MrMasseur
Posts: 5
Joined: 7/28/2005
Status: offline
|
The Gift
Claire closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, her breathing shallow and her fresh, youthful face lightly flushed. She smiled to herself and took a deep breath to calm her mind as she clutched the long, rectangular box for which she had just deposited an illegible squiggle on the Royal Mail Special Delivery sheet proffered by a young and inquisitive postman, who had asked her where her partner planned to use his new fishing rod. He had even offered to share his local knowledge, but Claire had appeared reluctant to take up any more of his valuable time. In fact, she was somewhat relieved that the usual postman had not made the delivery, since he had previously demonstrated a peculiar and long-winded interest in meteorology whenever she had answered the door in her thick white towelling robe, with the occasional ringlet escaping through the equally thick towelling turban that encased her drenched golden locks. She was certain that it would not have been coarse fishing that would have steered his mind, for he would almost certainly have recognised the shape of this unusual package, with the hint of something just a little loose inside it.
Claire listened as the Royal Mail van drove off and then eased herself away from the door, along the hall, towards the kitchen. Half of her was almost uncontrollably anxious to open the box, but the other side of her was keen to drain every last drop of anticipation from the scene, creating a deliciously unbearable tension as her excitement and fear coalesced into a quivering jelly right at the core of her being. Fighting back the slight tremor in her hand, she clutched the box under her right arm, steadying it with her hand, then picked up a cup of steaming hot coffee from the worktop. Slowly, she turned around, winked at Flopsy, her tabby cat, then made her way carefully up the narrow staircase to the landing, where she turned left, into the quiet of the large bedroom that she and Paul shared whenever they could be together. She walked to the dressing table and, after placing the cup on a coaster on her left-hand side, she put the long box down on the right-hand side of her brush and curling tongs.
Claire slipped off her towelling robe and hung it over the radiator. She then unwound the towel from her head and allowed her lovely long locks to cascade over her strong, but softly curved shoulders. She put the towel on the radiator, alongside the bathrobe, then shook her head a couple of times before walking back to the dressing table, where she stooped to open a narrow drawer. She took out a simple, comfortable cotton bra and clipped it at the front before turning it round and drawing the straps over her shoulders, nudging locks of hair clear before adjusting the straps. For a moment, she looked at her figure in the tilting mirror. Her fairly strict exercise regime and dietary self discipline were still working well and she was well contented with being a very comfortable size 12. She did a half-turn in each direction and then looked back down to the drawer, from which she removed a pair of white, soft cotton medium-size panties. She flexed and raised her left leg and slipped half of the very ordinary, comfortable garment over her foot and up to her knee. Placing her left foot steadily on the floor, she repeated the manoeuvre with her right foot and slid her panties up over her bottom, before carefully sliding her thumbs down inside the garment at the back and front. She looked at herself again, then did a full turn, pausing momentarily after turning through 180 degrees to look at the shape of her bottom. Her stomach fluttered as her mind raced ahead and her gaze shifted, momentarily, back to the long, slender box. She watched again as her shape changed with position whilst she completed the circle and she recalled, with a deep and satisfying glow, how she had once caught Paul gazing at her during a similar twirl early in their relationship, just after they had become lovers. Her hands, prompted by the reminiscence, moved to the seat of her panties and she ran them slowly up and down as she recalled that morning, when they had awoken together for the first time, and how her heart had missed a beat as she had looked at her buttock cheeks before sliding her underwear up over them. She took another deep breath, sighed in a mixture of contentment and anticipation, then sat down on the stool, as her mind set off racing again. However, Claire was determined that nothing was going to spoil this day for either Paul or for her. She braced herself, took a grip on her thoughts and sat down on the stool in front of the dressing table.
On this particular day, the routine of hair drying and styling and of applying the very small amount of make-up that she used in order to enhance her facial features quite unnecessarily in the view of many who appreciated her natural, under-stated and unobtrusively good looks was even more routine than normal, since her active mind played very little part in it. Even the best computers have a finite amount of available memory; this also applies to people and was certainly the case where Claire was concerned. Today was a very special day indeed a birthday shared by her and Paul, also the third anniversary of the start of their relationship. In fact, they had both taken the day off work and Paul had set off early to collect a present for the young woman who occupied his entire romantic interest. It could not have worked out better, for Claire had been desperately worried as to how she was going to conceal the gift that she had ordered for him. She thought again, without looking, of the box to her left, then her mind wandered back to the point at which the idea for this adventure had been conceived.
