Heather felt her cheeks go pink and her eyes go wide as she figured out what he meant. Her lips parted, but her mouth suddenly seemed too dry to speak despite the iced tea.
“Did you play with yourself?”
Oh, God. She remembered coming, for the very first time, so vividly then that her pussy clenched and she wanted just to put her hand down to touch it—to raise her skirt and show him the pretty panties Miss Green had given her and beg him for permission to put her fingers inside them the way she had when she first looked in the mirror, wearing them and nothing else, right after Miss Green had left.
“N-no,” she managed to whisper, glad to be able to tell the truth. Then she added another truth: “I wanted to, so much.”
Coming felt so good. She wanted to play with herself in her new panties until her pussy was too sore to touch. Was that why Mr. Malley had forbidden it? Because he didn’t want her to be too sore for fucking? The thought made Heather feel faint.
“Good girl,” he said, and she wondered almost idly how many things he had in his arsenal of dominant things to say that could make her swallow hard as down below the warmth seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. Show me your panties. Sweetheart. Good girl.
He smiled and held her eyes until she had to drop them because the feeling of pressure—of onrushing events that came not from conscious will but from the command of their bodies—just got too strong. Not pressure from Mr. Malley—absolutely not that, she knew with complete certainty after her encounter with the man Miss Green aptly named that asshole Chris. Pressure from herself, which she felt on the contrary only Mr. Malley could help her keep in check, even if he would do that by letting it out as he taught her to suck his cock.
He took the steaks from the grill, closed the grill. Heather had already set the table, blushing a little of course at performing that rather housewifely task. She stood, and used the excuse of tossing the salad not to look at him as she asked her next question.
“So it’s immodest to play with myself?” Her voice came out in what sounded to her suspiciously like a sob. She didn’t think she could ever be a modest girl again, if that was true, because having discovered that if you touched your clit inside lacy panties, while you thought about being spanked over an older man’s knee, all the things you thought your body couldn’t feel suddenly refused to allow you not to stop feeling until you cried out and nearly fell down.
Tom laughed, which made Heather look at him sharply, at first in anger. She saw immediately, though, that he was laughing in a kindly way. Then, as she couldn’t help emitting a little whimper at the dominant way he did it, he had taken her in his arms and he was holding her close. She turned her face up, desperate for a kiss from him—a real kiss, the first real kiss of her life, she thought—but he just held her.
“No, sweetheart, that’s not immodest. I suppose there might still be Victorian schoolmarms who would say it is, but if they did they would be getting immodesty confused with pleasure. It’s not immodest to masturbate—it was immodest to tell me about it.”
Heather felt her face crumple. Was this why he wouldn’t kiss her, because she had been a bad girl even though he had just called her a good one?
“But,” he said, very distinctly. “I’m very glad you did, because sometimes a little immodesty is a very good thing. Like for example…” he paused very slightly, and Heather had the sense of a hesitation, as if Mr. Malley saw the next thing he would say as irrevocable, “…in my bed.”
As much as she had hoped and even expected that he would say something like that, Heather still gave a little gasp that was almost a cry. Mr. Malley held her away from him a little, to look down into her face with concern, clearly worried that she had—despite the way she clung desperately to him now at the news that she would be in his bed—grown afraid, that she wanted to go home. Heather looked up, hoping that he would know that the anxiety she felt sure he could read on her face only meant that she wanted…
Yes. Oh, yes. For Mr. Malley had started to kiss her now, hard, holding her around her waist with his right arm and holding her head with his left hand. Definitely my first real kiss. Kissing had never, ever made her wet before, or even warm down there, but now Mr. Malley’s dominance of her body sent her arousal practically gushing into the lacy panties.
“From now on,” he said in a soft growl after he broke that kiss, “your modesty belongs to me, Heather.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She remembered once, a long time ago, envying the kids on the old-timey shows on TV who called their parents sir and ma’am. She hadn’t even known why that had seemed better to her than dad and mom—she had even wondered, she thought, why she hadn’t been able to figure it out. She thought that perhaps now she did know. All those empty kisses from the boys she had fucked, the fucking itself with barely more than the lube that came on the condoms they, impressed that she had the prophylactic to give, eagerly rolled down over their erections. All the distance between it’s fine and shouldn’t it feel better? All of it bridged by yes, sir.
