Mrs. Hart's Ache Ch. 14

“Which of those would you prefer I use to discipline you, Mrs Hart? The paddle, the cane or the riding crop?”

Surprise bloomed across her features. I think she thought the ordeal was over after she’d blown me.

Not happenin’ Veronica. You have a long way to go.

“Which one, Mrs Hart?” I pressed.

Veronica swallowed hard, then whispered “The paddle.”

I pointed to the desk in front of the window. The drapes were drawn, but the sheers closed. “Make yourself as comfortable as possible over the desk. Spread your feet about eighteen inches apart. Grasp the far edge. Do not let go. If you disobey, I will tie your hands in place. Now do it.”

Moving slowly as if in shock, Veronica rose to her feet. She draped herself across the desk resting on her forearms, then spread her feet. Her bare breasts swayed minutely with each movement. Her nipples puckered, brushing the cool, slick surface of the desk. Her ass was raised, presented slightly higher than her shoulders.

She glanced over her shoulder once to look in my eyes, then away again as quickly. A shudder ran through her prostrate body. The flesh of her heavy breasts rippled in reaction.

I stood to adjust my clothes and buckle my belt, then moved behind. Judging her position, I nudged her feet a couple of inches farther apart.

“Remember this position. In the future, I do not expect to be forced to place you properly.”

A flush crept over her cheeks, but she maintained her silence, even as I raised the hem of her dress behind and folded it over her back. Gorgeous ass, but…

…but, I found her heart-shaped ass encased in pantihose. How mundane. Sheer pantihose, to be sure, but not quite what I expected from the kinky Veronica of the vids.

Time out.

Admittedly pantihose can be very sexy. It’s just that I was not in the mood to deal with a pair at that moment.

Oh well, part of the plan was to allow her to get her YaYa’s too. Tearing off her pantihose and panties would help do that.

Time in.

Her legs flexed, her ass clenched at the unveiling. Beneath the sheer nylon she wore a rather nice black lace thong which matched her bra. Too bad that that thong would not survive the encounter. I ran a hand over her proffered butt, The crotch of her pantihose centered over the bulge of her pussy was damp and slick. I smiled, then took the scissors from the desk set.

Veronica mewed once, shuddering at my touch. At that moment, whether in anticipation or terror, I don’t think even she could say. She remained silent – trembling, but silent – as I tore open her pantihose and cut away those designer panties.

Whoops! There goes a benjamin into the trash.

Mrs Hart – Veronica – has a very nice ass.

Her knees gave slightly, her ass dipping, when I ran my hands over the firm and lightly tanned globes of her bare butt. Obviously Veronica wears a rather dramatic bikini when sunbathing. Smack! A sudden yip was forced from her throat.

“Do not move. Do not speak. Keep your knees locked. If you must scream, please feel free. We both know that this place is soundproof.” I said firmly as I finished my inspection. Her knuckles whitened as I ran gentle fingers down between her thighs. Her matted pussyhair was slippery wet along the divide of her sex. We’d take care of that mess later. I stepped back slightly and selected my choice of implement from the bed.

She’d chosen the paddle. I gave her the cane.

“I have a few rules for you before I start:

“One: today is day one. On day one hundred and one I will give you the discs I’ve collected and all the evidence of your obsession then walk away. You will be completely free, though I will continue to see your daughter if she and I so choose. You willnot interfere.

“Two: you are mine to do with as I will for that period. Make a list of commitments you have in that time. We will discuss each and decide whether it is unavoidable. There will be time for you, and time for me, and time together. I will decide each.

“Three: when we are together, you will address me as ‘Sir’, unless I tell you otherwise. I want to hear ‘Sir’ at least once every time you open your mouth. You willalways treat me with the utmost respect. I do not expect you tobe happy, but I do expect and require that youappear happy. You will be charming at all times, particularly if there are others present.

“Four: I don’t know what kind of birth control you practice, or even whether you need it, nor to I care. If you do need it, it is your responsibility. However, your chosen method is not to inconvenience me in any way. You are to be ready for me to make use of your body in any way I so chose at any time.

“I repeat: Any way at anytime.

“Five: our relationship is to remain secret. I may decide to take you certain places, but your identify will be protected. No one is to know of us, unless I decide. Currently there are a few others who know. I trust them to keep the secret. So will you. The public will never know as long as you obey my rules.

