5 comments/ 14447 views/ 5 favorites It Is Getting Clearer By: blondechristine2012 Author's note: This follow on to 'Where is this Leading' that was recently published. It might be best to read that first, but this does stand alone as an erotic tale. I do not apologise for using the same opening in this as I did in that. I could hardly believe it. I had never been 'into older men' yet here I was just a year after my divorce in bed with Jon who was older than my dad. Yes, Jon was well into his fifties, maybe even early sixties. That did not, though, stop him being an amazingly good fuck and probably the most interesting man I had slept with and maybe had ever known. He was an actor. Not tremendously successful, but a face that when seen in a film or on TV, would make many people say, "I know him who is he?" Recently though, he had not had much acting work. He had become rather old fashioned and there were just too many actors around with his looks, acting style and voice. He had become known as, what all in the profession dread, unfashionable. Fortunately, he had done a voice over for a kids TV programme and had taken a percentage of the take. As luck would have it that became a computer game and he has made a stack from that. He was not the most attractive of men. He was balding, somewhat overweight and was probably no more than five feet six or seven. None of that was of concern to me. I do not choose my men on looks or physique. What is between their ears is far more important to me than what they have between their legs or how they look. To earn the additional money he needed to maintain his fairly lavish lifestyle, as well as paying for his three ex-wives, he did some lecturing at the college I was attending as a mature student and we immediately hit it off. That was mainly due to me having produced at university the Joe Orton classic play "What the Butler Saw." Jon had once starred in that and had a love for it as I did. So, after one of his, highly entertaining, very interesting and really quite motivational lectures, he asked me about my production. That led to me staying behind chatting to him about it. That led to us having a drink in a wine bar down the street, near to the British Museum. That led to us agreeing to have dinner a few days later. That led to him fucking me in his flat in Camden Town and that led to......................... well read on and you will find out. * I had never really been into pain as part of sex. Of course there had been the odd bite or suck that was a little too hard and sometimes my ex, during our twenty years together had applied too much pressure when squeezing my breasts or pinching my nipples, but nothing severe and certainly nothing that had been planned. With Jon, my mature actor lover, it was the fact that it was planned that created the huge expectancy and anticipation. That was added to by the unknown. How it would go, what would happen, how he would do it and just how much pain there would be for me? I found those the most intriguing aspects as I had waited the few days for it to happen. Was it really going to happen, I asked myself several times? Was I really looking forward to being hurt, being smacked or spanked? I was not quite sure which was the more evocative word. The one that made my pulse race more as it came into my mind. Which was it, spanked or smacked, that gave me the stronger jolt when I thought to myself? 'He's going to spank me.' 'He's going to smack my naked bottom.' Jon was going to do that not only because he was into BDSM, but also because I had asked him to. During those few days between agreeing to it and now getting ready for it, I had said such things to myself many times. Sitting in front of my laptop as good as naked, masturbating myself and admitting to Jon that I enjoyed the mild smacking he had done so far, I had thought of little else. Since my divorce I had become interested in the more deviant aspects of sex, although I had experienced very little. My interest had started when I was cruising round the net when I was waiting for my divorce. Obviously, Fifty Shades helped, poorly written book though it was, and I watched a film called The Secretary with Maggie Gyllenhaal. For a time, it seemed that practically everywhere I looked people were being spanked, women were wearing nipple clamps and just anyone who was anyone had a butt plug. From the moment I had said to him, "Oh Jon I want you to spank me. I want you to spank my bottom," it had become in my mind a totally accepted fact that he would do just that. Before I met him, it would have been an outrageous proposition, but now it was becoming an inevitability, I suppose. "There are a couple of things you need to do before you arrive at my house," Jon had told me on his mobile as he was driven by private car from Heathrow. I could hardly hear him for he was whispering, presumably to avoid the driver hearing him "Ok, what's that?" I had asked. "But could you speak up a bit please?" "I'll call back in half hour or so, had said rather curtly. When he called back, he was speaking at his usual volume. He had a rich deep voice that I am sure has talked him into many women's knickers, including mine. "It's theatre Chrissy, sex is all about theatre, role-playing and acting." "Is it?" I asked enjoying as I always did his flights of fancy, but not really believing him and seeing it as just another branch of his seduction technique "Yes to get the maximum from it we have to go outside our normal roles, we have to be someone else. Like actors, we have to lose our inhibitions, do things we would not dream of when unaroused and ask for whatever our heart, prick or cunt desires' I found his rambling narratives fascinating and I hung onto his every word. I had got used to him using such basic words and fortunately he used them appropriately and not as adjectives or as derogatory descriptions; I hate anyone being described as a cunt! "Put your hair into pigtails for me and wear little make up." "What? Er, um why?" "You need to look and feel as young as possible." I did not really understand why, but I went along with his requests. On the tube from Loughton via the Bank to Camden Town and on the short cab ride to his house, though, I did wear a hat so I could hide the pigtails that otherwise would have hung down my back well past my shoulders. I had not worn my hair like this for such a long time and it was actually quite good fun pleating it. I had showered and had washed, and dried my shoulder-length, blonde hair. I was sitting, dressed just in my panties, in front of my