Charity felt fear rise in her tummy. She definitely wanted Ryan to stay, and she needed him to stay. She hadn’t even been terribly dismayed, once she had calmed down from the anger of the morning, about the prospect of an occasional spanking. But to be naked in front of him? And to get whipped with his belt?
“Please, no, Ryan,” she pleaded. “Just… just over your lap, please. I’ll do it, and I’ll be… I’ll be a good girl.”
It was so strange to hear herself saying that, but Charity realized at the same time that it had a rightness, too, that she never would have guessed at before she met Ryan Bedford. Former Navy SEAL Ryan Bedford, who towered over her and made her feel small. How could she ever have known that she liked feeling small?
Indeed, she didn’t think she had liked it until she had told him that she wanted him to stay if he promised not to spank her, and she had realized as she said it that she didn’t mean it. Not only did she suddenly feel that—as weird as it had seemed to her at first—knowing her bodyguard would spank her bare bottom in order to keep her safe brought a sense of security; she also suddenly felt like she wanted more from him—more of that looming over her, which had given her at first the troubling feeling of arousal she’d sensed when she awoke with a sore backside that morning.
All those thoughts had fled the instant the terrible little window had popped up on her screen, but now that Ryan was back, and it seemed like he would stay and protect her, they came flooding back. But.
But naked? Not the least of her worries was a suspicion that Ryan would see her becoming aroused at the thought of having to be naked in front of him, of having no secrets from him, of being at his disposal for punishment and whatever else he might want from her. She shivered at that thought.
Ryan shook his head. “I need you to do as I tell you, and show me that even if I tell you to do something you find embarrassing, you’ll do it.”
“But… why do I have to be naked? I already said I’d let you spank me with my panties down.”
“Charity, I believe that in any disciplinary relationship there’s an essential element of power exchange.”
Charity nodded a bit uncertainly. “Of course.” She thought she could see where Ryan was going with this, but she definitely didn’t like that direction very much.
“For a woman, in my experience, to be bare in front of the man who cares for her and disciplines her, represents an important acknowledgment that he has taken control of her, and that she trusts him to guide her. I need you to make that acknowledgment if I’m going to take care of you.”
“It’s a yes or no thing, Charity,” Ryan said evenly.
Dammit, it almost felt like she could have done it in a flash if she didn’t think it would turn her on—visibly. She realized suddenly that her panties had become very damp and shifted in her seat involuntarily. Please, please don’t let Ryan notice that I’m turned on. But shifting in the chair that way made her squeeze her thigh muscles just a bit, and that sent a bolt of erotic energy shooting through her whole midsection. She couldn’t help it: she made a tiny grunting noise.
Ryan looked at her sharply. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yes!” she lied, trying to brazen her way through. Then, “Fine. Do I have to let you watch me undress?”
Ryan’s brow furrowed. At least she had clearly confused him. He must not know how much her pussy was crying out for him. If only it could stay that way, and then she could just follow his rules and not get spanked again, this could all work out.
“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “You can undress in your bedroom. And I’ll spank you there, but it’s going to start over my lap, in a chair. I’ll bring one in from the kitchen.”
“Why?” Charity tried with all her might to get the picture out of her head and keep her voice even.
“Cultural heritage,” he said with a smile. Goddammit. Why do you have to be so fucking cute, former Navy SEAL Ryan Bedford?
He wasn’t even her type. He wasn’t even close to her type. Charity Phillips had a thing for hipsters. The fact that she had never enjoyed sex very much didn’t have anything to do with the guys she’d hooked up with, dated, or had (in one case) a six-month relationship with. Hipsters and cultural heritage went together nicely, and the parties you went to with hipster boyfriends consisted of the serial bragging sessions of which parties always consisted, in Charity’s experience. Hipster parties in Brooklyn just presented their own version of the parties her parents went to and gave in Greenwich, Westchester, and the Upper East Side.
When you had sex with your hipster boyfriend, you reassured him that you liked the way he tentatively groped you, and sometimes to be naughty you tried things like giving a blowjob—though only if you could tell he’d taken a shower within the last twelve hours. You didn’t tell him that you sometimes fantasized about non-consensual sexual encounters, or about authority figures using you for their pleasure. You didn’t, despite what the women’s magazines proclaimed, say anything about him tying you up or taking you from behind. Maybe that kind of thing happened after you were married, and Charity thought that maybe she’d consider getting married when she hit thirty.
Not that a hipster guy would ever propose; if you were going to marry a hipster, you said at some point, “We should totally get married.” Then you waited a couple of years, and apparently it just kind of happened, and you put the pictures on social media.
Former Navy SEAL Ryan Bedford seemed to inhabit not just a different world but a different galaxy from any guy she had ever hooked up with or dated. Ryan seemed like the embodiment of those fantasies she never talked about. And that meant she was in a great deal of danger: she felt like she could embarrass herself very, very seriously if she handled this spanking thing wrong.