“Six: your ‘safe’ word is your name; if you say ‘Veronica’, the session will stop until we discuss it. If I decide your excuse is frivolous, you will be punished.

“Seven: always dress with me in mind. For the next one hundred days you will not wear pantihose, unless I so direct. Stockings, whether stayups or with garters, are de rigueur. You may wear panties and a bra unless I say otherwise. You maynot wear slacks or pants of any kind. You may wear shorts occasionally, but I prefer skirts.

“Remember, you are to dress for my viewing pleasure. That goes for your lingerie in particular. I expect variety. But if I don’t like it, you’ll lose it – immediately. Think about this every morning before you step into your panties: ‘do I really want to walk around naked beneath my dress today?’

“Eight: (I laid the cane across the quivering cheeks of her ass) you do not get to choose the method, mode or implement of punishment. Never. That is a privilege I reserve for myself.

“Do you understand these rules?”

Veronica had laid her forehead against the cool wood surface of the desk. Eyes closed, she whispered a barely audible “Yes… Sir”

“Then we begin,” I answered softly.

Time out.

If you haven’t guessed already, Veronica was not presenting herself like that because I had the goods on her.

Oh, she had come with me to the townhouse for that reason, but she did not take that thrashing for any other reason than her own gratification. To a certain extent, I was the answer to her prayers. Sheneeded to give someone else control. That was her kink.

Time in.

I raised the cane high.

“Count each stroke. If you miss counting, that stroke will be repeated. I will decide when you have had enough.”

Even though I had warned her, the first stroke came as a surprise. Veronica moaned; her ass dipped again as her knees flinched inward. Flesh rippling in reaction, her naked breasts danced upon her chest. Her hands were claws gripping the far edge of the desk, knuckles white.

Centered across the fleshiest areas of her asscheeks, the cane left a whitish stripe; the knuckles of the cane were particularly cruel. As I pulled back for the second blow, those stripes flushed sudden red. Perfect: not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark that would last a week.

“Ooohh-one Sir,” she whimpered in agony.

“I told you to keep your knees locked,” I said sternly. “Do not make me tell you again.”

The second stroke landed just as her ass rose into position.

“Aaaahhht-t-two Sir!”

Her arms jerked, but her knees stayed locked. Her legs trembled with the effort to remain still.

She was sobbing by the fifth stroke; openly weeping by the tenth; wailing desperately by the fifteenth. I gave her twenty-two: twelve from the left and ten from the right, alternating every five. As you well know, the far end of the cane snaps harder. She did not miss a count.

Veronica’s ass was livid with red welts when I finished. She laid there tense, her forehead still pressed to the desk, with tears trickling from beneath the lowered lids, waiting tensely for the fearful next stroke. I let her wait.

Time out.

Why twenty-two you ask?

I gave her that many because, first, she expected a round number; twenty, twenty-five or even thirty. Second, if I’d given her one more, I would have drawn blood. I gave her the exact number her buttcheeks could endure. I was tempted to lay one right up between her legs, but that could wait until there was no hair to cushion the blow. More importantly, part of what I was doing was venting.

I try not to discipline a sub in anger. Well, I may be in ‘irk’ sometimes, but I try not to discipline in anger; certainly not in rage. Rage can make you careless. Damage – sometimes permanent damage – is done in rage. The ‘box’ with Veronica’s name on it was finally open. Ihad to be careful.

Yes, you’re right. We were pretty emotional with Lydia, Marco and Wendy. But they deserved the emotion. Even Gwendolyn and Saundra had stepped out of character with ‘Fat Ass and the putz’ but we were all pissed. They deserved some ‘emotion’ when we were tattooing their butts.

That does sing somehow doesn’t it, like a new pair of sitcom characters: ‘Wally and the Beaver’; ‘Beavis and Butthead’; ‘Fat Ass and The Putz’…

I know.

Time in.

She laid there coil-spring tense for about two minutes before she realized that there would be no number twenty-three. Meanwhile I casually stripped off my shirt and released Mr Snake from confinement. He smelled fresh pussy. Fresh wet pussy. If Veronica had been wet before the whipping, her pussy was fairly gushing after.

Veronica had just begun to relax; her ass had just unclenched when I centered my dick on the divide of her sex and thrust in.

