Boys Need a Spanking
by Susan Strict
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2006 Susan Strict
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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“Boys all need a good spanking,” Paula said with a grin.
“No,” he replied, “You just enjoy spanking them!”
They both laughed. Neither of them took it seriously.
“I told my friends,” she said, “About what you found on my computer.”
“Dirty Denise? And the rest!”
“It wasn’t me. Really it wasn’t. I’m not interested in THAT sort of thing.” She was quite indignant. “It must have been Phil when he was here last weekend.”
“It doesn’t bother me if it was you,” he told her, “Whatever. You’d be surprised what people look at on the Internet. You wouldn’t believe some of them!”
“I don’t look at that sort of stuff. Really I don’t. It doesn’t interest me.” She was still indignant.
“Not even boys getting spanked?” He laughed at her.
“Not even that,” she said firmly. “There’s no fun in looking at it. Doing it would be the thing, but there’s precious little of that sort of thing these days.”
He looked at her. They had known each other for years, worked together, and had always been good friends. She was really very attractive, no youngster, but tall and with a fine figure.
“I’d have thought that a woman like you would have no trouble finding boyfriends?”
“They’re all too serious, and all with too much baggage. All I want is someone to go out with, have some fun, a good meal, and then maybe a shag afterwards.”
He smiled, but he was more than a little startled at her frankness.
“So you want a shag?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Behave yourself,” she told him. “Not with you.”
“Pity,” he said, still trying to maintain the grin and keep the conversation light-hearted.
“All you men think about is sex,” she told him, crossly.
“You mentioned shagging, not me.” He tried to sound indignant. “It never crossed my mind until you mentioned it!”
“Pigs might fly. You’re not telling me that you, or any man, doesn’t go five minutes without thinking about sex one way or another.”
“No, really, “ he assured her, “If you hadn’t mentioned it, it would never have occurred to me. But...” he studied her from head to foot, “... you are a very attractive women. I wouldn’t turn you down!”
“You’re heading for that spanking,” she warned him.
“Yes please,” he muttered, quietly so that she would not hear. Her eyes opened wide. She had heard.
“You really are into kinky stuff? I thought you might be.” She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips aggressively. He blushed, but said nothing.
She seemed to be thinking. “I’m not going to shag you,” she said firmly. “You could kiss me, if you want.”
He stood up, losing no time in moving towards her. She pushed him away.
“No,” she told him firmly. “You may kiss my feet.”
He looked doubtfully downwards. She kicked her shoes off.
“Go on then. If you don’t, you won’t get another chance.” She reached forward, her hand outstretched as if to push him downward.
“You serious?” he asked.
“If you are.”
“The floor’s not too comfortable,” he said doubtfully.
“Wimp.”
“Yeah, OK. I’m a wimp. But you haven’t even got a carpet here.”
“There’s a carpet in the bedroom. A nice soft one.”
They stared at each other for several minutes in silence.
“Come on,” she said at last, and took his hand. She led him upstairs and into the bedroom.
“Kneel,” she ordered, sitting herself on the edge of the bed. She waved her bare feet in his direction. “Kiss these.”
Kneeling, he took one of her feet in his hands.
“Kiss it, slave,” she commanded him.
He glanced up. Seeing the mischievous grin on her face, he planted a big, sloppy kiss in the middle of her foot.
She jerked her foot away. “Do it properly. Or forget it.”
He reached for her foot again, this time kissing each toe gently.
“Lick,” she told him softly.
His tongue explored her foot, and then her ankle..
He looked up at her. “Higher?” he asked.
“Mmmm.” Her eyes were closed and her head was back.
His tongue circled her ankle then slowly, almost daringly, edged upward towards her knee.
She moaned, and raised her other leg, resting it on his shoulder. He looked up at her, and saw her eyes still closed. Her legs were slightly apart, and her short skirt was crumpled high up her thighs.
“Stop looking,” she said, although her eyes remained closed.
“I wasn’t,” he protested.
“They’re black,” she told him confidently. “So now you don’t need to look. Get on with it.”
He kissed her knees, first one and then the other. She moved towards him slightly, her skirt riding higher. They were black. They were black and silky.
She gasped when the tip of his tongue touched the inside of her thigh just above the knee. He lifted his head, just for a minute. Her hand waved above his head, not reaching for him and yet telling him to put his head down, his tongue out, and to continue.
