It Is Getting Clearer

"That means Chrissy that you have to be punished. How should I punish you do you think?"

"I don't know, I've never been punished like this before."

"Then you should think deeper little girl and tell Jon what you think he should do to help you and punish you at the same time."

I looked into his eyes, then meaningfully down to his crotch and then back into his eyes, which were very alive and gleaming.

"I think you should spank me," I whispered to him.

"Where Chrissy, where should I spank you?"

"On my bottom, you should spank me on my bottom."

His voice thick with arousal he said. "Yes, yes Chrissy I will spank your bottom. Go and stand behind that chair."

I did as he said.

"Hold the back of it with both hands."

I did.

"Move backwards a little."

I shuffled back a foot or so.

"Now Chrissy you have to bend forward."

I did.

"Further Chrissy, further."

I leaned forward further just as I had in front of the mirror upstairs.

"Further Chrissy further."

I knew that from where he was standing behind me he would now be able to see my stocking tops. As I obeyed his latest order and bent even further forward until my upper body was almost at ninety degrees to my lower body and legs, I knew that he would see the patch of skin above the stockings.

"Rest your head on your hands on the back of the chair Chrissy."

As I did that, I knew the short, kilt-like skirt would ride further up my legs. He would now be able to see all of my straightened, slightly parted legs, the seamed, white lacy topped stockings, the skin above them and, probably the lower part of my bottom clad in the pink, net panties that were now likely to be soaked.

Again, he made me wait. Again, he said nothing. Again, he walked round me inspecting my body from all angles. And again, my body and mind were consumed by sexual sensations and thoughts.

As he walked past my face I could see the outline of his erection, which really was like the proverbial flagpole under the silk dressing gown. As he moved, so the edges of the robe would open and I'd see expanses of his bare legs. As he stood before me, I saw that the waist of the robe had loosened a little under the tie and the lapels were wider apart showing more of his chest.

The waiting, the anticipation, Jon staring at my legs and , bottom, and me looking at him combined marvellously to arouse me to a level I don't think I'd been at before, without at least being touched. Still, though he had not touched me. That I guessed was also part of the ritual. He knew what I wanted and knew that making me wait would make me want it even more; he was absolutely correct.

Naturally, since we had agreed to do this a few days ago, I had some doubts and concerns. Getting ready and travelling here, I had not been totally sure about it. Also, when changing into the young girl's clothes and taking on that role in this dimly lit basement room there was, inevitably I think, some trepidation. After all, it was a very big step. But everything he'd done so far, all the deeds and the words gave me more and more assurance that what I had agreed to was right for me. And try as I might I could not get the cane out of my mind, which is not surprising as the fucking thing was staring at me like a beacon.

I was starting to appreciate all the trappings. The slow build up. The stripping away, albeit only temporarily, of my own personality, even my age. The staring and the lack of fervid activity. The way the cane hung from the table. The gradual exposure of the epicentre of what this was all about, my bottom, and the way he so evidently displayed his appreciation to me. They were all details. Small parts of the whole thing. Small maybe but each in their way essential to the performance we were enacting.

Then there was another action that was small in some ways, but gargantuan in others.

Jon stood behind and just to one side of me. He stood very close, almost touching my hip. Almost but not quite. I could not see what he was doing, but then I felt the lightest of pressure on the short skirt. The gentlest of touches that was almost imperceptible. But without doubt I knew that he was touching the skirt. And then, I felt it being lifted. Felt it by the weight being lifted from my bottom and by the very slight touch of the cool air on the backs of my thighs.

I am not at all sure that I have the composing and describing skills to put into words what I felt. What I felt as I realised for sure he was lifting my skirt up and away from my bum. As he lifted it then pulled it over the curves of my bottom. As he rolled it up so it was bunched round my waist. As he exposed my bottom to his gaze. My bottom that was covered in just the tight, diaphanous material. The pink, see-through net panties. The gossamer like knickers that I knew hid nothing of me at all

I could feel the thudding of my heart, the racing of my pulses and the panting of my breath as I knew his gaze would be taking in every detail.