Claire was a strong-minded and reasonably intelligent young woman who, despite her failure to achieve outstanding academic success, had exhibited dogged determination and belief in her own abilities and these had enabled her to work her way honestly and carefully up the promotional ladder within the firm of solicitors for whom she had worked since leaving college, at 20 years of age.
Initially, she had been resentful of her failure to obtain the university place for which she and her family had been hoping. In fact, she had been offered places at two other universities, but it had been at this juncture that her rebellious stubbornness and powerful sense of independence had taken over. If she could not gain the place she wanted, she was not going to settle for second best, neither was she going to waste any more time at school, re-sitting exams. Brushing aside the torrent of advice that had been proffered with varying degrees of insistence, met with a commensurate measure of refined stubbornness she had taken a series of evening and weekend jobs and had worked extremely hard to get herself through a secretarial college of some renown.
Claire had emerged from her self-financed training with an excellent reference and with skills that had landed her a very good position. She had fitted in well and, over a period of seven years, had become an established member of the staff, liked and appreciated by partners, clients and fellow-employees. She certainly had strength of personality, with no small measure of determination or stubbornness, depending upon how one regarded her. In her time, she had managed to soothe several deeply ruffled brows and, with her natural diplomatic skill, had calmed the occasional irate caller.
It had been during her third year with the solicitors that a call had been received one day from a firm of auditors in Birmingham who shared a client. There had been little in the way of exchanges during that first call, but something about the timbre of the caller's voice had sent an inexplicable shiver down Claire's spine. A memorable and very pleasant frisson.
The case in which the two firms shared an interest had dragged on for several months, with the result that Claire and Paul had spoken to one another frequently. Since the soft, but distinctly 'no-nonsense' tone of Miss Fairweather had not gone unnoticed at Paul's end, it had only been a matter of weeks before the occasional personal handwritten endorsement began to appear on compliment slips that accompanied reams of figures that formed the basis of the pleadings before the Court in the case brought by the Inland Revenue. In fact, Mr. Carter's exchanges with Miss Fairweather had evolved into mild flirtation, both over the telephone and in the cryptic memoranda that flitted back and forth. Once the e-mails had started, it had taken a major effort on the part of both of them to divert their attention to their paid work. The inevitable result was that, one Saturday, Claire had arrived, wondering what on Earth she was doing, at a small marina to spend a day on the water with a young man in his mid-30s who had proved extremely adept at handling boats as well.
Paul was not the sort of man who had wilder elements of the female population reaching for the elastic. In fact, unless people took the time to get to know him, it was all too easy to write him off in the workplace as a faceless, stereotypical accountant. However, those who had made the effort to probe further had, almost invariably, found the effort more than worthwhile.
His style of dress and conduct at work tended to be quite conservative, in keeping with the widely-held image of the accountant, but within the conventional shell there lived and breathed a surprising, vibrantly virile young man who, without any conscious effort, found it quite common to watch girls of a certain disposition fall effortlessly under his benign influence and into his control. Happily, he was not a man to abuse this gift, but this was not to say that he had never used it to the mutual enjoyment of the girl of the day and himself.
Small yachts and boats are not the best places for headstrong people who lack a seafarer's knowledge and a sense of shipboard hierarchy and compliance. Unfortunately, just a couple of months into their relationship and whilst out sailing on a particularly blustery day, the headstrong ways of Claire had combined with a sudden squall and voluntary deafness to urgent instructions from Paul, with the result that the yacht had very nearly collided with another vessel and had come within millimetres of capsizing near a dangerous submerged reef. Fortunately for Claire, her obstinacy had been subdued almost instantly by the shock of the near tragedy and a sense of obedience had made an emergency landing in her life just in time to prevent her from losing a friendship which, as she realised under calmer circumstances, she had come to value very greatly indeed.
On the way home that evening, after a somewhat muted meal at a roadside tavern, in a palpably strained atmosphere of clipped conversation, Claire had begun to wonder seriously if Paul was about to cast her adrift. This had caused her great concern, but that old sense of obstinacy and pride had prevented her from disclosing too much. She had, nonetheless, been keenly aware that all was not right and she had decided, impulsively, to ask Paul to pull off the road into a side road so that they could clear the air.
To her surprise, Paul had complied almost immediately and, five minutes later, the two of them had been in the car, parked in a woodland clearing by a small lake at a deserted country park, a mile or two from the main road and from the nearest dwelling. The stormy weather had abated and the late evening air on that sunny day was warm and pleasant. Claire had been about to embark upon a well constructed defence, based upon her allegation that the Master had failed to provide her with sufficient education and training, along with other mitigating factors, when a new aspect of Paul had come to the fore and had shaken Claire in a manner that was to alter the entire character of their relationship.