He pressed his tongue against her leg in a long, slow, flat, wet movement up her thigh. She shuddered, putting her hands onto the bed either side of her as if to brace herself. She moved her legs further apart.
Again he pressed his tongue against her in another long slow movement that took him to the very top of her thigh and to the edge of those black, silky knickers. He did not hesitate nor, as he was tempted to do, did he touch those knickers. He moved immediately to her other leg, and started from the very top in a steady movement down towards her knee.
She trembled in anticipation as once more he moved up her leg, now making little circles with his tongue and intermittently sucking gently with his lips. He reached the top... and moved down her other thigh. She fell backwards, and lay panting on the bed, one arm across her face.
Three times he kissed her, moving up one leg and down the other.
“For goodness sake,” she squealed, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “KISS me.”
He stopped. “I am kissing you,” he told her. “Don’t you like it?”
She sat up rapidly and grasped his head in both hands before he could pull away, and forced his face against her with all her strength.
“KISS... ME... THERE,” she shouted with some desperation in her voice.
Her fingers gripped him by his hair. The tendons in her forearms stood out, straining under the force with which she held him. He tried to pull away, to speak. He could do neither. He could hardly breathe.
She held him for only a few seconds before her fingers released his hair and pushed him from her as she once more fell back onto the bed. Her breathing came in short, sharp sobs; tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks. He knelt in front of her, motionless.
“You bastard,” she muttered. “You absolute bastard.”
“I... I only... I thought you were enjoying that.”
In a single, fluid motion she was on her feet, standing over him. All at once she was no longer the weak, trembling creature who lay and waited for him to kiss her.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered him fiercely. “Lie on the bed.”
“But...”
“Just do it. Or I’ll get the whip out.”
“Do you really have a whip?” he asked as he slowly obeyed, fascinated.
“You want to find out?”
He did not reply. He was suddenly very unsure. True, it was an exciting thought to have a woman wielding a whip and ordering him around. In fact, it was the exact theme of many of his fantasies, but now he found himself in almost precisely that position he was far less certain it was what he wanted at all.
The moment he was on her bed she leapt on him. She knelt, knees astride his chest, and looked down at him.
“I’m not sure...” he started to say.
She slapped him on the cheek, not too hard but more than enough to sting.
“Ow! That hurt!”
“It’ll hurt a lot more if you don’t behave yourself. I’m going to tie you to the bed to make sure you do behave.”
Without changing her position on top of him, she leaned across and reached into a drawer by the bed. She pulled out two lengths of silken cord and knotted them tightly around each of his wrists.
“Hey,” he complained. She had already tied the other ends of the cord to the top corners of the bed before he said another word.
“Now you don’t have a choice,” she told him.
She swung one leg over, away from him, and stood up next to the bed. She rummaged in the cupboard and produced a short riding crop.
“See?” she said. “I do have a whip. Just right for dealing with bad boys.”
She swished it through the air.
“OK,” he said, “You’ve got a whip. Now let me go.”
“What? Don’t be silly. You haven’t finished kissing me yet.”
She was on top of him again, the riding crop still in her hand. She moved forward, lifting her short skirt as she eased herself above his head so that he was looking straight up at those black, silky knickers.. She lowered herself very slowly, letting her skirt fall as she pressed down over his mouth and nose.
“That’s better,” she said, satisfied with her position and the pleasant feeling of the contours of his face underneath her.
His senses were full of the silky material and her resilient flesh of her body underneath it. It was nearly half a minute before he realised that he was unable to breathe at all.
He struggled. The silken cords binding his wrists to the bed were strong and, for him, totally inescapable. His arms strained vainly. Her weight on his face made it impossible for him to move his head or his shoulders. His legs, unrestrained, kicked wildly and then with bent knees his feet pressed downward in an effort to arch his back and dislodge her.
She was too heavy.
She kept her position, not moving at all.
The straining of his muscles subsided, and he lay still under her.
She looked down at him and raised herself from him, sitting back onto his chest. He gasped and spluttered as he sucked in the fresh air that she had denied him.
“Oh dear,” she said in a worried tone. “That’s no good at all.”
“I might have suffocated,” he croaked.