dressing table mirror carefully weaving my hair into the schoolgirl type plaits. When both were finished and I had put tight rubber bands around the ends, I glanced in the mirror. It would be rather illusory of me to think that the hairstyle had taken years off me, I just wish it had, but I think it made me look younger than my forty-five years. For some reason that I did not understand, the young girl look of the plaits with the clearly womanly look of my bare breasts gave me quite a sexual jolt. I began to see what Jon meant about playing roles! "Let yourself in," he said when I called him from the cab. "Go to that small back bedroom on the first floor and you'll find what you have to wear there. It's all lying on the bed or hanging up next to it. There is everything you need so don't wear anything you've got on now. Is that clear Chrissy?" "Yes Jon," I replied quietly not wanting the cab driver to hear me. "Did you manage the pigtails and remember no make up?" "Yes, yes I did," I mumbled very quietly feeling very embarrassed even though there was no way the cabbie could have heard anything. "Fantastic. So when you are dressed, and ready and do take your time come to the back room in the basement where I will be waiting for you. Now that the time was as good as here for the cab was pulling into the road where he live, I did begin to feel very nervous. Nervous about perhaps being hurt and having to take the pain that was clearly an essential aspect of corporal punishment. Nervous about the contrived, almost cold-hearted way he had arranged this and nervous about whether that would reduce the pleasure. After all I had always had my best sex when events happened spontaneously. And nervous also about my reactions and whether I would get the kicks I expected and Jon promised. Maybe most nervous, though, at the slightly deviant nature of this particular aspect of sex. I was intentionally moving away from mainstream sex and was welcoming Jon in pushing out my boundaries. I was going further than I had been before. That also made me nervous for I wondered whether it would mean that if I didn't like what I found, I might not be able to revert to "normal" sex? I thought that I would probably be ok for I had handled my forays into girl/girl sex quite well and despite now having quite a few experiences with a three different women I had not become a lesbian or a penis hater. Hanging up beside the bed on a coat hanger was a blouse and a skirt. It was a white cotton blouse with a collar and buttons right up the front. A short, pleated skirt with a that was little like a kilt with red, blue and green the predominant colours. As I picked it up I could feel that the plaid wasn't as heavy as the real tartan, in fact it was quite lightweight. Holding it against me, it came no further than half way down my thighs. There was a pair of white, lacy-topped hold-ups and a pair of silver strappy, mid height heeled shoes. The only other piece of clothing was a pair of panties. There was no bra. The panties were full and high waisted. So from that perspective they were modern. I picked them up and held my hand inside them. Being made of a pink, loose weave net, I suppose it was, they were as good as completely see through. I was getting into it. I was understanding more and more what Jon had said about CP being a ritual as he has when we had agreedto dothis. Dressing quickly I felt shivers of expectancy going through me as I was transformed. Transformed from an approaching middle age, conventional, business woman in her forties to a young girl looking rebel who was about to have her arse smacked and then Lord knows what done to it. I had not seen the mirror until I was dressed for he had hung the coat hanger holding the blouse and skirt over it. I guessed that was intentional by him that I wouldn't see it until I was deressed. And I was also sure it was equally as intentional that I should then look at myself in the nearly full-length mirror. It was all part of the ritual, an essential aspect of the ceremony and role-play, I realised with excitement. My heart pounded when I saw myself in the mirror. I knew that in some ways I would look ridiculous. I am, I was very aware, simply too old to carry off the look Jon was seeking other than in the special circumstances he was creating. But in those circumstances my appearance excited me. The cotton blouse was not of a very high quality. The material was thin and looked and felt as though it was old, well-worn and had been washed too often. With all the buttons done up it did though fit me well. It was trim across my back and whilst it showed the outline of my boobs it did not cling to them overly tightly. However, when I moved the jiggle of each orb under the material was very obvious indeed. As, of course, were the dark shadows of my areola and the strong protuberances of my nipples that were trying hard and largely succeeding I saw in the mirror to make mountains out of molehills. Standing up straight the hem of the skirt did, just about, cover my stocking tops. However, when I bent or leaned forward past about forty five degrees it didn't. No at that degree of tilt I really did flash them, A few more degrees and the patch of skin between them and my panties was also revealed. And when I bent so my waist was at ninety degrees as I imagined it might be be when Jon spanked, me the skirt rode up so that most of the pink, net panties could be seen. If his intention with the clothes and the mirror was to stimulate, excite and arouse me and make me even more amenable to the forthcoming spanking then he most definitely succeeded. My hands were shaking, my knees were probably knocking and I know my breasts were wobbling and jiggling all over the place as I walked down the stairs to the formidable sounding basement. I opened the door and was part relieved and part frightened to see that the room was very dimly lit. "Come in Chrissy," I heard Jon say. Trying hard to accustom my eyes to the low light, I walked into the sizeable room. I had only been in it once before when Jon had given me the guided tour of his large rambling house that. I couldn't see him but when he spoke again I realised he was standing behind the door. "Go to the centre of the room Chrissy and stand there," he said. I did as he asked noting that the room was windowless, which was not surprising considering it was a basement. It was about twenty feet square with a large, low, modern bed at one end off to my right and a table at the other end to my left. In the middle of the room where I had been told to stand