Scenes From An Italian Restaurant-Finale

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant- Three)

Antonio lay the spatula across her back and held it with his left hand. With his right, he cupped her bottom gently. “This is going to be good one”, he said.

“I know”, she peeped.

“But when you’re done-it will all be over.”

“Clean slate!” she said softly to the floor.

Marie saw the first swat coming and still jumped, startled by the sound at impact. She hadn’t settled when the second landed in the same place; fully on the right globe which after only two smacks was flushing pink. The third landed more in the middle of her butt resonating down her shallow crack and between her legs. Then the other cheek. Marie’s eyes wandered nowhere else but she kept her hand at her breast as if to keep her heart inside.

Connie, for her part, hung on gritting her teeth and trying to dig her fingertips into the hard floor tiles. She was surprised that her eyes were stinging already. Yes, his hand was heavy, yes his hand hurt, yes her ass was burning. But not enough to make her cry. She blinked when a smack landed low, where the bottom meets the leg, and a tear splashed delicately between her hands. Her mouth, already open, betrayed her with a small cough. Then another and finally a whispered “Ouch”.

“Well” said Tony, “I’d say that’s enough for the warmup.”

“Oh Dear…” thought Marie and, with no thought of sitting, slipped behind the bar table as if behind a battlement protecting her from what she was seeing. And what was she seeing-or feeling? It was strange how her own bottom was itching. Connie gave no outward sign of crying, just the drops that were sprinkling silently onto the floor. She felt his movement and the spatula was gone from her back.

“Are you ready for this Constance?”

“Yes, Chef. Please.”

She exhaled and relaxed, softening her clenched bottom.  At the first stroke of the spatula she allowed a wall to buckle and cried “Owww…” Then, after the third, began crying in earnest. The swats burned and she reacted to each with a yelp or a twist but all under the soft veil of tears that had seemingly come forth unbidden-on their own.

Chef Tony was nothing if not precise. The welts he was leaving on her bottom were adjoining but seldom overlapping. Connie was not a kicker but couldn’t stop her legs from scissoring nor her toes from dancing, bundling her jeans and panties at her ankles. As she cried beneath his hand, Antonio twisted his arm around her waist and increased the tattoo on her aching bottom to a loud fast “Rat-tat-tat”. Marie’s hands had moved from her breast to her face. When she told about it later she would swear later that Chef’s arm was a blur.

“Tony!” she called to him after another moment. “Tony?”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up as if surprised to find someone else in the room. Without the loud cracking, slapping and wailing, a silence colored only by Connie’s soft sobbing, settled over the room.

“Yes Marie?”

She was holding out a handkerchief toward Connie’s head. Antonio nodded. She approached and held the hanky down where her friend could see it. The floor between her hands was puddled.

“Thanks”, snuffled Connie taking it and drying her eyes as best she could. Marie stood a moment next to the furnace that was Connie’s backside. No longer pink, it was a mottled red and burgundy-the color of spilled wine. She retreated back to her spot behind the table but there was no need.

“Are you done sweetheart?” asked Tony softly, gently cupping her bottom.

She took a deep breath, thinking about it and wiped her nose. “Yes, Chef.”

He patted again. “Good. Come on….”

He helped her up and she stood shakily beside him patting her bottom. He stood and wrapped his strong arms around her squeezing. Her rear glowed like a brazier in the dim light and Marie eventually looked away. “Beautiful”, was all he said kissing Connie on top of the head.  “Now pull up your pants…”

“Can’t I leave them down?” she sniffled, patting her glowing butt.

“No you can’t”, he said lightly. “Not that kind of place.”

He turned his attention to Marie.

“Now, you….”

“What?” she asked in a gasp. He said nothing else. She felt a need to fan herself but didn’t move.

“What Chef?” she asked again having slid back behind the table.

“You’re never too old you know.”

“For what? For…no way Chef! I’m too…” she stopped herself.

“No you’re not.”

“Chef. Tony. I couldn’t…”

“Then why are you here?”

The truth nearly escaped when she opened her mouth, but instead she said, “For her!” and waved her hand toward Connie hoping for some support. Her friend was seemingly paying no attention, engrossed in gingerly pulling up her panties then her jeans, trying not to scrape unduly across her hot skin.

