Geneva – 12

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(Continued from Geneva – 11)

His eyes locked on hers as she moved slowly toward him. It wasn’t far, but every step of the foot-dragging-journey seemed to take forever. She broke first, dropping her gaze to the floor. She wasn’t afraid, exactly. At least she didn’t think so-but she sure felt something. She remembered learning about the flight or fight response in psychology. That must be what she was feeling-but she was doing neither. She was submitting. Her response was to acquiesce. Maybe that’s what frightened her.

She stopped when she saw his feet and knees in front of her. As if reading her mind, he asked softly, but in the same stern tone, “Do you trust me?” She said nothing for a breath then nodded meekly as the word ‘yes’ fell stillborn to the floor.

Done talking he reached out and unsnapped, then opened, her jeans. He pulled them down with none of the attendant gentleness that would come with undressing a lover. Her hands, having nothing to do, dangled. He guided her, shuffling, to his side before pulling her panties down to lie with her jeans in a bundle at her feet.

The sunlight illuminated her glowing white skin and he, with difficulty, ignored the luxurious tangle of fur standing within easy reach. His eyes lingered though, when he caught her sweet scent in the light breeze coming through the door. “Lay over”, he said with difficulty, his tongue, like hers, slow and dry. Avoiding his eyes and flushing a deep pink, she bent and leaned her hands first on his legs, then on the chair beside him and finally, as she settled over his lap, onto the rough floor, mortified that her bare backside was pointing into the yard.

He cupped her bottom once to push her higher and she wriggled into a better position and waited nervously feeling the heat of the fall sun on her skin. He resisted the urge to touch her-wanting this moment to stand singularly from any other where he might fondle or caress her bare bottom.

“I don’t want this”, she said to the floor. “I hate this. But I’m still sorry for what I did…I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” He patted her soft bum once, then again, tenderly. “And I forgive you. Now let’s get this out of the way. Don’t tense-that will make it worse.” With that he raised his arm and brought his hand with a loud “SMACK!” onto her creamy right cheek. As anyone reacting to their first spanking, every swat was met with a verbal response. Gennie yelped “OUCH”, then “OWW” then “OUCH” again as he spanked first one side then the other then back again.

His blows weren’t as hard as they could be but certainly not light. She allowed herself to begin crying at around the seventh or eighth swat and once she opened the gate, all the afternoon’s tension and her fear of being sent away flew through her and out, driven by his heavy hand on her backside. Her crying filled the workshop punctuated by “OOOO’s” and “OWWW’s” which became louder as he quickened the pace of the blows at the same time reducing their severity. She began to kick and squirm.

“Lie still”, he commanded pausing.

“I’m trying”, she sniffed.

He concentrated his smacks on the void at the bottom of her bottom where her cheeks met the tops of her legs so every echoing swat reverberated between her legs. As her bottom numbed to his spanks, her flower awoke to the reverberations.

“Here”, he said, “Let me move you…” He spread her legs slightly so that in delivering the final light swats he could cup her cheeks and allow his fingers to linger in the softness between.  After a pause, he said “I think you’re done”. His hand rested at the top of her leg kneading slowly.

“Thank God!” she said, lifting one hand then the other to wipe her eyes. But she didn’t move to rise as his fingers explored between and below her pink-spattered mounds. After a moment, she felt his hardness poking at her belly.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I’ve had worse times”, he said sliding his finger deftly across her moist labia. “You?”

“Great” she said sarcastically but made no move as he rubbed.

“You want me to stop?” he asked pausing and seemingly ready to pull his hand out. She pushed her bottom back to stay engaged.

“Don’t be hasty. Really, it’s the least you could do.”

“You are in a pretty vulnerable position to be a smartass.”

She didn’t push it, nor did she move, save for the slow undulating dance of her hips against his prodding finger.  She was pushing backward off the floor wriggling against his growing cock. “Hold on”, she said. “As much as I hate to move, I have to tend to that.”

She stood quickly and, marching in place, hurriedly stomped her pants and underwear off. She pushed him hard back onto the chair when he began to stand and reached for his belt. She yanked it roughly as he tore her T-shirt toward himself, up her back and over her head leaving her completely naked but for the tears on her cheeks and the blush on her bottom. She barely noticed, hungrily pulling his jeans and underwear down.

He pulled her in and closed his lips over one small taut breast, then the other, and nibbled softly, squeezing her warm bottom. She growled lowly, throwing a leg over and straddling him. Reaching down she grabbed him firmly, placed him, then gently impaled herself in one long sure move. She settled, wriggled-kissed him hard-then lifted slightly-to fall back down. Then lifted higher-almost out. Then sat hard again. Then again. Her grunting exertions accompanied the soft squishing sound that became louder and louder as she as she pumped and jumped faster and faster working her burning thighs to the loud slap-slap-slap of his bare ass on the hard, wooden chair.

“I…shouldn’t…be….doing…this…after…the way…..you….spanked…me…”, she gasped.

“If you stop now, you’ll get another one”, he growled, his hands on her bouncing butt.

“Come dammit-COME!” she barked as she began to shudder bucking hard in his lap. He didn’t need the direction lifting his ass off the hard wood and squeezing her tightly-his hands slipping along her damp back.  She rode him hard, bucking into a shudder then crying out something that might have been words as she came loudly just at the moment he coughed and spurted deeply up into her.

He collapsed hard onto the chair as they, still coupled, shrunk into one another like balloons after a party. Her slick body glistened in the sun as he slid his hands over her. Was it only 15 minutes ago that she worried about someone seeing her bare butt out the door?

Too spent to lift her head, her lips tickled his collarbone.

“The most confusing orgasm ever”, she breathed.

“If it was easy, everyone would do it.”

Continuing…

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4 responses to “Geneva – 12

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