Paul, apparently unprepared to heed her protestations, had got out of the car and had walked round the front of the vehicle, at a very slow and deliberate pace. Claire had followed him with her gaze, suddenly aware that she was trembling slightly. When Paul had arrived at her door, she had opened it, unbidden, and stepped out of the car. She had stood, silent by this stage - despite the cacophony of chaotic argument that had been raging inside her head - and had looked up at him. For reasons she could not understand, she had been unable to speak, yet her hearing had been more acute than she could remember it ever having been before. She had, quite simply, been mesmerised. Paul had held out his hands towards her and had taken hold of hers, gently.
"Claire", he had whispered, with a hint of a smile and an expression that spoke of both love and concern for her, "there are things that you need to understand about the role of the Master, things that mere words will not, of themselves, convey to you".
It had been a couple of seconds before Claire had seen both sides of this double-entendre and her knees had begun to tremble slightly as she had listened to a stern lecture on the need for total commitment and obedience to the Master when at sea. A previously unknown form of apprehension had taken hold of her mind one that she actually found strangely stimulating. She had also detected a subsidiary, unspoken script relating to a different form of Mastery and she had become ever more deeply mesmerised. So mesmerised, in fact, that she had been totally incapable of resistance when she had found her mind telling her, against all her natural instincts, to place herself across his lap, as instructed. Her body had followed meekly, the outraged sense of independence shrieking from within the locked, sound-proof cage inside her mind.
The chastisement, consisting of twelve sharp cracks on each side of her taut white shorts, had been measured, deliberate and perfectly delivered, taking her almost to loss of control of her emotions. However, by some strange alchemy and astute observation of Claire's body language, Paul had sensed where that limit lay and had eased up on the final four smacks, with the result that Claire had risen stiffly from his lap and, instead of throwing a tantrum and clutching her behind as her instincts had demanded, she had simply thrown her arms around Paul's neck and fallen into his protective embrace, where she had suddenly felt totally calm and safe. The sharp sting in her bottom had soon dissipated into a deep, warm glow and by the time they had parked the car outside her house and taken a shower together, she had been in a greater state of deep feminine receptiveness than had ever previously been her experience. Her delight in mutual exploration, her sense of total giving as she had admitted her new lover intimately into her life and body for the first time, had been the prelude to a deep and contented sleep that had lasted well into the early afternoon on the Sunday.
Despite the usual roller coaster pattern that is common in any truly organic and healthy relationship, the bonds between the two had deepened and strengthened. Each had taught new interests to the other, whilst the mysteries and wonders of the most astounding melding of mind and body on the anvil of physical and emotional love and discipline had led them into an inter-dependence that had taken both of them by surprise. Few people had the remotest inkling as to the existence of this unseen side of Claire's personality, but a growing desire was taking shape inside her to give deeper and more meaningful expression to the feelings that the first spanking in her life had engendered. This captivating man, to whom she had found that she was giving an increasing degree of devotion, had opened up new experiences that had added an entire new range of coloured nuance to the spectrum of her life.
This having been said, there were, of course, exceptions and the day on which Claire had, for inexplicable reasons, managed to produce almost a carbon copy of the event that had led her first to traverse Paul's lap had left them both mystified - and shocked!
Paul had been aware that complacency had set in on his side and he had rebuked himself for not having maintained the firmer grip on his lover that Claire both needed and coveted. She, for her part, had begun to show signs of loosening her own grip on something that had, in fact, become a mainstay of their relationship. Thus it was that, when Paul had announced with controlled fury that her conduct ought to have earned her a disciplinary session that she would never forget, she had felt the words etched into her mind. Etched so deeply, in fact, that the irritation that they caused had not eased until she had finally clicked the on-screen button confirming the order and delivery date for the item that now lay, wrapped in thick tissue paper, in a box on her dressing table.
Claire stood up and walked slowly to the window, then back to the dressing table. She looked again at her figure and allowed her imagination to peer hesitantly, somewhat nervously and with an intense feeling of inexplicably irresistible apprehension, into the immediate future.
She took a cotton camisole top from her drawer and slipped it over her head, then a small pair of silk shorts, which she put on slowly, imagining how she would look from different angles. By now, with the hour advancing and the inevitable assuming an ever-sharpening profile of reality, she was beginning to wonder if she had done the right thing.
