Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 03

With her hands still overlapped at her crotch she stood there, facing the men.

"Is everything okay?" Ian asked, breaking away from his notes.

"Yes fine sir," she blurted. "I'm fine, I... I'd just like to stand please... for the rest of the meeting."

"Um... alright, we'll continue...almost done anyhow."

He checked his watch and resumed speaking, telling the others about his growth targets for the family-planning side of the business.

The others all eyed her suspiciously.

SCENE FIFTEEN

After the meeting, she found herself whisked into Grisholm's office by the arm.

The décor inside surprised her. The walls were densely hung with sub-equatorial artifacts and the floor was overlaid with Persian rugs. All the furniture was of dark mahogany and cane. Bright cushions of silk, with jaunty tassels at each corner, were arranged in every conceivable seating area.

"Wow," she said, trying to conceal her stress. "Did you do all this?"

"I travel a lot," he replied, shutting the door. "Ever since my divorce, that's been my hobby."

"Oh. It's nice."

"Thank you. Everything in here reminds me of someplace I've been."

"I like those spears up there," she said, pointing at the wall behind his desk. "Are they real?"

"Yes. Quite sharp, too."

Grisholm resisted the impulse to provide her a tour. Most of his local patients were already bored of his collection, having seen it more times than they cared to. The chance to expound on the beauty of each piece was a rare treat, but he abstained. He wanted to maintain the tension that had delivered Tiffany into such an exquisite state.

"I've been thinking," he said, leaning onto his big desk and looking her up and down. "...about your training."

She swallowed and then made an affirmative sound.

"Details can seem boring; I get that, but as you just discovered they can also be vitally important."

"I understand, sir. I'm totally sorry about my contract."

"Actually you don't need to apologize to me. It's Doctor Mitchell who will need sucking-up-to if you want to get back on his good side. I'm only doing this because it's my day."

"Oh."

"Which brings us to your spanking."

"But—"

"Yes, I like Mitchell's idea of having your read something... but rather than your contract, which is awfully dry and which I'm sure you'll study on your own time anyway, I think it would be good to broaden your mind a bit. Have you ever tried Herodotus?"

"Uh... I don't think so. Is that like, some ancient Greek thing?"

"He is regarded as the father of history."

"Oh-kay..."

"It's a crime that so few people read him anymore. All our human foibles are recorded, as well as the great tragedy of two civilizations in combat. In fact it couldn't be timelier, despite being twenty-five hundred years old."

She was looking past him, studying some wooden masks on the far wall.

"Are you paying attention?"

"Yes! Yes, sir. You were explaining about the history guy."

"Oh forget it," he grouched, pointing. "Just go lean over the chaise there. I'll bring you the book."

"Right now, sir?" she blinked.

"Yes of course now. We open in less than an hour."

Grisholm went behind his desk and extracted a leather-bound volume from one of the shelves.

Tiffany looked at the counselling chaise. It was a wide, antique-looking piece, positioned alongside the common wall shared by Mitchell's office and this one. The headrest faced the window's natural light. It was stacked with small pillows. An ornate, faded tapestry covered the wall above it.

"Let's go please," he hurried her.

She took a few steps toward the lounge, hugging her forearms and pleading: "But... isn't there some... something else I could do?"

"Pay more attention to detail?" he joked.

"No, I mean... instead of my spanking?"

Grisholm escorted her by the elbow to the very edge of the chaise and asked: "Why? Are you nervous?"

Her eyes answered that question, staring into his in abject fright. She nodded.

He ignored her and opened the old book to the Introduction's first page. He laid it face-up on a pillow in front of her, halfway across the width of the chaise.

"Bend over," he said. "This introduction was written by a modern historian, but it will give you a good overview of Herodotus' importance. It's only six pages long."

Tiffany glanced down at the book, then back at Grisholm. "You... you want me to read it?"

"Aloud. Yes."

"While you...?"

"Administer your spanking. Yes."

"But—"

"Now, please. Feet together. I don't want to ask you again."

She reluctantly tipped forward from the waist, aware she had already agreed to this. She placed her fists astride the small book, denting the chaise. Her alcohol-infused brain struggled to offer any semblance of contra-argument, but what came out was less than convincing: "Are you sure we can't... do a different punishment?"

"Hmm," he replied while flipping the rear of her skirt up. The silk-lined suede, being too supple and slippery to stay in that position, immediately unrolled back down her ass.

