A Visit to the Clinic

Angela Miller sat on the edge of the exam table and allowed her dangling bare feet to swing back and forth like a kid. The thin cotton gown covered her to mid-thigh and since she had come to the clinic braless all she had on under it were her panties. And it wasn’t warm in the room. Not at all.

She was about to hop down and look for a thermostat when the door opened and a tallish brunette in blue scrubs stepped through. She looked a little harried, with a couple of locks of hair escaping from a loose pony tail that she wore to the side. She shut the door behind her with a bit of sigh and took an exaggerated deep breath. “Whew”, she said smiling then looked at the folder in her arms.

“Hi. Angela?”

“Angie.”

“Great, Hi…umm…I’m…Jessica. Just doing your intake-vitals, etcetera…” She was stumbling, seemingly unable to get the words out in the right order. Or remember her goddam name apparently! All she could think was “Those eyes!” as she was almost pinned to the door by Angie’s arresting robin’s egg blue eyes.

“No, good,” said Angie smiling and cocking her head to one side like a curious puppy. Of course the teeth were perfect and white as copy paper.

Angie put Jessica around thirty or so-about five years older than she was. She was slim and pretty with an unexpected silver stud in her left nostril. She seemed a little nervous; maybe she was new. Angie relaxed in the casual intimacy of the exam room -feeling Jessica’s thigh against hers and her breath on her neck as she took her pulse and wrapped the blood pressure sleeve around her arm. At least her hands were warm!

“What are you wearing?” Jessica asked as she wrote numbers on her chart. “The scent…”

“Oh, you like it? A friend of mine actually makes it…”

“Really?”

“Yeah-mixes all the oils and everything…quite an operation.”

“Smells amazing…”

“I love it. She calls it…Blue Steam, I think. Or something like that…If she hasn’t changed the name already. She goes back and forth.”

“It’s lovely…”

“Thanks…” Jessica asked a few more rote questions and made notes.

“You been here long?” Angie asked.

“A few months….”

“You like it?”

“Doctor Greene is amazing-I’m learning a lot from her.”

“She’s great…”

Jessica set the folder aside and flashed a slightly pained embarrassed smile. “If you don’t mind…flopping over onto your belly? She insists on core temperature.”

“Core?”

“Rectal”, Jessica answered, the pained smile getting tighter.

“Oh-yes, sure. Sorry”, said Angie. “I’ve been here before…Didn’t recognize the term” She slid over and reclined on her side for a moment before rolling over. She lifted slightly and arranged herself and the gown then settled.

“Thank you”, Jessica said relieved. “Some people make this so awkward…”

The cords on the gown kept it from sliding completely open in back but weren’t tight enough to keep her well rounded bottom from blooming through the gap.

“She started calling it ‘core’ because ‘rectal’ freaked people out.”

“I’m not shy”, said Angie situating herself, settling her head on crossed arms. “It’s only a bum, right?”

“Right”, said Jessica with a nervous laugh. Why was she nervous? She’d been doing this every day for the past three months. There was a pause before she realized that Angie wasn’t going to reach back and push her panties down like most people. Instead she lifted her hips a tad. “Would you do the honors?” she asked back over her shoulder, her face obscured by a cascade of honey blonde hair.

“Of course, sure”. Jessica quickly, carefully, and as clinically as possible, pulled the panties down to the tops of the woman’s thighs. No further than absolutely necessary but far enough to expose the roundest, firmest bottom that she had ever seen. And she’d seen plenty. Then, with a practiced hand, she used her thumb and index finger to open Angie’s cheeks and insert the pre-lubed tube into her tiny brown button. When she released the cheeks they closed firmly around the trim tube.

“Mmmm…” said Angie. “Tickles…”

Some patients were chatty to cover their nerves, some silent-squeezing their cheeks and powering through embarrassment. Jessica would be chatty or silent-whatever the situation called for. She would usually catch up on notes or look anywhere else around the room. But what she couldn’t do right now was look away. She had never seen…she gazed down at Angie’s perfectly rounded bottom as if into a crystal ball.

“You spend a lot of time at the gym, don’t you?”

“A ton! Why….?”

“Your bottom, girl…” Jessica couldn’t believe she was saying it as she said it.

“Hah…yeah. I had a boyfriend once that called it the most spankable ass in the state.”

“Did he?”

“What?”

“Spank…it…er…you. Spank you?”

“Naw, not really. He never could figure out how that would work. A slap now and again…he was dense…”

“Must have been”, Jessica mused in a soft voice.

“That’s nice…” Angie said.

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Without realizing it Jessica had, during their exchange, rested her hand on the small of Angie’s back.

“Oh god! I’m sorry…” she almost pulled it away but didn’t. The nervousness that she had felt earlier had slipped from her chest and settled lower. Much lower and it wasn’t really nerves anymore. She was transfixed by the view and fought to control her hands.

“You can touch it if you want”, the words came muffled from under the tumble of hair as if Angie was reading her mind.

“What…?”

“My bum…if you want.”

Angie’s eyes were closed and she was breathing lightly. There was no response coming from behind then the thermometer pinged to tell them it was done. She bit her lip lightly feeling herself being spread again and the instrument withdrawn.

A trifle chastened that her offer had not been accepted, she was about to reach back and pull up her panties when Jessica said “Hmmm…that’s odd. It didn’t take.” Then she felt her cheeks parted again and the tube slipped back into place. Slower this time. She held her breath until a hand, warm and dry, cupped her right cheek. And squeezed lightly.

“Ahhh…” Angie sighed and lifted her bottom slightly into the hand.