there was a single, straight backed dining chair. There was a door alongside the bed. Glancing around I could see that the bed had black, silk or satin sheets with the top one turned back as if inviting someone to get in. Looking the other way I saw that the table had some items on it that, at first, I could not make out. As my eyes became acclimatised to the dark I began to see what they were. There were several bottles that looked as if they contained oils and others that appeared to hold lotions. There was a pile of towels or flannels and a large ceramic bowl that looked as though it held water. Looking closer, I saw two vibrators, one black the other gold. And then I saw the cane. The cane that could only have one purpose. The cane that could only have one intent. The cane that was there to hurt and then pleasure. The cane that I had never thought about before. The cane that there and then, I think, I fell in love with. It seemed so right. It seemed to be perfect. It was what I had been searching for. What I needed, what I wanted, what I so utterly desired. And to think I had never really even thought about it before. Not until I saw the two feet of bamboo with a hooked end hanging from the table. Not until that moment did I realise the dormant need that had been lying in me. Not until the cane that Jon had placed so cleverly so it was staring at me did I realise that it was my ultimate. My total desire. My one wish and need. I knew then looking at that cane that my life had from that moment intrinsically changed. "Stand still for me Chrissy. Just let me look at you," the still unseen Jon said to me. Hands clasped in front of me I did as he asked. Not speaking, standing perfectly still, dressed in the, on one hand, somewhat ludicrous get up yet, on the other, a provocatively sexual, outfit I waited. He took his time saying nothing and as far as I could tell not moving. It was a little unnerving to stand there simply being stared at by the man who was going to spank and smack me. I wondered what was going through his mind, what he was thinking about as he looked at me? As looked at me clad in the clothes that combined the innocence of a young girl with experience of a woman. The pigtails of youth with the unfettered breasts of maturity. The blouse and skirt of the playground with the stockings and panties of the bedroom. His inspection seemed to go on for ages and more and more now, I realised what he meant by his comments about the ritual. "Well done Chrissy, you look perfect," I heard him say, feeling rather than seeing, him move silently across the room so he was next to me. I had been a little concerned as to what his 'uniform' would be. What the ceremonial garb was for a spanker? I had half thought he might blow it all for me by wearing something totally outrageous, like a mask, or cape or, heaven forbid, a leather thong. I am pretty sure that had he worn any of those or anything too contrived, say a headmaster's gown and mortarboard, I would have laughed and, despite the heightened state of arousal that the proceedings had so far caused for me, I would be unable to continue. Although sexual acts can be fun I don't think they work when they become ridiculous. I should not have been surprised when I saw that he was not wearing anything outrageous. The long, dark coloured, silk dressing gown that Jon was wearing was perfect. It had plunging lapels, so that a wide and deep expanse of his quite hairy chest with dark hairs sprinkled with grey could be seen. There were no buttons just a tie round his waist so a slight tug on that and it would open and his, I assumed, total nudity would be shown to me. I smiled and murmured. "You don't look so bad yourself Jon." He didn't reply but slowly walked round me looking at me from all angles. His appearance and his gaze on me rekindled my arousal and as I stood there, I could feel my nipples hardening again. That's something that often I don't realise has happened until perhaps a man's staring will raise my suspicions sufficiently for me to glance down and see the two organ stop like lumps poking out from my swimsuit or whatever it is I am wearing. This time, though, I was acutely aware that the thin, nearly see through, cotton blouse was struggling unsuccessfully to hide the eruption going on in my chest. I glanced down and the bumps were both larger and more obvious than had imagined and looking up I saw that Jon was also staring at them. "Chrissy's having some naughty thoughts isn't she?" He asked. "Er yes, yes she is." I replied. "And young girls like Chrissy shouldn't have such thoughts should she?" "No, no Jon they shouldn't," I heard myself replying as I slipped into the role of being a young girl. I had not for one moment thought that we would get into a role-play and that was just as well for that was also something that I would have thought was just a little bit too silly. However, it seemed to come so naturally and far from being ridiculous, adopting such a role seemed natural and was, I have to admit, exciting. "No Chrissy," he went on, his gaze roaming unrestrained all over my body sending even more tingles of desire through me. "Young girls shouldn't have naughty thoughts should they?" "No Jon they shouldn't." "Because when they have naughty thoughts things happen to them don't they?" "Yes, yes they do," I replied seeing quite clearly the silk robe moving as his erection grew. "Things that are happening to you now aren't they?" "Yes." "And what is happening to you Chrissy? What is happening to your young girl's body?" I did not reply for a moment not sure what he wanted me to say. "You can tell me Chrissy, you can tell me anything," he went on standing so close I could smell the Dior aftershave he always wore. Glancing down I could clearly see the outline of his hard cock under the thin material and it took a superhuman effort on my part to resist reaching out and grabbing it. I wanted to so badly, but thought it would probably mess up the 'ceremony!' "My nipples are getting hard," I said in a whisper now totally into the role-play. "Are you wet as well Chrissy?" he asked. "Yes Jon, yes I think I am," I responded not really knowing whether I was or not. "And that's also very naughty isn't it?" "Yes, yes it is." "And when young girls are naughty they have to be punished. They have to be chastised and taught to be good, don't they Chrissy?" "Yes Jon they do." "And you've been very naughty with your thoughts and your breasts and your pussy haven't you?" "I have." It Is Getting Clearer "That means Chrissy that you have to be punished. How