The waistband of the panties that ran from hip to hip. The thin skirt bunched above that. The stretched material of the panties showing the deep crevice between my slightly opened cheeks. And of course the plumpness of my blood engorged lips that would be glistening with my female secretions. All of my most private and personal places were under his scrutiny. The merest touch, a slight more excitement, a gesture or a light caress would have been enough to have made me cum, so emotionally aroused was I as I played my full part in the ceremony.

But of course he knew exactly what he was doing. After all he had written the script and was both the producer and director. So he didn't touch or caress me, but once more made me wait as he stared. It really is the most excruciatingly pleasurable, but at the same time, enormously frustrating thing. To be wanting something to happen and to know that it's going to, but for it to be continually delayed. It was so atmosphere building, so mood creating and so integral to everything else that I realised it was the perfect way to groom me.

I jumped with surprise when he spoke. It seemed to have been ages since either of us had said anything. But then we had both got so many other things on our minds that there was not room for talking as well. Irrespective of that, the words would have been a surprise in any case. They would have given me a jolt whatever they were. But when I heard him calmly and slowly, though a little hoarsely say.

"I am going to pull your knickers down now Chrissy."

I nearly fainted with the surge of sexual excitement that gave me.

"Oh my God," I gasped. "Yes Jon, yes."

"Yes Jon what?" He asked his fingers sliding just inside the elastic of the waistband.

"Take my panties down, please Jon take them down," I heard myself pleading, even though I could hardly believe what I was saying.

"Yes Chrissy your panties have to come down so I can spank your bare bottom, don't they?"

"Yes, oh yes," I groaned as I felt him slowly rolling them down.

Rolling them down the flat part of the back of my waist, over the bulbousness of my hips, and onto and then over the roundness of the cheeks of my bottom. They were half way down my cheeks meaning that half the crease between them would now be bared meaning that the entrance to my anus would also be bare. I was shivering with expectancy, sexual desire and the anticipation of my first spanking.

"You have a glorious bottom Chrissy," he said as he ran his fingertips over it. "Just think how beautiful it will be when I've spanked it and it's all warm and stinging and, of course, beautifully pink. Can you imagine it Chrissy?"

"Yes Jon, yes I can," I groaned as the vision of my bottom spanked to a deep pink filled my mind.

He stroked and softly caressed all over each cheek running his fingers between them, hovering by and then pressing fairly firmly right on my bum hole. That made me grunt and I squirmed a little fearing he was going to slip his finger inside me. I did not want that, it would just be too much and would, without doubt, make me cum.

He tugged them a little more so that the waist band was now beneath the bottom of each cheek a little way down my thighs. I could feel the gusset sticking to me and knew that the wetness would cause that. I also knew that now everything I had was exposed to his wonderfully lustful gaze.

I visualised the view he had of me.

My opened legs in the white, lacy-topped, seamed stockings. My breasts were hanging down, their weight pressing the meaty flesh against the thin, worn cotton. The plaid skirt bunched around my waist and my body bent at ninety degrees at the waist. My bum, my cheeks, my anal entry and my wet lips were all there for him to see.

"It's time Chrissy," he said slowly and quietly sending a chill through me. I was scared yet so excited as he went on. "It's time for you to be spanked Chrissy," he went on stroking my bum. "Stand up, but make sure your panties stay exactly where they are."

I did as he asked not understanding why he wanted the panties to be half way down my thighs, as opposed to off my legs completely. He walked round the chair and sat on it. Signalling to me to stand next to him he said very thickly.

"Lie across my knees Chrissy, I need you across my lap."

I looked from his face to the bulge in his dressing gown that was now almost open and then to his lap. I had thought he'd have started spanking me when I was standing up bent over but then I saw that being put across his knee was all part of the process, the ritual and the ceremony.

