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"Enough," he snapped. "Lower your voice or I'll give you the spanking you deserve right here."

She balked. "As if. You don't have the balls…"

"Bloody hell." In a flash, he had his foot propped up on the nearest ledge and Jane bent over his thigh. Her arms were twisted behind her back, her wrists clamped in one hand. "Silence, Miss Templeton." His flattened palm landed on her curved cheek.

"Hey, ow." She struggled to get free.

"I said silence. Hold still," he commanded with a flurry of swats. His hand was beginning to sting. Even though she was protected by a layer of denim and presumably some sort of knickers her arse probably was too. He wished he were able to watch her cheeks turn that spectacular shade of red and feel the heat radiating from her smarting flesh. That she'd pushed him to administer her first spanking today, here, prematurely, instead of as he'd planned infuriated him even more than her childish disregard of common sense. He clipped her harder.

"Stop. Oh God, stop or I'll scream," she gasped, squirming in a futile attempt to avoid the blows.

"No. You won't. You know that as well as I do because you would have already done so were you going to." His hand flew ceaselessly.

"Please," she whimpered, crying openly. "Please. Don't."

The haze of anger faded enough for him to realise that her reaction was changing. At first, Jane had fought to escape and to shift away from his hand. She had been rigid with fear and demanding he release her. Now however, her entire demeanour was altered. He became more methodical with his slaps and was thrilled with how her hips shifted as if seeking more. Moans interrupted her sobs. She continued to beg, softly now, but for him to continue instead of to stop.

"Are you ready to be reasonable?" he asked, pausing the spanking to caress her curves.

His voice seemed to draw her from the trance and Jane stiffened immediately. "You bastard! Let me go."

Renewed fury surged through him and he resumed her punishment. "Language, Miss Templeton," he repeated. "I won't tolerate it." He emphasised his words with a few strategically placed smacks. "If I need to remind you again, I'll thrash your bare arse no matter where we are." His thumb grazed the seam of her jeans covering her slit. "I can feel your wetness through your trousers. I can't wait to witness it unhindered."

 

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"Stop thinking. Concentrate on your body instead." One hand returned to my bare pussy, petting, rubbing, stroking. "You're aroused. Look at your nipples," he paused until I did, seeing the truth in their puckered state. "Your pussy is already wet just from that little bit of attention. It wants more. You want more. I'm here, hon. I know what you need. And I will give it to you. Oh yeah, I can give you exactly what you need. I can help you. I want to help you. I can make you feel what you've been missing all these years. I know how." His thumb traced my slit but didn't part it. "But not until you say it. Not until you tell me this is what you want. Not unless you ask me to help you." A fraction deeper but no where near deep enough. I moaned. "It's up to you. You have to say it or nothing more will happen tonight. You have to tell me you're putting yourself in my hands, that you want me to teach you how to find pleasure." The movement ceased, his palm resting on my mound, poised to continue if I actually found the courage to do what we both knew I desired.

"Please," I said in a small voice.

"Please what?"

"Please. P-please help me. Show me what it's like," I pleaded. I waited but he didn't respond. He merely stared with one eyebrow raised, silently demanding that I continue. "Please teach me to feel. Teach me about pleasure and passion. Do whatever it takes so I can finally get it. Give me what I need. Please help me. Oh please," I practically sobbed.

"You're sure? You're turning yourself over to me willingly, knowing that if you do, I will be intimately acquainted with your entire body by the time we're finished here?"

"Yes, I understand all that. Yes, I'm giving myself to you completely," I said, hearing myself, wanting what I was asking for yet not quite believing I was about to do what I was about to do. "I'm putting myself in your hands because, I trust you to take care of me."

His expression was pure satisfaction. I responded correctly and he was pleased. Until then, I hadn't realised how important that had become, but apparently it was. Very much so. And, my actually having done so made me feel proud of myself. So proud I would have giggled with glee had he not chosen that second to curl his fingers, cupping my mound firmly. I gasped, my eyes blinking between his hand and his face.

"Flat on your back now," he said. "You'll be able to feel what I'm doing so there's no need to watch."

I hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at his wife. For a moment, I let myself get so caught up in everything that I all but forgot she was there, that she even existed at all. Now that I was on the brink of having sex with her husband I was suddenly panicked at what she must think of me. Surely, she thought me a real tramp, a total slut, begging for it, offering myself up for anything and everything right in front of her.

"I told you to stop thinking," he snapped. "If you want my attention then keep yours on me."