Moaning lost, her head came up, back arching, knees locked with ass thrust high; her body held in place by one hand gripping her shoulder, the other steadying on her hip. Her hands tightened on the far edge of the desk, supporting herself on her forearms.

I mounted her like the bitch she was: inches deep quick, then out, then in deeper, then out, pause, then in all the way, slamming my loins against the pain-striped cheeks of her ass. Veronica made small noises in her throat with each thrust.

Veronica surprised me. God she was tight. Not as tight as her daughter, not at forty-three with a pregnancy in her past, but certainly much tighter than I’d expected.

I surprised her too. ‘T’s good thing she was as wet as she was. She looked over her shoulder to see me, biting her lip to keep from whimpering as my cock stretched the walls of her pussy. Lust, horror, need and sorrow warred in her eyes.

Once seated deep with the head of my dick prodding her cervix, I paused to gather her hair in one thick rein. I tugged, arching her neck, then fucked her with long, deep strokes. I made certain that Veronica felt every inch of my cock pumping in her pussy. Every adamant stroke ended with my loins slamming into her ass, flattening the stinging globes.

That afternoon in the townhouse, I gave Veronica Hart the fucking of her lifetime.

She loved that fucking; she hated that I was the one fucking her. She needed it; she hated that she was getting it from me. She needed me; I didn’t need her at all.

Mrs Harthated that.

Two minutes into it, Veronica was cumming. five minutes later, she was cumming again. ten minutes later, she surprised herself by going off a third time. I waited until she was peaking that third time before letting go myself. I rammed my cock deep and held it there, thrusting against her ass, one hand locked to her shoulder, then other buried in her hair.

I roared wordlessly as the cum jetted from my dick. She wailed in the midst of her own orgasm. As the last shot of my cum pumped into her puss, I tightened my grip, pulling her up. I squeezed her left breast as I murmured in her ear.

“My goodness Mrs Hart, you really are a horny little minx, though I do love it when you cum for me.”

God she hated that.

Made her wet though.

When I released her hair, she slumped to the desktop, gasping. Mr Snake, sated for the moment, slipped from her pussy trailing cum. A sticky string arched, then snapped down her thigh. I shuffled back a couple of steps, then sat on the bed long enough to finish removing my clothes. Veronica didn’t move other than to gasp another breath. Her dress was damp with sweat. She lay with her weight on the desk, legs trembling but still locked.

I’d dropped off an overnight bag and a few other items on the way to the airport. I donned a nice Missoni robe.

“You have twenty minutes to make yourself presentable again,” I said as I wrapped the robe around myself.

“Remove your dress and what’s left of those ridiculous pantihose. Shower if you wish, but be back here on the bed in lingerie certain to please me at the deadline. We have a few more things to discuss before our afternoon is over. Move”

Veronica rose slowly, stiffling a moan when the hem of her dress slipped across the burning cheeks of her ass. The glance she gave me from the corner of her eyes was deadly, but she didn’t hesitate to obey my instructions.

Time out.

The strangest part about the whole senario is that Veronica Hart would have enjoyed herself completely, if she had had control; but, that she had no control made her wet.

Veronica Hart is a snob. She lives the caste system. I think one of her great regrets is that she was not born to European aristocracy. She believed that she’d have made a marvelous queen, or at the very least, a Duchess. She saw me as common at best.

There I was, her worst nightmare and most erotic dream: a commoner who had complete control over her.

Constitutionally, Veronica had to be in control of any situation. She could not be comfortable any other way. On the other hand, her greatest turn-on before that day was theillusion of surrendering control to another. After that day, her greatest turn-on was beingforced to surrender control to another.

Time in.

While she disappeared into the bathroom, I went to pack away the laptop. Veronica had taken the disc. No matter, I wanted her to have it. I had the originals.

I refreshed myself in the other bathroom, then poured myself another Guinness and made Veronica a fresh Stoli rocks. When I got back to the Master bedroom, she was just settling onto the bed. I have to admit, she looked radiant.

Her auburn hair was freshly brushed, cascading in waves around her face. Her black lace bustier was picked with an underlay of crimson satin and sheer black silk. Strapless, it left her shoulders, the curves of her breasts and flat belly bare. The three-quarter cups cradled her generous breasts, leaving her areolae peeking over the edge. The matching v-string covered the bulge of her sex with a sheer lace panel, while the strings behind did not touch the tender welts on her ass.