He tried again, still ignoring her question, this time inverting the back of her skirt completely. The open triangle of her g-string made his eyes widen with delight. As soon as he released the suede however, it slithered back into position.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "That certainly won't do."

He pulled the leather cords at her right hip, untying the bow which held the garment in place.

She gasped as his hands slid quickly around her, finding and breaking the Velcro attachment with a short, tearing stroke.

"There!" he exulted, pulling the skirt off her like a magician revealing a rabbit.

"Oh my God, sir!" she squealed. "Why do I hafta be so naked?!"

"We're not done yet," he reminder her, barely able to feign calm. The sight of her ass was already better than he'd dreamed.

Her pose was superb. Precipitously balanced atop the high heels, her legs were beautifully flexed. Long muscles showed, rising from her calves to her upper thighs before being subsumed by her ass' twin hills. Her g-string's three satin bands diverged from the corners of the triangle framing her pale tailbone. The central one descended from there, becoming nearly lost between her lobes; visible only due to the spreading effect of her bent posture.

Grisholm reached down and touched her skin. Its moisturized texture spoiled his senses like a lab-grade drug, smooth and instantly addictive. He spread his fingertips and then pinched the side-straps of her underwear.

Slowly, slowly he began to peel them down.

Tiffany swore.

Infatuation took hold of his brain. Images seared their way into permanent memory. Absolutely nothing, at that instant, could have distracted him. Not even a heart-attack, which, incidentally, his cardiologist had been warning him of recently.

He peeled down her flimsy panties as slowly as possible. First the triangle inverted, revealing her tan lines. Then the satin center-seam curled back by degrees, showing him in sequence the tip of her coccyx, her tight anus, her perineum's narrow bridge and, finally, the hairless gloss of her outer labia.

He couldn't believe he was experiencing this; it was like staring into the Ark of the Covenant and surviving. Valves in his heart beat a two-step rhythm.

From Tiffany's perspective the slow, ticklish decent of her underwear combined the best and worst aspects of her day; it was agonizing in its eroticism and total in its disgrace.

When at last the slender thing fell away, they both reflexively shivered.

Grisholm chased it down to her ankles, lowering himself to one knee. Then he looked up, grasped her naked hips and simply beheld her.

She closed her eyes. The anticipation of what was to come made her buttocks pinch together.

"Tiffany?" he breathed.

"Yes?"

"Was there something else you had in mind?"

"Nn—no sir, just... anything but this."

He studied her suppleness. He heard the anxiousness of her breathing.

The mound of her vulva looked greasy and snug between her uppermost thighs. He could only imagine how wet she was in there.

He ducked his head closer, inhaling. She flinched at the touch of his nose, emitting a squeak.

"You're dripping," he whispered.

"No..." she whined, hanging her head. "Don't say that."

"Do you understand why you're so aroused right now?"

"Nn... no."

He gently pried her open, squeezing her soft ass. The weeping petals of her inner labia came to light, thickly glossed and impossibly small.

"You like being told what to do, Tiffany. That's why."

"No... no that's not—"

"Yes. You're a passenger."

"I'm... a what?"

"You can't admit your sexual desires, so they just build and build while you wait, longing for someone else to take your wheel and drive."

"No. No."

"Oh yes. That's why your body is so desperate...it's begging to be taken places you can't even name."

"No... I'm... I'm just scared. I'm trying to be good. I'm a giver."

"That's all surface-stuff. What lies beneath is your desire to be ravished, expertly and thoroughly, without permission... without being culpable."

"No. No, you're making me. You... you're not supposed to do this."

Grisholm stood and gently cupped her sex.

She gasped, her whole body tensing at the lightness of his touch.

"Stop doubting me," he instructed. "And put your hands behind your back."

Her head twisted and a hesitant noise escaped her, so he pressed his thumb down on her perineum.

"Now," he added.

Immediately she set her forehead onto the chaise and moved both hands to the base of her spine, tight together.

"Good girl," he said, brushing her clit with his fingers.

She whimpered, ecstatic with vulnerability.

He adjusted his touch, rocking the hood of her clit. The pad of his thumb smeared downward through her frictionless nectar, squashing the petals of her entrance.

"Please no. Not that."

"Your body is telling me otherwise. Feel how wet you are?"