should I punish you do you think?" "I don't know, I've never been punished like this before." "Then you should think deeper little girl and tell Jon what you think he should do to help you and punish you at the same time." I looked into his eyes, then meaningfully down to his crotch and then back into his eyes, which were very alive and gleaming. "I think you should spank me," I whispered to him. "Where Chrissy, where should I spank you?" "On my bottom, you should spank me on my bottom." His voice thick with arousal he said. "Yes, yes Chrissy I will spank your bottom. Go and stand behind that chair." I did as he said. "Hold the back of it with both hands." I did. "Move backwards a little." I shuffled back a foot or so. "Now Chrissy you have to bend forward." I did. "Further Chrissy, further." I leaned forward further just as I had in front of the mirror upstairs. "Further Chrissy further." I knew that from where he was standing behind me he would now be able to see my stocking tops. As I obeyed his latest order and bent even further forward until my upper body was almost at ninety degrees to my lower body and legs, I knew that he would see the patch of skin above the stockings. "Rest your head on your hands on the back of the chair Chrissy." As I did that, I knew the short, kilt-like skirt would ride further up my legs. He would now be able to see all of my straightened, slightly parted legs, the seamed, white lacy topped stockings, the skin above them and, probably the lower part of my bottom clad in the pink, net panties that were now likely to be soaked. Again, he made me wait. Again, he said nothing. Again, he walked round me inspecting my body from all angles. And again, my body and mind were consumed by sexual sensations and thoughts. As he walked past my face I could see the outline of his erection, which really was like the proverbial flagpole under the silk dressing gown. As he moved, so the edges of the robe would open and I'd see expanses of his bare legs. As he stood before me, I saw that the waist of the robe had loosened a little under the tie and the lapels were wider apart showing more of his chest. The waiting, the anticipation, Jon staring at my legs and , bottom, and me looking at him combined marvellously to arouse me to a level I don't think I'd been at before, without at least being touched. Still, though he had not touched me. That I guessed was also part of the ritual. He knew what I wanted and knew that making me wait would make me want it even more; he was absolutely correct. Naturally, since we had agreed to do this a few days ago, I had some doubts and concerns. Getting ready and travelling here, I had not been totally sure about it. Also, when changing into the young girl's clothes and taking on that role in this dimly lit basement room there was, inevitably I think, some trepidation. After all, it was a very big step. But everything he'd done so far, all the deeds and the words gave me more and more assurance that what I had agreed to was right for me. And try as I might I could not get the cane out of my mind, which is not surprising as the fucking thing was staring at me like a beacon. I was starting to appreciate all the trappings. The slow build up. The stripping away, albeit only temporarily, of my own personality, even my age. The staring and the lack of fervid activity. The way the cane hung from the table. The gradual exposure of the epicentre of what this was all about, my bottom, and the way he so evidently displayed his appreciation to me. They were all details. Small parts of the whole thing. Small maybe but each in their way essential to the performance we were enacting. Then there was another action that was small in some ways, but gargantuan in others. Jon stood behind and just to one side of me. He stood very close, almost touching my hip. Almost but not quite. I could not see what he was doing, but then I felt the lightest of pressure on the short skirt. The gentlest of touches that was almost imperceptible. But without doubt I knew that he was touching the skirt. And then, I felt it being lifted. Felt it by the weight being lifted from my bottom and by the very slight touch of the cool air on the backs of my thighs. I am not at all sure that I have the composing and describing skills to put into words what I felt. What I felt as I realised for sure he was lifting my skirt up and away from my bum. As he lifted it then pulled it over the curves of my bottom. As he rolled it up so it was bunched round my waist. As he exposed my bottom to his gaze. My bottom that was covered in just the tight, diaphanous material. The pink, see-through net panties. The gossamer like knickers that I knew hid nothing of me at all I could feel the thudding of my heart, the racing of my pulses and the panting of my breath as I knew his gaze would be taking in every detail. The waistband of the panties that ran from hip to hip. The thin skirt bunched above that. The stretched material of the panties showing the deep crevice between my slightly opened cheeks. And of course the plumpness of my blood engorged lips that would be glistening with my female secretions. All of my most private and personal places were under his scrutiny. The merest touch, a slight more excitement, a gesture or a light caress would have been enough to have made me cum, so emotionally aroused was I as I played my full part in the ceremony. But of course he knew exactly what he was doing. After all he had written the script and was both the producer and director. So he didn't touch or caress me, but once more made me wait as he stared. It really is the most excruciatingly pleasurable, but at the same time, enormously frustrating thing. To be wanting something to happen and to know that it's going to, but for it to be continually delayed. It was so atmosphere building, so mood creating and so integral to everything else that I realised it was the perfect way to groom me. I jumped with surprise when he spoke. It seemed to have been ages since either of us had said anything. But then we had both got so many other things on our minds that there was not room for talking as well. Irrespective of that, the words would have been a surprise in any case. They would have given me a jolt whatever they were. But when I heard him calmly and slowly, though a little hoarsely say. "I am going to pull your knickers down now Chrissy." I nearly fainted with the surge of sexual excitement that gave me. "Oh my God," I gasped. "Yes Jon, yes." "Yes Jon what?" He asked his fingers sliding just inside the elastic of