Wicked Wednesday: Maddie takes unholy orders

He smiled down at me, freshly orgasmic, freshly spanked, over his knee. I’d just asked him to fuck me, and I’d meant it. He put his hand back on my poor, sensitive bottom, and said, “No, Maddie. You know this isn’t the right night. I want it to be special for you.” 

I thought of arguing with him. But it seemed such a silly thing that I just giggled. He looked puzzled. “What, girl?” 

“I feel very special right now, sir. And I want you to… fuck me.” 

I don’t know for sure, but that may be Ornella Muti’s (Princess Aurora in Flash Whoo-ah! Gordon) daughter.

He smacked me then. I yelped. “You don’t argue with me, Maddie. Do you?” 

“No, Sir.” Then I laughed again. “You can fuck me whenever you like.” It sounded like such a strange thing to say to a man. I felt so grown-up over his knee, so forward, and so good, and so happy.

“Oh, girl, I certainly will. You don’t want to have any choice on that, do you?”

I had to think about that. Then I said, truly, “No, I don’t. That’s what ‘whenever you like’ means. Always, Sir. Not just the first time.”

He spanked me again, six smacks, not hard. They hurt me, but I knew he wanted me to feel good. I did.

 “Thank me for your spanking, Maddie.” 

“Oh, yes, Sir! Thank you for spanking me. And thank you for making me come. It was glorious. If you don’t mind me saying, Sir.” 

He rubbed me where he’d spanked. I was ready to come again. He just had to… Then it struck that he didn’t have to do anything. I was the one who had to do things. My life wasn’t going to be fair. It was just going to be hot. At last he said, “I don’t mind you saying, at all, Maddie. I’m pleased with you. In every way. You’re a good girl. A perfect girl. You can be proud of that.”  

“Sir.” I waggled my bottom at him. I hoped… Well, you know what I hoped.

He said, “But you need to get up now. Put your feet on the floor.” He helped me up, still naked. “Keep your back to the fire, girl. Hands on head.” 

I obeyed, and he disappeared for a while. He reappeared with my clothes, an iron and ironing board. “You can iron, I take it.” 

“Better than my mother, Sir.” 

He set up the board and plugged the iron. “All right. Show me.” 

I reached for my panties – they didn’t need ironing. He strode over quickly, held me, and bent me forward at the waist. His hand landed on my bottom, once, twice, then six times, then ten, and I wondered, yelping and writhing and squealing apologies, how long this spanking was going to go on for. This time he really was punishing me.

It hurt. Physically, I mean. I felt so bad for doing something that made me deserve it, too. He stopped at thirty smacks, though I didn’t stop wriggling, and hopping from foot to foot for a while afterwards. My poor little ass really hurt. I wanted to rub it better, but I knew that I did that without his permission I’d feel his belt, or worse.

 “Maddie. You will never dress yourself in my presence, without my express permission. Is that clear?” 

I felt so ashamed. I hadn’t thought. “Yes, I’m sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again.” 

“I should think not. In fact, whenever you’re here, you undress at the door. You do not have the right to wear clothes in this house, unless I tell you otherwise.” 

“Yes, Sir. I understand.” I was so sorry. 

“Now iron your skirt and your shirt. I’ll watch.” 

He was smiling again. My heart lifted, with that. I remembered the fantasy I’d had in the bath, about being Miss Sexy Girl with an iron. So I stood further from the ironing board than I usually do, so that I had to bend at the waist.

And I began, basking in his eyes. I, uh, was finding that I don’t mind the male gaze. If it’s the right male. 

While I worked, he told me he’d made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow morning.

He’d take me. We were going to do tests for pregnancy and swabs to test for STDs. And, he said, I might need to take the morning after pill.

That could be easy, but there was also a chance it could make me feel very bad. So he’d bring me here again tomorrow, so he could look after me.

The morning after pill at didn’t sound like much fun. But I realised that he wasn’t going to fuck me till all this had been dealt with, and I was ok. That made sense. I wasn’t getting what I wanted, but he was taking care of me.  