“What?” for a moment she sounded confused. “No, I wasn’t worried about that. I meant that I really cannot have your legs thrashing around like that. Most untidy.”
She clambered from him, laying her riding crop beside him, and rummaged deeper in the drawer by the bed.
“Here we are,” she said brightly, producing two more lengths of silken cord. “Perfect. The only question is whether I should remove your trousers first?”
She ignored his half-hearted protests, tying his ankles to the lower corners of the bed once she had removed his trousers and pants and thrown them into the corner of the room. His legs were stretched wide apart.
“Hmm. You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” she said, examining him closely.
“Please...” he started to say, then was not at all sure what he intended to ask. At the same time as wanting her to release him, feeling desperately embarrassed and vulnerable stretched out and tied on her bed, he knew that when she untied him she would be telling him to put on his clothes and to go back to his office. He was terrified that she might sit on his face again and suffocate him, but equally he wanted once more to bury his face between her legs into those soft, silky knickers. He was terrified, too, that she might use that whip she had put down next to him. She was strong and quite capable of doing him serious damage if she hit him with it, and yet the thought of her using it was so incredibly exciting.
“I’m not going to shag you,” she said positively. “I already told you that.”
He groaned. She picked up the crop.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t give your nasty bits some attention.” She swished the crop over his body, missing his hardness by no more than a fraction of an inch. He felt the air from it as it passed.
“Don’t! Please!”
“No. You’re right,” she agreed. “You were supposed to be kissing me, weren’t you?”
She tapped his chest lightly with the end of the crop. “I suppose you’d like to kiss me properly?”
“Yes... I suppose so.” He did not sound convinced.
“OK. No problem.” Rapidly she removed her knickers and climbed onto him, sitting on his chest with her knees either side of his head.
“You mustn’t look,” she told him firmly. “It’s rude to look.”
“How can I avoid looking?”
“You’re looking? That’s bad. You should have shut your eyes. I’ll have to punish you when you’ve finished kissing me.”
She moved forward, pressing herself against him. “Kiss,” she told him softly, “And keep kissing until I tell you to stop.”
He kissed. Or, rather, he licked and sucked at her. She moaned. He stopped.
“I didn’t tell you to stop!”
“You moaned at me. I thought I’d better stop. I thought you didn’t like it.”
The noise that came from her was somewhere between a moan of frustration and a growl. She lifted herself and came down firmly onto his face, his nose pressed right into her. Her firm flesh formed an airtight seal over him as her muscles squeezed.
He was unprepared for this sudden movement. At once his started to struggle to breathe. She merely pressed down harder to keep his head in one place, and pressed her fingers down between her legs. She touched and rubbed herself, concentrating on the sensations she created with her fingertips and the feel of his nose and face under and into her. At the same time, the little movement he was able to make as he sought to find air gave her the added stimulation she craved.
It took her only a minute or two before her body was quivering and shaking. To him, it felt as though it were hours. She moaned incessantly, shuddering with pleasure even as his struggles grew first desperate and then weaker, and finally he once again lay motionless. Still she did not leave him, a deep irresistible stirring rising inside her and insistently demanding to be fully satisfied.
A low scream broke from her lips, rising in pitch to a shriek as she toppled backwards and lay as motionless as he was. Her eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, gradually slowing.
As she recovered, wiping the perspiration from her face, she could feel his hardness under her back twitching slightly as if looking for escape from her weight that had pressed it down between her body and his.
With difficulty, she sat up. His eyes were open, although she had half expected to see him unconscious. He had a glazed expression, not focusing on her as if he had no idea she was there. She slapped him round the face until he groaned and muttered “Stop.”
She sat at the top of his chest, pushing forward just enough to touch him. She ignored his weak murmur and his barely audible request to release him.
“Lick,” she commanded once more. “Gently. I just want to feel your tongue on me.”
He obeyed. His effort was feeble. Earlier it would have done nothing more than annoy her, but now it was exactly what she wanted. She kept perfectly still once she had found a position in which she could sit comfortably. Only when the light touching of his tongue slowed or stopped did she move, and then only to urge him into the gentle, continuous action again. She felt relaxed, calm, and comfortable. The pleasure of the touch of his tongue was soothing and restful. She would have been quite content to remain like this for hours, and it was only the realisation she had other things to do that eventually moved her from him.