“My god, girl….this is…” her voice caught as her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Good lord….” She kneaded the right cheek then slid-not rising, not losing contact, but slid-across the deep crease from right to left and squeezed there. Then the other hand came into play to fondle the bottom of her cheeks and slide the panties a little further down. As the tingling in her crotch intensified, Jessica knew there was nothing that could stop her from kissing the lovely globes she had under hand and was lowering her face bumward when the door to the examining room opened with a simultaneous knock that really served no purpose.

“Dr. Greene!” Jessica gasped, caught with two handfuls of Angie Miller’s naked bottom.

“Hi Stephanie!” said Angie brightly, looking up and shaking the hair from her face.

Doctor or not, Stephanie Greene was a striking woman sliding into middle age with a style and panache that couldn’t be faked. She wore an above the knee electric blue skirt and a dark blouse that only a shade or two lighter than her shoulder length raven hair. She stepped into the room from where she had paused to take in the scene and closed the door behind her.

“May I ask…?” she began.

“I had a cramp”, Angie was quick to explain. “It just tightened up. Too much glutes at the gym this morning….Jessica is a gifted masseuse.”

“Uh huh…” said Stephanie, her eyes not buying it. “Jessica?”

“She was….really tight…” she muttered.

“OK…whatever. No time. Jessica, I’ll deal with you later”.

“Yes, Doctor”, she said gathering the folder and taking a step toward the door red-faced.

“Jessica?” Dr. Greene gave her a look and Jessica followed her eyes to Angie’s bottom where the thermometer still stood erectly in place like a little flag pole.

“Oh, I’m sorry…I’ll…” she stepped toward the table but was waved off.

“I’ll take care of it. Go.”

She hustled out the door and Dr. Greene with a quick wrist movement extracted the thermometer and dropped it in the basin. She then raised a hand and delivered a none-too-gentle smack to Angie’s upturned cheek. “You are such a brat”, she said.

“Don’t be too hard on her….she didn’t stand a chance.”

“Pull your panties up-let’s talk.”

“A little anisette, please…” Part ll

(Continued from “A little anisette, please…”)

The glowing wafer of moon slipped thinly into the chalice of the hills.

“I am not worthy to receive you…” the long forgotten words clattered across his memory like a broken strand of pearls. “…but only say the words….” He was startled to hear himself speaking aloud and bit his lips too late. The sweeping sound of her breathing was gone-leaving a silent void. He inhaled deeply as if to smell whether he had awakened her.

She was on her side so when he looked down he saw only her right eye glowing back at him. Her lips, always full, seemed swollen. He bent to them and kissed her. Gently. Dryly. She returned his kiss over her shoulder then, like a cat, pushed her haunches still wrapped in sheets back into him.

“You are definitely not worthy”, she said huskily-her voice full of sleep.

“Of anything.”

“Release my legs”, she told him.

“I don’t want to hurt you now…” he said quietly. Last night was last night. This was a new day.

“Release my legs”.

The knots melted in his fingers. A lifetime on the lake, sailing, boating and fishing made ropes and knots his superpower. Before she could imagine how she was bound, she was free. Still on her side she pulled her right knee up then, when he uncovered her, lifted her top leg toward the ceiling, opening and still pushing backward. From another woman this would have been an invitation. From her, it was a summons.

Hard since he’d walked into the room he held back and grasped her ankle, then slid his hand down the muscles of her leg-pausing to outline the panther on her thigh. It rippled across her quad and roared up the inside of her thigh directing with white teeth and a blood-red tongue where he should go next.

“Do you want your hands?” he asked.

“No”. She kept them, still bound, clutched at her throat like a child curling her loose hair around her long slim fingers.

He settled on his side poking like a blind dog against her still bruised bottom cheeks. She rolled slightly and pushed backward further. Even in the dim, dawn light she glistened as he slid inside-never surprised by how wet she was. She gasped, taking him all at once as he grunted-forcing himself all the way inside with a loud slap of flesh.

She answered his grunt and caught the wave of his thrusts, digging backward as he pushed forward. They quickened the pace and he held her leg high gripping the firm muscles and feeling the quiver coming from up top. She probably would have preferred to hold her leg up herself just with the core strength she never tired of yakking about but he just wanted a fucking handle. He grabbed her ass and kneaded.

Whatever didn’t work between them, this surely did. This always did. He listened for the breathing again; this time the quick gasping that signaled….here it came. As the bed creaked and rolled, he pushed-pushed-pushed thrust-thrust-quickening his pace-slapslapslap skin on skin until her gasping became a moan then a bark then a cry as she slammed her leg down like a guillotine holding him in place as he, with a last firm jam spewed his shuddering heat deep into her.

As they deflated, dissipated, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close as if wanting to contact as much of her skin as possible. He slid out of her and rested until he heard the telltale whispering of her wheezing. He allowed himself to be lulled to the edge of darkness before he roused and pulled gently away.

Without touching her he leaned over and untied the ropes on her wrists but she reacted not at all, lying as if in prayer. He retrieved the knife and put it on the bed stand then, reluctant to leave, kissed her shoulder, her back and ran is tongue along the salt of her hip. When he felt himself begin to swell, he rose and pulled the sheet up to her neck leaving her exactly as he’d found her. He left the door ajar.

Later with the morning sun high over the ridge she, still damp from the shower and clear-eyed as a child, joined him at the kitchen table. The silk robe parted as she gingerly sat affording him an easy view of her small, firm breasts. “Good Morning Glory”, he said mocking. She gifted him a half smile.

“I trust you welcomed the sun”, she said seeing that the sweat from his sunrise workout was already dried on his shirt.

“Someone had to do it” he said pushing away from the table. “Coffee?”

“Christ, yes.”

“Cream?”

