Pascale, pt 3 (the good bit!)

‘Mmmm,’ I gurgled, stretching back in my seat. ‘That was delicious. I can see why he’s marrying you.’

‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ she smiled back. ‘How about some dessert?’

‘Mm, yes, I’m sure I could manage a little something more, if you hang on for about six months. What are you offering me?’

She got up and moved closer, then leaned over and kissed me fully on the mouth. ‘I’m afraid I just didn’t have time to buy dessert,’ she said softly, ‘so I hope you don’t mind home-made.’

I pulled her on to my lap and wrapped my arms around her neck, moving in for a longer kiss. As it went on I started to run one hand down her back, keeping one where it was to support her, but moving the other one all over her body, inside her top, so as to be in direct contact with her skin, then towards her full, inviting breasts, but not underneath her bra – not yet – then down to her waist and hips, and along her thighs… first outside her skirt, then inside it and back the other way… Each new uncharted area I explored brought forth a little moan of acquiescence, and slowly she started to explore my body with her hands as well. She pulled away from my lips and towards my ear. ‘Shall we go up to the bedroom?’ she whispered. I nodded and took her hand, and she led me up the stairs.

Once in the bedroom she pulled off her top, revealing a skin-coloured bra, which she glanced down at as if to invite me. I moved towards her, then before she had time to realise what I was doing, sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped her over my lap. ‘Hey!’ she squealed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m not doing anything yet,’ I retorted, holding her firmly in position.

‘What do you mean? Let me go!’ She was giggling a bit, but half nervously.

‘I’ll let you go in a minute if you really want me to,’ I said, tracing a path with my hand along the inside of her thighs towards her deliciously curvaceous bottom.

‘Oh, that feels nice,’ she purred.

‘Well, there you go.’ I carried on stroking her. ‘Now, Pascale, you remember what I said earlier?’

‘What about?’

‘About what I thought you needed.’

‘No. What are you talking about?’

‘I told you before dinner that you needed a spanking. Have you forgotten already? Maybe you shouldn’t have had all that wine.’

‘Shut up, Jon. I haven’t had too much wine and I don’t need a spanking. I don’t think this is funny.’ She wasn’t giggling any more. I stopped stroking.

‘Pascale, listen to me. You’ve just got engaged and the first thing you did was start looking around for some sort of distraction. Then you want to tell your fiancé all about it, which will no doubt upset him a great deal. You’re trying to have the best of all worlds and you’ll end up regretting telling him, which you only want to do to alleviate your own sense of guilt. You’d be much better off finding another way to do that that spares his feelings, and I’m telling you from experience that a spanking can be a very cathartic and effective method of dealing with situations like this. I’m not proposing some kind of sex game, I’m proposing a punishment, with your consent, for something you shouldn’t have done. Not for whatever happens and has happened with me, because that would be hypocritical of me, but I think what you’ve done with me you would have done with somebody else if I’d said no. You need to be punished for what you are really feeling guilty about, which is saying yes to something as a big as a proposal without giving yourself time to think it through, discussing all the issues it raises, or being sure you’re ready for it, and taking that kind of a risk with another person’s feelings. Now look, it’s up to you. If you think I’m being unfair, say so.’

‘Do you think we could talk about this with me sitting up in a normal position?’

‘Yes, all right.’ I let her go. She got up slowly and gave me a slightly odd look. ‘When did you decide you were going to do that?’ she asked me.

‘Just as we were coming up the stairs,’ I replied. ‘But I didn’t just decide to put you over my knee, I decided to give you the spanking you deserve, and I haven’t done that yet.’

‘Look, Jon, are you really serious about this?’ The way she said it, I could see she had got over the shock of being unceremoniously pulled into position and was beginning to give it some thought. ‘I mean – it’s not exactly a very conventional way to atone for marital misdemeanours, is it?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘the conventional way is to have a huge fight about it and develop severe trust problems that in many cases will end up ruining the relationship. Do you think that’s a better approach?’

I looked hard at her. There were tears starting. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said quietly. ‘Will it… be hard?’

‘It won’t be trivial,’ I said. ‘There would be no point. If it doesn’t hurt you won’t feel like it’s achieved anything. It’s nothing you won’t get over. It depends whether you think it’s worth going through a bit of discomfort for.’

She thought about that. ‘OK,’ she said slowly, ‘fine. Suppose I say yes. What happens then?’