Picking up the box from the dressing table, Claire left the bedroom and went quietly downstairs. She walked through the hallway to the living room and on into the dining room, where she placed the box on the table. Carefully, almost reverently, she lifted the lid from the top of the box and placed it on the table. She then placed a small card, bearing the words "Happy birthday, my love. Your gift awaits you. Sorry. Love Claire" on top of the tissue paper in the box. She turned around and leaned back against the table, the edge of which pressed lightly into the firm curves of her young bottom. She shivered in anticipation and folded her arms, resting her chin on her hand, as her mind began once again to wander a short way into the future. After a few moments, she walked back into the living room and sat on the deep, comfortable sofa that had been an oasis from the pressures of their two lives on many an occasion. She picked up a magazine and her gaze wandered randomly, purposelessly, over words and images that simply did not register in her conscious mind.
Such was the activity of her mind that Claire did not hear the car pull up alongside the house and it was not until she heard the key turning in the lock that she realised that the time had come. The sound of the door being closed quietly and of Paul hanging his leather jacket on the hook in the hallway brought her mind sharply back into focus and, summoning all her thespian skills, she called to him in a warm, friendly and casual tone. She put down the magazine and rose to greet her lover, whom she embraced, as she always did when he had been out, with a gentle but unmistakably warm hug and a brushed kiss onto his lips. Paul responded in kind and, for several moments, they enjoyed an embrace that left both their minds floating in a comforting, stimulating and safe world of exclusive enjoyment of one another.
Once they had separated and taken a breath again, Paul had seemed almost too eager to accept Claire's offer of a coffee and her sleuthing instinct was hard at work as she went to the kitchen. Not only that, but she was fighting a familiar sensation inside her, albeit at an uncustomarily high volume. She could hear Paul moving about in the hallway again, unzipping a pocket in his Italian black leather jacket, then returning to the living room. Such had been the tension in her mind that the coffee had nearly ended up on the kitchen floor. Fortunately, Claire had managed to regain a grip on herself and she returned to a living room that had now become very quiet indeed, only to find it empty. Putting the tray down, assuming that Paul had gone upstairs without her noticing, she spotted a small rectangular package on the mantelpiece and walked over to inspect it. Seeing her name written in copperplate script on the gilded gift tag, she opened the package carefully, almost afraid to damage the extremely expensive-looking royal blue satin-textured wrapping paper. Her heart rhythm faltered for a moment as she opened the burgundy box inside, to reveal a thin strip of beautifully crafted black leather with a silver clasp-type fastening. However, for all the elegance and symbolism of this collar, it was the central feature that drew her gaze, for there, in the middle, was a stunning sapphire of a colour that almost matched her eyes which was set in a simple silver mounting. Below this, hanging a very short distance from the collar, to which it was attached by a short length of solid silver chain, were two interlaced gold rings. Claire could not believe her eyes and had, unexpectedly, lost all sense of awareness of her surroundings. It was thus something of a surprise when she stood up and saw the reflection of her lover in the mirror. She gasped instinctively and turned round hesitantly. Her knees buckled slightly as she took in the image of Paul's sturdy 6-foot frame, his arms folded and a three foot golden coloured cane crossing his chest at 45° and resting on his left shoulder. She was speechless. Paul simply fixed her in his gaze, as he had often done, and communicated directly into her mind.
The two of them had discussed various forms of corporal punishment and how effective and/or pleasurable each could be. They had tried quite a few of these, some of which Claire had found acceptable, some irresistible and some utterly abhorrent. For some reason, she had resolved never again to use a wooden spatula for anything other than catering, but woe betide anyone who tried to take Paul's flogger away from him! However, as is often the case, the cane held a deep fascination for both of them, a fascination mixed with a healthy measure of fear on Claire's part and of concern for safety on Paul's part. Strangely, for a couple who were so very open with one another, these self-perceived risk areas were not discussed between them and each made individual arrangements unknown to the other to ensure, as far as possible, that nothing would go wrong and drive a wedge between them.
Claire had one friend whom she trusted and whom she knew to have taken more than once caning. The two women had overcome their initial embarrassment in talking about this odd subject fairly quickly and it had not been long before Claire had received a very detailed account of one woman's perception of what it meant to have stripes across her bottom. At first, Claire had been almost horrified, but when she had actually seen the effects produced by a fairly crisp caning on her friend's behind, her response had been a desire to soothe the neat lines that stretched across the two smooth-skinned hemispheres and an irrational desire to see her own bottom thus marked. It is quite possible that it was as much the illogicality of such a notion as the unmistakable erotic allure of it that had kept Claire's mind engaged on the topic for so long and that had played a catalytic part in her decision to order this unusual present for her lover.