“A little anisette, please.” He took the clear liquor from the sideboard and poured thickly closing his eyes to the sweet licorice scent filling the room. He placed the cup before her and kissed her on the top of her head and slid his hand inside her robe. “Always nice to have the girls for coffee”.

“Will you join me for sword later?” she asked ignoring his hand.

“Technical or Kumite?”

“I want to fight.”

He stepped back and regarded her carefully. She was talking into her coffee giving him nothing.

“Wood”, he said firmly. Their steel tournament swords weren’t razor sharp but carried enough of an edge to do damage. He would only fight her using the wooden swords. They had a way to make that interesting.

“Fine”, she said looking up. Her eyes had a sparkle rather than a gleam. Which was good. “Eleven?”

“Eleven it is”, he said. “Now drink your coffee.”

She blew on it and sipped.

“However…” Part III

Continued from “However…” Part II

”I can stop the spanking now”, said Taylor allowing her fingers to slide deeper between Dana’s legs. “You’ve been adequately punished for your tardiness. But I could…” she went on after a moment, “…do something to make you feel a little….better?” As she said that she drew her hand up into the dampening space as Dana lifted her bottom into her hand. “Yes, please…” she moaned.

As she lifted her tingling bottom higher so that the woman’s determined finger could get more deeply…deeply into her, Dana took a moment to reflect. This morning, Taylor Grayling was a well-paying fitness client and maybe friend. No, not really friend-it was a business relationship; she was a client. A client whose fingers felt so good up inside of her right now. “Eeep”, she gasped as she felt that finger swirl around the outside and slide gently and wetly back in.

This morning Dana had awakened somewhere in the eighth barren month without a lover. The only thing in those months that had been up inside her like this were on the ends or her hands or was blue and battery-operated. This she liked better. Oh, yeah, and this morning she had awakened having not had sex with a woman in ten years-and that was freshman year and the story went she was drunk and didn’t really know…or remember…or…whatever. It was her story, she’d stuck with this this long. But now?

“Come on. Up”, said Taylor slapping her lightly on the bum.

“Oh Nooo…”

“Come on…Let’s go.”

Dana arose unsteadily and allowed herself to be pushed toward the door that led into the house, down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs toward a little used wing of the large house. “Go! Go! Go!” Taylor hurried her from behind lightly smacking her on the bottom every step of the way.

At the top, Dana allowed herself to be guided into a bedroom that she registered had been prepared. Dark curtains kept out the late morning sunlight, replaced by the bright flicker from dozens of candles. The soft sound of surf emanated from…everywhere as did the vague scent of eucalyptus. Inside Taylor kicked the door closed and turned her trainer to face her.

Taylor’s eyes weren’t exactly predatory-not exactly-but wide and wanton, glowing brightly in the candlelight. “Off with this!” she yanked at Dana’s T-shirt which she slipped over her head followed by her sports bra which released her small, perfectly formed breasts to immediately be set upon by Taylor’s mouth.  The older woman was hungry for this but gentle in her roughness-relying on every sound or twitch to direct her next move. Which in this case was forward as she pushed the now naked Dana slowly backward pinning her to the bed. She stopped and looked up, meeting Dana’s eyes.

“Who the fuck are you Taylor…?”

She smiled slyly and continued pushing her backward until Dana sat on the bed then further until she was prone but keeping her face close. “I’m the woman who’s going to put her face between your legs and her tongue in your pussy until you scream.”

“Nice to meet you, then.”

With that, Taylor slid down Dana’s tight body, pausing to nibble at her taut nipples, before leaving a glistening trail down her belly and finally to the wiry blond patch at the bottom. She paused just long enough to slide her hands across Dana’s bottom then below her legs pulling them up and out. Dana reached down and patted her lover’s hands before replacing them on the backs of her thighs and pulling her legs to her chest.

Taylor’s tongue knew well what to do with the wide open invitation. It played at the inside of Dana’s thighs then around the wet folds of her vulva-probing deeper with every revolution. “Ack!” Dana coughed as it flicked lightly at her asshole.

“Like that?” Taylor asked…

“Love that….”

There was no more talking as Taylor bent in earnest to her work. At this moment she wanted nothing more than to make love to Dana the best way she could; to give her the kind of experience that would make her want more. As she widened the wet opening with her fingers and orally massaged her throbbing clit, her nostrils, filled with the scent of Dana’s soap, now flared with the dizzying aroma of her longing, pulsing in the waves of her flowing liquor. It didn’t take long before Taylor heard the moans coming from above morph into the screams she had prophesied. She licked feverishly until Dana’s body-hard as carved pine in the throes of orgasm-relaxed and then collapsed back onto the bed. She allowed her legs to drape gently across Taylor’s shoulders.

Still dressed for the gym, Taylor untangled herself and stood. Dana, spent to the edge of weeping, rolled onto her side and pulled her knees up.

“You OK?” Taylor asked softly, leaning close.

“I don’t care what Lynette says about her paddle. I’m coming late next week…”

By the time Taylor could pat her warm bottom and kiss her gently on the temple, Dana was asleep.

“However…” Part II

Tidy Whities

From http://www.firmhandspanking.com by way of Tumblr

Continued from “However…” Part I

Mary Elizabeth took a seat in one of the leather chairs in the small seating area around the bar, where Lynette lounged, one elbow on the marble surface like an extra in a western. Dana had to assume that’s where they remained because, to face Taylor where she sat on the couch, she had to turn her back on the ladies.

Dana had not come dressed for a workout. She had thrown on a blue nylon sweat suit on her way out of the house but it was more for lounging. Which is what she was getting set to do, she guessed. Or not. “You have to take those sweats down, dear.”

“Really?” she asked startled.