He held her close for a long moment, and she felt his right hand move down to her bottom, and a very blushy kind of pride arose in her heart at her certainty that he held her there because he couldn’t help it—because Heather Bradshaw had a very fine bottom, was a very nice piece of ass. She snuggled up into his chest as his hand roamed there, content to be fondled, whimpering softly into his white t-shirt.
She remembered Chris’ hand there, and his promise to put his cock inside her that unnatural way. The feeling of Mr. Malley’s gentle hand, where he had also been so strict when she went over his knee, nevertheless awakened the one fear she still had. Mr. Malley wouldn’t make her take anything in her anus, would he?
“Alright,” he said, with a reluctance in his voice that Heather liked very much. “Let’s eat. We’ll save the end of the talk about modesty for later.”
Later. Heather shivered. When I have my whipping.
Much as she wanted to hear right then about all the immodest things that would take place in his bed, she didn’t mind stepping back from the erotic precipice and talking about her year at Brown and about Mr. Malley’s software business. He seemed almost boyish, talking about how much he loved designing apps for people to find affinity groups.
“My favorite one,” he said confidingly, as he brought two bowls of chocolate ice cream to the table, “is for kinky people. I actually had the idea when Lisa got her heart broken.”
“By that… that Chris guy?” Heather blushed, feeling like maybe the erotic precipice had once again loomed under their feet.
Mr. Malley shook his head. “No, after she and I had been seeing each other for nearly a year, she met a guy when she was hiking, and she didn’t want to tell him about being kinky. She fell in love, but he broke up with her when she asked him to spank her.”
Heather swallowed hard. “And you two got back together?”
He nodded. “Lisa and I love each other, but we’ve never been in love, if you know what I mean.”
It was her turn to nod. Did she ever know what he meant, tonight. But… would he… was he? She pushed the thought resolutely down.
“So, when Keith came along two weeks ago, on Kinkster, there were no hard feelings. But what I was going to say is that it was really hard for Lisa to join Kinkster, and I wondered if there was a way to tweak a dating app to let people know whether they were going to get their hearts broken if they confessed a need for spanking. That’s what my app does.”
A question burned its way through Heather’s reluctance. “Are there a lot of people who… you know, need it?”
Mr. Malley crooked a smile. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.”
The ice cream had nearly been eaten up—at least that portion of it that hadn’t melted in the just-short-of-sweltering summer night. The pool lights glowed with a magical aquatic blue. A twinge of heat came to Heather’s face when she remembered confessing that she wanted to go skinny dipping with him, her best friend’s father. The best friend’s father thing didn’t seem to be losing any of its capacity to send the glow down between her legs—but Heather supposed that she could just stop thinking of Mr. Malley that way. Maybe she would, after a while.
But did she want to?
When she turned her eyes back from the pool, she saw that he had fixed her again with his steady gaze. She chewed on her cheek, felt the warmth build and build just at the sight of those dark eyes with all the wisdom in them.
“Heather, you’re going to show me your panties now, before we go inside so I can whip you with my belt. I’m going to teach you that you’re accountable to me in a deeper way even than you were when I decided to discipline you a week ago. You’re going to stand up, raise your skirt, and come here. Then I’m going to touch you between your legs until you come. That’s why I instructed you not to play with yourself again. I want your second orgasm to belong to me.”
She thought he would say more—about modesty, about punishment, about bed—but for the moment he seemed content to leave his commands at those simple but also terribly difficult ones.
A plea came from somewhere inside: a place she couldn’t locate. She knew the moment the words passed her lips that she didn’t mean them the way they sounded, but she could see in Mr. Malley’s face that he understood exactly what she really meant.
