Nicki Submits Ch. 01

Chapter One

Nicki looked at her reflection in the large mirror on her bedroom wall. Tall, pretty in an angular way, rather too skinny. Smallish breasts, nicely formed. Long legs. She pulled her skirt up to her navel and slowly twirled to examine her naked buttocks and hairless sex. Tom had forbidden her to wear underwear: he wanted her to be available to him at any time and in any place. She grimaced as she fingered the welts left by the caning she had been given five days ago – six stripes, fading to bruises, neatly arrayed on her behind. A tapestry of submission. The memory of the pain was imprinted in the ache she felt as she ran her fingers over the raised and still tender flesh. She was horrified when she felt herself moisten with desire at the memory.

The lips of her naked sex were red and tender from the strapping she had received yesterday – a punishment inflicted on her because she, overcome with desire, had forgotten to ask permission to orgasm. Tom had laid her on her back on the kitchen table, ordered her to place her hands behind her head. He had told her to open her legs as wide as possible, and placed a cushion under her buttocks to raise her splayed and gaping vagina into the correct position for punishment. Picking up the stiff leather tawse she had purchased over the internet, he had beaten her on the inside of her thighs, and then rained several hard strokes directly onto her open nether lips. He had ignored her pleas, cries, moans and groans. The tears running down her face had mingled with her mascara and stained her new white satin blouse. After the punishment, he had entered her slowly and forcefully, thrusting against her inflamed sex, his forefinger penetrating her anus, muscle tight around his digit, causing her to climax again. She had only just remembered to ask permission in time, thankfully given. The towering orgasm had left her dazed and exhausted. By the time she had recovered her senses, he had gone.

She winced as she gently prodded the welts on her thighs. They were already fading, still tender, but not as raised as those left by the cane. She had a flashback, an almost out-of-body experience, looking down at herself on the table, knees almost to her ears, the most intimate parts of her body stretched and exposed to Tom's gaze. She blushed to remember how humiliating it was to be explored thus, and how much it had excited her. What was happening to her? How had her body managed to betray her? Was her brain wired up incorrectly? Was she just perverse? How had this confusion between pain and pleasure, humiliation and desire come about?

It had all started innocently enough. Nicki was in her late twenties, an aspiring actress and singer. She had been introduced to Tom, in his fifties, handsome and charismatic, at a dinner party. He like her, was an actor. They had talked about the vagaries of the profession, directors they had worked with, the kind of theatre they were interested in doing. They had some things in common. Nicki was attracted to him, and, she thought, him to her. But he was married, to a stunning and very talented musician, so she had concentrated on cultivating him as a friend. They had talked about maybe doing some work together, but nothing had ever come of it. She saw him roughly once a month – they would go for a drink in the local village pub, and talk about theatre.

Then Nicki had been offered a job – a one year contract teaching drama at a school in Malaysia, partly funded by the British Council. She had jumped at the chance, rented her small flat to a friend, and flown off to have, she hoped, adventures and experiences which would stand her in good stead in her future acting career.

It had not proved quite as exciting as that. Malaysia was fiercely hot, the teaching was boring, the drama curriculum unimaginative, the people she was mixing with provincial and small-minded. She kept in touch with her friends in Cornwall via Facebook, among them Tom, to whom she frequently moaned about the lack of inspiration, her boredom and once, when she was a little tipsy, about her sexual frustration. It wasn't that she was lacking for sex: quite the opposite. She was an attractive young lady, and there were many men who wanted to sleep with her. But her ennui seemed to have extended to her sex life. She found the men she slept with vapid and unsatisfying.

She had rather too much to drink one night, and poured out her sexual frustration to Tom. Afterwards, she was horrified and embarrassed at what she had said, and hastily apologised to him. She was gratified that he did not appear to think less of her as a result – she valued his friendship and missed their interaction. They continued to communicate. One week, Nicki, very bored, put together a performance of songs from "The Sound of Music" for some visiting diplomats. It was a great success, and one of them told her that Julie Andrews was not quite as innocent as she appeared on screen. Apparently, she told Tom via Facebook Messenger, she was into bondage! Julie Andrews! Nicki thought this was hilarious.

Later, she asked Tom's opinion about the possibility of doing a masters degree in theatre. He had said that instead of going back to university, she should emulate the successful Julie, climb mountains, yodel, and get a good spanking. How would she take it? Would she choose bare hand, slipper or paddle? Without really thinking about what she was saying, Nicki replied that she could certainly use a good spanking, and that the paddle sounded like fun. Tom said he glad they were friends and was looking forward to seeing her, when she came home from Malaysia.