“Are you going to tell me that after a lifetime in gyms and locker rooms you are going to go shy on us all of a sudden?”

“No, no… I just didn’t know…” Taylor cocked her head to one side as if trying to understand what she was saying. “Nothing…never mind…” Dana untied the drawstring and allowed the loose nylon to slither down her legs feeling the air snake around her. It was now Dana’s turn to open her hands in a “Ta-da!” moment feeling chillingly exposed even in the warm gym. None of the others wore shorts-Lynette came closest with tight Capri’s.

“Very nice”, said Taylor. Figuring she knew the next step, Dana shuffled over to Taylor’s right side and noticed for the first time the rings she was wearing. Oddly, she wondered if she’d feel them. She was about to lower herself across her lap when the woman stopped her.

“Please dear…I do not spank panties. Even ones as cute as those.”

Dana shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. She could feel the eyes behind her that would be looking at more than her back…She looked to Taylor to perhaps plead for some kind of mercy but the woman’s eyes seemed to have none of that in them. But her arched brow and dancing eyes seemed less threatening than…daring. Is that what this was? wondered Dana in the rapid fire synapses flickering through her head. Was this a big game of truth or dare? She was definitely getting a teenage pajama party vibe…maybe an…initiation? Was that it? An initiation into…what?

Dana’s revving brain froze at the sound of Lynette’s voice from behind her. “Her mind does tend to wander, doesn’t it Taylor?”

“Do you want some help with those?” Taylor asked looking up at her.

“No, sorry”, she said for what seemed to be the thousandth time and put her thumbs in the waist band of her panties and rolled them down. They clung to her-and only got as far as the tops of her thighs.

“That’s fine”, said Taylor reaching up for her hand. “Come on now.” Dana lowered herself across the woman’s lap. She wriggled a little to get comfortable-as much as that was possible-and pulled a pillow up under her. She tried not to think of the picture her bottom presented, being her highest point right now. Especially after Taylor pulled her panties further down. “There”, she said-happy with them at mid-thigh.

In truth, the touch of a woman’s hand to her bare bottom was not new to Dana. Not entirely common-and not recent-but not new. That woman’s hand spanking her bottom definitely was, though. She couldn’t remember ever being in this position-maybe as a child, no, definitely as a child, when they lived in that apartment and it was only she and her…”OUCH!” her reverie was interrupted by a sharp smack. Then a second. “OW!”

“Someone has low pain tolerance”, came Mary Elizabeth’s voice.

“Was just surprised…”

“You just surprised her, Taylor. Didn’t really hurt.”

“Oh, is that right?”

The third smack was the hardest and Dana gritted her teeth as the spanks fell, trying not to cry out but allowing gasps and muffled yelps. The stinging pain with each smack was something she expected, even something she deserved. She guessed. In this context. Of being over the woman’s lap and being spanked. She must have deserved it. “OWW!”

But what she didn’t expect was the feeling that was welling between her legs. Whether it was the heat building in her spanked bottom or the vibrations that Taylor’s hand sent south, where Dana had been dry scant minutes before was now beginning to dampen in a way it hadn’t, sadly, for months. She began to wriggle a bit against Taylor’s thigh, not so much to evade the next smack as to rub against something. Suddenly Dana coughed nervously-

“Oh-wait, wait, wait…Taylor.  Wait please…”

“Wait? What? I thought I wasn’t hurting you.”

“No, it’s not…you are…I mean you are…but I’m fine. I mean…I’m…”

Taylor turned her bright eyes back to Lynette and Mary Elizabeth.  The three women in the room who were not face down exchanged knowing glances. Mary Elizabeth blushed, but winked in a vain effort to cover.

Goddam Taylor was right, thought Lynette as she poked Mary Elizabeth in the shoulder. “I think that’s our cue”, she said. Mary Elizabeth rose reluctantly.

Approaching the couch and Dana’s upturned bottom, Lynette poked her firm, pink right cheek with a perfectly manicured finger. Dana jumped at the feeling and registered another tiny zap between her legs. She heard Lynette tell her “You best not be late next week because I’m bringing my own paddle-and you won’t enjoy that half as much as you’re enjoying this.” She smiled then kissed the tip of her index finger and touched it to Taylor’s lips and the two of them took their leave.

Once alone, Taylor said, “I hope you don’t think you’re done” and slapped her with a crisp smack that cupped her cheek and resonated, vibrated, down her leg. Dana, alone with her tormentor, felt free to let her moans more fully form.

“Bring your legs together”, Taylor ordered. When she did the woman let fly with a tattoo of quick spanks to the bottom of the bottom so that the sounds and vibrations echoed down into the chasm between her legs, then deeper, settling into the warm wet folds of her increasingly needy pussy.

“Taylor!” Dana was breathing heavily and undulating over her lap.  “This is amazing…I don’t know…”

“Here let me help you”, said Taylor, herself breathing in tight little gasps. “…lift your legs…” When she did Taylor reached down and pulled first her sweatpants then her bunched white undies off of her feet and tossed them aside.

“Now you can spread your legs a little.”

The next spank was wide handed over her near cheek and Taylor allowed her hand to linger there. Allowed her fingers to slide down between. Allowed herself to feel the heat emanating from Dana’s pink bottom. Suddenly Taylor wasn’t interested anymore in punishing her charge but rather in something that was entirely different. And something that could have been her plan all along.

To be continued…

Nightcap Part III

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That Look….That Smile….That…well, you know…

(Continued from Nightcap Part Deux)

Face down on the bed Bethany clenched her bottom tightly enough that, from his vantage point, Best doubted a credit card could slip into the crease. He sunk further into the leather overstuffed chair just inside the door while his wife-less ignoring him than not at all acknowledging his presence-rolled up the sleeves of her blouse.