She looked back into his dark eyes: chocolate, but not any feeble milk chocolate—Ryan Bedford had 70% cacao eyes, and he was definitely less than semisweet. “Okay,” Charity whispered.
“Get going, then.” He didn’t sound impatient, and Charity finally began to think that she should stop even hoping to make him angry. Not only would it be a very bad thing from her backside’s standpoint if she ever did, given the new arrangement, but at this moment she didn’t even think it could be done. Why waste the effort?
She felt her lips compress into a tight line, and she took a very deep breath. She would get up and go into her room. She would.
“Are you scared, honey?” he asked gently.
Ryan reached out across the table and took her hands in his. “Use the fear,” he said.
“It’s something I learned in the field.”
“Wait, are you saying you were scared? I mean, when you were on missions and things?” The thought fascinated Charity.
“Of course. Dropping out of a chopper on a rope in the middle of the night, on the other side of the world from home, knowing the bad guys might have night vision as good as yours… well, you can train and train and train, but no matter how many times you do it, every time is new.” He had a little smile on his lips, but Charity could tell that Ryan meant to impart some of the deepest wisdom he had. That wisdom wasn’t anything earth-shattering, really, but coming from a real former Navy SEAL, sitting at her kitchen table, all huge-shouldered six-foot-three of him, both touched and impressed her.
Then Charity realized that she had actually thought the phrase ‘former Navy SEAL’ without irony. She had heard what he said about being a spec-ops warrior, and she had seen a powerful, centered man, with 70% cacao eyes and a chin to make a more conventional girl swoon; a man who had given six years of his life to his country, seen terrible things, and done amazing things. And now he wanted to help her, and he thought she needed to learn to accept his discipline.
“Is every spanking new?” Charity whispered.
Ryan nodded. “And so you’ll get used to the fear, but it will never go away. It’s there to tell you where your limits are. Just like discipline.”
Charity nodded. That part did seem to have something profound in it.
“Now get going,” Ryan said. “You’ve got a punishment coming. When I come in with the chair, I want to see you with your nose to the wall, with no clothes on. Do you understand, Charity?”
“Yes, sir,” Charity said. Ryan released her hands, and then she did get up, trying to use her fear. She found that if she thought about Ryan’s smile, she could manage the fear, and even keep her knees from trembling, mostly.
When she did that, however, her imagination played a dirty trick on her. As she pulled off her blue cotton top and her jeans, Charity suddenly pictured Ryan not spanking her, but rubbing her spanked bottom afterwards, telling her what a good girl she had been. Charity whimpered at the thought—in fear of betraying herself to him, of him seeing how damp her panties had gotten.
She caught an unwelcome glimpse of herself in the mirror over her dresser, and sure enough, to her blushing shame, there was a quarter-sized wet spot on the front of the gray cotton. Charity felt so ashamed, she stripped them off and stuffed them into her drawer, leaving her in only her white bra, which had the tiniest bit of lace to ornament the cups. Horrified at herself even as the thought entered her mind, she wondered if maybe Ryan would let her keep the bra on, and if maybe he would like to see the lace.
Charity loved lace, but she didn’t like to show that love in her clothing, because it always felt like she was divulging a secret when she did. She owned one pair of black lace panties, which Becca had given her as a joke one night when Charity was headed out on a date with one of her hipsters—a guy on whom they both knew lace would be utterly wasted. Charity was sure that Becca didn’t think the panties had ever been worn, but Charity had actually put them on several times, just to look at herself in them in the mirror. And yes, to touch herself in them—but never for very long.
What would Ryan think if he saw Charity in the black lace panties? Absurdly, she wondered if he would spank her for wearing them.
Well, he certainly would if she wore them now, wouldn’t he? He had told her to take all her clothes off. She pushed the image of the panties to the back of her mind, and quickly took off the bra and laid it on the dresser. She had just managed to get her nose against the wall, next to the dresser, when the door opened, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Ryan walk in, carrying one of the kitchen chairs. He put the chair between her bed and her closet, on the other side of the room from where Charity stood against the wall, naked. Use the fear, her mind whispered. What was she afraid of? Well, she was afraid it would hurt, she supposed, but she also knew it wouldn’t really hurt that much, and she also knew that a part of her would welcome the pain because it meant Ryan had decided to keep her safe.
No, what Charity really feared, she realized, was going over his lap, and then lying on her tummy on the bed for the whipping. She feared having to put herself in those positions, for those positions said that she really did willingly accept Ryan Bedford’s right—and duty—to spank Charity Phillips.