Eventually, I finished, and uniform was all crisp and warm again. He looked at me very seriously. “You may get dressed now, Maddie.” 

When I’d finished, he held me in his arms and kissed me. I felt him getting hard again. So did he, because he suddenly stopped. “Come on, girl. I’d better take you home.”

 

 

Be lusty! with e[lust]!

e[lust] – your source for lust in the electronic form

 In This Issue…

Sinful Sunday: In the middle of the night

it was three in the morning. They’d spent the night fucking, but – to her surprise – he hadn’t spanked her. His belt lay on the sheet beside them, as it usually did when they were in bed, and the cane hung on the wall beside the bed. Both were unused.

She thought they were going to sleep now, but he said, “Up, girl. Up!” The first time he said “up” it was as though he had a treat for her: there was mischief, and enticement, in his voice. The second time it was clearly an order. 

She murmured, “Yes, Master,” and rolled out of bed, and stood up. HJe got up and put on a dressing gown. He didn’t offer hers. He took her by the hand and led her out of the house. 

The night air was cool on her skin. She could feel goosebumps forming on her shoulders and breasts. She wore only her wrist and ankle cuffs, and her collar. She was grateful for the little bands of warmth they offered.

She could hear birds above, sleeping in the trees, mildly complaining at their disturbance, then deciding they were no risk and returning to silence. There were nocturnal mammals around, she knew, but they had heard humans and crept away. 

He led her down past the greenhouse, down the slopes to the bottom of the garden, a spot under the plum tree, over-looking the valley.

There was a trestle there. She’d never seen it before, or anything similar, though she knew what it was. And what it was for. He’d made it for her. 

“Bend over, little one. Legs apart, head down. And reach your arms right down.” She obeyed, and attached her wrist and ankle cuffs to the snap bolts he’d put in, low on each side. She experimented a little, so she could confirm to herself that she was helpless, held fast.

He fetched from below the plum tree a wooden paddle. She hadn’t seen that before either.   It looked very home-made.

He held it to her mouth, and she kissed it. Her heart was beating fast. It was hard, and it was nearly an inch thick. He’d made it, just to hurt her with it.

He took the paddle from her mouth, and stepped back. He said nothing.

Then it landed, against her lower bottom. Noise and pain overwhelmed her, and she yelped. She didn’t usually cry out at the first impact, but this was too strong. She was in its control, not hers.

By the third impact she was wailing continuously. Not loud, but uncontrollably. Except by Master. He was in control of the sounds she made, how she moved and what she felt, and when.

The paddle landed, over, and over. The strokes got no harder, but each one hurt a little more, burnt more fiercely, than the one before. Now she jerked each time the paddle landed, body rocking with the impact but held fast by her cuffs. If it was cold, naked in the night air, she no longer knew it. She knew nothing but pain, and the sound of her own wailing, what Master called her pain-song. 

Eventually she became aware that the paddling had paused. Her Master said, “Thirty-six.”

She’d had three dozen! Simply for his pleasure. But at least it was over.

He said, “So I think, just four more. You can count and thank me, for these last strokes.”

Then the paddle again, against her lower bottom, almost reaching her cunt. “Aiieee! Uh. Uh. Oh, fuck. Thirty seven, Master. Thank you!”

“Good girl.”

He concentrated on her lower bottom and upper thighs. But when she said “Forty, thank you, Master,” he didn’t tell her she was good.   

Instead she felt his hands holding her hips like talons, holding her as if her cuffs weren’t enough. His cock slipped into her cunt, deep, then all the way out, then deep, then out. She breathed in time with his movements. It was so good. But on the fourth withdrawal, his cock didn’t return. She stopped herself from protesting. That paddle was on the lawn beside her. He pushed her ass down, and she felt his cock pressing against her sphincter.