“I’m going to punish you now, Bethany. You know that don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“You deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good. Now”…she lay the cane across Bethany’s bottom and the girl jumped at the touch. “…Present, please…”

Legs still pressed tightly together, she had barely lifted her hips when the first stroke landed hard, cracking a sharp SNAP! at the end of a swooshing, whipping sound. By the muffled groan Best could tell she was biting into a pillow. Her knuckles were no doubt white and trembling with the effort of squeezing the duvet in her fists.

With metronomic pace and precision Rebecca rained stroke after stroke down on the woman’s flinching bottom. Bethany’s clenched rump, as firm and tight as a seal’s back, didn’t so much absorb the blows as repel them-sending the cane bouncing back. Rebecca ratcheted the force higher until each swoosh and snap was accompanied by a muffled yelp, mewl or-in a single case-an unmuffled cry which brought a pause from her tormenter.

“There, there…” the older woman cooed as she patted her tortured bottom gently. She ran her fingers lightly over the raised welts tracing their paths from cheek to cheek paying particular attention to the angriest and reddest of them. “Breathe, darling…” she whispered. “Breathe now…you’re doing very well.” Bethany whimpered at the caresses and allowed her bottom to relax a bit at the woman’s touch. Best, lapping at the bourbon in his glass like a dog that had been run too far, too fast watched motionless. He too had to be reminded to breathe.

His wife, still paying him no mind, lay the cane across the small of the girl’s glistening back. Slowly, she unbuttoned her black and white striped blouse and slipped it off her shoulders. Her small tight breasts clung firmly to her ribs, her nipples, even in the dim light, obviously swollen.  Retrieving the cane, she patted the cheek closest to her allowing her fingers to linger at-if not in-the opening crevice before resuming.

The strokes were softer now-some no more than flicks delivered into Bethany’s soft sit spots. “Relax now”, she said soothingly. “Relax and open…” The firm tension in Bethany’s bottom released on command as her cheeks spread in her exposed pose. Now, when the cane contacted her skin it didn’t bounce up as a stick from a drum but instead was absorbed into the lush softness, creating waves and quivers as would a pebble splashing into a still pond.

“Open wider”, Rebecca coaxed softly touching the top of Bethany’s legs with feathery fingertips. She did as she was told, opening and thrusting backward revealing her wet softness framed by striped and reddened buttocks. Instead of cracking into those cheeks, the cane found itself between them, in there flicking from side to side kissing the inside of her thighs and lightly brushing her pussy’s swollen lips.

Bethany’s moaning shifted in tone and timbre, becoming deeper and more rhythmically attuned to the pulses in her own body than to the touches of the cane. Straightening, Rebecca dropped the cane onto the carpet and without turning her eyes from the girl’s undulating hips, unsnapped and unzipped her skirt. It slid unencumbered into a heap on the floor which she stepped daintily out of. Wearing nothing now but her black pumps Rebecca shone glossy and alabaster in the guttering candlelight.

Best brought the glass to his lips to find it empty. Beyond empty, it was dry as if the heat of his hands had steamed away every trace that it once held anything. He held it empty to his lips then brought it back to his lap in a robotic pantomime. He studied his wife’s every move as she knelt on the bed, first one leg then the next. He saw the workings of the muscles in her legs and ample ass as she positioned herself between Bethany’s legs screening him from the young woman altogether. Finally, when Rebecca was where she wanted to be, all he could see of Bethany were her legs sticking backward, flanking his wife as Rebecca slid her knees back, raising her own bottom and dipping her head.

By the movements of his wife’s shoulders, he knew that she was ministering to Bethany’s bruised bottom, kissing every welt and every abrasion, cooling her burning skin with her wet soft tongue. Rebecca slid back further still until she was reclining on her side-cheek to cheek as it were-and he was able to see Bethany’s glistening bottom pebbled with goosflesh, moving to his wife’s rhythms. He heard the gasp when Rebecca’s fingers slid into the sweet wetness of the younger woman’s pussy then the moan when she pushed her thumb into her tight asshole.

Bethany’s ecstatic crawl now was not to escape the cane but to improve the angle and widen the openings behind. Rebecca really didn’t need the help. She shifted back to her knees and pulled her fingers out to an accompanying whine only to replace them with her tongue. No more for gentle ministrations it was now an attacking snake plunging deeper into the Bethany’s pussy to find and ravish her clit. Rebecca’s arms reached under the girl and pulled her closer, tighter, closing her mouth over the woman’s bucking, sopping opening to drink as much of her sweet, spunky nectar as she could.

Bethany’s moans had morphed into coughs and barks when Best rose stiffly to his feet. He slipped quietly from the room and down the hallway turning the warm glass round and round in his hand. The sound of the lovemaking grew louder the further he got from the door. It wouldn’t be long now.

He was on the third step down, feeling the grain in the polished oak banister, when Bethany’s voice bloomed into an unfettered wail that filled every corner of the house as no music ever could. He imagined the draperies ruffling in its wake and candles being snuffed out. It was, Franklin Best thought, the sweetest sound on earth.

Corduroy

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Art by James Needham   www.jamesneedhamart.com

It was their second “real” date, if you didn’t count the many shared coffees and scones at Biddle’s across from the office. He didn’t. Those were encounters, conversations, quips and exchanges, each one pleasant as a warm autumn sunset but each just skimming the surface like a water bug. You could have these brushes forever and never peel away the top layer of what might be a relationship let alone approach any intimacy.

That, in his mind, could only be done at night-away from thoughts about work, the co-worker interruptions that-even if they didn’t happen were just beyond the door. For him it meant wine and small plates across town. Seemed like that worked for her too.