When he saw just how incredible Charity looked naked, even seen only from the back, Ryan knew beyond a doubt that he had gotten himself into a world of complication. He took a deep breath. Then, in a fruitless attempt to distract his attention from the raging erection that had developed as soon as he entered the room and caught a glimpse of her pert little backside, he went back over his reasons for telling her that she needed to be naked for this punishment.
He had not thought it through as well as he might have, he supposed, but his reasons were good—professional, in fact. Now he just needed to stay inside that professional mindset, and show Charity exactly how seriously he took his duty to keep her safe. He had made Laura take everything off for her serious punishments: Ryan really did believe strongly in the power of the contrast between clothed and naked to deliver the sort of message a punishment needed to deliver. And he knew for certain that Charity needed to hear that message; she had to understand that from now on, as long as she needed Ryan’s protection, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish her by tanning her hide and embarrassing her with enforced nakedness.
“Turn around, Charity,” he said, sitting down in the high-backed wooden chair. This would be the hardest part, and Ryan wanted to get it over with quickly. Charity must grasp that her protector would put her on display and examine her, when he chose. She would have no secrets, because Ryan needed every bit of information he could get to make sure she stayed in one piece.
But when she obeyed him with a little sob of humiliation, of course his body’s response was immediate and not completely comfortable. He wanted her; there was no way around it. Charity Phillips was a beautiful naked girl, standing there covering her pussy with one hand and her breasts with the other, and he had been the one to take her clothes away. As a dominant man, Ryan couldn’t help feeling the urge to take her in hand not just in a protective way, but completely. He wanted to possess her, and to train her to please him, the way he knew how to do both for his enjoyment and for hers.
No, he couldn’t help feeling that urge—but he could decide what to do about it.
He looked into her troubled blue eyes. “Charity, put your hands at your sides, please.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“So I can see you.”
“Because I have to make the point to you that you don’t have secrets from the man whose job it is to protect you.”
Charity’s eyes widened and her brow puckered. She clenched her fists, and then lowered her hands to her hips, still balled up as if in frustrated defiance. Her breasts were small, but perfect. Her pussy, covered with sweet golden curls just a shade darker than the hair on her head, made him think, illicitly, that if she belonged to him he would have her wax, and leave just an adorable little lock of hair to point him toward her clit so that he could make her scream with pleasure.
“I’m going to spank you now, Charity, to teach you about being a good girl for me. Come here and stand on my right side.” He patted his denim-covered right thigh to show her where to go.
“Yes, sir,” she said very softly, and began to walk slowly toward him. He could see that she had begun to tremble a little. In the future, at least—after this first serious punishment— she would certainly not be quite so frightened, he thought, if he had to punish her again.
At last she stood next to his leg, and Ryan easily conquered the urge to reach out with the fingers of his left hand and stroke the cute pussy whose pink inner lips he could see now just peeping out from between the lovely, furry outer ones. He didn’t turn away his eyes, though, because Charity should see that he would look at her if he chose to look at her.
Were those sweet lips shining a little? Was there a scent on the air—Ryan’s favorite scent in the world? He found he had to clear his throat and didn’t trust himself to speak, to tell her to lay herself down.
Instead, he reached up, put his right hand on the small of her back, and simply forced her down where she belonged. Charity gave a little gasp, but that was all, except for the natural squirming a girl does when she goes over a man’s lap for the first time.
Ryan wrapped his left arm around her waist and positioned her over his thighs, saying, “This bottom needs to stay nice and high, honey.” He put his right hand on it for emphasis, consciously pushing back the wave of arousal that came from holding such perfect little cheeks in his big fingers, and rejecting the urge to rub, to soothe the frightened little girl of whom he seemed to grow fonder and fonder, the more he saw what a truly good person she wanted to be. “Hold the legs of the chair and don’t let go. If you try to shield your bottom, you’ll get spanked a lot harder. Good girls take their spankings gratefully.” Charity gave a little whimper at this news.
One of the reasons to make Charity keep her backside high was of course so that she wouldn’t feel his cock pressing against her tummy, but the action of moving her produced an erection so hard that he wondered if she could feel it anyway. The impulse to spread her legs and to examine her closely, to see if he was right that she had gotten turned on by the lead-up to her spanking, pressed in very hard upon him. He had no choice, he thought, but to see if he could get rid of whatever arousal they both felt by spanking her hard, making himself pay careful attention to the color he turned her bottom and the way she cried out. Since he planned to whip her as well, he needed to manage the situation well. Ryan knew from experience that if he focused his mind on those details, his erection would probably ease a bit and give him a respite from his yearning to push things with Charity in an erotic direction.
So he lifted his right hand and brought it down hard. As with the first time he had spanked her over the sofa arm, her bottom was so wonderfully tiny that given the size of his hand, he only had one target where her cheeks were concerned—the whole thing. On the other hand, he also now had her thighs to spank, which he knew would sting more than his hand stung, even on so little a rump as Charity Phillips’.