Paul's response had been to broach the subject with an older person, Henry, whom he had come to know online and towards whom he had developed a growing respect that had proved to be mutual. He had broached the idea of his caning Claire and had taken a good deal of verbal advice from this friend before finally deciding that he really needed a practical demonstration of just how the dynamics of caning work at both body and mind levels. Surprisingly, Anita, Henry's wife, had agreed to allow her husband to use the cane on her as a means of teaching the novice, albeit whilst respecting the norms of social decency. She had remained clothed in a pair of fairly tight shorts whilst Henry had delivered four expertly-applied strokes to her slightly plump behind. Paul had been fascinated and had confessed that the experience had left him feeling quite aroused. Henry had smiled and nodded in the sort of agreement that can only be the result of a shared experience.
After Anita had been caned, she had brought drinks for the two men and had left her husband to his tutorial functions. Paul had proved an enthusiastic, but level-headed pupil and it had not taken him very long to master the basics of safe and effective use of a potentially fearful implement. Several exercises involving a well padded black cushion with chalk lines drawn across it had enabled him to develop a good and safe technique, one which had led Henry to judge that he was now safe to try it 'in earnest'.
Henry had not expected Anita to consent, which had made it all the more surprising when she had nodded her head shortly after being asked and had disappeared for a few moments before returning in her celebrated shorts. Henry's reassuring presence had been a very calming influence and Paul had delivered two sharp strokes on that first occasion, strokes that had produced both a slight gasp and a wide smile from the beneficiary.
By the time Paul had been pronounced 'safe' to use a cane on Claire, Anita had taken approximately 24 strokes from him, under Henry's guidance and supervision. Discreet photographs viewed on Henry's PC had showed Paul what the results of his efforts had achieved and he had felt a measure of slight pride in the neatness of the way in which the stripes had been laid across Anita's cheeks. However, one thing that Henry had stressed was that, for the first few sessions at least, Paul should warm Claire's bottom first by hand, also that, unlike the practice with Anita, he should bare her bottom during the caning, so that he could assess instantly whether or not damage was being done of which Claire might not be fully aware. The final piece of advice that Henry had given was that, once the decision about caning had been agreed by both of them, it should be carried out with minimal delay.
As Paul had left Henry's home with the package securely inside his jacket pocket, he had shaken his friend gratefully and warmly by the hand and had then hugged Anita with genuine affection before kissing her cheek gently. Assurances had been given and received and Paul had promised that, if Claire were happy with the idea, he would send them a modestly-detailed account of how the day had gone. All that had then occupied Paul's mind, as he followed the road home on virtual auto-pilot, was how to acquire the cane that he knew that Claire both needed and wanted to experience.
Claire struggled to find words to say and was endeavouring to fight back the deluge of inconsequential, nonsensical babble that always seems to be generated, almost to the point of verbal incontinence, when a person faces an unfamiliar, possibly frightening and definitely enticing situation. Happily, Paul was not a man who enjoyed any form of negative discomfort for the love of his life, unless disciplinary circumstances dictated the need. On this occasion, both he and Claire were in an icebreaker situation and Paul was keenly aware of Henry's advice not to be dilatory about administering the chastisement. Fixing Claire in his gaze again, he smiled slightly and instructed her to go to the main bedroom, at the front of the house, which they used as a combined work area and second living room. Claire lowered her gaze and walked silently past Paul, a nervous smile flitting across her face as she glanced at him. She could feel his gaze on her as she preceded him up the stairs. A strong urge to giggle or to do something really silly, like wiggle her hips, was wisely resisted, for she was just as aware as Paul was of the need for a certain gravitas in such a setting.
Paul was unable to restrain all his natural instincts as he watched from the rear whilst the shapely young woman climbed the stairs in front of him. He marvelled at the way in which the hips swayed naturally and the muscles in the bottom that he was about to spank and cane stretched and contracted under the smooth, very lightly coffee-coloured skin of a girl who enjoyed the sunshine. He was trying hard to imagine how Claire must be feeling and his mind wandered back to the description that Henry had given of his first experience in using a cane 'for real'.
When Claire reached the top of the stairs, she turned right and, as she did so, Paul took a deep breath as the full curvature of her bottom momentarily filled his gaze.