She stood by the side of the bed and studied his naked outstretched body. She smoothed down her crumpled skirt, still fully dressed apart from her silky knickers that lay on the floor in the corner. He turned his head to look at her, an odd expression on his face that was somehow both humble and demanding.
“Please...” he whispered.
“You want me to release you?” Her tone was calm and emotionless.
“Yes. No. Please, I need...” He looked away from her and down towards the far end of the bed. His hardness pulsed.
“I told you. I’m not going to shag you.”
He closed his eyes in silence. When his voice came, it was pleading, with more than a suggestion of hopelessness.
“I know. Could you... touch me. Or, maybe, kiss me.”
She looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I need it. I need you.”
“I don’t have time.” She tossed her head impatiently. “Do you realise how long we’ve been here? I have things to do.”
“OK.” There was deep disappointment in his voice. “I suppose I ought to get back to work too.”
“Not much point now, is there? There’s only a couple of hours before you finish for the day.”
“True. You could make me a coffee instead, and then I’ll be getting home.”
“No.”
“Eh?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’. You’re too busy to make me a coffee? You want me to go?”
“No,” she said slowly, “You’re not going anywhere. I have things to do. You haven’t. You can stay right where you are. I have plans for you later.”
She walked to the door, and left the bedroom without looking round. She closed the door to muffle his shouts, and she set about her housework...
* * * * *
It seemed like hours.
At first he strained and struggled to free himself from the cords holding him outstretched on her bed. It was impossible and soon he gave up, exhausted.
He was uncomfortable now. Although her bed was soft and comfortable his arms and legs ached, and the cords around his wrists and ankles hurt him. He was not cold despite his nakedness, but being exposed, alone and vulnerable made him shiver.
Several times he called her. She did not respond. He did not think she had left the house, but either she ignored him or simply could not hear him from whichever room she was now in.
Finally she returned. The door opened and she stood in the doorway, arms folded, not saying anything, just looking at him.
“Let me go.” His voice was quiet, just asking, not demanding.
“Why?”
“Because... I need to go.”
“No you don’t. Your office will be closed. There’s no rush.”
“I’m uncomfortable.”
“You want me to comfort you?”
“I just want to go. Please.”
“All right.” She moved towards him, bending down to the cords around his ankles. He breathed a sigh of relief.
There was the sound of the doorbell. She stood up.
“Hey! Finish untying me!”
“Sure. I’ll just see who that is.” She disappeared, leaving the door open. He shouted after her. She did not respond.
He heard her open the front door. He heard voices. He listened intently, anxiously.
“Sharon! Come in.” Her voice was faint but the words were quite distinct. He groaned. Once she started gossiping with Sharon it could be hours before she remembered him and came back up the stairs to release him.
He could still hear their voices, but now he could not make out the words. They must have gone into another room downstairs. He waited, hoping that Sharon would not stay long. The discomfort in his arms and legs was steadily becoming worse.
The sound of their muffled voices ceased, and there was silence for several minutes. Was Sharon leaving? He strained to hear what was going on, and then he heard footsteps on the stairs. He had not heard the front door, but Sharon must have left.
“There he is. You didn’t believe me, did you?”
He looked in horror at the two women standing in the doorway. The expression on Sharon's face was a mixture of shock and amusement.
“How long has he been like that?” she asked.
Paula shrugged. “A few hours,” she replied. “He was naughty. So I decided to keep him there for a while.”
“HEY!” He shouted angrily. “LET ME GO!”
Neither of them showed the slightest sign of having heard him. Sharon walked towards him, studying him with interest. She was older than Paula, and not so tall nor with such an attractive figure. Some people might have called her dumpy, although he had always quite liked the broad, rounded curves of her body that somehow did not quite fit with her sharp, hard features. She wore a plain, white blouse buttoned at the front, with a knee-length black skirt, and dark brown boots. There was something decidedly exciting about her, yet at the same time something a little frightening.
“Look,” said Paula as Sharon approached him.
“What?” asked Sharon, turning round.
“I think he likes you.” Paula pointed.
To his embarrassment he realised where she was pointing. Left on his own for all that time and steadily becoming more and more uncomfortable, his earlier arousal had completely left him. Now, it had returned.