Her head dropped, helpless, as he thrust into her ass. He usually took his time when he butt-fucked her, but now he was urgent, insatiable need. She heard him grunt once, when he was all the way inside, his cock deep in her ass and his body pressed against the fierce heat of her buttocks. Then he fucked her, hard, fast, working on his own orgasm. Not hers. But soon, ruthlessly fucked, she heard herself wailing again. Not a pain song. 

Note

The halo of light above my girl’s body: I’m not sure what that was. But I like it. It was a night of mysteries, and there was something deep and sacred going on. I don’t know what it was, in technical terms, but to me it adds to the magic and mystery.

 

 

Anal sex and bdsm

It’s sometimes assumed that anal sex is almost a sub-category within bdsm, that anal sex is inherently bdsm, and people who do bdsm necessarily have anal sex.

Of course this isn’t true. Lots of vanilla heterosexual and vanilla gay couples have anal sex without it having any bdsm resonance for them; it’s just a variation. And lots of bdsm people don’t have anal sex in their repertoire. They are different categories, bdsm sex and anal sex. Some people do both, and some people do one or the other.

Still, I’m one of the people who does both. And I find that I feel very masterly, very dominant, while taking a submissive woman anally. It doesn’t have to be a bdsm thing, but when it happens in a bdsm context, then for me it becomes very strong, very intensely bdsm.

So, I thought, how come? What are the connections between anal sex and bdsm? 

The obvious and wrong answer is that the submissive receives and the dominant penetrates: they take the “active” role. But that isn’t necessarily how anal works in bdsm works. Aleister Crowley, for example, used to flog his male submissives, and then make them bugger him. He’d give instructions on how fast or how deep, and they knew they were in trouble if they didn’t please their master. 

It’s never what you do, in bdsm: it’s what it means.

I think the thing that’s common to both anal sex and bdsm is that they have a kind of hard intimacy. I think of the Nine-Inch Nails song, “I want to fuck you like an animal; I want to feel you from the inside.” Which isn’t necessarily a song about anal sex. Still, it’s that urge that I’m thinking about; to be truly inside one’s submissive’s body, to feel her.

The vagina is in a sense part of the outside of the body. (Germaine Greer got in trouble for pointing this out, a few years back; but for once the mad old bat was right). It’s not a hole; more like a fold, or an indentation, in the body, a thick-skinned one, evolved to deal with the outside world and with intrusions.

The anus is different. It’s thin-skinned. That’s one reason why anal sex is more risky, in terms of contact injuries and viral transmission.

In a strict medical sense the anus can also be said to be outside the body, the same sense in which the whole system involving the mouth, the throat, stomach and entire alimentary canal, is outside the body. Think of it was the inner part of a tube; the interior curve of a tube is still part of the exterior surface of the tube. Or, if you like, think of a tea-cup. You put tea “in” the cup, but the tea-receptacle part of a cup is still outside of the cup itself. Inside the cup, it’s porcelain.

But still, the hell with science and medicine.

The experience is that anal penetration is intimate. You are closer; you have to take greater care because of that; there’s great intimacy, of sensitive male flesh and skin inside sensitive female flesh and skin, moving together, carefully, body to body. (Leaving pegging out if it, for the moment: the dildo doesn’t feel anything. It’s the symbolism, not the sensation, that counts.) 

Dominants and submissives need to know each other, to be in something close to telepathic contact. Sometimes that very close contact can be experienced in anal sex.

There are other connections between anal sex and bdsm, but intimacy seems to me to be the most powerful. 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie over the headmaster’s knee

I was washing myself in Sir’s bath while he watched. It was an interesting experience. He said nothing, and looked into my eyes, not at my body. I felt shy at first, but less so by the time I washed my feet. Which, by the way, is about the most exposed thing to do in front of a man. By then I was enjoying myself, because he said nothing, but smiled at me. So I could flirt a little. 

But then I heard a clunk sound from somewhere in the house. The washing machine had finished and switched itself off. He said, “All right, Maddie. Time to get out.” He picked up a nice warm, fluffy towel and stood beside the bath reaching down his hand, I took his hand and stood up, and he wrapped the towel round my shoulders. “Get yourself dry, girl. And then come out, the way I told you. Stand beside the armchair, hands on head. I’ll be with you shortly.” 