Once inside the room, Paul closed the door and hung the cane on the peg, over his dressing down. Claire stood nervously by the sofa and Paul, after ensuring that the thick light-softening net curtains afforded adequate protection in front of the sound-proofing double-glazed windows, walked at a steady, unhurried pace towards the sofa. Claire moved slightly to the side, her nervous gaze meeting Paul's determined look for a fleeting moment, as he went to sit down. He looked at Claire and motioned to her to stand in front of him. Silently, she obeyed and stood directly in front of him, just a foot or so from where he was sitting. He leaned forward and, looking up into her eyes reassuringly, slipped his fingers inside the waistband of her silk shorts and slid them slowly down over her panties and thighs to the floor. Claire stepped out of them and Paul placed them on the arm rest at the end of the sofa. He then picked up a cushion and placed it in position, which Claire correctly interpreted as her cue to lay herself across a lap which had accommodated her lovely form on several occasions. As she rested her palms on the floor and curled her toes back slightly to rest her feet comfortably on the thick rug, her eyes closed and familiar, comforting sensations filled her mind. She adored the safe feeling of Paul's hand on her bottom and could take as much hand spanking as he ever cared to give.
Despite the familiarity of the scene, she still let out a slight gasp as she felt Paul's hand come lightly into contact with the seat of her panties, sliding very slowly in a circular pattern over the soft, brushed fabric. He always found this view of Claire hugely erotic and had spent many an hour in light conversation with her as he stroked and caressed her bottom through her underwear, sometimes as the overture to the full erotic symphony, at other times as a relaxing concerto. On this occasion, however, Henry's words still echoed in his mind and, after the briefest of preludes, Claire's bottom began to bounce under the impact of slowly-delivered smacks of increasing intensity.
Claire was well used to this routine and relished the increasing sting and deepening heat that was spreading through her bottom as the spanking intensified. She was, however, aware that there was something slightly different on this occasion. Was it that both she and Paul knew that it was but the prelude to a far greater leap of trust, or was it that both of them were aware of their lack of real 'coalface' experience in this activity? Either way, Claire realised that her senses were even more acutely tuned than usual on that morning and she was soon gritting her teeth and holding firmly to Paul's left ankle for support.
Neither of them counted the number of smacks that Paul had applied, but the spanking, which seemed to have lasted for hours, had, in fact, lasted a mere five minutes, with one or two fairly lengthy pauses, during which Paul had massaged the increasingly warm buttocks with a tenderness that left Claire both breathless and aroused. He bottom rose eagerly to meet smacks that she knew would create a real sting, but the desire to please and to immerse herself totally in her lover's care and protection over-rode natural instincts and raised her tolerance threshold by several percentage points.
Having been told to stand up, Claire did as bidden and stood nervously in front of Paul, looking down at the floor, but longing to look into his eyes again, to a place where she felt so completely surrounded by his love for her and by his protective strength.
Her compliance with a whispered instruction was instantaneous and she looked at him with a fixed stare as his hands moved to the waistband of her panties and began to slide them over the heated cheeks and down onto her thighs. She parted her legs slightly as his fingers skilfully prised the twin layers of cotton from their protective position over her feminine identity. She gasped slightly at the discreetly intimate touch of her lover's hand, then watched as her panties were guided slowly down to her ankles. She closed her eyes again, then put her hands instinctively to the sides of her lover's head as his lips delivered the softest of kisses to a neatly tended velvety mound that was rapidly developing into a volcano. She lifted her feet in turn and then stood back a little as she watched Paul put her underwear on top of her shorts.
Once again, in obedience, she turned round and Paul looked with some satisfaction at the dusky rose-coloured bottom he had just spanked. Despite the fact that he did not actually touch Claire's bottom, merely holding his palms a few millimetres away, she was totally aware of their presence and she longed to fall back onto them. Her fear and longing had fuelled a raging fire within and her mind was totally committed to giving her lover a present that he would never forget an attitude that complemented, to perfection, Paul's desire to deliver his woman safely across the threshold of pain and pleasure to the territory beyond, which they would be able to explore together in total trust and safety. Nonetheless, the daunting shadow from that threshold muted the powerful sensations at work in both of them.
Paul stood up, took his girl into his arms and held her very close to him for a few moments. He felt her warm breath on his shoulder and he could smell the lovely mixed fragrance of her shampoo and of the hint of Eau de toilette that added that whiff of spice that she used so effectively. Part of Paul wanted to hug her for a long time and then to take her straight to bed, to deliver her to the ultimate peak of her sexual and romantic experience, but he felt that he was almost on an Odyssey, a journey during which there were things that he had to accomplish if the remainder of the journey were to be the success for which both of them were striving. Gently, he moved Claire's body away from him and lowered her hands tenderly to her sides. His lips brushed across hers and he whispered into her ear........