‘Well, in general, I would put you over my knee, as I did before – ’

‘In general?’ she interrupted. ‘Do you do this often?’

‘A few times,’ I answered evasively. ‘Stop interrupting or I’ll add extra punishement.’ I let her see a little twinkle in my eye as I said it and she smiled back, though she was still a little red-eyed. Likely to get more so, I feared. ‘So, you go over my knee, unless you have extreme objections to that and want to try a different position. I will lift your skirt up and spank you on the bottom for a certain amount of time — ’

‘What sort of amount?’

‘I’d usually judge that as I went along. Probably not less than 3 minutes. Probably not more than 5.’ She drew in her breath. ‘And then — ’

‘There’s MORE?’ she asked, wide-eyed.

‘Just to finish off the punishment,’ I assured her. ‘Do you have a hairbrush?’

She looked puzzled, obviously not having any idea what I was getting at. ‘Er – yes, sure. How does that…’

‘Could you get it?’

She got up and left the room to go and retrieve the brush from her bathroom. She was gone a couple of minutes, then came back in. She’d washed her face and tied back her hair, and she was holding a wooden-handled hairbrush.

‘Perfect,’ I said, taking it from her and smacking the handle lightly against my hand a few times so she would see what I meant. Her expression was pleasingly scandalised. ‘You can’t be serious!’ she exclaimed.

‘You may find that the difference between my hand and this thing is not as extreme as you imagine,’ I told her, not sure whether she would interpret that as reassurance or warning. ‘Just six smacks with the brush to finish off, once I’m satisfied you’ve had enough of a hand-spanking. It will all be over in a few minutes and I really think you’ll feel a lot better.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, hell, why not. OK, so how do I…’ She looked awkwardly at my lap, suddenly self-conscious. I took her hand and guided her across. She looked beautiful, lying meekly in position, a conspirator in her own punishment.

‘Pascale,’ I said firmly, ‘in a minute, I’m going to start spanking you. In order to do that properly, I need to raise your skirt. I’m going to do that now.’ I began to do it; she wriggled helpfully. ‘From now until I tell you, you are not to move from this position. Please don’t try to fend off spanks with your hands, move to avoid them, or try any other kind of obstruction. All you have to do is lie there quietly and take your punishment. I’d like you to think about what I said to you before and the feelings you’ve been having recently, and try to view this as a way of dealing with all of that. OK?’

She nodded and gave a tiny ‘mm’. She was wearing a skin-coloured G-string that matched her bra – better than it would match her skin in a few minutes, I reflected. As for protection, it afforded her absolutely none. I had no thought of removing it. For her first spanking, the humiliation was already quite enough. Anyway, underwear – even if it provides no physical barrier at all – can provide a useful source of threats with an uncooperative spankee. That said, I didn’t think Pascale was likely to be that, once we got started. She was already giving me the impression that she had made a conscious decision to take her punishmnet as stoically as she could.

‘OK. I’m starting now.’ I placed my hand on her bottom and moved it around a few times, just so that the contact wouldn’t be a shock. Then I raised my hand in the air and brought it down, fairly smartly, on her buttock. She stayed impressively impassive. I rubbed the spot I’d just smacked, and moved over to the other side and rubbed there a little, too. Then I raised my hand again and brought it down on the other side. This time she flinched a little.

Noticing that she was shivering a bit, I put my other hand on her back, bare (but for her bra) ever since she removed her top on entering the room, and rubbed it a little to warm her up. She seemed grateful. I raised my spanking hand again and brought it down, harder this time. ‘Uh.’ And again. ‘Uuuh.’ I started to spank more rhythmically, generally alternating sides but occasionally repeating one, so as not to become too predictable. I was spanking at intervals of about three seconds – far enough apart to have time to register each smack and anticipate the next one, and to give me time to swing back for a fairly hard impact each time.

Pascale has a gorgeous bottom that just cries out for this sort of treatment, a notion that had occurred to me many times in the past before I’d ever had any idea I might ever get the chance. Her fleshy cheeks quivered with each smack just as I’d imagined they would, and her milky-white skin was starting to blush a colourful pink. After the first 40 seconds of spanking or so, I paused to admire the effect – not yet anywhere near fully reddenned, but just beginning to turn nicely pink. I rubbed her bottom a little. ‘OK?’ She gave an almost inaudible noise of assent. She seemed to be concentrating quite hard – whether on resisting an undignified reaction, blotting out the pain or contemplating her situation, I couldn’t be sure.

