Big Book of Spanking I

Chapter 5

Teased, Tormented & Tanned

As Michael instructed, Amelia wore nothing underneath her long skirt. It tickled her thighs and the white mounds of her rear, and her pretty p***y in front. He wanted it to remind her of what was to come. He wanted her to be prepared for his hand slapping her white flesh, making red raw imprints that would leave her warm for hours. The thought of him raising his hand on behind her, and bringing it down on her ass with stinging force, ignited her body, creating delicious decadent thoughts that swam through her head all day long.

She was shopping at Macy’s. Along with her long skirt dangling around her nakedness, she was wearing 3 1/2” pumps and a tight top that clung to her full breasts showing the line of her n*****s rising hard beneath the smooth surface of the fabric. He liked her to dress this way, going about her life—her shopping trips, her work, everywhere—with little secrets buried beneath her skirts, and in her thoughts.

He always wanted her to be thinking about him, her waking life filled with images of their moments together. He kept her off guard, using the element of surprise as a tool to keep her mind vigilant, waiting and wondering when their romantic evenings, or playful afternoons would turn fiery, when he would hold her on his lap and his powerful hand would come down on her bottom with rapid, stinging smacks.

She stood at the perfume counter, testing fragrances. She liked wearing perfume on her thighs, and discreetly pulling up her skirt, she sprayed a little there. It was something Michael would appreciate.

Moving on to the lingerie department, her hands played with the delicate lace of the hanging garter belts. He wanted her to buy a black one, though she preferred the ones in pink and white. Taking the black one from the rack, she slipped behind the curtain where she found a private dressing room.

Lifting her skirt, she gazed at her nakedness peering back to her from the mirror. Then loosening her belt she let the skirt drop to the floor. It was easier to see the whole picture this way.

Removing the garter belt from the hanger, she fastened it about her waist. Earlier in the morning, she’d bought a pair of sheer nylon stockings. Removing them from their package, she carefully put them on, securing them in place.

She stood back to look. It was a provocative sight. Turning around, she looked again. That too was arousing. He’d like her ass framed this way, the creamy white contrasted by the black. She imagined what it would look like when he was finished, rudely red and flaming, nearly purple in some places. Her body rushed delightedly. She wanted to reach between her legs and play. But he’d disapprove. He wanted all her attentions on him.

Outside on the street, her bags in hand, Amelia rushed to where he was waiting, wondering if it would happen this time, the spanking. He had a way of torturing her with insinuations and innuendo, implying, suggesting, teasing; it was a fine torment. She loved every minute of it, and he knew that. It made it all the more exquisite.

She hailed a cab to take her to the financial district. As she climbed inside, she thought the driver might have seen her not so hidden treasures, the wind whipping back her skirt at just the wrong moment—maybe it was the right moment? He eyed her in the rearview mirror as she adjusted herself in the seat, allowing her skirt to fall open enough, so her long legs showed. Feeling particularly wanton, she sat with her bare ass on the seat as Michael had suggested. Everything made her body rush with erotic heat.

The driver stopped at her destination, and quickly paying him, she dashed up the steps and inside the great glass doors. The elevator was at the end of the hall. Looking at the time, she knew she was nearly late and he wouldn’t be happy if she was. Stepping inside the behemoth elevator, her heart was pounding rapidly.

She knew it would be today, it had to be! All his instructions had prepared her for it. She would cry if he’d make her go through such gyrations and let her down, ignoring her need one more time. No, he just wouldn’t do that, not this time, she assured herself. Just one more thing to do before she presented herself. She hurried off the elevator, toward the nearest restroom.

The pink tile bathroom glowed with a vacant sterile light. She wanted to dress before the mirror as she’d done in the dressing room, but someone else entered as she was about to get ready, so she slipped inside a vacant stall. Pulling out her new garter belt and stockings, she dressed rapidly, wondering what Michael would think seeing her loins encased in black and her bottom ready for his waiting hand. But she could only take a moment to ponder the delicious thought. She didn’t want to waste anymore time.

Once ready, she made her way through the busy office toward his private one, watching the women typing, copying, standing, talking, all in their own worlds, she in hers. Had these women any clue to their boss’s secret life? Could they even imagine what went on inside his office walls?

In his outer office, his secretary was busily typing. She stared at the enormous mahogany doors that barricaded him from everyone else.

“I’m told it’s soundproof,” he had said quite deliberately, looking into to her reluctant eyes that first time.

She hoped it was. Despite his demand for her silence, and her attempts to comply, in some more flimsy office her escaping gasps and cries would undoubtedly be heard.

“I’m here to see Mr. Benedick, I’m Amelia Carroll,” she informed the blond woman sitting demurely at the typing desk.

“I’ll buzz him,” she answered. “A Miss Carroll to see you,” she told the voice on the other end—this was a different secretary this time, not the regular one that knew her. “Go right on in,” the woman said.