“Connie?” she asked.

“I think you should,” she said in a small voice not looking up.

“What?! I…Chef…”

“If not now, when?”, asked Connie finally looking up.

“O Jesus”, she said to herself. The room seemed to be moving around her.

“Take off your jacket Marie…” said Tony, feeling that she needed a direction.

Words died in her mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that she did want this-that she’d wanted it for a long time but couldn’t imagine how to ask. She might have been able to live her whole life out without this if he and Connie hadn’t started playing like this. Was it their fault? Was it hers? Was it anyone’s? This is what she was thinking as she was saying nothing…and unbuttoning her jacket.

Chef Tony sat back down and beckoned her over. She slid out from behind the table dragging her hand across the top. It took an hour to cross the three strides. She waggled a finger and Connie who was now, fully clothed and watching. “You, you….”

Connie smiled through her tear streaked face and leaned against the bar.

Marie stood before her seated boss with her hands at her sides not resisting as Tony reached out and unsnapped her jeans. He unzipped them and worked them down over her hips.

“You might need a bigger spatula for me.”

Connie giggled…

“I think my hand will cover enough ground.”

He helped her into position. “I don’t fit as well as that one…”

“You fit fine. Now lift up”.

“Tony-Really?”

He patted the tight cotton encasing her bottom. “Really.”

She lifted up, and squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment as he slowly pulled down her underwear. She mouthed a nasally “Ooohhh…” to convince anyone listening including herself that she wasn’t giving into this easily. She breathed deeply as the cool air washed over her naked bottom. Then she felt his hot hand on the back of her thigh.

“Tell me again what I’ve done to deserve this.”

“Lived too long without it.”

She relaxed and felt her body form to his lap. He wasn’t in a hurry. “Yes…Too long…” she sighed just loudly enough to be heard by both.

Those are beautiful sandals she thought absently as she grabbed Antonio’s ankle and waited.

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Breakfast With the Bests

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From “A Beaten Belle” tumblr

(The morning after Nightcap IV)

Large and airy, with a wall of windows overlooking the gardens facing the sunrise, it was a perfect breakfast kitchen which, having slept late, they really didn’t have time for this morning. Small price to pay. Rebecca, dressed for work in clinging dark jeans and a green polo was rinsing the few dishes they’d used for their wheat toast and yogurt. Franklin, as always, was a study in choreographed nonchalance from his carefully scuffed thousand dollar Russian calf ankle boots up through his washed out jeans and checked shirt. His briefcase, a sleek leather number with more buckles and straps than a saddle, sat open beside him as he read the Wall Street Journal over a cup of strong coffee.

“Well…” he looked up as Bethany padded into the room. “Somebody had trouble getting out of bed this morning.” And it looked like Bethany had just. Her hair was stuck in stiff whirls so out of control it looked styled that way. She wore the plush terry robe that was left in her room and, as evidenced by how it gapped and draped, nothing underneath.

Her smile cracked one side of her face but didn’t do much to open her puffy eyes as she flopped into the chair opposite Franklin. “”Coffee?” asked Rebecca over her shoulder.

“Please…”

She shifted as Rebecca set the coffee in front of her and crossed her legs allowing the robe to fall open to mid thigh. She took a moment to sip before covering it back over. Best had gone back to the paper but Rebecca had seen and looked subtly away. She always had trouble reconciling what goes on at night with the supposed normalcy of daylight living. This was her issue alone-Franklin thrived living in a state of constant dusk.

Bethany reached into the robe’s pocket and brought out a small envelope that she pushed across the table. Franklin put the paper aside and opened it. The ten fifty dollar bills inside were sharply identical with edges that looked like they could slice a banana. He took one and held it up to the light admiringly. He sniffed it. Then he rubbed it between thumb and fingers before laying it back on the table. He placed a couple of the others on top of it-showing the serial numbers-all different, of course, and non-sequential. “Yours?” he asked looking up.

“No!” she said sharply. “The real thing. Legal tender for all debts, public and….private.”

“Teasing”, he said placing the bills back in the envelope. Then he slid it back. She raised an eyebrow. “We spoke”, he said nodding toward his wife. “This isn’t necessary anymore. You’ve become a part of the fabric of our lives. We don’t need this.”