the waistband. "Take my panties down, please Jon take them down," I heard myself pleading, even though I could hardly believe what I was saying. "Yes Chrissy your panties have to come down so I can spank your bare bottom, don't they?" "Yes, oh yes," I groaned as I felt him slowly rolling them down. Rolling them down the flat part of the back of my waist, over the bulbousness of my hips, and onto and then over the roundness of the cheeks of my bottom. They were half way down my cheeks meaning that half the crease between them would now be bared meaning that the entrance to my anus would also be bare. I was shivering with expectancy, sexual desire and the anticipation of my first spanking. "You have a glorious bottom Chrissy," he said as he ran his fingertips over it. "Just think how beautiful it will be when I've spanked it and it's all warm and stinging and, of course, beautifully pink. Can you imagine it Chrissy?" "Yes Jon, yes I can," I groaned as the vision of my bottom spanked to a deep pink filled my mind. He stroked and softly caressed all over each cheek running his fingers between them, hovering by and then pressing fairly firmly right on my bum hole. That made me grunt and I squirmed a little fearing he was going to slip his finger inside me. I did not want that, it would just be too much and would, without doubt, make me cum. He tugged them a little more so that the waist band was now beneath the bottom of each cheek a little way down my thighs. I could feel the gusset sticking to me and knew that the wetness would cause that. I also knew that now everything I had was exposed to his wonderfully lustful gaze. I visualised the view he had of me. My opened legs in the white, lacy-topped, seamed stockings. My breasts were hanging down, their weight pressing the meaty flesh against the thin, worn cotton. The plaid skirt bunched around my waist and my body bent at ninety degrees at the waist. My bum, my cheeks, my anal entry and my wet lips were all there for him to see. "It's time Chrissy," he said slowly and quietly sending a chill through me. I was scared yet so excited as he went on. "It's time for you to be spanked Chrissy," he went on stroking my bum. "Stand up, but make sure your panties stay exactly where they are." I did as he asked not understanding why he wanted the panties to be half way down my thighs, as opposed to off my legs completely. He walked round the chair and sat on it. Signalling to me to stand next to him he said very thickly. "Lie across my knees Chrissy, I need you across my lap." I looked from his face to the bulge in his dressing gown that was now almost open and then to his lap. I had thought he'd have started spanking me when I was standing up bent over but then I saw that being put across his knee was all part of the process, the ritual and the ceremony. Almost kneeling and resting my hand on his silk covered leg to help me balance I lowered myself down across his lap. His knees pressed into my waist just beneath my breasts, although the side of the uppermost leg, his left, was pressing into the bottoms of them. I reached one of my arms out before me and downwards and managed to grip the leg of the chair just as once more he went through the slow motion movement of raising my skirt up to bare my bottom. We were so near now. I knew it and he knew it too. I could feel the tension in both our bodies as he again stroked my buttocks sending shudders of pleasure and excitement through me. My bottom has always been fairly sensitive but I had never realised just how much until now. There was no warning. He gave no hint. There was no sign that we had begun. There was no indication that my 'punishment' was underway. He didn't tell me that he was going to smack me. He did nothing to warn me that he was starting to spank me. I didn't hear anything and of course I couldn't see or feel anything. I think it was the sound that made the most immediate impact on me. Thwack, I heard, before I felt anything. The sound of the smack rang in my ear before any feelings. He hit me twice in quick succession once on each cheek. I was still hearing the sounds of the two smacks when he stopped and gently ran his fingertips over where the blows had landed. As the stinging started, so he rubbed each cheek a little harder. As he did that, so the relatively modest pain coincided with the rather nice sensations his hands were producing on my bottom. I was just getting used to his caresses when again, with no warning, I heard the thwack and felt the pain. It was a little more acute this time. There was also more smacks, five, six, seven, I counted. And I felt that they were harder, firmer and quicker. It seemed as though he was carefully deciding where to hit me, for by now every part of my buttocks had been smacked. I was hurting, everywhere was burning and stinging, I was in pain and beginning to worry that spanking and corporal punishment may not be for me. I thought that I might start to cry. There was no pleasure, I was starting to think, just discomfort. Each smack made me cry out with pain. I squirmed on his lap. I moaned and grunted as the smacks landed all over my cheeks and the tops of my thighs. I was getting a little worried. The stinging pain was more than I had envisaged and it suddenly hit me that Jon could really hurt me. Up until I had met this fascinating older man I am pretty sure I would have got up and ended the session to avoid being hurt too much. With Jon, though, that did not enter my head. I knew that he knew what he was doing and I trusted him and that was important to me and, I realised, to what we were doing. But then, just as a few sobs escaped from my lips, he stopped. Again I felt his hands so gently and softly running over the places where he had just been spanking me. The combination of the sensations I had been gaining from being hurt with those he was now giving were unique in my experience. Heat, softness, stinging, tenderness, pain, excitement, anticipation, concern and pleasure were all rushing through me. I'd never experienced so many differing emotions and sensations at the same time. I was now squirming and moving my body for other reasons. For reasons that were all to do with arousal, and strong sexual arousal at that. But the sexual arousal was not merely coming from his fingers that were softly roaming all over my bottom. No, I wasn't becoming hugely turned on just by his caresses. It was also, actually mostly I think, the thrills I'd got from the spanking. The emotions I felt from being under his control. The sensations I gained from being held