She was swirling her Gris and dipping a tiny wedge of toasted sourdough into a swirl of fresh hummus and green olive tapenade.

“Wine OK?” he asked.

“Think so”, she said nibbling the toast. “It’s a little too cold”.

“Just hold it in your hand. You’re hot enough to warm it in no time.”

She laughed hard for a moment, leaning back in the chair, her bright brown eyes dancing. She was beautiful, he thought just then.  He had her firmly in the cute column-eyes, button nose with a spatter of freckles, loose chestnut hair framing her face-but she was beyond cute a step or too.

“Didn’t figure you to go for cheesy.”

“You never know what a girl’s going to like”, she said.

He smiled at that and looked down into his own glass-a bold, earthy Cab Franc. Indeed, he thought.  It was about now, somewhere between the second and third dates, that he would begin to feel like a fraud. He knew he was never straight with women-at least not in the beginning. Which is why he figured his relationships never lasted too long. They were great for what they were-good conversations, some nice dinners, usually fair to good sex but nothing too deep or lasting. Maybe he was the water bug.

When he looked back up she was smiling at him.

“Welcome back.” she said. “Where did you go?”

“Oh, sorry”, He said. “Just thinking.”

“Uh huh…” she said, drawing it out.

He had the sensation of standing at the top of a ski slope. That moment when the lift was gone and your tips were headed down and there was no going back. The only way off the mountain was down. He opted to push off.

“I was thinking how I’d love to dress you in corduroy.”

“Corduroy?” she laughed pleasantly. “That’s a new one.  I could imagine silk maybe-a man could want to dress me in the finest silks”-she gave a leering voice impression. “Or leather if you’re of that mind. I’d love to see you in leather”, she mugged sounding sibilant and fey rather than the threatening she was probably going for.

“Would they be brown?” she asked dragging the joke further. “I had a professor who would wear the same brown cords every day. Unless he had a closet full of them. And I don’t know which would be worse.”

“Definitely not brown”, he said. “And maybe a little different than what you are thinking.”

“Tell me then….”

“What I see, what I’d like to do, is take you home and actually undress you.”

“Really”, she said leaning in smiling.

“Really. Get you naked and lie you face down on my bed. Then I have these canes which I would like to use on you. They are long and whippy and leave beautiful welts.”

The smile faded a little and twisted. “That sounds like it would hurt.”

“It would, I guess. It stings, I’ll give you that. Burns in spots. When applied correctly a stroke could even feel like a shock-a hot buzz. What’s key though is that I cover your whole bottom top to…well bottom, so that when you reach back and run your fingertips over them, it would feel like…”

“Corduroy” she answered.

“Exactly”, he said. That was it! He had finished the run and pulled up at the bottom of the slope.

“And this is what I could expect if we went back to your apartment?” she asked slowly.

“That’s one of the things that could happen, sure. Remember, I said I’d love to dress you in corduroy. Not that I definitely would. Or not that I HAD to. Or not that I would tonight…necessarily. But I’d be thinking about it.”

She shifted in her seat and kept his eyes.

“I think I would love that feel on you though. Thinking about it now. After I laid these ridges across your bum I’d rub them for sure. Some oil or cream to cool them down but mostly so I could feel them with my own fingers. Or tongue.”

“Oh”, she said in a small voice.

“I’d play them like piano keys, like the frets on my old Gibson…”

“Holy shit Warren. This never came up over scones!”

His turn to smile. “Not exactly coffee talk”.

Her laugh was a quick little bark that she, embarrassed, stifled quickly.

“But see, there is something else. I’d have to make the ridges high enough-without marking you really-so that I could feel them when I entered you from behind. When you’re oiled and creamed I’d want to spread your legs and crawl up between them and slip inside so that I could feel the welts on your hot little bottom rubbing against me.”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty, soft pink. Could have been the wine. But wasn’t.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I have to ask. When you are in me. From behind? What is your point of entry? Exactly.”

His chest fluttered. “Does it matter?”

“I cum better one way than the other.”

“You would tell me which, right? I wouldn’t have to guess.”

That twisted smile again. “I’d tell you.”

He noticed that she was swirling an empty glass. “Another?”

“Why not tonight?”

“What?”

“You said it wouldn’t happen tonight.”

“Not necessarily tonight.”

“But it could…”

He caught the waitress’ eye and asked for the check.

 

 

 

Training Day

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From Google Images

She breathed heavily eyeing the line of barrels before her. Despite the cool of the morning a bead of sweat-not the first-broke free between her shoulder blades and traced down her back. Gripping the reins a little too tightly she nudged the horse forward briskly.

First barrel, second, third, they cleared them well enough but she was dirt-kicking choppy, not gliding-not smooth. Fuck! She pulled off the last barrel and away from them. “Come on Sandy…”she implored under her breath as she moved toward the fence line.

“Nothing the matter with Sandy”, Braxton Taylor growled as she passed him. This guy heard everything! she thought. “Run them again”, he ordered, “and finish this time.” She yanked at the reins-digusted.

What a shit morning! Every drill-every run-had been off. She lifted her hat and wiped her sleeve across her forehead. Stalling, she stood in the stirrups and pushed her long, dark hair behind her ears then settled the hat back in place. Maybe bringing Braxton here was a mistake-she’d felt that when he first stepping into the ring. Then she relaxed and felt better. Now worse. The forested ridges of the Appalachian Range pushed skyward around her. Often shrouded in mists with fog tumbling down the hollows, today the sky was clear and the air crystal and piney. If only Lynette Holt’s mind were that clear.

