the sound as the next two strikes landed firmly on her cheeks.
“Seven, sir. Thank you,” she gasped. “Eight, sir, thank you.”
* * *
Rob Tolchard was finding both the recital and spanking deeply entertaining. She squirmed, wriggled, and writhed about, and none of it was due to pain. He could clearly see her pressing herself over the table. The spanking was taking her to the brink.
Rob had been gifted with more than he bargained for when he first offered Casey the post as his assistant. During her job interview, he had sat across from her behind his desk and could not take his eyes off her. A beauty, but with little grace or self-awareness. She had fidgeted terribly, tugged on her hair, and tapped her heels on the wooden floor. Rob had begun to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake and been overly ambitious. Then he had asked about her studies, and she had suddenly opened up with a wide vocabulary of words and an insightful analysis of her favourite period in history. Rob had seen her eyes brighten up with each passing minute. He had warmed to her rapidly and far too much. Crossing his legs, he had remembered he was a gentleman.
He had always planned to discipline and tame her wayward manners, the barbed remarks, and sulky behaviour. What he had never anticipated was the romance, the need to be more than her employer, and the wish to be somebody special in her life. She had invited him with her rolling eyes, backchat, and flirty words. They had both known they were leading each other astray. What was meant to be discipline became pleasure, and what were stern words transformed into teases and lewd suggestions.
After one particular spanking, when he had used his favourite wooden paddle on her naked bottom for some trivial cursing on Casey’s part, they had touched, and it was too much for them. Before they could stop themselves, they had found each other’s arms and had been swept away.
Rob had explained to Casey what was happening to their relationship—how he saw things might develop, how they could find their way. He had offered to change the rules to reflect the new path they were following, and Casey had accepted them. She was no longer just his personal assistant. She had become much more to him, and him to her.
“Nine, sir. Thank you,” she shrieked as the paddle flexed the cheeks of her buttocks with dimpled imprints. A deep redness was appearing rapidly and would remain for a while too.
“Say the last for me, Casey,” he asked.
“Poke my fire!” she groaned.
It was a slip of the tongue. They both knew the reason why she had uttered the wrong word. He brought down the final blow.
“Ten, sir. Thank you!”
“Very good, Casey,” said Rob. “That was a hard lesson for you. You can stand up now.”
Catching her breath, Casey rose up and let her skirt fall back down. She took the cards from his outstretched hand. “I should file these, sir,” she said carefully. “File them away.”
“Yes, you should, Casey. Out of sight, out of mind.”
As she bent over to reclaim her knickers, the clock on the mantelpiece struck six. The chimes echoed around the room, and she stood and turned to face Rob. The pair faced each other, eyes resting on eyes, and there was a pause as the final chime felt silent.
“Well, Casey?” he murmured. “Lessons are over,” he reminded her. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her lips. “Have you thought about it? Moving in with me? Being my full-time personal assistant?”
“I have, Rob, and the answer is yes,” she said with a sweet smile as she let her knickers slip out of her fingers.
“Excellent.” He was delighted with their progress. “Let’s poke that fire some more. Yes?”
“Please, Rob,” she murmured.
His foot shifted between hers, knocking them gently apart. A wedge was in place to encourage her to open up to him. If she was ashamed by her wetness, she did nothing to hide it from his probing fingers. The heel of his palm pushed up against her mound while his middle finger explored the state of her interior. The pressure from his hand alone caused her to clench about his exploratory finger.
“Wait,” he instructed as her tightness drew him in deeper.
Her feet stomped in obvious frustration as he reached round to find strands of hair to wrap about his other hand. Tilting her head up, he touched her lips with his as if to kiss her. When she parted her mouth for him, in much the same way her legs opened up wider, and he chuckled at her. Her lower lip quivered as Rob tightened his grip on her hair. Below, he began to rub slowly and methodically with a cupped hand. She leaked copiously onto his fingers, and he pressed his erection against her hip so she could feel his response.