And he left, I guessed to deal with my clothes and put them in the drier. I looked at myself in the mirror. I liked myself. I was clean, and pink. The boiled lobster look never goes out of style! 

I was going to have my head dangling down to the carpet soon, while he spanked me. I thought about putting my hair up. But I wasn’t sure that I could do that so that it wouldn’t fall out while I was getting my bottom warmed. Also, I guessed he wouldn’t like it much. So I plaited it. 

Out in the living room there was a big tan leather armchair with a round arm. There were other armchairs but I knew that was the one he meant.

So I stood beside it as he’d ordered. And I thought about what was coming. I’d liked being spanked by him from the very first time. It seemed so long ago, now. But I already knew, once I’d felt his hand on my bottom, that this felt incredibly right, and sexy, and good. 

This was going to be the first time he’d spanked me naked, and that felt right too. We didn’t have to pretend any more. There was the horrible thing that had happened to me, only three hours ago, but though that meant we weren’t going to fuck tonight, it wasn’t going to be long. Whenever he said, as far as I was concerned.

Then he came back. “Good girl, Maddie.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“Take that towel off, then get back in position.” 

“Yes, Sir.” I only had to twitch it at my left shoulder and it fell away, at my feet. The air was warm around my body. I could feel steam rising from me. Literally, as well as metaphorically of course. He’d put the heating on. I hoped that when we fucked it would be here, and not in his office. 

Then he came close, and he put his hand on my jaw and lifted my face a little. He smiled down at me, and then kissed me. It was our first kiss, and my heart was beating so hard, and my cunt felt like it was melting. I was so turned on; I wanted him to fuck me then, so, so much.

But he smacked my bottom, not hard. Fondly. It hadn’t occured to me that you could spank a girl fondly. It seemed a nice thing to know.

He sat in that chair, holding my hand, and then he pulled me down, over his knee. There was my face, so close to the carpet, my fingertips and my toes resting on it. And my bottom up and poised for him. 

“Maddie. Why are you getting this spanking?”

I had to think. I couldn’t care less, just then, why he was going to spank me. It was so hot and warm for me that he wanted to, and that was all I knew. But I remembered. “Because I lied to you, Sir.” 

“Yes, you did, girl. But you were just being a little bit mischievous. I’d hate for you ever to lose that. Not completely, though you’ll often go too far and have to be put in your place. Won’t you?” 

I had to smile. “Yes, Sir. I expect so.” 

He put his hand on my bottom then, and squeezed me. God, it felt good. I was so wet. He said, “So. You’re getting this spanking because I think it’ll bring you back to the world. You’ll know where you are and feel better. In the familiar world. Because you know you’re going to be spanked often, don’t you, Maddie?” 

“Yes, I do do, Sir. And I know, now I’m not scared any more, that I’ll love that.” 

I heard him laugh, very quietly. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll enjoy every time, Maddie. Sometimes I’ll be setting out to punish you properly. What I think you’ll love is being a girl who has to do as she’s told, and gets punished if she doesn’t.” 

He smacked me again, and again, one on each side. He hadn’t asked me a question, but I said, “Yes, Sir.” 

“Good girl. Head down, thighs right apart.” 

I obeyed, forgetting to say yes Sir because his hand was coming down on my bottom now, over and over, warm and hard. I knew nothing except his lap, which came with a hard cock pushed against my hip, and his hand.

His hand landed on the backs of my thighs, and the sides of my bottom, and then more and more on the sit spot, where – I was starting to realise – I like it most. 

I knew I was bright red by then, and it was starting to burn, but he kept on, hurting me and comforting me at once, over and over. I lost count of how many smacks he’d given me, and I’d lost all track of time. I just knew that I wanted him to continue, because there was … something ahead for me, and his spanking me was driving me towards it. 