“It’s just a token, you understand”, she said. “It doesn’t really…”

Franklin flipped the back of his hand in the air-a light dismissive gesture. “Give it to your church, or the food bank. But not to us.”

Her smile, still no more than a fold in the puffy marshmallow of her face widened a little, pulling her eyes closed. The girl needed a cold shower. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

“No worries”, Franklin said. “Now show.”

That opened her eyes. She glanced at both, then stood and turned her back slowly. They didn’t want her to show them her ass, they wanted her to present her bottom and reveal the evidence of their shared evening. She leaned over placing one hand on the table, then dropping her eyes to the floor, pulled her robe up with the other slowly-not stopping until it was draped over her back.

The golden morning sun bathed Bethany’s bottom. The left cheek showed some pink tinges from the night before with most of the bruising that she particularly liked to carry with her for a day or two at least, was concentrated on the right side where the end of the cane bit. Rebecca frowned at that knowing Franklin would not be pleased.

“Very nice”, Franklin pronounced and Bethany straightened allowing the robe to fall. She turned to face them again but the robe had loosened and draped slightly open. She ignored it and instead ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back away from her face.

“What do you have on tap for today?” Franklin asked her.

“Oh…not much. I left today open. I’ll be out of here right away”, she added quickly.

“No need to rush. In fact, no need to leave. Why don’t you hang here today? We both have errands to run that will tie us up most of the day so you’ll have the run of the place. Hang by the pool, use the sauna-hot tub. The gym…Make it like a vacation day. A spa day. What do you think, honey?”

Rebecca had been distracted and wasn’t really paying close attention but answered, “Sure” quickly.

“There is one…condition though”, Franklin said.

“What would that be?”

“You have to be naked. All day.”

“All day?”

“Yep. Pool’s secluded, deck…I want you haunting my house a bare ghost while we’re away…and it probably won’t be all, all day-we’ll be back in the afternoon.”

“Deal” she said. “I could use a spa day. Thank you.”

“Excellent. But…uh. It starts now.”

“Starts?”

“The naked part.”

Bethany’s eyes sparkled as she bit her lower lip and slowly opened the robe slipping it over one shoulder then the other. It fell to the floor as she raised her arms beside her in a silent “TA-DA!” Her young breasts clung tightly to her rib cage and flat stomach tapered to the tight black thatch that Rebecca, leaning against the sink, could still feel in her mouth.

Then, like a girl off to school, Bethany kissed them both on the cheek and walked out feeling the four eyes on her bruised bottom.

“Did you see…”

“I saw.”

“Do you need a refresher on proper caning technique?”

“No!” she said too quickly suddenly nervous. “No…I don’t…I just got carried away.” The silence hung and she felt a need to break it-to further plead her case. “I was too…God, excited….”

“You were too excited. That’s OK. Just remember it’s her you need to be concerned about. Once she is getting everything she needs, just how she needs it, you can give in to your own needs. Right?”

“Of course, right. I’m sorry…” After what she thought was an appropriate pause, she asked “Did we talk about not taking her money anymore?”

He made that dismissive flipping motion with his hand again. “Only three of the bills were real.”

“Really? Were they hers, like you said?”

“No. Better than hers. She is good. But whoever did those bills is an artist.” He slid off into thought for a moment.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“To be determined, sweetheart. To be determined…” his voice trailed a moment then he perked up as if remembering something. “All in due time. But for now-some correction is in order.”

“Please Franklin…”

“And as I’ve got to get to the airport it’s going to have to be corner time for you.”

“Franklin…” she whined.

“Set your phone for 15 minutes and put your nose over there…” he pointed unnecessarily to the designated corner that she knew too well.

“I’m late as it is. You know how Charla….”

“As I said, set your phone for 20 minutes and put your nose over there.”

She crossed her arms over her chest loosely and looked at him; more pleading than glaring.

“Twenty minutes going once….going twice.”

“Alright”, she huffed, knowing that 30 minutes in the corner would be more than she could stand.

She moved to her spot and got her nose close enough to the walls that her breath bounced back and washed over her face. She set her phone for twenty minutes and placed it on the counter. Then, with a sigh she could feel, unsnapped and lowered her jeans. Then her underwear. They clung above her knees as she let her arms dangle. That was the bitch-what to do with her hands for twenty minutes.