Casey gasped when he yanked her head further back. Ignoring her offered lips, he lowered his own to brush against her exposed neck, inhaling her tantalising scent. Up to that point, her hands had been gripping the edge of the desk behind her in a futile effort to hold her body immobile. Now she brought them to her front and sliding them between the two nestling bodies, she was seeking out his shirt buttons. Rob could feel her fingers frantically moving against his belly. The stiff buttons were not budging for her trembling hands.
Rob’s lips made contact right next to her jugular, and he sucked on her taut skin. The pinch of his mouth on her neck was strong, and she pushed up on to her tiptoes as he drew her closer. Her hands then gave up on the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Instead they rested on his chest, gently clawing at him. He liked the way her long fingernails scraped through the fabric onto his skin.
The precision of his thrusting finger combined with his rubbing palm was too much for her. He had found the familiar spongy spot buried inside her with accuracy and targeted it with a vigorous action. Her legs crumbled first, then her knees buckled, and he needed to hold her up by embracing her quivering body with his own. The shrill muted noises Casey made as she achieved her orgasm thrilled him, and Rob was now seriously uncomfortable. His swollen cock, imprisoned by his attire, was keen to be released.
He withdrew his finger from her drenched pussy and wiped his hand on her inner thigh. The small act of cleansing caused her to smile: a sleepy grin of contentment. Rob knew he had to collect his faculties as they were not finished.
“Let’s continue this someplace more comfortable, shall we?” suggested Rob.
As they left the room, Rob glanced back and noticed her abandoned knickers lying on the floor by the table. Such an untidy creature, he thought. He decided he would deal with that matter on another occasion.
“Well, Casey,” began Rob, “I’ve hidden six pairs of your panties around the house. Find them for me.”
“My knickers?” queried Casey.
Now Casey knew Rob liked to play games, but she seriously wondered what went on in his head sometimes. She opened her mouth to say something and thought better of it.
“Alright,” she said and then added as an afterthought, “sir.”
The clock had only just struck eight in the evening, and she had found him in the drawing room in his high backed leather chair, reading the newspaper with his legs crossed and resting on a small footstool. The fireplace was bare as the evening was warm. As requested, she was wearing her shortest skirt and a cropped t-shirt. She felt barely covered in any direction. Currently she was wearing no knickers—another one of his abrupt requests.
“When you have found each pair, you will put them on,” said Rob, without moving his eyes from the column of words he was reading.
“What! All of them,” she said with a gaping mouth. Again, she backtracked quickly, his eye had raised up from the paper. “Sir.”
“Try the bedroom first,” he suggested. “Like a treasure hunt.”
When he had found the time to hide her knickers was beyond her. She believed he never left his study some days. Not entirely true, for she was sent out on errands, so it was feasible for him to set up things in her absence.
The bedroom had as its centrepiece the four-poster bed. No drapes or canopy, but bare framed and almost clinical in style. The rest of the room had nothing but a couple of chairs and a tallboy chest of drawers. The walk-in closet was where they dressed and she did her make-up. Walking around the bed, she peered underneath, and there, neatly laid out was a pale pink thong. She picked it up and gave it a sniff. Laundry fresh. At least he had not raided the laundry basket. She slipped on the thong, grateful for a least some coverage. As she did a tiny piece of paper slipped out of the fabric. Block letters in Rob’s handwriting were clearly legible.
GO CLEAN THE BATHROOM
Taking the advice, she went into the en suite. Nothing around the floor or sink, and thankfully not by the toilet either. Hanging down from the brass showerhead was another pair of knickers. Casey had to climb into the bath to reach, and again a tiny flutter of paper fell into her hands. The white hipster-shaped bikini slipped over the thong.
MAKE ME COFFEE
The kitchen was her next hunting ground. She took the time to make his coffee, grinding the fresh beans and percolating the grounds for the exact time he specified. As she waited, she sought out her underwear. Hanging from a wooden knob off the Welsh Dresser was a black lacy pair of her fancier knickers. It was getting harder to squeeze the elasticated waist over the previous two pairs to make the next pair fit comfortably. Bits of different coloured fabric stuck out, and the thong had well and truly been sucked up between her legs. She pulled the skirt down, almost ashamed to see what she was wearing.