Our story began here.
Gerald found that he resented Mary’s suggestion that Drake be brought in to see to his wife’s growing needs. Drake was nothing but a stopgap in Gerald’s world; someone to handle the on-going disciplinary requirements of his strange menagerie of staff.
No, when it came to spankmanship, he would be setting the pace, he resolved. For too long he had taken his eye of the ball. What Mary Granger needed was to be put in her place now and then and not just in the way that she was accustomed to.
Still, he had much to be grateful to her for. He had long hoped and prayed that his spoilt wife would awaken to his world and he had almost given up.
The staff had now left him and his wife alone and he found he liked it that way. He sat back with a sigh and drew a deep breath in through his nose as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. His eyes strayed not for the first to time to his wife’s exquisite bare bottom. He noticed she had angled one hip to redistribute her weight as she stood in the corner and he made a mental note to instruct Mary Granger to provide extra training in this regard.
“Sylvia, come here,” he said sharply.
Sylvia turned around, but averted her eyes so that she was looking shyly at the floor. If it was an affectation, he liked it. Maybe she was learning.
“Come and kneel down here,” he told her.
She didn’t even hesitate and came almost eagerly. Then as soon as she had obeyed, he reached over the table and picked up her cold plate of food and brought onto his lap just inches form her face.
“Shall I call Mary back to supervise you while you feed yourself, or shall I feed you here like this?” he enquired of her.
As he spoke he picked up a fork and began mixing up the now cold and partially congealed meal on her plate.
“Neither is particularly dignified, but I have a point to make,” he continued.
“Please don’t go,” she whispered, “You can do what you want with me.”
He smiled, and then said, “Alright, open wide.”
She did a fair impression of a baby bird and opened her mouth as she knelt on the carpet before him. He held out a forkful of dinner and dangled it teasingly in front of her face for a second or two before placing it delicate in her mouth.
To his surprise she didn’t react, but merely left her mouth open with the delicate offering cupped on her tongue.
“You may eat,” he said, pleased at her submission.
Sylvia could barely contain a smile as she ate the cold portion like it was the best food she had ever eaten.
*
Sylvia stood nervously in the middle of Gerald’s bedroom dressed only in her bra and stockings. Her hands fluttered self-consciously in front of her sex as she looked at a spot on the carpet in front of her. This time she was far from just affecting humility, she was deliberately averting her eyes from the long thin black cane in her husband’s hands.
“We haven’t really talked about all of this,” he said in a gravel voice. “What do you think?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out so she shrugged.
He returned a strained smile and nodded.
“So much to think about and so little to say,” he observed archly.
“Yes,” she whispered as her eyes darted back and forth in her head; but still she did not look up.
“Well, I promised you a tight little caning,” he said more brightly as if changing the subject. “Are you ready?”
She shook her head, but managed a smile as she risked lifting her eyes for a second to look at him.
He smiled back and tilted his head quizzically until she looked up at him again.
“No, I am not ready,” she said in a hushed voice, “But I don’t suppose that has a thing to do with it, does it?”
“No,” he agreed with a light chuckle and then, accompanied by a swipe of the cane, he added in a stern voice, “Now Mrs Peters, please bend over.”
“Yes Sir,” she swallowed.
The sudden change of pace was to keep her off-guard and keep her from dwelling too much on her own doubts and emotions. Although the alacrity of her obedience suggested that his wife had few reservations about the path she had chosen.
Gerald walked in a wide circle around his now bending wife admiring the dip of her back, her strong straight legs, the cascade of hair and above all the jut of her bare bottom offered up for the promised caning. After a full circuit he paused behind and sized her up.
Her bottom was still stained red, with smaller tighter goose-bumps where she had been spanked. The site took his breath away and the tight clutch in his lower belly blossomed into a full erection that strained at his trouser uncomfortably so that he had to adjust himself.
“Stick it out and back a little more,” he ordered, although from where he stood he doubted it was possible.
Nevertheless she managed to, pressing it back further until her bottom was round and straining towards him as she struggled to hold herself bent over.
“I trust you now know who is really in charge?” he said in a dark-edged voice.
“Yes Sir,” she breathed, her voice touched with wonder.
The first stroke took them both by surprise; a sharp visible white line of pain striking out across a proffered red canvas.
Sylvia let out a long hard breath as she hugged her knees; proud of herself that she hadn’t yelled or moved out of position. Then as the pale line darkened and swelled, the pain did too and she began to wiggle in a vain bid to shake out the sting.
Gerald swallowed and something twitched lower down as he studied the mark and added to it. He placed another stroke neatly below the first and heard his wife gasp.
This one was a bitch, she thought and her shoulders rocked as she tried to ride out the wave of pain. However, Gerald declined her respite and sliced in again, admiring her tight dance as she tried ever more desperate to hold her position.
Sylvia was breathing audibly now, and her shoulder rose and fell in time even as her head dipped.
It took two more strokes to reach the point where she sat and no longer able to hold herself, she announced both impacts of the cane.
Still her bottom jutted back, even more than before if anything; six vivid plum lines marring her flesh. She was breathing in fast even breaths, tears now rolling down her face. He noted how she reached up with her hand to wipe her right cheek and then her nose, leaving a stray tear to run down her left cheek to her chin.
“How many, do you think?” he asked her, unable to tear his eyes away.
“As many as you decide Sir,” she said bravely.
He nodded and caned her again. This time he began ascending the strokes, touching her with his stick of fire in between the raised ridges marking his earlier efforts.
“Yah… ooh,” she yelped, following this with short quick sniffing sobs that sounded a little like tearing paper.
Still she held position.
“Aah,” she announced the next and then, “Ayiee,” as he continued at a faster pace.
He took her to 12 before pausing to examine his work; running a thumb lovingly along each purple welt so that she hissed at his touched. Her bottom was still rolled back and well presented, so that he could admire not only her curves, but the tight lightly furred purse of skin between. This he saw was almost as wet as her face now and he allowed himself a touch at her slickness.
The gasps she emitted were undistinguishable from those she made at the impact of his cane.
“I could do this all night,” he admitted.
“Yes you can,” she said softly.
“Doesn’t your back and legs ache in that posture?” he said with concern.
“Not comparatively speaking,” she replied in a rather damp voice.
“Twelve more then,” he said casually, “And then we will see how else you can please me.”
“Yes Sir,” she sniffed, but still, he fancied some eagerness in her voice.
To be continued.