Her eyes were shut, unable to face this truth. She knew exactly how wet she was.

Grisholm went on stirring her, approaching her clit's most sensitive spot without touching it. Her knees began to flutter.

"I am in charge of you today," he said in low tone. "So I will decide how this goes, understand?"

He waited until an airy, "Yes sir," escaped her

Then he pressed his thumb into her from behind, almost all the way. Her spine arched and she moaned aloud, dragging her face across the chaise in joyful panic.

He grabbed her overlapped wrists tightly, securing her in position while manipulating her drooling sex this way and that.

"Oh God! Oh God!" she repeated, twisting her head, knocking the leather-bound Herodotus from its pillow. It closed. Her legs flexed. Her headband fell forward over her eyes.

Now unable to see, her every tactile sense was magnified. Her boss' thumb strove inside her, deeper and deeper, while his fingertips massaged her clit.

High-pitched gasps of feedback escaped her mouth, murdering the remains of her disguise.

"Wherever I touch you," his voice rumbled, "you love it."

Her vagina twanged upon hearing this and she lost balance, pulling one knee up onto the chaise to keep from toppling. Grisholm immediately took advantage of her widened posture, intensifying his ministrations.

She struggled to free her wrists but couldn't.

Her diminutive sex was so awash that his fingers began to drip.

With his thumb deep inside, he gripped her entire mons pubis and lifted, shaking her. She cried out and quaked, mouth agape, inhaling her own hair. Her other foot came off the floor. She ended up with both knees on the chaise.

He pushed her forward into the stacked pillows and opened her pelvis completely, doggie-style. The silk shell slid up her back. Her breasts were squashed, naked against the upholstery.

Grisholm hand-fucked her until her headband fell off. Her pink inner petals were licking his thumb, drooling all over it.

He'd never experienced a girl so slimy.

After hearing her cry with excitement he withdrew and wiped that forearm across his sweating face. Seeing her like this was almost too much to bear. Her feet were splayed, their sharp sandals pointing outward at right angles. Her pouting, upturned crotch beckoned him, begging for more.

His self-control vanished. He sank to his knees behind her, hooking his arms between her legs to widen them. Before she could move he re-grabbed her wrists from below and secured her like this; with her forearms pinned behind her.

Then he buried his face into her from behind, lifting and widening his own arms to splay her.

She squealed and thrashed, completely overwhelmed by the sensation of his big stubbly man-mouth attacking her privates. Her legs flailed, trying to fight, but were weightless atop his shoulders. She was recurved, face beneath the pillows and pussy buttressed by his face. Her soft buttocks quavered in the air.

He slurped her entire vulva into his mouth, nodding up and down, lapping at her folds while his nose tickled her ass.

She wept with pleasure while begging him to stop, offering anything he wanted in return. He couldn't even hear her; being too deep between her thighs and far too busy with her pussy.

He was using his whole face, smothering himself against her, sucking her clit out from under its hood, sliding his tongue all over, sometimes penetrating her but mostly working her nub. His nose was submerged in her wetness.

"Faaahhhhck!!" she screamed, writhing in his grip. Her spittle sprayed the silk pillows. Her thighs clamped tight, blocking his ears.

Release ascended within her like a firework, riding a blaze of long-stored fuel into the untracked wilds of her libido.

He began rolling her clit between his lips, pulling and flicking it side-to-side.

She fought her onrushing orgasm, not wanting to confess so much so quickly, but his bristly mouth felt too good and too hot.

She lost feeling in her tightly-held wrists. Her head was deep under the pillows, sideways and humid with sweat. Her chest squirmed all over the chaise. Her airborne feet pointed and kicked.

He started to growl into her, sending low baritone vibrations throughout her pelvis.

For her body, this was the last straw; it quit trying to get free and instead began humping his face, grinding her mons against him and moaning loudly as her inhibitions all buckled at once.

Her climax incepted with a bright flash, convulsing her torso. She twisted and turned with shame, destabilizing them both until he tipped forward, which pushed her deeper into the pillows. Her head bumped the wall. His tongue licked her anus.

She came with a scream, legs pin-straight as her entire groin clenched.

He wiggled side-to-side between her buttocks, probing and growling, exultant in his own experience. Raising her hips higher he forced his tongue inward as far as he could. Sweet tang coated his chin and dribbled off her clit. Her stilettos stabbed the air behind him.

