A Slow Start

Even with the shirttails, following Janae up the stairs made John’s mouth ache, the slight tan of her calves fading quickly to pure white, her complexion taking on a translucent quality as it rose on her thighs and met the cotton of her blouse which, draped over the slight swell of her bottom, curtained his soon-to-be target. Similarly the firmness of her calves acquired a softness as his gaze progressed upward, with his mind’s eye filling in its natural conclusion. Each step was dramatic; tempting and teasing, full of mystery and promise, nearly but never revealing. John could tell by the restrained spring her step that she would normally climb these stairs two at a time - an image that made his tongue curl with longing - but she had no intention of being that brazen this evening. It must be dark in there, he concluded, she’s in a hurry to get inside, out from under these lights – before he realized how chilly she might be. That would also explain why, when reaching the door at the top, she shielded her breasts from his gaze with her arm - her nipples were probably stabbing at her blouse. Standing two steps below her John ran the crop up the back of her thigh, raising her shirttail an inch, and she looked back at him, grinning widely before blushing and turning away.

“Shying,” he thought to himself. When a horse does that it’s called shying. John smiled yet again. “In you go.”

*****

He’d been right on both counts – the room was dim and a heater was working hard, dispelling the chill. John guessed that the small space would soon be hot which suited him fine. Looking around he smiled at the harsh clash of styles and the story it told – the construction industrial, the furniture rough-hewn and rustic, with only a thin sheen of feminine decorating to soften the inherent – and inherited, he figured – masculinity. Across the room a miniature kitchen looked out on the approach road through a window suited to a camping trailer, which explained why he hadn’t noticed it. To the right was a low twin bed with a white floral cover, hurriedly made, and above it two windows managed to provide a decent view, or would in daylight.

Between a low couch re-covered by a light decorative blanket and a wide low pine dresser holding a small TV was just enough room for one of the room’s two area rugs.  It seemed to John to be the least intrusive place for them.

“She won’t be coming back?” John checked.

“Oh no. She’s gone – all week.”

“Until Monday? Or Friday?” he challenged. She didn’t sound too sure and it was Thursday evening. He didn’t want her showing up early, interrupting them.

“Until Monday – Sunday night, I guess.”

“We’re all set then, aren’t we?” Setting the blankets on the edge of the couch he stepped closer.  His hand was again around her ponytail and his voice again took on that whisper quality. “And ready to address your behavior. Which has been more than just inappropriate, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied quietly, nodding.

“Not even merely unacceptable, though it has certainly been unacceptable, hasn’t it?”

No words this time, just a nod.

“It’s been appalling, hasn’t it, young lady? But not just that… it’s been surprising, I would guess. Not what anyone would expect of you, would they?”

A small shake of her head, restrained by his grip.

“How would people feel if they knew? If they were told what you’d been up to – if you had to tell them what I found you doing today?”

Even with his hold on her she managed to turn her head to look at him, wide-eyed. “Sir… please… I couldn’t…”

“Disappointed? Disappointed in you?” Now that she’d turned he held her facing him as she tried to look away. Even as she did she nodded once more. “Say it. Tell me.”

“Please, sir!” she raised her eyes back to his but found him unrelenting. “They would be disappointed in me.”

“For what you did.”

“For what I did.”

“But we’ll see that you won’t want to do it again, won’t we?”

Trembling and near tears she gave a final nod.

“Get down on your hands and knees,” John commanded.

 

*****

“Get down on your hands and knees,” John commanded and she quickly complied, sitting on her heels, hugging herself. He knelt on one knee and guided her over his left thigh, level in front of her, coaxing her farther and farther forward until the tops of her thighs pressed the inside of his own. “We’ll start like this, since you’ve been such a naughty young lady and played such a naughty, childish game. It will give you time to think about what you’ve done and how you got yourself here.” With his left hand on her far hip he snugged her firmly into his lap, his arousal not yet hard enough to alarm her despite the luxurious availability of her soft bare skin, sun-kissed and white from a variety of summer outfits. Her bottom was uniformly the palest white – for the moment – no thong bikinis for this girl. Her thighs crushed together with frantic modesty though a slight breadth of her cleft precluded complete concealment of her pretty pink bud. John began to slap her cheeks, rhythmically, alternating spanks.

“Don’t squirm, this doesn’t hurt,” he scolded in response to her movements, “It’s just your embarrassment, and rightfully so. Spanked like a little girl, your bottom bare and up and inviting what it deserves, you’re right to be ashamed. Treating Midnight like that – you were taught better as a child, I know you were – now you have to be reminded? Your bottom ought to burn, but what’s burning you right now is your shame and I hope it’s not the shame of being caught, it had better be the shame of what you have been doing, caught or not.” The spanks continued to fall, firm without being hard but impossible to ignore, easily absorbed by her bottom which was likewise firm without being hard but impossible to ignore. “Your bottom’s getting as pink as a girl found out sneaking candy or telling a fib, probably a fib to get out of a spanking just like this one.” John’s hand was cupped to merge with her bottom more than attack it; he knew he could easily make these hurt deeply or sting intolerably but that was not his intent. Every few swats he would flatten his hand and land one across both cheeks, centered, drawing a sharp little gasp in response, but he doubted it was a gasp of pain. The rest fell just off center, low to one side or the other, connecting more than physically, communicating his disapproval. “I want you to take the time to think, think of what you’ve been doing, what I caught you doing, and how long ago you learned not to act that way. It was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, and those two short words so combined a whine, a whimper, a throaty growl and a moan that the cauldron of her feelings was unmistakable.

“You thought you’d gotten too big to be spanked like this, didn’t you, young lady?”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated, adding a note of desperation – of need? For escape?

“You thought only the saddle would be pinking your naughty grown-up bottom, didn’t you?”

“Please, sir…”

“And now you’ve found out differently, haven’t you? A pair of jodhpurs won’t keep this bottom safe, will they?”

“No, sir.”

“Or even covered?”

“No…”

“Not jodhpurs, not jeans, not even pretty panties… not if you’ve been misbehaving; not if you’ve been doing things you know you shouldn’t.” Even if his logic had not been sound the continued spanks, firmer and firmer as she grew accustomed to them, could not be argued with. Hips flexing in response to their rhythm, she soaked them up like a garden under a long-awaited rain. John shifted his free hand from her hip to her far shoulder, pressing her backward into his swats, sensing her breasts rocking, her throat opening as she raised her head and with this he knew her embarrassment was abandoning her, leaving her with only abandon. It would soon be time to stop – and move on.

The spanks slowed and her breathing continued to get deeper, her movements more pronounced. When he stopped John kept his hand just below her tailbone, smoothing it down over her pinkened cheeks. “I think that’s enough of this childish treatment, don’t you, young lady?” he asked. After a few long sighing breaths he heard the expected reply. “Though you acted like a naughty child and had to be spanked like a naughty child, you’re not a naughty child at all, are you?”

“No, sir. I… I’m not.”

“Then it’s time to address you as a grown woman. And as such your behavior was no more acceptable, was it?”

“No, sir, it wasn’t. I’m… sorry.”

“That’s good to hear and a very good start. Now I need you to sit up,” he told her, raising her with a hand under her shoulder. Instinctively she covered herself though her blouse gapped invitingly. John pressed his leg against her before rising – having established contact he was loath to break it. He withdrew a length of leather from his pocket, not concealing it from her. It was long but narrow, like a dog collar but much longer and perforated along its length with a small buckle at one end. He let it hang from his fingers and brush the rug, or nearly so.

“I brought this up from the stable,” he said, “I think it will suit us quite well.”