captive-like over his lap together with the fervid anticipation of more to come. Yes, all that combined with his sublimely, tender touch, were building up, what I was certain would be a massive orgasm. The rather orderly position we had started in had changed. His legs had opened and the gown had fallen away from them. My squirming and movements had flipped some of the buttons undone on the blouse. His caresses were no longer being restricted to my thighs and bottom but were now covering my back and neck and head as well. He'd pushed the blouse up at the back so that was bunched around my shoulders. My left side, just above my waist, was pressed firmly against his erection or, I suddenly thought, was his erection pressed firmly against my side? And one of my breasts had slipped out from the blouse. More blows, more thwacks, more smacks and spanks. More stinging and warmth, more pain and tingling. More caresses, more excitement, more anticipation and yet even more pleasure. His gown had fallen open. My breasts were dangling down alongside his leg the naked skin of both rubbing together. His penis was bare. It was rock hard, hot and pressed against me just beneath my boobs. It felt glorious and I squirmed eagerly against it. Alternating the cheeks and the positions on my bottom that he smacked, Jon continued my induction into corporal punishment in the most wonderful way for. Ten minutes, twenty or half an hour? I had no idea. Time along with everything else other than the magnificence of the feelings and the sensations ceased to exist. I was now cumming; cumming continuously. It wasn't one of those orgasms that, like a firework rocket, explodes into being, roars up and then dies. This was different to that. Different to any orgasm I'd had before. Of course there were all the similar feelings; tingling everywhere, warmth rushing from my pussy to every part of my body, heaviness in my breasts and a searing ache in my nipples. It was all those and more. Each sensation was accentuated. It was as if I was on a mind expanding, acid-like drug. And it just went on and on and on. There was no peak or crescendo, simply a steady, fast flowing, stream of emotions and sensations that kept me at the very pinnacle of sexual arousal. Events now, however, were nowhere near as organised and orderly as earlier. They couldn't be, it would just not be possible for the two of us, as excited as we had made each other, to continue in that fashion. Although Jon continued smacking me it was less powerful now. He'd done his job and he now had less enthusiasm for continuing to spank me. He would administer the occasional blow, but it seemed as if that was more because it was expected than because it was necessary. He would also softly stroke and sooth the spanked places that I couldn't see but I guessed were red and inflamed. Again, though, this wasn't with the vigour and keenness of the early stages of my punishment and pleasure. No, now we had other things on our mind, other things to do, other pleasures to gain to add to the massive amount we had so far given each other. I felt so close to him, thankful and grateful to him. I felt that we had truly bonded and were developing a deep, loving and above all else, trusting relationship. His gown was completely open. My blouse was also completely open. My breasts were completely bare. His cock was also completely bare. Jon's hands were everywhere; in my hair, over my face and up and down my back. I was pulling his fingers into my mouth and sucking them just as I wanted to suck his cock. He was caressing and squeezing my breasts and nipples and stroking my neck. His fingers were on my bottom, between my cheeks, up and down my thighs and, mostly, buried deep in my cunt. I was slobbering and moaning as I rubbed his cock all over my tits and face. I was desperately trying to suck him, but our positions wouldn't permit that, so I started to wank him. I started wanking him. I wanked him by pumping my hand up and down taking the skin on his cock with it. I provided him with a surrogate cunt and felt such delight as is hips started to surge, as much as our positions would allow, as he started to fuck that. "Oh God yes, yes, yes Jon," I groaned and moaned and wailed as my orgasm erupted. "Yes darling yes, cum for me, cum with me, make me cum," he grunted, thrusting his cock up and down in my hand that was gripping it, probably a little too firmly. I pumped quickly. Fast and furious with little thought for subtlety or sexual guile. What we both now so badly needed was to cum. There would be time later for the more tender aspects of this amazingly different sexual experience. I was grinding my pussy against the several fingers that he was now holding rigid inside me. At the same time I was pushing my breasts against his other hand squirming every last ounce of pleasure from my aching nipples that he was pinching and pulling, wonderfully hard. You can always feel the moment when a man starts to cum. Well you can if you're holding his dick in your hand. It seems to harden even more and go rigid. It starts to throb and becomes warmer and then, of course it explodes with the surge of semen flowing up the tubes inside the bloated, blood engorged flesh. And that's exactly what happened as I lay across Jon's lap my clothes in total disarray, my breasts bare, my knickers around my thighs, my legs open and three or four of his fingers pumping in and out of my pussy. I was lying half on my side holding his erection so that it was a few inches from my chin. So close, but too far and too awkward to get in my mouth. As I climaxed uncontrollably, so suddenly his cock erupted. Spunk shot everywhere. It hit me in the eyes and splattered across my face and in my hair. Stream after stream of it shot across my head, shoulders and chest. I'd never experienced such an ejaculation and somehow that made me feel proud and even more excited. We lay like that for a moment or two as our minds and bodies recovered, somewhat. But the awkwardness of our positions, and the now quiet severe stinging on my bottom and thighs, made it impossible to remain like that. "Come, darling," he whispered lifting me off his lap so that I knelt bedside him as he stood up, the dressing gown slipping off and staying on the chair. "Let me ease the pain." Jon lifted me up and sat me on the edge of the bed. He held my face in his hands and gently kissed my lips. "You did enjoy it didn't you Chrissy?" It Is Getting Clearer I smiled up at him. "Yes Jon I did, it was er, amazing I suppose." "Are you in much pain?" he enquired, his