The dream was always the same. Amy wore a dress she could only describe as early June Cleaver, and her lingerie was straight out of the fifties as well – she had never in her life worn a garter belt for heavens sakes, or stockings. Even her heels weren’t really stilettos. She shook her head. She was in a small room with minimal furniture, a simple couch, the awful table and two chairs. Awful because she knew how he would use it.
She waited, shaking, he would come through that door any second and there was nothing she could do about it. And her body, as usual, began to react in its own special way. She began to glow with the knowledge that she would come, soon. She wriggled her hips as she became damp. Desire was flaring. She always wondered if she was really wriggling like this in her sleep, or if she just dreamed she was. She always woke with her groove slick and moist, panties sopping if she was wearing them when she dropped off. She knew she always enjoyed it…
“Well, young lady. What do you have to say for yourself?”
She looked up at him from the couch – this time the door had opened quietly, that was different. He looked the same, he always dressed the same – a suit, starched white shirt, brilliant maroon tie, wingtips – he was handsome, she had to give him that. He would have been a lot more handsome if he didn’t have that thick strap in his hand, dangling down nearly to the floor.
“I… really, I’ve been behaving myself. I have. Please don’t spank me.”
He shook his head.
“It’ll go easier on you if you tell the truth. Now, why are you going to be punished?”
She knew what he wanted to hear. She hated to say it, but she knew.
“I disobeyed you. I wore modern clothes instead of… these.”
“That’s right. And what happens to girls who don’t mind.”
It just wasn’t right that she had to answer him in her dream, but if she didn’t he would get very mad and the strapping would be much worse.
“I get the strap. Please, don’t… Please.”
She was as scared as if it were really going to happen. In her mind, it was, she supposed.
“Get up and bend over the table.”
She obeyed. It was always like this. She reached across the table and grabbed the other edge, knuckles white, before he had to tell her.
She felt him lift up the full skirt and flip it over her back.
“I’m glad you obeyed and dressed as I wished.”
He worked her panties over her hips and slid them down her thighs, stopping when they were around her knees.
“How… How many today?”
He was quiet and she twisted her head around. He was rubbing his chin, apparently lost in thought.
“I think twenty will do.”
She started crying.
“Please. That’s too many. Please… “
“Turn back around.”
She faced back to the wall, afraid to disobey him. The strap cracked across her bottom and she jumped up, letting go of the table.
“Ow, Ow, Oh that hurts. Please stop.”
“Be quiet and take your spanking like a good girl. Would you like extra? Get back down.”
His hand pressed in the small of her back and she dropped back down.
She counted to herself each time the thick leather landed on her skin, tears running down her face. There was nothing exciting about this part, and she always hated it. Finally he was through, twenty stinging painful strokes leaving her breathless. She reached back to rub the incredibly hot sore skin, hoping if she ran her palms across it enough, it would stop hurting. Her long blond hair was wet from her tears and stuck to her face as he took her wrist and moved her arm out of the way.
She opened her legs as his fingers began to stroke her skin, gently, almost tender. She was slippery with want and his fingertips knew the way to her clit. So many times they had played this way – she wished he were real. He was such a perfect lover. Again and again he stroked her, in no rush, allowing her to completely relax and, after what seemed like an hour, let go with a screaming orgasm, howling her happiness.
It took her a while before she could stand on her shaky legs, and turn to thank him. He held her for a long time while she buried her head in his chest. He was delicious. Finally he released her.
“I have to go now.”
She nodded, watching as he picked up his jacket and swung it over his shoulder.
“Till next time.”
He walked out and she smiled. She would have to wake up in a few moments. Life had to go on.
* * *
Her eyes opened slowly, a smile on her face. She’d fallen asleep in the guest room, curled up on the couch. Funny, it seemed so familiar. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair – it was damp. Had she been crying? Then she remembered, and unzipped her jeans and ran her fingers down – yes, she must have enjoyed another dream. How delicious. Too bad it wasn’t real. She stretched and zipped back up. She had… what did she have to do? She’d have to get dinner ready soon – Jack would be home. She slowly stood and looked around.
On the table in the center of the room lay a thick leather strap. Next to it was a pile of clothing, a dress from the fifties, and lingerie to match. High heels, only old style, with the thicker heel. What was Jack up to now?
The door clicked open.
“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”
This is in response to Ruby Kiddell’s wank-wednesday – see the other entries here
Also, I wrote an entry for last week’s contest very late – it’s the next post after this one.