She felt Franklin’s breath on her neck. “Bethany has a sweet bum”, he whispered to the back of her head. “You have a magnificent ass!”

“You know what Charla’s going to do to it if she catches me waltzing in late again.”

“I love you in stripes baby”, he whispered, patting her fulsome cheek.

A Different Level of Naked

Picks up after “Liz Needs a Soak and More…”

She sat on the bed in only her blouse and panties. She was moving slowly; as if any sudden movements would provoke him.

“They weren’t kids!” he said sharply. “Kids are short pants and juice boxes-these are men.”

“Students…”

His voice froze her. “Are you going to fight me on this?”

What “this” did he mean? The point that Bob and Frank were kids and not really men-which she knew she couldn’t win. Or did he mean was she going to fight him on what was feeling like the inevitable outcome of this scolding. Which is what this had turned into. She hadn’t told him everything she had done with the boys-thankfully-but just the thought that she had gone to their house alone, without alerting him to where she was, was a serious breach of the understanding that they shared. She didn’t look up, watching his feet as he moved around the bedroom. He was wearing the black ankle boots that she had bought him online.

“I’ll give you your Black Belts-and I know you can handle yourself and you could probably do more to these guys than just beat their asses. I know that. But dammit-you are supposed to call or text. You can’t go into these unknown situations without me knowing where you are. Right?”

She was silent.

“Right?” he asked again.

“You’re right”, she said studying the grain in the hardwood floor. He was right.

Sitting on the end of the bed with her blonde hair curtaining her downcast face, she was the picture of contrition. And submission. John’s eyes moved from the crown of her head to the white on white faux tuxedo shirt she was wearing. He hadn’t seen it before and knew that tucked into her jeans it would accent her broad swimmer’s shoulders and flat midriff. Now though, the tail covered her lap and his eyes ran down her long thighs to her bare feet. He loved her feet-he had bathed them and massaged them-even kissed them when the mood and game called for it but he had no illusions about them. She had kicked him once in sparring-a reverse crescent kick to his headgear-that brought on the stars even though she had pulled the kick. The woman was a weapon. Truthfully, he would have loved to be a fly on a wall if those guys had tried anything with her.

But still, rules were rules-and they had so few of them these days. He knew she was waiting on his word. All he had to do was order it and she would roll over onto her belly and push down her panties and take what he gave her.

She watched his feet. They were in front of her and not moving toward the cabinet where they kept the equipment. The fluttering in her chest that flickered to life when a punishment seemed imminent settled into her stomach but went no lower.  There was always a tingle between her legs when a spanking was in the offing. Whether it was a punishment paddling, a caning or a slap and tickle over the knee hand spanking she could count on the tingle which would grow into a quiver, then a tremor until finally a roar as her chastisement escalated. Now however, she was sexually sated-there was nothing left between her legs to pull her into the warm little world of comfort and security where a spanking always took her. Being spanked after an orgasm-much less three of them-erased the sexuality and made it more about just getting your butt beat. It was like a whole different level of nakedness.

His boots clicked away across the floor and she heard the cabinet door open. “Dammit!” she thought. Even the worst paddlings she had taken ended had ended in some kind of sex. This one wouldn’t. “Dammit!” she thought again. She reached up to unbutton her blouse. She would take it off so it wouldn’t wrinkle as she lay over the bed, or his lap, or whatever he wanted. She thought about which paddle he would bring over and didn’t want to look up to see it. Sitting at dinner would be a bitch. Why hadn’t she just texted?

He stood in front of her and she looked up, her eyes lidded and dull. His dark brown eyes sparkled and danced with an electricity that jumped at her. “I want you to wear this tonight.” He was holding out a small silver chain with a cross that looked to have been made of repurposed nails. “One of my tenants makes these…I think they’re pretty cool.”

It was roughly beautiful as far as she could see but the welling in her eyes blurred all the edges. Behind the hand that held the cross she caught John’s wicked smile. Liz sprung to her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You bastard”, she breathed in relief before she closed her mouth over his.

“Come on now”, he said pulling away after a few moist moments. “Get dressed-I’m starved.”

Now she felt that tingle.