“Do I have to?” she whispered. Mr. Malley said he would touch her down there. She shouldn’t let him, unless she had to, should she?
“Yes, sweetheart. You have to.” The smile on his face said, though, at the very same time, that she didn’t actually have to—that she could say no. That feeling that her no remained in her possession seemed to propel her out of the chair in a paradox of desire. She put her trembling hands down to the skirt of her sundress. Her head felt light; it suddenly didn’t matter at all that Mr. Malley had spanked her bare bottom on Sunday, or that of course he had seen everything she had, when he had rescued her on Thursday. To show him her lacy panties because he wanted to see them and he had told her she must show them to him felt like a first exposure, a first submission of her pussy and her bottom to his lustful eyes.
She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and raised the dress. Mr. Malley was absolutely silent for a long, long moment, until Heather, desperate to know what he thought, opened her eyes. She saw that he was looking straight at her lace-covered, bare pussy with a wolfish grin that she had never seen on his face before, and it made her give a little whimper just to know that he could look at her that way.
He raised his eyes and met her gaze. “Those are very pretty panties, Heather. Did Lisa give them to you?”
Heather nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Bring your little pussy over here right this minute, so I can play with them.”
She gasped at the way he could make her body respond with his voice alone. Her pussy had clenched at the mere idea that Mr. Malley would touch it now. Feeling like he had cast a spell on her, she moved to stand beside his chair, her skirt still held up. She watched his fingers come near, moaned softly as she realized how knowing, how skillful he was, with his fingertips inside the lace.
“Put your hands on my shoulders so you don’t fall down,” he said softly, glancing up into her eyes for just a moment before he returned his gaze to her pussy.
“These panties aren’t very modest, are they?” he said as he pulled them aside.
“No, sir,” she gasped. Everything now seemed to have accelerated: his fingers in their movements up and down, her heart, her breathing.
“But you will show them only to me.”
“You have been a little slut, haven’t you?” His thumb, firmly on her clit. She cried out loud.
“But you are my little slut now.”
She came: she couldn’t have stopped it for anything in the world. His little slut. All of the it’s fine and the shouldn’t it feel better? moments came together in her mind into a single idea of preparation for Mr. Malley, for him to take her in his knowing hands and teach her what she really needed. Whether they had a future beyond this summer or not, Heather would never forget that lesson.
When she had stopped shaking she realized that he was turning her around and pulling the narrow lace seat of the panties aside. That he was bending her over the table, spreading her bottom open, touching her little anus.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“You have a decision to make, young lady,” he said in a firm voice, though not the truly dominant one in which he gave her instructions. The finger pressed gently on her bottom-hole.
“If we have sex, Heather, I am going to claim all of you. You’ll have to trust me to break in your bottom gently, because if you want me to fuck your pussy you’re going to have to offer me your bottom, too, for training and fucking. You will be in my bed tonight, after your whipping, but because I know you’re not ready to take me back here, you will use your mouth and your hands to make me come. Now go inside and take off everything but the panties. Stand in the living room with your hands on your head until I get there.”
On shaking legs Heather obeyed, looking around the living room as if she had never seen it before, as she took off her sundress and her shoes. Now she would be whipped just as Miss Green had been whipped, with lacy panties down just as Miss Green had had to have them down for her whipping. Now Mr. Malley’s belt would teach her the lesson she needed, and introduce her to a new life of learning to please him. She stood, not knowing which way to face and so facing the door.
She put her hands on her head, feeling her breasts rise, feeling them bounce a little as she offered them to the master who would soon arrive. With her fingers twined atop her hair, when she looked down over her flat tummy to see the very little bit of the lace she could make out from that perspective, it truly felt like Miss Green had wrapped up her pussy and bottom for Mr. Malley, just as she had said she would.
“Heather,” Mr. Malley said. She raised her eyes to see him standing in the doorway now. He had taken off his belt, and wound it round his right fist.
“Yes, sir?” she whispered.