hand slipping down my face until his fingernails could trail across my chest above my breasts. "It does smart and sting, but it's bearable?" I replied moving my bottom from one cheek to the other as I saw his cock, that was just inches from my face twitch a couple of times, presumably in preparation for starting to become erect. Then I realised how old he was and through that was probably impossible, well at least hugely unlikely "That'll soon go away. I'll get rid that for you my darling, just wait a minute." He left me, and walked through the door beside the bed. It was obviously a bath room for I heard the water running. He came back. "Your bath will soon be ready, but first I need to put some lotion on your bottom Chrissy, so could you lie on your front on the bed please?" Lying full length on the silk or satin sheets was very pleasant. I love the feel of silk on my body. It's so lustrous, cool, smooth and, somehow, almost decadent. And those feelings began to push the pain of my bottom to one side a little. It was still there, of course, but now other sensations were combining with that. I turned my head to one side to look at Jon as he gently slid the remains of the panties down my legs and then, one by one unbuckled my strappy shoes and removed them. I was amazed for he was half erect, his penis in that rather awkward and faintly ridiculous looking position of sticking nearly straight out from his body and horizontal to the ground. It did look good, though, and the thought that I could so quickly excite him also excited me. He saw me looking. "Pleased at what you have done young lady." "Very," I smiled back. "It happens sometimes." "It didn't the other night." "But then I did not spank you the other night did I?" He said his eyes sparkling, Carefully he rolled the stockings down my legs and off my feet, so that I was now completely naked, the coolness of the silk caressing every inch of my body. It felt good as did his hands on my ankles easing my legs apart. He'd earlier placed the two bottles from the table at the other end of the room, on the floor beside the bed. He sat beside me his bottom touching my knee. He poured a lotion from one bottle onto the cheeks of my bottom. It stung at first but only momentarily, and was then replaced by a wonderful coolness, similar but more intense to what the front of my body was receiving from the silk sheets. "Nice?" he grunted thickly. "Mmmmmm," I sighed in reply, loving the feelings of his soft, actor's fingertips spreading the thick lotion all over each of my cheeks and upper thighs. I closed my eyes and gave into yet another amazing combination of sensations; yet another new experience; yet another instalment of this incredible initiation into a different sort of sexual practice. Yes, yet another stage of the ceremony, and yet another example of the ritual that was called corporal punishment, but in my mind, was simply having your bum spanked. Smoothing the cool liquid into me, his fingers on both hands visited every part of me between my waist and upper thighs. They visited, touched, stroked and eased the liquid into each cheek, between them, along the crease of my bottom, over my anal hole, around the, now, throbbing, lips of my pussy and down and around my thighs. It was lovely, and slowly the sensations provided by Jon's fingers and the lotion became more powerful than the lingering tingling, smarting, stinging pain from the spanking. It did not remove those feelings, but linked with them to provide even more new sensations and experiences for me. I started to 'sort of cum' is the only way I can describe the emotions. A sort of cum; a type of orgasm, a nearly climax. That's all I can really say about the feelings that were shuddering around my body as my lover so gently caressed me. They were the only descriptive passages I have for the sensations that were oozing from my bottom, all over my body as the man that had spanked it now soothed it. As he replaced the pain he'd given me earlier with the gentleness of his current cure. Yes as Jon introduced me to yet another element of the spanking process. "Now my darling, I bathe you," he said helping me up. The bathroom was large and surprisingly airy considering the lack of windows. Everything was white, chrome or glass. From the tiles, which were wonderfully warm from the under-floor heating, to the kidney shaped, sunken bath in the corner that looked as if it could easily accommodate six people. From the paintwork and the gleaming bathroom appliances, to the fittings and the large, corner wardrobe unit with floor to ceiling mirrored doors. Although the bath was half full with a bluish coloured water that clearly contained oils and spices, he didn't lead me there. Instead, his hand coaxed me into the corner of the room by the wardrobes. The corner covered by mirrors, the corner where I'd be able to view myself from all angles. Yes, the corner where I'd be able to see my back, where I'd be able to see my bum where, I realised with a shudder as we covered the few feet, I'd see the trophy marks of my spanking. I could hardly believe what I saw. And more so, I could hardly believe what I felt emotionally. It hadn't been long since I had returned from Crete where I'd got a lovely tan. I had been able to sunbathe topless there, so my only 'white bits" were a small patch of skin just above my pubes that were quite heavily trimmed at the time and the rather larger patches on each cheek. Well they had been white. But now, from the height of the curve of each buttock down to beneath where my bum became my thighs, there was a sea of pink and redness. Some patches were deeper coloured and looked fiercer than others, and across my left cheek there was the outline of a palm and fingers. From a pain point of view it actually looked far worse than it felt. "See, my darling," Jon murmured putting one arm around my shoulders and running the backs of his fingernails on his other hand across the redness. "They are our memories." "Jesus Jon, I never thought they'd be so obvious." "Well you're not planning to flash your bum at anyone for a while are you?" he laughed back his hand stroking me his erection now as good as full. I let my hand fall to my side my fingers encircling his erection. "Oh you never know," I joked feeling quite excited at the extraordinary sight in the mirror. "Ah Chrissy you see, that's the reward for the spanking master, his pupil can go with no one else without them knowing." "Hmmmm, yes I see." "Just wait a minute Chrissy." He said leaving me and walking into the bedroom. "What are you