Eventually he relented and stroked my cunt, in amongst the smacks, and the thing I was heading for started to come at me, like a train at the other end of the tunnel. I spread my thighs as wide as I possibly could, to make him stroke my cunt more, but mostly he concentrated on the spanking, pushing me harder and harder. 

And – I don’t know. The train hit me. I came so hard over his knee, my head up and my legs in the air, one screaming girl, blissed out. Eventually I collapsed back on his knee, head down, legs limp, his hand resting on my bottom, stroking. 

His cock was so hard. Harder even than when I’d sucked him in his office. Bigger. I breathed. I wished I could look at him, but his hand held me firmly down. My body wanted him so strongly that it took me a while to realise I hadn’t actually asked. Not out loud, not in so many words. “Fuck me, Sir? Will you fuck me please, Sir?”

Note

I really wanted to do the prompt this week. It’s a good one. But the Jennifer and Maddie saga belongs to Wicked Wednesday. And I simply couldn’t fit an alien or even a visitor, let alone refugee policy, into this week’s episode. Sorry about that.

A good man, with a belt 9 (final!)

I got up and checked my back in the mirror. It did look dramatic. More importantly, I couldn’t tell Fliss’s scratches from the ones Maureen had inflicted.

“It’s all right, love, I didn’t even feel it. Hot blood, and all. And it doesn’t hurt now, either.” This was true. “And you can get as carried away as you like.” I got back in bed, and kissed her. “My fiery little slut.”

Fliss smiled now, rather proud of herself. “Fiery little slut. Yes, I suppose.”

She looked over my shoulder. She said, “Can I see?”

I rolled onto my stomach, and let Fliss run her fingertips gently over her and Maureen’s handwork. “Wow,” she said again. “I have been a bad girl.”

I said, “Oh. Not really. I mean … ” And there was nothing further that I could say about that.

“Haven’t I?”

My belt was still in bed with us where I’d dropped it, when I pulled her mouth off my cock and hauled her forward, to get her cunt against my mouth. Usually I spanked her with it when she was sucking me, but this time I hadn’t. Dominance requires a certain purity of self-belief, which I had not felt, for very sound reasons.

Still, what Fliss knew was that she had not been spanked. It had been a good fuck, but it had been an egg without salt.

So I picked up the belt, and the powers, rights and duties that it implies. “Well. Now you mention it…” And Fliss slid over my lap, hard little bottom arched in mock-repentance and sexual greed.

“Yes,” I said. “You have been a very bad girl.”


The end.

Sinful Sunday: Wait for me!

When he became her Master, he’d told her she’d be subject to discipline, of course. She expected that, and would have been disappointed if he’d said anything else. She liked the ritual, the way her obedience felt so very real and significant when he told her to position herself to make her body available for him to hurt her. 

And it was hot. The cane no longer scared her as much as it used to, but it still hurt her more than she could turn into sex, in the second of it landing across her bottom and thighs. It was a few seconds later that the pain would recede a little and turn into the right kind of warmth. He always fucked her after he’d punished her, because the dance of obedience and pain excited them both, and he wanted to show her that the punishment was over: she was his, and his good girl, again. 

But he’d told her that there were two things he could never accept, and would punish her hard for: disobedience, and things that caused her harm.

That evening he’d asked about orders he’d given her, and she’d had to tell him that she didn’t have the outline of her university course essay, and she hadn’t made a doctor’s appointment – about an intermittent pain in her side – he’d told her to arrange. So that was two counts each, of disobedience and acting against her own interests.

She knew she’d disappointed him. He’d lectured her, and though he’d made himself sound calm she knew he was very displeased. Then he’d made her lie down on their bed, and he’d strapped her long and hard with his belt. It went on for a long time, long enough for her to burrow into it, that living, sexual cave of pain he made for her. And when he stopped at last she’d thought it was over.

Instead he’d taken the cane from its place beside their bed, where it lived, and told her to get up. He took her by the ear and led her into the living room. He stood her facing the wall, and told her to put her hands on her head. And he’d lubricated her anus thoroughly, and put the cane between her buttocks.  