"Go to the middle of the room, Claire, and bend down, touching your toes."
Claire felt an icy shiver run down her spine and her knees seemed to be like frozen jelly incapable of movement, but likely to melt into an uncontrollable heap at any moment! It took her a short while to muster the strength to take this bold step but, eventually, she moved to the centre of the room, whilst Paul made his way to the door and took the cane off the hook.
Caressing the leather handle for a few moments, he ran his free hand over the length of the smooth surface and succumbed to the inexplicable seductive effects that this implement exercises over so many people, whether they care to admit it or not. A horrified fascination, indeed, but one that generates so many positive, energising sentiments. He became lost in his thoughts for a short while, which made his response as he turned around all the more vivid, for the sight of Claire's well-toned body bent double, her bottom bared and waiting for him, produced a sudden rush of blood that kept him motionless for a few seconds, lest matters proceed in an as yet undesired manner. His eyes swept up and down Claire's bottom and thighs before he walked slowly past her and stooped alongside her head. Carefully, he stooped at her side and kissed her face softly. Then, he stood and turned to position himself alongside her hips. However, before doing so, he went back behind her and, having run his free hand very lightly over each cheek and having run his fingertips with the softest of touches up and down the cleft, right at the top, he placed two kisses on each buttock, right in the centre of each, equidistant from the cleft. Claire shivered and her muscles tensed, then relaxed, a movement that was not lost on Paul. He smiled and patted each cheek softly and affectionately again.
Standing at Claire's side, Paul took a firm grip on the handle of the cane and held it out, measuring his distance carefully and placing the tip just a millimetre or two beyond the far edge of Claire's right buttock. The cane did not touch the skin, but Claire was fully aware, once again, that it was close to her. She shivered and Paul watched as the minuscule ripples made their way along her body. Again, he took in the full side view of his girl, her camisole top her sole item of apparel apart from her bra hanging below her waist, helping to create a picture of vulnerability that touched him deeply. Had he not loved her truly and known her mind so well, he might possibly have dropped the cane at that point and taken Claire into his arms, but the Odyssey had to continue.
Claire was somewhat taken aback to find that her mind had suddenly become very quiet, almost disconcertingly so. She wriggled her toes slightly and clenched, then unclenched the great muscles in her bottom and thighs. She moved her feet just a couple of inches farther apart, then closed her eyes just as the cane touched her bottom for the first time. She was unable to control the shudder that surged through her body, but she soon regained control. The cane moved away briefly, before caressing the equator of her buttocks once again, very gently. This time, Claire had been anticipating it and she remained perfectly still.
Many people will testify that time stretches by several hundred percent during a caning and that each sound is extended considerably as strokes are administered. They speak of the long drawn-out howl or shriek of the implement as it slices through the air and of how this can freeze the listener's mind. Claire experienced none of this, for the first sensation that she experienced was a paralysing sharp Crack! that rent the air as the cane landed across her buttocks at speed. The white heat that burned into her bottom prompted a choked cry and a momentary desire to protect the vulnerable exposed area with her hands. But Claire remained almost motionless, her bottom rigid with tension and the heat dispersing at surprising speed through the pre-warmed skin. Her breath seeped out in controlled exhalation through her teeth before she finally relaxed and emitted, involuntarily, what sounded like a low grunt. Gradually, her bottom muscles relaxed again and Claire began to assess the physical and emotional impact of the first cane stroke ever to land on her.
Paul recalled what Henry had said about talking too much whilst using the cane and how he and Anita did not find it helpful, except in an emergency, to engage in any form of conversation during a caning, that required attention from both sides. Paul knew full well that Claire would exhibit danger signs in her body language if she was unreceptive to further strokes. His assessment was correct, for Claire, having rightly interpreted the coded message left by her lover's kiss on her bottom, was determined to take these four strokes without sound or demur. Her fingers moved to her lower legs and her grip on the ankles tightened.
With amazing accuracy for a beginner, Paul delivered the second stroke, which was slightly less forceful than the first, to a line that created a latitude running approximately two centimetres above the base of the buttocks, just above the notorious 'sit-spot'. He watched the slight convulsions that were Claire's natural physiological response, and looked in wonder as her head jolted back slightly, sending her long curly locks into a golden flare around her. He paused for a few moments, then, having made a swift visual examination of the two stripes, delivered the third and the fourth, in quick succession, between the parallel lines that he had created to mark the boundaries of the caning zone, with a force slightly more intense than that which had broken the ice.