Why had she pulled off the barrel? Braxton wondered. She hadn’t completed one course this morning. For a few moments she would look in control-the horse and she one-as she had during her six year reign as the state’s barrel racing queen. Then-for no reason-she would fall apart. Maybe not so badly that a layman could tell, but he knew, she knew and the judges would know.

At the top of the line of barrels, she took a breath and leaned a little forward. “Go”, she breathed and Nancy launched forward. One! Two! Three! Four! All clean then she leaned too far right and missed the last one again. “FUCK!” she barked aloud then slumped in the saddle.

Braxton hated swearing in the ring. He hated harsh words around horses. Everyone thought he was some kind of damn horse whisperer. He was good-she’d give him that. She hadn’t lost one championship in the years they were married. Of course, she hadn’t won one since they split. Didn’t place last year. Fuck it, she thought. I’m paying him. It’s my place now. I’ll swear if I want.

That was better, thought Braxton reading her body language right up until it wasn’t. The racer he knew was in there but was only showing up in spurts for quick peeks. They’d been out here for the better part of an hour and he’d cajoled her to this point-but it was like trying to wring water out of a dry towel. He sidled up closer to where she moped, Sandy pawing at the dust.

“Any chance at all you might get your head out of your ass so we could get some actual work done today?”

She could almost hear the blood rushing to her head. “You’re not exactly helping!” she barked.

“Only room in the saddle for one.”

Her chest tightened and a low keening sound-like a steam kettle-started in her ears. She white-knuckled the reigns and leaned over Sandy’s neck; her horse’s signal to “GO!” And Sandy went. They wheeled away from the barrels and in a flash were out of the circle, through the open fence and up along the edge of the field. They veered past the lone walnut tree and jumped lightly over a deadfall she had been meaning to move. With a tight turn she came back and jumped it again. There she is, Braxton thought watching her loose in the field. One with the horse, anticipating moves, initiating others…Finally, in the middle of her little tantrum, he caught a glimpse of the rider she had been in her twenties. Not so long ago in years-but decades in attitude and confidence.

She pulled Sandy up. What the hell was she doing? That hadn’t helped at all. The bands around her chest still constricted, her ears still rang and she was squeezing the reins like they were rattle snakes. Breathing in gulps, she settled into a soft lope back to where Braxton was watching her. His eyes were hidden deep in the shadow of his hat but she knew they would be slits-not so much against the sun-he squinted at night. No, he’d be trying to figure her out-overthinking as usual-trying to find a different answer to the question they both knew too well.

“Why did you hire me?” he asked as she pulled up beside him. “There are a slew of trainers in this valley would work for free for the chance to put you through your paces.” She jerked her head and met his lidded gaze with her own sharp glare.

“Already had them!” she snapped with more venom than she intended.

“And how did that work out?”

She opened her mouth to snap again but bit her tongue. She needed to look away and pulled her eyes over toward the cursed barrels.

“I think it’s time we take a walk to the tool shed”, Braxton said flatly.

Lynette looked away from the barrels and over to the small outbuilding-more workshop than toolshed-beside the barn.

“Not likely”, she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Pretty likely” he answered.

“No way.”

“Get off your horse.”

“No. Fucking. Way.” She spat every word like it was poison to be expelled.

His implacable gaze didn’t waver and his stance betrayed none of the roilings starting to rise in him. He looked up at her, into her and through her, watching the veins in her neck redden, twist and climb like pulsing vines. “Suit yourself” he said breaking the look and turning away.  “Let’s run it from the top”, striding toward the barrels.

Her hands-squeezing and releasing the reins-sweated and the tightness hardened in her breast. She sucked air in quick swallows and watched a red film cover her eyes from her temples in.  Sandy was calm-but attentive-awaiting any signal.

Walking away Braxton heard her grumble “God Damn It!” then a leather creak, then the sound of boots hitting dirt. He turned to see her stalking away from him toward the tool shed. He absently stroked his jawline with his knuckles watching the perfect inverted heart of her taut backside stomp off then disappear through the open door into the dim interior. Which then disappeared itself when she slammed the door. At that he grinned-he didn’t even know that door shut. “Come on Sandy”, he led the horse into the ring, taking his time. He closed the gate and headed to the shed.

Inside, dust motes rose and whirled in the slashes of sunlight burning between the roughly hewn barn siding. She had a corner of the shed where she kept her tack and some odds and ends but didn’t spend much time in here where the memories lay thick like coats of old milk paint. The old saddle shone on the stall rail where she kept clean and oiled after swearing to get rid of it. The low bench was in the same place it always was but she stayed clear of it.

She took off her hat off and hung it on a peg, shaking her hair back to hang loosely around her shoulders. Her breath was coming easier – still shallow and quick-but easier. The bands she felt in her chest were loosening but replaced by cold flutters low in her gut. She knew these feelings well having many times gotten herself into something that there was no way out of.

Outside the open widow she watched a small flock of chickadees swarming the thistle bushes along the back fence. Further down the line a few wild canaries flashed and lit and beyond them the dark green of the foothills rolled. She was finally seeing the beauty of the morning when the door scraped open behind her. Her heart quickened.

Because she had closed it, he pushed it shut behind him and stood waiting for his eyes to adjust. Lynette was a silhouette backlit by the window until she eventually clarified and materialized out of the gloaming. She kept her eyes averted-not down-but not looking at him. He ran his hand over the smooth leather of the old saddle-not really surprised that she kept it so well.

She thought she wanted to say something but decided to let it be. She could manage her words well enough but was afraid her voice might betray her. Did she want this or not? Was she wrong to want this? Why couldn’t she just ask-just take what she wanted? Why, why, why? The badgering questions were tightening her chest again.  Still watching out the window she listened and knew what he was doing. She heard him lift the old saddle then place it on the bench. Waiting for Braxton to speak first would be a fool’s errand. But she engaged in the game…listening to the birds and waiting. Truth was, she was weak in the legs and suddenly concerned that she might stumble.