He said he’d be with her again, later, and take that cane, and she would bend over and touch her toes. And he would continue the punishment, until he felt she’d paid in full. In the meantime, she should think about obedience, about caring for her health, and not failing her course. 

And, he’d said, don’t you dare let that cane fall.

Then he’d sat down to read a book, while she stood there. In disgrace. Waiting for the cane. Hoping he’d let her come when he took her afterwards. Wanting it to be over. And wanting it to begin.

 

A good man, with a belt 8

 

Note

This is the near the end of this story. If you missed earlier episodes, the jist is that I had girl-scratches all over my back that my current girlfriend, the extremely assertive submissive Fliss, hadn’t put there.

She was likely to resent these when she became aware of them. I’d managed to start having sex with her without her noticing them, but I expected exposure as a Bad Boyfriend at any second. 

Now Read On

So Fliss, eyes closed, had squirmed her way deliciously down to her mammal brain. I liked that state myself when fucking. I tend to go bear-like when she goes there, carnivorous and very grunty, and not at all analytical. But I couldn’t go that way this time. I had too much to think about.

And then I smiled down at Fliss, kissed her, which she accepted, purring pleasurably, but without opening her eyes. And I brought my hands in under her back, made the best claws I could with my blunt nails, and dragged them down her back, scratching as hard as I could.

Fliss’s eyes opened wide. She grunted, “Ubf!”, tightened her thighs on mine and let fly with her nails, scrabbling and flaying at my back while she writhed determinedly beneath me. She continued shredding, my excited minx, until I felt she’d done enough.

I grabbed her hands and held them together over her head, trapped in one hand of mine, and increased our speed. And Fliss made the noise she made when she was going to come, a sort of gurgling, close to laughter but more musical, that rose and fell in cascades and made me think of fountains, and aspens.

And she came and I came, and afterwards I accepted loving words that I didn’t entirely deserve, and gave loving words that she did deserve. And later still we lay side by side, on our backs, legs and arms twined, well pleased with each other.

Eventually I got up to get us both water and wine. There was a slight gasp as I walked, naked, out of the bedroom. When I returned Fliss took her drink, and then looked contrite.

“Jesus, Jaime, your back’s a mess. Wow. Sorry. I didn’t realise I’d got so carried away.”

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie in the headmaster’s bath

Out of Maddie’s story: Back in the storeroom with me

Back in the storeroom beside my office, where Maddie was telling me this story, I looked over at her. We were lying side by side on a mattress that would eventually find its way to the school sickroom. Maddie wasn’t so tense in my arms now, and her eyes, staring at the ceiling, seemed more relaxed. We’d passed the hard part of her story. 

I kissed her cheek, near her nose, since that was where I could reach. She turned to face me, and we cuddled, full length, Maddie pushing a leg between mine so we were intertwined. We were in that pleasant emotional valley between affection and sex, and not inclined to make any definite swing in one direction or the other. 

I was still soft-cocked. It hadn’t been long since we’d fucked, and since then she’d told me about getting raped in the boy’s toilets at her school. That was about the most antierotic thing I’d ever heard. So there’d be no more fucking, at least not  involving penises, until I’d got that out of my head. I think Maddie was happier with comfort than with lust just at that moment too.

But affection: I guessed that was what she wanted most, and I could do that. 

I held her and said, “You’re in his bath, the lucky bastard. So then what happened?” 

Back in Maddie’s story, and in her headmaster’s bath

I put my toes in the bath. It was just short of being too hot, so it was just right. I could hear him just outside the door, picking up my clothes. I imagined him coming in, to see me, and I hurried into the bath. 

My view

It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to see me. It was that I’d seen movies where the woman lets the man into her bathroom, and she’s all covered up in soap bubbles, and all you got was the odd glimpse of golden, pink skin, and no nipples and no thighs. And I wanted him to see me like that. Looking all grand and sexy.