I stopped rubbing and smacked down, hard, on the cheek nearest to me. ‘Ah!’ she almost cried out, stifling it as if she felt she wasn’t complying properly by making a noise. It occurred to me that I might have suggested this with my instruction to ‘lie there quietly’. ‘It’s OK if you make a bit of noise, Pascale,’ I said. ‘Whatever you feel you need to do. Up to you.’ I could see her determinedly shaking her head. I smacked again, and now began to build up a faster rhythm, still not peppering her bottom with indiscriminate fast spanks, but not consciously pausing in between each one either, so I was going about one every second. I noticed she was timing her breathing to the rhythm of her punishment. Every now and again she gave a kind of feminine grunt, but it always seemed very much under control.

I paused again after another minute and a half. Her bottom felt very warm, as it might well. My hand was beginning to tire slightly. It was her first time, but I hadn’t done this for a while either. I decided the time had come for some slower, harder spanks. I rubbed her a little in anticipation. She tensed, obviously sensing that something was about to happen. The next thing she was aware of was my hand crashing into her now scarlet cheek. ‘Aaahhh!’ I drew back my hand, waited, and then resolutely walloped her again, on the other side. ‘Oh!’ And – eventuallly – again. ‘Uhhh!’ Now I was properly taking my time, letting her sense that each one was on its way, and really laying into her, maybe ten seconds apart, giving her the full force of my once well-practised arm. Like riding a bike, I thought with some satisfaction. She was becoming more vocal, in spite of herself. I looked at the skin, beginning to turn patchily purple. Hope the fiancé is away for a while, I suddenly thought. Oh well… too late for that now. She’ll think of something. And again, I brought down my hard hand, enjoying the reaction the punishment was eliciting. I was starting to wonder how much longer to spank for. It had been about four minutes, by now, since I’d started. I decided on four more, and delivered each one as if it were the last. Pascale’s increasingly noisy moans were starting to fill more of the gap between smacks, rather than just being an immediate aftershock, so I decided to wait for the noise to die down each time to ensure her full focus.

As I reached the climax of my assault on her buttocks, she let out a plaintive sigh of suffering that sounded like a plea for mercy, and her voice caught, suggesting that tears were not far off. Perfect, I thought. I hadn’t been sure whether she would resist the temptation to cry or not – I was sure she had been trying – but I knew I preferred it if she gave in to it. She would feel better.

‘Pascale, I’ve now finished spanking you by hand,’ I told her. She didn’t react. ‘In a minute I’m going to give you your six smacks with the hairbrush. Then your punishment will be over. Would you like a minute before the second part of your punishment starts?’

She gave a short shake of the head and muttered something that might have been ‘just get on with it’. I decided this wasn’t the time to insist on a respectful attitude and just indicated that I would take her at word. I picked up the hairbrush from where I had left it on the side of the bed, just next to where I was sitting, and rubbed it on her backside. She breathed out as she felt the cool wood. Then I raised the brush, drawing a little anticipatory flinch from her.

SMACK. She had been concentrating hard and managed not to make any noise, though the impact of the implement obviously shocked her. I didn’t rub, or leave the brush in contact with her skin after the stroke. This was the most serious part of the punishment and just for a minute I wanted to let her feel that sense of abandonment that a spankee feels when the contact of a sensual spanking – even a punishment one – is withdrawn.

SMACK. I repeated the same side, contrary to her expectation. She let out a low moan and her tensed body relaxed, giving itself up to the pain.

SMACK. On the other side now, so she would know she was probably getting another one there straight away. It might have been that thought that did it, but at last I saw her shoulders shake as she began, silently, to sob.

SMACK. Probably the hardest stroke yet, and right on top of the previous one. A welt was appearing. Pascale seemed now to have abandoned herself completely to her punishment and the resilience she had shown at the start of it had gone.

SMACK. Perhaps a little meanly, I placed that one on the same side as well. ‘Aaaahhhhh,’ she moaned sorrowfully. ‘Last one coming up,’ I said gently. ‘Are you ready?’ She nodded, and through her choked voice I heard something like a ‘yy’. I paused, realising that it was about to be over. I had no idea what she would be like afterwards. Would it have helped? Would she realise straight away if it had? Would she feel angry? Would she have forgotten any thought of wanting to make love to me, or would she need it more than ever?