“You’re going to tell me about your sex life at college now. No need to go into much detail, or name names, but I want to make sure this whipping feels to you like a restoration of your modesty. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly. A sound whipping with a thick belt, for everything that led up to that recklessness with that asshole Chris.
It didn’t take very long. She cast her eyes down to his feet, grateful that this submissive gesture spared her the necessity of seeing his face, and told him about the blowjobs and the condoms and the sex that didn’t feel right—especially now that she had learned what did feel right.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mr. Malley said. Heather raised her eyes, and saw a gentle smile on his face that made her heart jump and her pussy flow between her thighs. “You did a very good job telling me, but I think you know that I still have to punish you.”
“Yes, sir.” Her nose quivered and prickled as if she were about to cry even though her heart seemed still to be exulting.
He went to get the chair, then: the same chair, she felt sure, over which Miss Green had gone. He put it next to her.
“Lay yourself down, Heather,” he said. “It’s time for your whipping. Sometimes a girl needs a whipping before bed.”
Her breath came in shallow, ragged pants, now. She turned, not sure whether she would be able to obey him since her body shook so much. As if he saw that she needed help, Tom put his left hand lightly on her shoulder to guide her down. It felt kind and masterful at once.
Heather knelt next to the chair, then, slowly, she moved up and over, blushing at the way her lace-clad bottom rose until it was the highest part of her body and picturing Mr. Malley looking sternly down at it as he waited to teach her a lesson in modesty.
His hands, one of them wrapped in stout leather, came down upon her waist. She whimpered as she felt the lacy panties drawn down to her knees.
“Hold the chair legs, sweetheart,” Mr. Malley said. “That will help you keep from trying to put your hands back, and it will help you raise your bottom as you must, for the belt. Remember that if you do that I’ll just whip your hands.”
Another, louder whimper burst from her chest at that. “Please, Mr. Malley,” she whispered as she obeyed him and grasped the wooden legs of the chair. She tried to push her bottom up, and felt the heat in her face as she succeeded, knowing she was showing her shaved pussy, too.
“You need this, Heather. You need this, and then you need to come to my bed.”
Then, without any delay at all, there was a whistling sound, a crack, and a sharp pain across both the cheeks of her bottom. She cried out, and she couldn’t help doing just what he had told her not to do: her left hand left the chair leg and went back to try both to defend her bottom-cheeks and to soothe the terrible sting. She grasped her tender bottom and rubbed desperately, knowing she would pay a price but unable to stop, because the belt hurt so much.
Mr. Malley didn’t whip her hand, but he did take it in his left hand and pin it atop her waist, as easily as he might have bent a twig and held it in place. Then he began to whip her in earnest. When she kicked, he whipped her thighs, too, until she stopped. Heather screamed, but he only kept going, as he had kept spanking her over his knee, in her kitchen, until her bottom felt like he had made her sit on burning coals.
She writhed over the chair, but he held her there and punished her just as soundly as he had promised to do. Somewhere in her mind, to her astonishment, she felt grateful to him for that despite the pain, and although her arousal had fled, Heather nevertheless felt how great it would be when the whipping had ended and the time for bed had come.
Heather went limp, sobbing.
“Get that bottom up,” Mr. Malley said, releasing her left wrist at last, and Heather took hold of the chair leg again and obeyed, thinking only that if she did maybe he would shorten the whipping a little. He said in a gentler voice, then, “We’re almost done sweetheart. Five more licks, if you keep your backside nice and high like a good girl. Then it will be time for bed.”
She gave a low moan, and she did it: she pushed up even further, so that Mr. Malley could punish the bare little bottom as much as he wanted. She yelped at each of the last five, and then he was helping her up and hugging her, rubbing her sore bottom gently so that the heat came back all in an instant. She gave another, louder moan, as Mr. Malley’s other hand found her bare pussy, her burning clit.
“Come for me, sweetheart. Come for your master.”
The first hand’s middle finger worked its way between her cheeks, pressed against the little hole. Oh, no, she thought with yet another blush, and then in what felt like seconds she had come, and then come again, and her master picked her up like a feather and carried her to his bed at last.
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