I didn’t want sex with him, not then. My cunt hurt, and I still felt terrible. Something that was going to be so lovely, between us, had got fucked up, and and it was my fault. I know. I’m talking about how I felt then. 

I was a little bit angry with men, too. I wasn’t angry with him, my headmaster, sir, but there was still some free-floating anger. How could this have happened? It just wasn’t fair. And it happens to girls like me, and it never happens to men like him. 

Still, though I didn’t feel like getting fucked that night, sex was still something between us and I needed to know it had survived.

His view

I still wanted him to cane me, and make me do whatever he wanted and punish me if I didn’t do it right. And I wanted him to fuck me, in all the ways a woman can be fucked, and for him to teach me everything he knew. And then I could serve him.

And I knew that was what he wanted too. So I liked that. I didn’t want it to happen that night. But I needed to know he still wanted me, and that made me feel a little flirtatious, even a little sexy. Do you see that?

I heard a washing machine going. I thought about him taking the clothes out of the drier, in an hour or so, all crumpled and needing ironing. And I thought of watching him iron my clothes, and something about that made me giggle. And then I thought about ironing my clothes in front of him. I’d have to drop the robe so he could see me lean forward. And wiggle. That, my darling, was the Kahlua talking. Or at least doing my thinking for me. 

So I poured some more water, and added more soap bubbles everywhere, so I was almost modest. Though I left a nipple poking out. I thought it looked accidental. And I called out, “Sir? Sir?

“Maddie?” He was back in the living room. And he wasn’t coming in to see me. 

So I said, “Sir, I’m feeling shaky still. Can I have … another adult drink, please?”

There was a pause. Eventually he decided he had to believe me. I was pretty sure those were the rules. So he said, “All right, Maddie. But just one. That’s it.” 

So I ran more bubbly stuff and churned it up, till I had dabs of bubble in my hair and like icecream cones on my knees, but still with one nipple peeking out. I thought if he liked me at all, he’d find that irresistible.

He came in, with another glass for me, and a glass of something clear in his other hand. And he stopped and looked down at me. All ready for him, like a sophisticated New York socialite in a movie. He saw me, a naked girl all bubbled up, looking about ten years old, I suppose, and thinking I looked thirty. He smiled. 

“Maddie. You said you were feeling shaky. I want you to look in my eyes.” 

And I did. His were kind, at that moment, but they could be hard, too. Blue eyes, he had. And the lines around them were kind. He was going to cane me and fuck me, but he cared and worried about people. And we looked at each other, on and on, for ages. 

“Were you just feeling shaky, girl, or did you just want me to come in here?”

He was still looking at me, and I was still gazing into his eyes. I couldn’t lie, and I didn’t want to. “I wanted you to come in, sir. I felt lonely. And … now I really do feel shaky.”

He smiled, and gave me the glass. I leaned forward to take it, and there were my breasts, a little soapy, but basically bare. I leaned back quickly, retreating behind the bath foam. 

“Good girls don’t tell lies.” But he didn’t seem at all angry with me. “Do you think you’ve just deserved a spanking, Maddie?” 

I didn’t have to think about that. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re right, provoking little girl. All right, that robe I gave you to wear.”

“Yes, sir?”

Doris Day hadn’t always been a virgin. She took it up later in life.

“You can carry it out of the bath, and I’ll let you wear it later. But when you’ve finished here, you’re just going to have a towel round your body, and you’ll take it off when I tell you, and put yourself over my knee.”

“Yes, sir.”  And I smiled at him. The idea that he wanted to be in charge of me made me feel so relieved. 

“Good girl. Up to a point. Now drink your drink.” 

He put the lid down and sat on the toilet, to watch me. “And clear those ridiculous soap bubbles away. Who do you think you are, Doris Day?” 

“Who?” 

“Never mind. You’ve got a lot to learn. Now wash yourself.”

So I cleared away the bubbles and obeyed. He watched, but even when I spread my thighs and washed my cunt, and scrubbed at it with the flannel, he watched my eyes.