Almost kneeling and resting my hand on his silk covered leg to help me balance I lowered myself down across his lap. His knees pressed into my waist just beneath my breasts, although the side of the uppermost leg, his left, was pressing into the bottoms of them. I reached one of my arms out before me and downwards and managed to grip the leg of the chair just as once more he went through the slow motion movement of raising my skirt up to bare my bottom. We were so near now. I knew it and he knew it too. I could feel the tension in both our bodies as he again stroked my buttocks sending shudders of pleasure and excitement through me. My bottom has always been fairly sensitive but I had never realised just how much until now.

There was no warning. He gave no hint. There was no sign that we had begun. There was no indication that my 'punishment' was underway. He didn't tell me that he was going to smack me. He did nothing to warn me that he was starting to spank me. I didn't hear anything and of course I couldn't see or feel anything.

I think it was the sound that made the most immediate impact on me. Thwack, I heard, before I felt anything. The sound of the smack rang in my ear before any feelings. He hit me twice in quick succession once on each cheek.

I was still hearing the sounds of the two smacks when he stopped and gently ran his fingertips over where the blows had landed. As the stinging started, so he rubbed each cheek a little harder. As he did that, so the relatively modest pain coincided with the rather nice sensations his hands were producing on my bottom. I was just getting used to his caresses when again, with no warning, I heard the thwack and felt the pain. It was a little more acute this time. There was also more smacks, five, six, seven, I counted. And I felt that they were harder, firmer and quicker.

It seemed as though he was carefully deciding where to hit me, for by now every part of my buttocks had been smacked. I was hurting, everywhere was burning and stinging, I was in pain and beginning to worry that spanking and corporal punishment may not be for me. I thought that I might start to cry. There was no pleasure, I was starting to think, just discomfort. Each smack made me cry out with pain. I squirmed on his lap. I moaned and grunted as the smacks landed all over my cheeks and the tops of my thighs. I was getting a little worried. The stinging pain was more than I had envisaged and it suddenly hit me that Jon could really hurt me. Up until I had met this fascinating older man I am pretty sure I would have got up and ended the session to avoid being hurt too much. With Jon, though, that did not enter my head. I knew that he knew what he was doing and I trusted him and that was important to me and, I realised, to what we were doing.

But then, just as a few sobs escaped from my lips, he stopped. Again I felt his hands so gently and softly running over the places where he had just been spanking me. The combination of the sensations I had been gaining from being hurt with those he was now giving were unique in my experience. Heat, softness, stinging, tenderness, pain, excitement, anticipation, concern and pleasure were all rushing through me. I'd never experienced so many differing emotions and sensations at the same time.

I was now squirming and moving my body for other reasons. For reasons that were all to do with arousal, and strong sexual arousal at that. But the sexual arousal was not merely coming from his fingers that were softly roaming all over my bottom. No, I wasn't becoming hugely turned on just by his caresses. It was also, actually mostly I think, the thrills I'd got from the spanking. The emotions I felt from being under his control. The sensations I gained from being held captive-like over his lap together with the fervid anticipation of more to come. Yes, all that combined with his sublimely, tender touch, were building up, what I was certain would be a massive orgasm.

The rather orderly position we had started in had changed. His legs had opened and the gown had fallen away from them. My squirming and movements had flipped some of the buttons undone on the blouse. His caresses were no longer being restricted to my thighs and bottom but were now covering my back and neck and head as well. He'd pushed the blouse up at the back so that was bunched around my shoulders. My left side, just above my waist, was pressed firmly against his erection or, I suddenly thought, was his erection pressed firmly against my side? And one of my breasts had slipped out from the blouse.

More blows, more thwacks, more smacks and spanks. More stinging and warmth, more pain and tingling. More caresses, more excitement, more anticipation and yet even more pleasure.

His gown had fallen open. My breasts were dangling down alongside his leg the naked skin of both rubbing together. His penis was bare. It was rock hard, hot and pressed against me just beneath my boobs. It felt glorious and I squirmed eagerly against it.

Alternating the cheeks and the positions on my bottom that he smacked, Jon continued my induction into corporal punishment in the most wonderful way for. Ten minutes, twenty or half an hour? I had no idea. Time along with everything else other than the magnificence of the feelings and the sensations ceased to exist.