“Dirty little beast,” said Sharon. “He thinks he’s going to get another shag.”
“He hasn’t had one yet,” Paula told her.
Sharon looked surprised. “Didn’t you?” she asked. “I thought that would be the first thing you did. You’re always complaining you’re not getting it, and he seems well capable!” She slapped his hardness, almost playfully.
Paula shook her head. “I just sat on his face,” she confessed. “He’s quite good at that.”
“Look here...” he interrupted, not at all happy at being talked about like this, and highly embarrassed by his position.
“Shut up,” they both said together.
“No!” he insisted. “Stop this right now and let me go.”
Sharon was looking straight at Paula.
“Punish him,” Paula suggested. “You’re good at that. Hurt him.”
“I was going to shag him,” Sharon told her. “As soon as you said you hadn’t, I wanted to.”
Paula shook her head. “He’s not for shagging. He needs punishing.”
“You are the expert at punishment,” Sharon insisted. “You’re always on about bad boys needing a spanking. I quite expected to find him tied face-down with bright red arse-cheeks.”
Paula laughed. “That’s just a joke. I don’t really...” Her voice tailed off as Sharon found the riding crop.
“Don’t you?” asked Sharon with a smile. “In that case, what’s this for?”
“Riding,” said Paula promptly. “My Mum keeps horses. You know that.”
“Yes, right.” Sharon’s tone was sarcastic. “So that explains exactly why you have the riding crop out of the cupboard, in the bedroom, with a man tied to your bed.”
She waved the crop in his general direction. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to shag him.”
Without putting down the crop, she grasped his hardness in her other hand and used it to steady herself as she clambered onto the bed and knelt astride him.
“Aaaagh,” he groaned loudly. “You’re hurting me.”
“Good,” said Sharon with satisfaction, “We can’t have you enjoying yourself.”
She sat on his legs, still holding his hardness in one hand. Delicately, she changed her grip to hold the very end of between two fingers and her thumb. She squeezed, watching him flinch.
“Right,” she said, “Punishment first.”
She pressed the crop against the side of his hardness as if taking aim, and then raised it high in the air.
“No!” he shouted in alarm.
She stopped, her arm raised.
“What’s the matter?”
“You can’t! You said you were going to shag me.”
She lowered her arm. “I did, didn’t I? But it’s a lady’s prerogative to change her mind, isn’t it?”
Sharon looked intently at his hardness, gripping the end and stretching it upwards.
“It’s quite nice,” she commented, “But I don’t think I want to shag it right now.”
Without warning she swished the crop across and hit it squarely on one side. He yelped. She tapped it rhythmically with the crop. He squirmed and yelped each time that the crop touched him.
“Keep still,” she told him, “And stop that silly noise or I’ll pull it right off.”
“I would rather you didn’t damage him permanently,” said Paula suddenly, still standing by the doorway and watching.
Sharon looked round at her. “You wanted him punished,” she said.
“Yes,” Paula agreed, “He certainly needs punishment.”
“Shagging him would hardly be a punishment,” Sharon told her firmly.
“I’m not going to stand here and watch you shag him anyway,” Paula said with a grimace. “It’s hardly a spectator sport!”
“That depends on your point of view,” Sharon said thoughtfully. “I’d quite like to watch you shag him.”
“I’m not going to!” Paula was definite about that. “I’ve told him I’m not going to, and I’m not changing my mind. And I’m certainly not doing anything like that with you watching.”
“There are a lot of things I could do to him.” Sharon had stopped tapping him with the crop and now rested the end of it on his chest. “I don’t think he would like most of them.”
“I’m sure of that!” Paula looked shocked as she remembered. “I remember what you did to your husband. I’m not surprised he left you!”
“How do you know what I did to my husband?” Sharon asked indignantly, “I’ve never told anyone about any of it.”
“I stayed at your house, remember? It wasn’t hard to hear what was going on.”
“You still don’t know. You didn’t see it. You could only hear it.”
“Well, OK. I didn’t see. He was begging for mercy and then screaming. I could hear the whip, but I admit I’ve no idea what else you did to him.”
“I’ll show you what else I did, if you like.” Sharon turned her attention to the man tied to the bed. “I expect you’d like to know as well, wouldn’t you?” she asked him.