For many seconds he held her like this; a hungry fulcrum extending the arc of her climax.

When it was over at last, he let go of her wrists and helped her knees find their way back onto the chaise.

Then he stood, perhaps a little too quickly.

Her face emerged from the pillows, astounded by pleasure's unbidden glow. She twisted to look back at him.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't tell anyone!"

He gazed down at her trembling curves, unaware that he was forgetting to breathe. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. He'd made her come, epically, against her will!

His erection was so full that he attributed his lightheadedness to it. His vision began to narrow, greying around the edges until Tiffany's nakedness was all that remained.

Without a sound he crumpled, losing consciousness before even hitting the rug.

He never heard her scream, nor felt her scramble to his side.

"Doctor Grisholm!" she shouted, kneeling over him and trying to lift his slack head. "Doctor Grisholm, wake up!"

She was about to run for help when he came-to with a lurch, brushing her away defensively before realizing who she was.

"Oh my God, you almost died!!" she shrieked.

He groaned and rolled onto one elbow, waving her off dismissively. She tried to help him sit up and asked: "Should I get Doctor Mitchell?"

"No," he said with certainty. "I'm fine."

"You fell so hard! Everything shook."

He inched his way across the floor to his mahogany desk. Once there, he propped his back against it with a sigh. His stout legs stuck out across the rug, slightly spread.

"Stop worrying," he continued softly. "And don't tell anyone."

"But sir!" she protested, still on her knees beside him.

He held a finger to his lips, then after a pause said: "I... I stood up too quickly, that's all. I remember you asking me not to tell anyone. I remember, see? I'm fine."

"Oh come on! Really?"

"We each... know a secret now. Remember that."

"I'll go get Mitchell. He's right next door."

"No. Don't. Just tell me the time."

Tiffany wore no watch so she glanced around the room, eventually spying an antique mantel clock on one of his bookshelves.

"Nine forty," she said.

He rubbed his face and muttered: "Twenty minutes."

"What?"

"Twenty minutes. That's how long we have."

She was still naked aside from her shell and shoes. "What can I do?" she asked.

"Well... I guess I'm supposed to be spanking you, not sitting here on the floor like an ass."

She chuckled, relieved to hear him joking. "Well, I'm glad about that part sir. I really didn't want another spanking. I'm still sore."

"Sore?"

She nodded. "Doctor Jacobsen does it really hard."

"Is that why you wanted a different punishment?"

"Yeah. I'd've done anything else."

"Anything, huh?"

"Well... n—"

"Alright. I tell you what; go to my bottom drawer, on the left, and bring me the two Ziploc bags."

Tiffany stood. She was so certain that he was asking for heart medicine or some other practical help that she remained unselfconscious about her nudity as she walked behind his desk and opened the correct drawer.

Inside lay a pair of bulky one-gallon freezer bags, crowded with colorful sex toys. They were the ones he'd purchased Monday night in town while she waited in his truck. He had hand-washed them all at home before bringing them in.

"What on Earth?" she exclaimed.

"Just bring 'em here."

She returned to his side slowly, dangling the bags from her outstretched arms as though they contained a virus. When she got within reach, he took them and beckoned her to sit.

She glanced around for her skirt and underwear, then realized she knew better.

"Right here," he drawled, gesturing across his lap. "To make up for earlier; and face me."

Butterflies re-appeared in her tummy as she looked at his smiling, moon-like face.

"Straddle you?" she asked softly.

"Exactly. It's time for your training."

"But sir, you—"

"Don't start questioning me now that you've had your fun. There is an entire day ahead of us; plenty of time for spankings if you'd prefer."

"No sir, I, I..."

She swung one foot over him and slowly squatted, eventually sinking to her knees with her thighs wide across his. Her naked crotch hovered a few inches from his fly. Her bra-less chest wobbled in its silk. He grabbed her hips and tugged her closer, so her nipples were near his mouth.

"Good girl," he announced. "This won't take long."

She bit her bottom lip at the sound of him opening a Ziploc bag behind her. She tried to look, but he shook his head.

"No peeking."

"Why? What are you doing?"

"I'm going to teach you."

"Teach me what?"

"You'll know."

She heard a buzzing sound and then Grisholm handed her something small. She looked down. It was a bullet-vibrator, two inches long and silver. Its rounded shell was blurred by motion.