I was now cumming; cumming continuously. It wasn't one of those orgasms that, like a firework rocket, explodes into being, roars up and then dies. This was different to that. Different to any orgasm I'd had before. Of course there were all the similar feelings; tingling everywhere, warmth rushing from my pussy to every part of my body, heaviness in my breasts and a searing ache in my nipples. It was all those and more. Each sensation was accentuated. It was as if I was on a mind expanding, acid-like drug. And it just went on and on and on. There was no peak or crescendo, simply a steady, fast flowing, stream of emotions and sensations that kept me at the very pinnacle of sexual arousal.

Events now, however, were nowhere near as organised and orderly as earlier. They couldn't be, it would just not be possible for the two of us, as excited as we had made each other, to continue in that fashion.

Although Jon continued smacking me it was less powerful now. He'd done his job and he now had less enthusiasm for continuing to spank me. He would administer the occasional blow, but it seemed as if that was more because it was expected than because it was necessary. He would also softly stroke and sooth the spanked places that I couldn't see but I guessed were red and inflamed. Again, though, this wasn't with the vigour and keenness of the early stages of my punishment and pleasure. No, now we had other things on our mind, other things to do, other pleasures to gain to add to the massive amount we had so far given each other.

I felt so close to him, thankful and grateful to him. I felt that we had truly bonded and were developing a deep, loving and above all else, trusting relationship.

His gown was completely open. My blouse was also completely open. My breasts were completely bare. His cock was also completely bare.

Jon's hands were everywhere; in my hair, over my face and up and down my back. I was pulling his fingers into my mouth and sucking them just as I wanted to suck his cock. He was caressing and squeezing my breasts and nipples and stroking my neck. His fingers were on my bottom, between my cheeks, up and down my thighs and, mostly, buried deep in my cunt. I was slobbering and moaning as I rubbed his cock all over my tits and face. I was desperately trying to suck him, but our positions wouldn't permit that, so I started to wank him. I started wanking him. I wanked him by pumping my hand up and down taking the skin on his cock with it. I provided him with a surrogate cunt and felt such delight as is hips started to surge, as much as our positions would allow, as he started to fuck that.

"Oh God yes, yes, yes Jon," I groaned and moaned and wailed as my orgasm erupted.

"Yes darling yes, cum for me, cum with me, make me cum," he grunted, thrusting his cock up and down in my hand that was gripping it, probably a little too firmly.

I pumped quickly. Fast and furious with little thought for subtlety or sexual guile. What we both now so badly needed was to cum. There would be time later for the more tender aspects of this amazingly different sexual experience.

I was grinding my pussy against the several fingers that he was now holding rigid inside me. At the same time I was pushing my breasts against his other hand squirming every last ounce of pleasure from my aching nipples that he was pinching and pulling, wonderfully hard.

You can always feel the moment when a man starts to cum. Well you can if you're holding his dick in your hand. It seems to harden even more and go rigid. It starts to throb and becomes warmer and then, of course it explodes with the surge of semen flowing up the tubes inside the bloated, blood engorged flesh.

And that's exactly what happened as I lay across Jon's lap my clothes in total disarray, my breasts bare, my knickers around my thighs, my legs open and three or four of his fingers pumping in and out of my pussy.

I was lying half on my side holding his erection so that it was a few inches from my chin. So close, but too far and too awkward to get in my mouth. As I climaxed uncontrollably, so suddenly his cock erupted. Spunk shot everywhere. It hit me in the eyes and splattered across my face and in my hair. Stream after stream of it shot across my head, shoulders and chest. I'd never experienced such an ejaculation and somehow that made me feel proud and even more excited.

We lay like that for a moment or two as our minds and bodies recovered, somewhat. But the awkwardness of our positions, and the now quiet severe stinging on my bottom and thighs, made it impossible to remain like that.

"Come, darling," he whispered lifting me off his lap so that I knelt bedside him as he stood up, the dressing gown slipping off and staying on the chair. "Let me ease the pain."

Jon lifted me up and sat me on the edge of the bed. He held my face in his hands and gently kissed my lips.

"You did enjoy it didn't you Chrissy?"