“Uh... no thanks. Just let me go.” He was becoming more and more unhappy and fearful about the way this was going.
Sharon laughed. “Chicken,” she said with a wicked grin. “I’m sure you’d enjoy it really. I used to shag my husband lots as well. I suppose that’s why he put up with the other stuff for so long. You have no idea how good I am.”
Sharon put down the whip and grasped his hardness in both hands. Squeezing gently, she began to move her hands slowly up and down. He closed his eyes and gasped.
“Yes...” his voice trembled.
Sharon began to move her hands faster.
“Oh... YES!” His whole body was trembling. Sharon felt the muscles in his legs tense under her.
She stopped and let go.
“So you would like it?” she asked innocently.
“Don’t stop! Please...”
“You want me to hold you again?
“Please don’t stop.” He was desperate.
Sharon took his hardness in one hand, feeling it twitch as she gripped it. She rested one finger on the very end.
“You like me touching you?”
He nodded.
“Good.” Sharon slowly moved her finger, raising it so that her fingernail pressed onto him. He flinched. She pressed harder, then ran her fingernail round the end of his hardness.
“Aaagh...” he groaned. “Stop.”
“Make up your mind. First you want me to do it, then you want me to stop.”
“Do it... like you did before.”
“Oh,” Sharon was clearly enjoying this. “So you want me to do this.”
She slid one hand up and down.
“And not this.” She ran her fingernail round and round.
“Yes! No! Please...”
“You really can’t have pleasure without pain,” Sharon told him firmly, pumping him up and down with one hand and clawing at the end of his hardness with the fingernails of her other hand. “That would be too easy. You need to learn to enjoy both.”
He squirmed frantically on the bed, the cords cutting into his skin painfully as he strained against them.
Sharon stopped again. His breathing came fast and deep.
“Would you like me to kiss it?” Sharon had an evil glint in her eyes, but he did not see it.
He was panting. The pain and frustration was beginning to confuse him. He really did not know what he wanted.
“Yes. Anything. I need to...”
He did not finish the sentence. Sharon had bent forward and closed her lips around his hardness.
“Aaaah”, he moaned.
“Sharon!” Paula’s voice cut through the room.
“What?” Sharon sat up and looked round.
“Don’t do that. It’s disgusting.”
“No it’s not. You made him kiss you down there, didn’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“It’s not different at all. Anyway, I know what I’m doing. Come closer and watch this.”
Paula did not move from the doorway, and was not able to see exactly what Sharon did next. He was not able to see it either. His eyes were closed as Sharon’s lips brushed his hardness and continued down to the base of it, taking him deep into her mouth.
He moaned with pleasure. A second later his moan turned to a shriek of pain. Sharon had bitten hard at the base of his hardness, and very slowly she was dragging her head upward, at first biting hard enough to pull his whole body up away from the bed, and then letting his weight slowly pull him down through her gripping, biting teeth.
“Look at those marks on him,” she said in satisfaction to Paula. “I bet you’ve never done anything like that.”
He sobbed in pain, his hardness rapidly subsiding.
“You may as well let him go now,” Sharon suggested, “He’ll be no good for a shag for at least a few hours. Perhaps we could try tomorrow.”
Paula stood still for several seconds, stunned.
“We won’t get him tied up like that another time,” she said. “He’ll never let me do it again.”
“I bet you he does,” Sharon told her confidently. “In a few hours, when he thinks about it, he’ll be desperate for a good shag. He’ll be back.”
* * * * *
He left without a word as soon as they released him.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” asked Paula. He ignored her.
It was well into the next day before he realised that Sharon had been right. He was unable to shake the thoughts of the two women from his mind, and by that evening he was already seriously considering whether to go back to see Paula.
He resisted the temptation to jump in the car and drive to her house, trying to focus on the pain and discomfort they had already given him and to forget the possibility that next time he might get what he really wanted.
Sharon’s words kept echoing in his head: “I’m going to shag him,” and “Shall I kiss it?” and “I used to shag my husband lots.”
She must miss that. She must be desperate for it. It was, a voice in his head kept telling him, only because Paula was there too that she had not actually done it. When he thought about it, it was Paula he really wanted, not Sharon. But Paula had made it quite clear from the start, “I’m not going to shag you,” she had said. Even so, she might. She was so aroused, and so desperate when he touched her and kissed her down there. Surely she would want it, and he did so badly want to have her.