Only one way to find out, I thought.

SMACK. That really was hard. Now she sobbed without trying to hide it, feeling perhaps that with the end of the punishment came the end of any attempt to control her reaction. I put my hand on her well-punished bottom and rubbed, gently, for which she seemed grateful. After a few seconds I spoke to her. ‘You can get up any time you like. If you want to stay there for a moment, that’s fine. Take your time.’

To start with she didn’t move, so I kept on rubbing. It felt very tranquil and natural, sitting there, her still over my lap, me rubbing her bottom, all punishment meted out, all wrongdoing atoned for. After what seemed like ten minutes but was probably only two or three, she gingerly raised herself up, still sobbing a little. As she got upright I put my arms round her and drew her in, and to my relief she didn’t resist – she let herself be held, as if it was exactly what she had wanted, and I wrapped myself around her. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, terrific,’ she answered, smiling weakly. ‘I’m cold though. Let’s get into bed.’ I let her go and clamber under the covers while I took off my shoes and socks, and – after a moment’s deliberation – my top. I kept my jeans on. I don’t usually get into bed wearing jeans, but she might have been getting more than she bargained for if I took them off at that particular moment. I got in and took her into my arms again. ‘You were very impressive,’ I told her. ‘That was pretty hard.’

‘Glad you thought so,’ she said. ‘It certainly felt like it to me. Doesn’t it hurt your hand?’

‘Not really,’ I said, just a tad disingenuously. ‘Well, after a while, perhaps.’

‘So am I supposed to feel cleansed and purified now? All sins washed away?’

‘Something like that. Actually, you’re mainly supposed to feel an access of immense gratitude to the person who has been kind enough to give you the discipline you need, such as would induce you to offer to perform wild sex acts for the next 16 hours.’

‘A bit like hostages falling in love with their captors, do you think?’

‘Just like that, yes. If you like I can call up your parents anonymously and demand an enormous ransom, lest their daughter be subjected to a thrashing of medieval proportions.’

‘Make sure you tell them which daughter, then. I think if it was my sister they’d probably think it was a splendid idea.’

‘But not you?’

‘If it was me they’d probably take the view that Will is supposed to be my protector these days. They’d probably offer to give you his email address and suggest you get back in touch if you have any difficulty finding him.’

‘Very helpful.’ I moved closer to her and went towards her for a kiss. She was more receptive to the approach than I had dared imagine. Soon she was reaching down beneath the covers. ‘Jeans in bed. Good idea. Must try it. Are you trying to protect your chastity? Or mine?’

‘Well, I tried protecting our chastity by subjecting you to a vicious physical attack and hoping that would put you off the idea, but luckily you seem to have been positively charmed by it.’

‘Oh yes,’ she nodded, ‘you know the way to a girl’s heart all right. Well, can I suggest you take them off?’

I complied. ‘Mmm, what have we here?’ she cooed. ‘Were you like this when you were – you know – before?’

For some reason talking about being spanked is almost more embarrassing for girls than the event itself – even with the keen ones it’s always hint after euphemism after half-finished sentence when you’ve just done it.

‘Afraid so.’

‘You sicko.’

I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgement. She gave a little shake of her head, in a ‘whatever will I do with you’ sort of way, but she seemed to know exactly what the answer to that question was. She felt me through my boxer shorts, pressing down with the flat of her hand and then taking me between two fingers. ‘I think these might have to come off,’ she murmured, and before she’d even finished saying it, she was on her knees, tugging them down and pulling them off, and no sooner was I out of my boxers than I was in her mouth. She closed her eyes, as if lost in the moment, and I leaned back into the pillows in incredulous satisfaction. I could feel her hand cupping me underneath, her thumb straying slightly to stroke my groin, while her other hand moved lightly across the inside of my thigh. She was an absolute expert at what she was doing and I had the glorious sense of abdication that comes with the attentions of such an adept partner. No worrying about things happening too quickly, or too slowly for that matter, or wondering when would be the right time to suggest something else – just complete confidence that she would go at exactly the pace she wanted, and all I had to do was let her do it. I had done quite enough domination for that evening and if she wanted to take control of things from here, that was just fine.