Veronica’s slender legs were encased in sheer black stockings: thigh-highs with wide lace bands gripping her thighs and framing the bulge of her pussy. Her makeup was perfect: no base; a hint of blush; lip gloss, a rich red/brown to match her hair. Her expression was subdued but defiant.

She wet her lips, maybe nerves or maybe an attempt at seduction or maybe because of her scorched ass. Maybe all three. Those welts had to hurt.

I set my glass on the nightstand, then handed her the drink. Surprise flashed in her eyes as she took it from me.

“Thank you… Sir.” She remembered her manners. It was a start. We still had a long way to go.

“You’re welcome Mrs Hart. Turn onto your stomach please.”

Surprise flashed again, then her eyes narrowed with suspicion but she turned as I’d asked and tucked a pillow beneath her chest. She looked over her shoulder as I climbed on the bed beside. She watched uneasily as I pulled a tube of ointment from my pocket and squeezed a lozenge on my hand.

Veronica tensed, the muscles of her legs and ass flexing as I began annointing the welts on her butt. She turned away so that I wouldn’t see her wince.

“This cream contains an analgesic, but more inportantly, it will help the welts heal. Don’t worry about scarring, there will be none. I have years of practice with instruments of discipline. Don’t take this as an act of kindness or apology. Rather just remember, the faster your ass heals, the sooner I can discipline you again. There is a short-handled flogger in the cabinet that I will use on you next. I’m told the strands biting into the fleshy pad of a woman’s mons are exquisitely painful.”

She started. Her head whipped around. She stared at me with wide eyes. “Wh – what…?

I met her eyes, mine cool.

“Not ‘What’ Mrs Hart,” I said, giving her flaming rear cheeks a smack. She flinched. A moan burst deep in her throat. “The correct response is ‘Yes Sir’, remember?”

I capped the tube and rolled off the bed to grab a damp towel from the bathroom. As I cleaned the ointment from my hands, I finished the thought.

“You have three days to heal. We wil meet back here next Monday afternoon at three for your session with the flogger. In the meantime, you have a couple of assignments.”

I crawled back onto the bed and stretched out with my head and shoulders on a pillow against the headboard. My Guinness was at hand. I took a pull. Great beer.

“Your first assignment is – turn on your side and pull your panties to your thighs.”

Startled, she did as I’d ordered, propping herself over the pillow on her elbow. She whinced slightly as the welts on her left asscheek came in contact with the comforter.

Her dark auburn bush grew wild over her mons and the lips of her pussy. I sat up and ran my fingers through the curls. Her right leg tensed, as though to cover herself, but she held herself still while I combed my fingers through her pubes.

“For shame Mrs Hart. Look at this mess. As I was saying, your first assignment is to make an appointment this afternoon or tomorrow morning at one of the local salons. One that specialize in ‘Honeymoon’ waxing. I want that done by tomorrow afternoon. Your mons and vulva are to be completely hairless by the time you get here tomorrow night, or I will arrange to have it done. I know a few people that would love to give a little pussy a good waxing.”

I took a sip of beer, staring into her light grey eyes. They had gotten bigger with every sentence.

“You do not wantthat to happen.” I finished in warning. “As it is, I plan to pluck any remaining hairs personally, so you’d better tell the technician to be thorough.”

“What – Sir…!” One look at my face and her protests died on her lips. The anger in her eyes did not pass away as quickly.

‘Your second task is both easier and harder: you’re to decide which you’d rather have pierced: your tongue, your nipples or your clitoris. You will have your navel pierced for a belly ring, plus one of those other three areas. You get to choose which.”

Veronica sat up abruptly, almost spilling her drink. Her eyes were flashing. “I will do no such – “

“Yes Veronica, you will!” I interupted firmly, my eyes glittering dangerously. “Do not defy me. You won’t like the result. You are mine to do with as I will for the next one hundred days. For that time, you will wear my mark. After it is all over, you can remove whatever decoration you wish. The piercings will heal, you know that.”

Still defiant, Veronica subsided, but I knew that battle was not over.

Tough shit, lady. I thought to myself as I drained the beer and set the empty glass on the bedstand.You will do what I order, or I’ll have it done to you. That you will not appreciate.

“I could just as easily force you to get a tattoo, so don’t piss me off. You won’t like the result if you do. I can be very cruel. One young lady has my initials branded on her ass. You may meet her soon. She would be happy to discuss it with you.”