Amelia’s heart had not stopped pounding, the flesh of her bottom already burned, thinking of what thrill lay beyond. She was certain, very certain that he’d spank her now. There would be no more waiting, no more teasing.

“Have you done everything I asked you?” Michael queried as she stood before his massive rosewood desk. It was cleared of nearly everything, except a few well placed items to one side, a clock, a pen set and the telephone. Had he cleared it for her? Her knees were trembling.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Your bottom bare and ready?” he inquired. Michael’s face was stern, the well defined features cut a little coldly on his handsome face. Some would have called him aristocratic, the way he held his head, the way his jaw was tightly set, the deliberate way he moved.

“It is,” she answered, wondering how he’d begin. The time before, he’d taken her across his lap. But since he thrived on variety, she figured it would be different this time.

“That’s good,” he replied with a half smile, “Have you had lunch?”

Lunch? She could hardly think of eating now. “I’m not hungry,” she said. But that didn’t deter him.

“Well, I am,” he countered. “We’ll go to the restaurant on the twentieth floor.” He rose from his desk, and as they walked out the door, he gentlemanly placed his hand at the small of her back. Crossing through the crowded office they made their way to the elevator. It wasn’t unusual to be seen together. She’d been here often since their relationship began six months before. But he was always a gentleman with her in public, always polite, always the picture of perfect decorum.

In the restaurant, they sat across from each other at a small secluded table. “Are you sitting on your bare bottom?” he asked.

She was surprised she’d forgotten his request. After spending the day complying with this command, at the moment, she was sitting on her skirt. “I’m sorry, no,” she answered, as she quickly repositioned herself so her tender flesh was naked against the seat of the leather chair. She could feel the coolness against her skin.

He ordered for them both, something light, though she could hardly eat.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he taunted. He could tell right off how aroused she’d become. The more he teased, the greater both their pleasure, for they thrilled to that fine edge where going too far would make the ending anticlimactic, but going just far enough made it a choice moment indeed, with both their desires soaring.

As she gazed at his clear cut features, she could see no wrinkle is his cool exterior, nothing to give away the passion he might be feeling inside, the passion that he’d undoubtedly apply to her lusty rear end. His cool made him all the more stern and foreboding. She relished the distance, the mystery he brought to their times together; he had fulfilled her needs in ways that no other man could even conceive—even ones who might beat her ass brutally at her request. With him it was different, erotic, arousing, compelling, not simply for the instant, but something that lived in her fantasies before and after the event, something haunting that she couldn’t shake off even if she tried.

She watched his face. It didn’t change. “I’m burning inside,” she answered him. She’d wanted to try some flippant remark like, “You know that!” or “Can’t you see!,” but she held back instead. In six months, she’d learned not to toy with her words, or say too much or appear too sassy—not that he would spank her longer or harder—which she might really want—but that he might make her wait even longer. He looked mildly amused.

“Sometime, Amelia, I’d like to spank you in front of another person.” He had a devious gleam in his eye. “I’d like to see you blush with embarrassment.”

She blushed that instant, the scene he just described coming clearly to mind.

“We have some secretaries in the office who should see just how nasty I can be. Oh, but that would be too common,” he shook his head. “I need to find someone that would really haunt you.”

She looked at him and gulped. There seemed to be no end to the nasty ideas that popped into his brain. It had begun as just a fluke, a first date and then a second, and then a slip of tongue about bare bottom swats to her perky rear end. He had her over his lap on the third date, eagerly swatting her jaunty ass, as she jiggled and rushed with ecstatic energy. Never had any man “touched” her quite the way he had. She’d cried and protested, wailed and wriggled to get away, “What the hell are you doing! Stop! Ouch! Ow!” The repeated blows didn’t hurt, her clothes protecting her from the worst; it was the indignity of it all. He’d manufactured some excuse that she “needed” it. She’d been childish on their date, almost as if she was asking for it... but to actually do it!

For a dozen days afterward, it was all she could think of … his powerful arms, his firm unyielding lap, the swift force of his hand, the mild stinging blows to her rear, and the warm sensations afterward.

Little did he know how quickly he’d cemented their relationship, for he’d added that missing dimension, the little piece of heaven that she’d only experienced in her head with phantom lovers. He was real, and being real was more enticing than any fanny.

In the months that followed, there were many more sassy spankings. As often as she thought he’d forgotten—and she got a little bitchy or petulant or whining, just to tick him off—he never did forget. They saw each other several times a week, for dinner, the movies, sailing, swimming, lots of typical dates, and making love. And about every two weeks, almost like clockwork, she’d find a restless energy building inside her. Reading her mood, her body language and her off-hand comments with perfect understanding, he would give her the spanking she craved. But he never spanked her on her terms; it was his to control.

Once, while they were on board his boat, sailing about on a clear summer day, he anchored the vessel in a secluded cove and called her from her sunbathing; she was wearing only her two piece suit.