The thoughts circled, swooping one by one and then fluttering away before they became actions. Sharon had hurt him. She had really hurt him and he was still very sore.
Paula had kept him tied to that bed for hours. He liked the idea of playing those sort of games, but it had gone on far longer than any normal person could possibly enjoy.. His muscles were stiff. He rubbed his arms, still aching from being held in that awkward position for so long, and he looked at the red, sore rings around each wrists where the cords had very nearly taken the skin right off. It would be ridiculous, madness, to risk going through anything like that again.
He went straight home after work, and later that night fell asleep to dreams of the two women fighting over him as he lay comfortably on his back on Paula’s bed. Each of them wanted him but neither would allow the other to go first, and all he could do was to lie there and wait for them to finish their argument while he kept on assuring them he could manage them both.
He awoke sweating, and he had decided. He would go back, but he would make absolutely sure that only Paula was there. He would certainly not allow himself to be tied up again so he could leave at any time he wanted to leave. He would do it tonight, immediately after work. He would go round there and talk to Paula. At least she would make him a nice cup of coffee, even if it turned out there was no possibility of anything more than that.
* * * * *
He knocked hesitantly on the door late that afternoon. There was no answer. Perhaps she was out. He turned to go.
The door opened, and Paula stood there looking exactly the same as when he had arrived at her house two days ago.
“Oh. Hello.” She sounded surprised to see him.
“Is Sharon here?”
“No. Did you want to see her?”
He relaxed. He was not at all sure what he would have done if both of them had been there. Perhaps he would have run. Perhaps he would have physically run away, sprinting down the path as fast as his legs could carry him. Certainly he would not have gone into the house, not with both of them in there. As much as he found both women attractive and exciting in different ways, to be alone with the two of them again would surely be sheer lunacy.
“I just came round to see you,” he confessed. “To have a chat, if you’re not too busy.”
“Of course. Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.” She opened the door wide and stood back to let him in. She closed the door behind him, and he heard the grating click as she double-locked it.
“Can’t be too careful,” she told him as he swung round. “All these news stories about nasty people breaking in and attacking you. No one is getting in here unless I let them in.”
He stared at the empty keyhole. He had not seen where she put the key.
“Go on through,” she said, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, drinking coffee and neither of them mentioning what had happened two nights ago. He wanted to mention it. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she was and how much he enjoyed... some of it. He wanted to tell her how much some of it had scared him and hurt him. He really did not know what he wanted now, and somehow he was completely unable to bring the conversation round to that subject.
“I ought to be going.” He started to stand up.
“Why? Sit down. There’s no rush. I’m not doing anything this evening, are you?”
“Well, no. I just ought to be going.” He was on his feet, ready to go. He waited for her to stand up and to give him the usual quick hug and kiss on his cheek before he left.
She remained seated.
“I ought to be going now,” he repeated, waiting for her.
“Go then. You don’t deserve a hug.” Her voice was suddenly sharp.
“Eh? What do you mean I don’t deserve a hug?” He was surprised, and a little hurt at her change of attitude. He was sure he did not deserve it.
“You were bad. You didn’t come round last night. You should have come round last night.”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to come round when Sharon was here. I thought she might be here again yesterday.”
“You were bad,” Paula insisted. “We were expecting you.”
“I said sorry. What more do you want me to say? I wanted to see you, but I didn’t want Sharon doing something like that to me again.” He held out one hand towards her, expecting her to stand up now.
She shook her head. “You don’t deserve a hug. You were bad.”
“Yes. OK. All right. I was bad. What do you want me to do?”
“Bad boys,” she said slowly and distinctly, “Need a good spanking.”
“You are joking. You are joking?”
She shook her head. “I’m not joking at all, but I’ll do a deal with you: I spank you, properly, and I’ll kiss you properly. I mean properly, not just a peck on the cheek.”
Instinctively he looked at her mouth. She saw where he was looking. She parted her lips slightly and licked them with the tip of her tongue.
“Well? Is it a deal?”
“I suppose so.” He bent over, facing away from her so that she could smack him.
She laughed. “Not like that, silly. I couldn’t spank you like that. That wouldn’t be a proper spanking.”