going to do?" "You'll see." When he returned he was carrying a small camera. I knew immediately what he was going to do. "No Jon you can't." "But I insist, you look wonderful, don't woory there will be no face. As gorgeus as that is, it's now what I want to record now." He took several shots from a number of angles. I enjoyed and posed for him by sticking my bum and twirling my body. He helped me into the low bath, the warm, sweet-smelling water seeming to ease the stinging of my bottom almost immediately. It was painful and uncomfortable to sit down at first, but I got used to it quickly. I laid back, just my hardened nipples, my pubes and my toes above the water, my back against the enamel of the bath that, amazingly, was warm. I realised that he must have some form of heated bath that allowed one to lean back without that chilly feeling. He took a large, soft sponge and covered that with some sweet smelling liquid soap. He worked that all over my body, naturally I suppose and very welcomingly I know, concentrating on and between my breasts, the thatch on my mound and the top of my thighs that he'd gently and so easily coaxed open. At the same time, he was leaning over the bath kissing and licking my face and neck and gently sucking my lips into his mouth. The sexual feelings from the sponge, the tender and caring sensations from his lips and tongue and the stinging and smarting that were the reminders of my spanking all combined into a delicious cocktail of feelings that, of course made me cum. It wasn't just those actions I realised, however, as the main force of the orgasm subsided, for then I found that he had shoved most of the large, soft sponge right up my cunt. "Now my darling," Jon whispered as he removed the sponge from inside me, washed away my juices and gently kissed me, "it's time for me to bathe your bottom. Would you like that?" "Yes, Jon, yes I would," I sighed, our faces just inches apart. "You want me to bathe your bottom, don't you?" "Yes, yes please," I whispered, as once more I fell in line with the ritualistic requirements of the spanking ceremony. It is as near impossible as makes no difference to lie on one's front in a bath without risking drowning. That's why, within just a few seconds, I was kneeling on all fours. My hair, wet from earlier, was hanging down over my face, my breasts were falling free straight down from my chest, my arms were supporting me, my legs were slightly open and I was in the classic doggy position. The position that seems to be the favourite sexual position of so many men. The one where I have so often being fucked gaining such pleasure and sensations from the depth of the penetration that the doggy enables and is, therefore, the favourite of many women as well! Now, though, I was not about to be fucked. No, this time I was about to watch in the mirrors on three sides of the bath, as my spanking master and lover washed away the trophy marks that were the outcome of our earlier spanking. Both cheeks were now less red. Pink, I thought, not the earlier crimson. The marks, though pronounced on each cheek and both thighs, were not as fierce as earlier. Too pronounced, though, I recognised, for anyone in such a position to be able to comfortably take another lover without providing some, probably, hugely embarrassing explanations. "The master's way, of controlling his naughty pupil," I smiled. * It was three week's later when I received his text. 'Friday afternoon, around two, the basement.' It made my heart start pounding. The preparation was very similar, as was the clothing, although, the outer garments were slightly more schoolgirlish. The getting dressed at Jon's house alone, the clothes hanging up waiting, the mirror there for me to look at myself, the walk to the basement and the layout and furniture of that room were all the same as the last time, my first time, my initiation into the world of spanking. He was there, but, again, he spoke only to ask me to stand by the chair. I did as he directed. Just three weeks after my initiation, we prepared for our second spanking session. It was then that I saw the difference, the surprise he'd referred to over the phone when I had called to tell him that I would be at his house as he wanted. "Your bottom's beautifully healed up now," he had said running his fingertips across it as I laid naked, apart from a pair of black, seamed, fishnet hold-ups, on my bed after we'd made love one afternoon. "We'll have to make a date in the basement again soon Chrissy, won't we?" he had gone on his finger pressing right on my anal opening. "Yes I grunted," the feelings from his finger getting to me. "I think your bum's ready darling don't you?" he'd asked applying a little more pressure, but more as an enquiry than a demand. "Yes. Yes I think it is," I said not moving as he pressed just a little harder. "So darling," he said, very thickly I thought as his fingertip slipped just inside that puckered ring of darkish skin, "your body is ready, is your mind?" His finger was just inside my anus sending such beautiful feelings through me. I knew, though, that he would go no further without some sign from me, for he was very aware that I didn't have a completely, open acceptance of anal sex. Not on moral grounds, purely the physical and pain issues I share with many women who've given birth. His words were, I thought, a little odd, but as my mind digested them they made sense. Spanking required both a mental and physical acceptance and compliance if the whole ceremony was to work effectively. We'd talked about that aspect, along with the many other aspects a couple of times since the last time, but that was only during and after sex. As with most people, I imagine, we found talking about sexual matters in non-sexual situations rather difficult. "I think I'm ready Jon, both physically and mentally," I whispered, as I wiggled my bottom and pressed it back against his finger. "Oh yes darling, yes, yes, yes he moaned," as he began finger-fucking my arse. Those memories went through my mind as I stood in that basement, my hands clasped in front of me. I recalled them as I stood there in the short, blue, pleated skirt, tight, white, buttoned up blouse and striped tie. I felt my body respond to me thinking of him having sex with my anus as I saw the difference, the surprise, the reward, as he'd termed it. Lying across the seat of the chair was the cane. The, probably, one metre long cane that was like a miniature shepherd's crook. I shivered. I shuddered a little and I gulped at the thought of that caning my bare bottom.