In Roland’s bed, Teresa rested her bottom on the sheets, finding the heat and slight soreness from her spanking unexpectedly pleasant, and lay back. Roland was only seconds behind her, and he said nothing. He lifted her knees and then parted them, his body pressing urgent between her thighs.

He still said nothing as he entered her, not slowly or gently. He fucked her energetically though warily, pushing her head to the side whenever she got her teeth too close to his chest.

Pleasure built within her, steadily and then suddenly, so she felt as if she’d been caught by a huge wave and she knew no way of getting down safely before it crested.

She opened her eyes, head resting back on the pillow, and gazed at him almost in terror.

Something gave in her, then, with Roland still riding her hard, held firmly by her thighs, his hand on her mouth to stop her from biting. Teresa struggled against him, making frantic, incoherent noises. He grazed her nipples with his teeth, and when that sensation reached her cunt and her brain she came. Her mouth wrenched open and she cried her orgasm syllables, “Tard ah! Ahh! Kit too!”

Roland grunted, as if he were pleased with her and himself, and sped up, while Teresa still felt aftershocks, a series of smaller orgasms. He tensed, making his own high-pitched sound through his nose when he came. They lay together, Teresa taking his full weight on her body, looking up at him tenderly and hoping to find that tenderness reflected back at her.

But Roland still had his hands under her arse, holding her tight and still moving in her. He was spent but not yet tender. At last he slipped them out and used them to support himself. Teresa took a deep breath, now that she could.

He smiled down at her. There it was: tenderness. Her heart was still pounding.

At last he rolled off her and lay on his back. Teresa took another hard breath, to celebrate, and let it out slowly. She kissed his shoulder. They were peaceful, and they had nothing to say. She turned onto her side and curled towards him, her leg over his, for comfort and possession. 

Roland had just told Teresa that he wasn’t going to let her into his flat any more, or not with clothes on. She wasn’t sure he really meant that. There were practical objections; she was sure she could think of several. But there was only one sexy answer, and just then the sexy answer was the only one possible. Teresa said, “Yes, sir.”

He knew, his grin said, that he was being silly. But at the same time, he’d meant what he said. He said, “My bedroom’s down that corridor. First on the left. Bed, Teresa. Now.”

Teresa turned to obey. She took a step, then stopped. “You should take photos of my arse.”

“I suppose so. This is your first spanking, at least from me­–”

“No, that makes it the first. At all. Don’t forget that you’re a weirdo. Statistically speaking.”

“But it’s not going to be the last, is it?”

Teresa looked back at him. “I’ve got a feeling it might not be.”

“So, hold still. You’re right: you should have a photo of your first. Put your hands on your head.”

“Yeah? Why?” 

Roland looked surprised. “In all honesty, I don’t actually know. It just makes you look sexy.”

Looking sexy was no bad thing. Teresa obeyed, and watched him gawk at her. Then he took her in with his phone camera. “Yeah. First photo. Teresa spanked. The day your life changed, and you became accountable to me.”

She turned back to face him. “Oh?”

“Don’t you think?” Then he suddenly looked much, much less cheerful. “Sorry, I should have said that better. I wasn’t really thinking, and I just blurted out what I feel. I’m sorry. So this is a question: do you feel that you’d like to be accountable to me?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You mean you’ll beat my ass if I don’t do as I’m told?” She tried to make that sound absurd. She knew that in this room, with just the two of them, it didn’t sound absurd at all. It didn’t even sound wrong.

“That’s exactly what I mean. And more. Well?”

“Then yes, ok. I do. And more.” She thought for several long moments about what she felt like saying, and then said it. “Sir.”

“Also, I should take more photos of your arse right now because you look incredibly sexy. Now stand in the corner.”

Teresa moved to the corner, glancing facing back at him. “This better?”

“You look spectacular. Just … debauched.”

“Heh. I’m ‘debauched’. You’re the pervert. Can I move now?”

“No. Stay there. And look pretty. And… hold.”

She heard him taking photos, from different angles.

Eventually he smacked her bottom, lightly, with his phone. “Off you go, spank-victim. Bedroom on the left.”

Back in the taxi Roland had promised Teresa, into her ear so the driver wouldn’t hear, that her spanking would be the “can’t sit down” kind.

That was probably true, not because of pain but because sitting down would be the last thing she’d want to do when this spanking stopped. If it ever was going to stop. For now she was content to lie over his legs, tightly held, his hand landing over and over on her bare ass.

His hand was warm, comforting as well as mildly painful. Her arse felt glorious: warm, sexy, teased. She was in no hurry for this to stop. Neither was he, it seemed. 

But at last he rested his hand on her arse, and she could feel her own heat, and his. She expected her skin was the brightest red colour it had ever been. She’d never felt quite so confident that a man liked what he saw, as she did just then.

He said, “All right, Teresa. That was your lesson: once you’ve started calling a man sir, it’s not safe to brat him. Not without consequences. But you’re done now. Up you get.”

But Teresa was too dazed and too bizarrely comfortable to want to move.

She watched her hair brushing on his carpet, and wondered again what colour her ass was – scarlet? crimson? somewhere around that part of the spectrum – and what it would take to get him to start again. And then, suddenly and treacherously, he pushed her and she tumbled onto that carpet.

She slid her hands under her bottom and squeezed tight, glaring up at him. He only smiled down at her. “Stand up, Teresa, and take your clothes off. All of them.”

Teresa considered defiance. But the spanking part of the evening, though it had been hot, and fun, was over. And undressing was something she’d been meaning to do anyway. So she removed silks and velvet, finally dropping the long skirt he’d pushed up to her waist, and stood facing him in just her corset, feet slightly apart, hands at her sides.

Roland regarded her gravely. He was still seated, still fully dressed. Finally he said, “You are amazingly beautiful. And completely, utterly desirable. I’m going to take that corset off before I fuck you. Because it’s more comfortable for me that way.” He looked her in the eyes.

Debbie decided not to fight on the corset issue. For now. Because when he’d claimed to want it off solely for his own comfort he’d been winding her up, and, she guessed, hoping she’d rise to the challenge. “Yes, sir.” But she didn’t take it off.

So he raised the stakes. “I don’t think I’m going to let you wear clothes in this flat again. From now on, you strip when you get in the door. Understood?”