Ready in time, she turned slowly and walked carefully, almost weightlessly, as she might wade through a deep hole down in the creek.  Gone were the sharp angles and precise stomping of a few short minutes ago. Her head swam slightly as she walked up on the saddle for the first time in close to three years. She glanced over at Braxton who was also hatless and spending an inordinate amount of attention on rolling up his sleeves.

The window was still her focus as she loosed her belt from the buckle then unsnapped her jeans. With a deep breath she pushed the zipper down then pushed the pants down off of her hips squatting slightly to send them all the way down to her boots. Then, linking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, pushed them down as well. The cool air on her naked parts excited her.

Braxton watched as she rubbed her butt up under her shirt tail as if trying to smooth the creases. He really hadn’t expected his day to wind up here but had prepared for it. Had set it in his mind as a possibility. But nothing could prepare him for the sight of Lynette Holt lowering herself over the saddle and pulling her shirt up her back.

The woman he had loved and lusted after for years before was splayed before him-backside high and luscious-hands flat on the dirt floor in front of her, boot toes dug in behind. The sight hadn’t changed much in three years. He knew the contours of her body better than his own. Maybe a little thicker, maybe a little rounder, maybe the dividing crease between the two milky moons a little deeper, but only something he would notice.

Finally it was Braxton who, stepping close, spoke first.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“Yes”, she hissed but he couldn’t tell if it was still in anger or something else.

She heard the dry rasp of his belt being pulled through the loops. She had noticed the belt he wore as soon as he had walked into the ring that morning. It was an old one-one she had bought for him when they were married. One she had felt before. He eyed her bottom goose-bumped in the cool shade of the shed and took measure with the strap swinging in his right hand.

She expected the pain-but pain in memory against reality. She gasped when the first lash fell hard and squeezed at the dusty floor. The second cracked across the middle of her backside and she opened her mouth wide but made no sound determined to take it stoically. She tensed as the third slash whistled and gasped when it landed. He slapped the fourth swat above the others-below the tan line but high enough to burn anew.

Yes, she expected the pain but what she hadn’t expected were the burning eyes. She didn’t cry. She once finished a ride with a separated shoulder and no one was the wiser. She remembered that now as she squeezed her eyes tight in a futile attempt to hold back the tears that would not be denied. She coughed a sob, then another-tiny cracks and trickles in the face of a dam that finally broke with one more brilliantly placed slash dead center on her bottom.

Her wail chased the chickadees and finches into the woods. The next slash angled lower to kiss the top of her right leg and she screamed afresh. This was new-she had been stoic under his strap before. But this time she cried and kicked her boot toes into the dust.

She spread her legs as wide as her confining jeans would allow-wide enough for Braxton to see her womanhood open to him. He pulled his eyes toward the floor looking up only to bring another lash down on her heaving bottom. It was like looking at a favorite place from the seat on a train-he’d been there, would love to be there again-but right now couldn’t reach it.

And it was harder to avoid knowing how wet she would be in there now. How thickly welcoming would be her embrace of him. He could feel the warm pull of her, sucking him in-gripping him tightly as he thrust deeply into her the heat of her strapped bottom rubbing against him. He felt his own surge lifting from inside and…Jesus! He blinked and shook his head. He cleared his throat and swung-hitting high again leaving a strawberry ribbon across the deep dimples just below her belt line that he oddly, suddenly remembered the taste of.

But he was with Vera now. And she had been less than thrilled as it was that he was going back to training his ex-wife but the money was good and she relented. Obviously not knowing what all training Lynette Holt entailed. He couldn’t very well go home with his ex-wife’s scents and juices drying over him. But there it was.

Braxton paused and gulped air almost as raggedly as she did. Lynette’s bottom glowed red like the coals of a banked cooking fire.

“I’m done if you’re done”, he said huskily.

The wave of tears ceasing, she caught her breath and looked back over her shoulder. The hair stuck to her face and he couldn’t see her well. “Six more”, she said. “Across the bottom.” That second direction could seem redundant but he knew her “bottom” meant the bottom of her bottom-the sit spots-where her legs met the swell of her cheeks.

After the sixth and final lash she collapsed like a pricked balloon over the saddle. The tension and hard muscles deflated as she lay limply breathing. Braxton glanced at the work bench seeing-and secretly happy-that there wasn’t the jar of aloe unguent that they used to keep there. He felt he would have been somehow duty bound to rub some on her hot and tortured bum and that might be more than a man could stand.

She heard him stride across the floor and saw the light spread across the room as he opened the door. Not a word. Not a touch. She was fine with that, she thought pushing herself upward and standing slowly. She bent in the knees slightly and cupped her cheeks feeling the heat. “Damn, Braxton”, she whispered squeezing and rubbing lightly-gingerly. “Damn…”

Outside Braxton leaned against a fence post and lit a cigarette with a shaking match. He pushed himself down his left leg to make standing more comfortable. Sandy came over and nudged at him. He was careful to blow the smoke away from Sandy’s muzzle. He stroked the horse gently and scratched at her ears. “Sandy, you are about the only woman I understand”.

He heard her walking up on them. Her face was blotched and red-eyed and her hair was pulled back severely into a pony tail. She stood beside him and breathed deeply, gazing at the ridgeline.

“Sorry about that Brax. I shouldn’t have…”

He cut her off. “Never a problem Nettie.” She smiled for the first time that morning at the nickname she hadn’t heard in three years.

She walked around to Sandy. “Let’s go to work”, she said pulling herself up into the stirrups and settling-very gently-down into the saddle.