Claire's lovely mane flew in all directions as the last two strokes were delivered and she failed, but only just, in her attempt to avoid making any noise, for the final, sharp stroke, delivered just below the equator of her bottom, elicited a muted cry as she took a sharp intake of breath.
"Stand up now, Claire", came the authoritative voice of her lover. "This session is over."
Paul threw the cane onto the sofa and walked swiftly to stabilise his girl as she stood up. She was about to reach behind her, to rub the weals, but Paul urged her in a tone that did not invite argument to allow him to deal with her bottom for her. Claire smiled weakly, wiped a tear away from the corner of her right eye and fell into Paul's arms as he embraced her. She had never felt anything that remotely resembled the deep throbbing along the four lines of caned latitude that traversed her behind. The rate at which that sensation was changing also surprised her, particularly as she followed Paul whilst he led her by the hand into her bedroom.
Laid over a thick warm bath towel at the side of the bed, Claire eased herself with no difficulty whatsoever into the tender ministrations delivered by the hand that had, only recently, laid what were now four livid purple lines across her cheeks. She winced momentarily as the soothing cool gel was absorbed into each weal. The rate of absorption was astonishing and, as each new coating was applied, it appeared to be absorbed instantly. Eventually, however, the unbroken skin along each weal was beginning to glisten and Paul's fingertips moved to a wider area, spreading the soothing substance until Claire's entire bottom, right down into her cleft, exhibited a beautiful satin-type sheen. Paul chuckled inwardly to himself as the analogy with paint charts drifted across his mind, but any thoughts of humour were being edged out by more powerful urges as Claire's body responded to the touch and as her bottom, hips and thighs began to move around, almost imperceptibly at first, but with increasing energy as her womanly nature and desires took their enthralling hold on her mind. In fact, she had not noticed that her lover's had had disappeared for a short while, but when it returned, washed and still slightly cool and damp, it sent a massive surge of energy through her. Sensing her desires, Paul ran his fingertips slowly down the top of Claire's cleft, to be rewarded with the sight of her thighs spreading slightly, almost involuntarily, in response. His palm slid slowly and carefully down her bottom and onto the back of her right thigh, where it folded down over the very soft, exquisitely soft skin of the inside, which he brushed with the light touch that only a truly sensitive lover can deliver, moving his hand slowly down to her knee. Having traversed the narrow gap between the thighs, Paul's hand moved lightly, tenderly, lovingly up the inside of the left thigh, sliding round to the back just below the top and very softly onto Claire's bottom. She winced and shivered in pleasure all at the same time and her hips rose and gyrated. She did not notice Paul, now completely unclad, kneeling behind her and it was not until she felt his breath warming her most intimate area and the yearned-for inquisitive touch of his tongue beginning a lengthy probe of her hungering womanliness, that she became so totally lost in a rich erotic mist that she became quite disoriented, trusting her lover to guide her through that mist to a safe landing at the peak. Such, in fact, was Paul's skill that several landings were made over the course of the next hour, with the result that, when their bodies finally fused into one perfect intimacy enveloped in a powerful veil of love, desire, protection and control, Claire found that her body rewarded her with the most powerful explosion of erotic experience that she had ever enjoyed in all her 27 years.
As Paul lay, exhausted, by Claire's side, with a sheet drawn over the two relaxed forms, he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to return to something that resembled more closely the bounds of physiological normality. The way in which Claire's now naked body folded into his form created feelings he could not describe, whilst the gentle peregrinations of her contented hand around his manliness provided the perfect dessert to send both of them drifting into a deep sleep, as his hand rested on Claire's right hip, his thumb sliding idly back and forth in a soothing stroking movement. Within a matter of minutes, the two of them were in a deep, united sleep, from which they did not awaken until the day was far spent.
As the scene wound down to its restful conclusion upstairs, a shaft of sunlight, reflected from a window in a house across the road, pierced the shade of Claire's living room and landed directly on the leather collar. There was something almost unreal about the life that this breathed into the sapphire, which responded with a captivating ice-blue glow.
There was something totally real about the silent exit of Flopsy through the cat-flap, as she ventured out into the locality. A muffled engine sound from a passing car penetrated opportunistically through the briefly-opened flap and the distant roar of a passing train rode piggyback on this audible intrusion .... an incursion that had no effect whatsoever upon the slumbering bodies of two deeply contented lovers who had just exchanged their icebreaking gifts.
|
The Gift (M/f) - published on other sites too - 
Profile
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread