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Relentlessly pursuing his advantage, Sir Maurice pressed briskly on. 'Your late husband kept a riding-crop, didn't he, Audrey? Don't bother to deny it, your face contradicts whatever prevarication you were about to attempt. Go and fetch it.'
Finally finding her voice, Audrey was about to damn him to hell when suddenly an image from the past came involuntarily into her mind. Deja vu, she had indeed been here before when a different but every bit as masculine voice issued an almost identical ultimatum. On that and many previous occasions she'd readily obeyed, accepting the pained posterior that she knew only too well to be an inevitable but short-term consequence, all the while yearning for the full-blooded passion that invariably followed. 'Yes Maurice,' she said quietly and head bowed, high heels clicking on the parquet, hurried from the room in search of the long neglected but carefully preserved rod of correction.
Sir Maurice allowed himself the luxury of a smile of satisfaction, hurriedly reverting to a stern and commanding countenance as, eyes downcast, Audrey returned to the lounge. In outstretched, trembling hands she held a slender leather-covered wand.
'Splendid,' said Maurice, taking the crop from her and swishing it through the air approvingly. 'Glad to see you've decided to acquiesce to the natural order of things. However, as regards your initial recalcitrance a little corner time seems appropriate for such a haughty vixen. You will stand over there, facing the wall, hands on head, and I shall pour myself a libation of your rather fine single malt.'
As the evening sun filtered through the adjacent French windows Maurice sat contentedly, sipping scotch and savouring the immediate view. Good posture, he mused approvingly, and a trim waist; wouldn't be out of place on a woman a generation her junior. Lustrous shoulder length black hair that was cut into a fashionable bob, perfectly painted pink pearlescent nails, smart turnout all round. Slowly he ran his eyes down the straight back and over the mature curves of her still pert hindquarters. Further still roved his gaze, past the hem of a well-tailored mauve skirt, past the fine hollows at the back of her knees, down to trim ankles and the exactly aligned high heels of her fashionable court shoes.
Stocking seams straight and perfectly parallel, too. Hmm, Sir Maurice became aware of an insistent stirring down below, it had been a long time since he'd seen a woman in fully-fashioned nylons. Beneath the material of her skirt the faintest suggestion of suspender fastenings was visible on each thigh. Enough daydreaming, though, Sir Maurice was as stern a taskmaster with himself as with any employee, high time he got down to the pleasurable business ahead.
'Raise your skirt,' he commanded curtly.
Audrey had been a surrendered wife long before late twentieth century post-feminists coined the term. Which is not to say that she willingly, nor even quietly, accepted her fate. Her apprehension was genuine enough; previous experience of the crop's affect was still vivid in her memory and, notwithstanding such practical concerns, Audrey was well aware of her necessary part in the CP ritual; to protest, struggle and generally bewail her fate prior to presenting and permitting as directed. How could Sir Maurice ultimately bask in conquering triumph if she first didn't provide him with a worthy challenge?
'Sir Maurice, really, this has gone quite far enough,' she said. 'I have indulged you thus far because I admire a man who speaks his mind, but I certainly don't intend to display myself in such a vulgar manner.'
'Nonsense, woman, this is no less than you deserve and you know it. Stop dissembling, you'll only make matters worse for yourself.'
Now with rather less wind in her sails than before, Audrey attempted a last ditch defence. 'All right, I admit in retrospect I may have been less than fair to my daughter and her husband, and to him rather rude, in fact. However, I assure you I'm quite capable of mending my ways without any,' she hesitated, nervously searching for the appropriate words, 'physical intervention.'
'I'll be the judge of that, thank you.' Sir Maurice was standing behind her, only inches away. 'Now lift your skirt or I'll do it for you.' A threat he guessed, accurately as it turned out, Audrey would find ignominious beyond endurance.
Hands shaking, she reached for the hem and slowly, in Sir Maurice's estimation delectably, raised the skirt and slip beneath it to her waist.
'Splendid,' he said, and returned to his chair to drain the whiskey tumbler and further contemplate the pleasurable sight she presented. His earlier idle speculations were not just confirmed but superseded. Audrey was possessed of what the squaddies in his old battalion would no doubt have referred to as a magnificent arse. Alabaster white, ample but firm, supported upon what his fellow officers would have called a superb pair of pins, lean with just a hint of muscle definition, clad in sheer dark nylon and held up by taut black suspenders. Hells bells, the strain on his trousers was becoming intolerable.
Thankful he could not see her blushes, Audrey trembled beneath his gaze but determinedly kept her back ramrod straight and pressed her knees tightly together, lest they betray her by shaking. Adrenalin coursed through her like a drug. She couldn't recall when last she'd felt so excited, so alive, so deliciously vulnerable. At last she heard him stand again and move about the room. An item of furniture was picked up and transported to a space somewhere close by.
She felt a hand grip her elbow and Sir Maurice turned her to face him. 'Kneel, please,' he said, and she followed his line of site to the piano stool, positioned in front of an easy chair.
Now completely in his thrall, Audrey prudently said nothing but moved sedately to obey. Once in position she turned her large hazel eyes to meet and hold his steely gaze.
'Bend forward, rest your forearms on the chair cushion and your head upon them,' he ordered.
'Sir Maurice, please...'
'Forthwith,' he snapped icily, in no mood to grant clemency at the eleventh hour, and with an audible sob she reluctantly did as she was told.
Just as he'd intended, her elevated position on the padded stool meant her hindquarters were now set higher than her head, thrust boldly upwards and thus perfectly presented for whatever chastisement Sir Maurice might choose to visit upon them. But not quite yet, for he had one more petty humiliation to submit Audrey to before reaching for the crop.
'Take your knickers down,' he said calmly.
'Sir Maurice, you can't mean... surely not on the bare!' With her bottom so prominently presented to the old soldier's lascivious gaze, Audrey was in no doubt what intimate sights the doffing of her knickers would reveal. Yet amid her genuine cries of protest an inner voice struggled to be heard. Isn't this what she regularly dreamed of? To be completely possessed by an alpha male. Isn't this one of the images which so frequently came unbidden into her head on lonely, restless nights, when she flushed hotly and the only way to fill the emptiness inside was with that vibrator kept carefully locked in her bedside drawer.
To which, of course, there was only one answer, and submissively Audrey reached to pull the skimpy knickers down to her knees. A beguiling image indeed, and if he wasn't deluded Sir Maurice perceived the merest suggestion of moisture, dew-like upon the downy thatch at the apex of her thighs. No time to dally, there was work to be done; the time for tantalising anticipation was over, now he must show his mettle.
'Since this is the first of what I intend to be a series of corrections...' another despairing moan from the kneeling figure came as punctuation to this solemn announcement, '...I shall deliver just six cuts of the crop. But in future, when time is less pressing and I have first warmed the target area with a meticulous spanking, you may expect a good deal more.' She gave another anguished sigh. 'Be quiet, woman,' said Sir Maurice, but not unkindly, running his hand across the silken skin of her derrière causing an involuntary shudder to run through Audrey's body.
'I have in my hand an old but still efficacious crop that will match this posterior well. In order to ensure you surrender your current unfortunately overbearing attitude, Audrey, at my command you'll thrust back those glorious haunches to invite the rod's corrective attentions.' Employing words as weapons Sir Maurice was deliberately upping the ante and asserting his complete control.
'After an initial "sixer" you'll subsequently reach back and pull those ripe peaches asunder, exposing your bottom cleft and anus to the crop's wickedly searching tip.'
'Nooo...' Audrey's wail of protest was almost simultaneously truncated by a squeal of pain, 'ahhhhh,' as the first of six successive blows from the crop sunk into her soft flesh. Delivered with ruthless precision at roughly fifteen-second intervals each perfectly horizontal stroke scored a livid red line of fire across the previously pristine flesh. Fortunately, true to his word, Sir Maurice ceased the thrashing after half a dozen lusty strokes; considerably out of practice Audrey could not have endured any more
Wailing sorrowfully, with tears coursing down her cheeks, any bravado Audrey might have intended abruptly dissipated by the throbbing pain in her poor posterior. Fighting the urge to wriggle her hips to assuage the heat suffusing those tremulous orbs she somehow remembered his previous instruction and reached back with her carefully manicured fingers, pulling her bottom cheeks apart to humiliatingly expose the puckered rose of her anus. Whereby as threatened, Sir Maurice employed wristy badminton flicks to bring the crop into searing contact with the sensitive skin of her buttock cleft, forcing shrill cries of dismay from Audrey's lips as it caught her chocolate starfish.
In truth the cruel blows were mainly symbolic, intending to reinforce beyond doubt the dominance Sir Maurice had worked assiduously to establish. Tossing the crop to one side he ran his hand soothingly across her indecently disciplined buttocks, making her groan once more, albeit this time with pleasure.
'You took that very well, m'dear,' he said affectionately. 'Not that I'd expect anything less. It's only fair, therefore, that such stoic forbearance should be rewarded...'
Rewarded? Audrey's heart raced and her thighs involuntarily clenched as if to stem the sharp thrill of liquid pleasure welling up within, engulfing her sex with unrequited desire.
'With a sound corking.' Sir Maurice's questing fingers skilfully sought out her aching clitoris while his other hand reached for the zip of his trousers...