“Oh, God… oh, God,” Charity whispered, with little sobs after each one, as Ryan spanked her ten times hard and quick, right on her sit-spot. Then she yelped as he moved downward and alternated between her thighs.
Her bottom danced beneath his hand and she bounced her knees up and down, desperate to find some way to ease the sting.
“Keep this bottom still, Charity,” he said sternly, using his left arm to forbid the bouncing by immobilizing her over his lap. “You earned your punishment, and now you’re getting it.” He gave her ten more hard swats on her cheeks, then looked at the color he had turned her soft skin there. Her little bottom had reached a hue of bright pink.
“Alright,” he said, not letting go of her, “we’ll have a little pause here, honey.”
Then, without even realizing that he probably shouldn’t, he rubbed her bottom—maybe just because that was always what he had done with Laura. Instantly Charity cried out with unambiguous pleasure, and for a wonderful, terrible moment, she spread her thighs, giving Ryan the incredibly arousing sight of her clearly wet pussy, its coral lips seeming to beckon his eyes inward. Then—just as suddenly, and with an embarrassed whimper—she closed her legs again. Ryan took his hand away at the sound and the sight, feeling a little thunderstruck.
He swallowed hard and searched his mind desperately for something reasonably professional to say. He found nothing, but he felt he had to say something. “I think I need to spank you even harder, honey.”
He couldn’t have stopped himself; he started to spank her little bottom again. The pink had faded a shade or two, and now he spanked so hard that the color of her punished skin got almost to red in no time.
Charity sobbed now, as if her heart would break, and her bottom-cheeks clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. She was whispering something, as if she was just saying it to herself, and it took Ryan a few moments to realize what she whispered. “Thank you, sir… thank you, sir.”
They were spinning. Maybe the situation wasn’t out of control, but it was certainly going in unpredictable directions. Unpredictable and unexpected. But maybe wonderful, too.
“Stand up now, and go to the bed,” Ryan said. “I want you to put two pillows under your hips to get your rear end nice and high for the belt. You’re going to stay there for a while before I whip you, to think about how your life changed today, and to remember the new rules.”
“Yes, sir,” Charity said meekly, as he helped her to her feet. Still seated in the kitchen chair, Ryan enfolded her in his arms with a quick hug before she could move away. Her body yielded to him instantly, and she made a little cooing sound and even snuggled into his chest a bit, surprising him with the implied submission.
He let the hug go on longer than he had intended, and he stroked her back and said, “You did very well, honey.”
“Thank you, sir.” She made another little dove sound, and that noise somehow forced him to stroke her hair, and to wage war on the urge to kiss her.
“Alright,” he finally said, opening his arms, “pillows on the bed, and your butt over them. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She nodded, her eyes bright with tears, and went to obey him while he stood up and left the room. He put his hand down to his thigh, feeling something a little odd, and realized that Charity had left a big, round, wet spot on his jeans the size of an old-fashioned silver dollar.
What the heck was he supposed to do about this? Bodyguards falling in love, or even just in lust, with their charges was a time-honored dynamic and, if the affair was discreet and the bodyguard didn’t let it get in the way of protecting his charge, didn’t really present a problem. But would Ryan Bedford and Charity Phillips falling in lust, or even in love, be a good idea from their individual perspectives? A Navy SEAL and an Ivy-educated philanthropist?
Oddly, he remembered the book about Alexander the Great, and then the way Charity’s eyes had shone when she was persuading him to care about the Temple of Apollo in Alexandropolis. Yes, it very well might be a good idea. They each had something the other needed: he had discipline and she had inspiration.
He stood in the bathroom, not really needing to relieve himself but in desperate search of an excuse to take a few minutes to think things through. So if an affair were an advisable thing, relatively speaking, what now? He had the naked object of his desire over pillows on her bed, waiting for discipline, clearly aroused by him and by his disciplinary ways.
Should he pretend the arousal didn’t exist, simply punish her, and put off the seduction and the conversation about dominance-and-submission and what it meant to him, to tomorrow? Next week? Later tonight, after dinner? His mind whirled with the possible scenarios.
But putting it off at all—denying their arousal—seemed to him to run the risk of dishonoring her response to his discipline—as if he wanted her to understand that he didn’t care about the erotic effect he had on her, when in fact he cared very, very much. No, for reasons of both their needs, and for reasons of whatever romance might now happen between them, Ryan had to take charge not only disciplinarily but also erotically, when he returned to Charity’s room.
He splashed cold water on his face, then looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. Whatever happened, he felt capable of handling it. Maybe SEAL training didn’t teach you anything specific about how to act in the bedroom—but it sure as heck didn’t hurt your confidence there.
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