And that was that. It was never mentioned again, and Nicki was sure that it was all probably just a joke. But she thought about it a lot. Thought was probably the wrong word – she had become obsessed by the idea of being punished by Tom. She would lie naked on the top of her bed, sweltering in the the heat, and think about how it would be, what he would do to her, what he would order her to do. Would he bend her over his knee? Surely he would take her knickers down and spank her bare bottom? Would he fondle her during the process, move his strong fingers to her moistening slit and caress her inner parts? How humiliating it would be to lie thus, her bottom reddening under his hand, her sex rubbing up against his thighs with every blow. She would find her hand creeping down to her pussy, rubbing the hard nub of her clitoris as she imagined being penetrated as the punishment ended, her behind still tingling with the pain of the slaps. She masturbated every night while imagining Tom first beating her, then inside her, grinding her, using her, and she would climax in the sticky heat, gasping and floundering, ashamed and embarrassed by her own desire.

Nicki had never fantasised about punishment or submission before – but now these imagined scenarios were dominating her nights and days. She thought of nothing else. In class, in front of rows of eager, if untalented children, she found her mind wondering, bringing up obscene images of her naked body, bent, splayed, opened and abused in the most humiliating way. At dinner parties, she found that she missed out large chunks of conversation because she was somewhere else, imagining Tom inflicting a map of her pain and submission onto her naked, aching behind. She was horrified that her body responded to the idea of pain and humiliation the way it did; she was mortified that she found her horror arousing, but she could not put the idea out of her mind - and her imagination, unleashed - ran a riot of scenarios in which she was dominated, immobilised, penetrated and abused.

When her contract finished, Nicki returned to Cornwall. The first few days passed quickly, she was busy making contact with old friends and moving back into her flat, thankfully in surprisingly good order. She had some money in the bank, and could spend the next few months comfortably, looking for work, relearning and rehearsing audition speeches, maybe even writing the play she had always thought she would put on at the local theatre. Her obsession, she thought, had probably been a side-effect of the heat. Of course, she wasn't going to be spanked – Tom was still married, after all, and her fantasy would remain just that – something imagined, now gone, all finished. But if anything, her fantasies strengthened. Knowing he was there, in the same village, that sooner or later she would have to see him, seemed to set her loins on fire with a desire so strong that it weakened her knees.

Eventually, when she could bear it no longer, she phoned him. Yes, she was back, she told him, she would like to buy him a pint and catch up. They arranged to meet at the pub the next evening. Nicki, confused and frightened by her dark desire, spent hours getting ready, choosing underwear, skirt, blouse and shoes. She kept on telling herself that she was silly: nothing was going to happen. Why was she making such a big thing about seeing a friend? She knew that Tom would be his usual urbane, charming self. They would have a drink, he would walk her home. There would be the usual peck on the cheek, and then he would return to his wife and family. She hoped nothing would happen, and feared that nothing would happen. She was dizzy with a mixture of lust and frenzied expectation.

Entering the pub, Nicki saw Tom sitting at a table in the corner of the snug – a nice quiet, private part of the pub, devoid of TV screen, jukebox and slot-machine. He stood up to greet her, kissed her on the cheek, and walked over to the bar to get her a pint of cider, Nicki's favourite tipple. He was already a third of the way through his pint of real ale. They sat down and talked, the way they usually did, and Nicki was relieved that they still seemed to have a lot in common. Tom didn't mention their Facebook conversation. He was the perfect gentleman, asking her about her time in Malaysia, and filling her in on the local gossip.

As the evening wore on, Nicki become more and more desperate to broach the subject of their conversation about spanking. Perhaps, if she could talk about it to him, they might laugh it off and put an end to the unseemly sexual fantasies she was having. Even now, just looking at Tom's hands and face brought such strong images to mind that her panties were becoming moist at the crotch. She blushed, imagining that people nearby could see her naked desire, but that only reinforced the feelings that were flooding her sex. Last orders were called. Tom stood up and said her would walk her home. He lived further on, up the hill from Nicki's flat.

They left the pub together, Nicki in a desperate state of mind. What could she do? Tom asked her if she was alright. She seemed, he said, to be preoccupied. Nicki told him she was fine, but her turmoil was becoming more apparent. They reached her door. Tom pecked her on the cheek and said goodnight. He turned to go.

"Wait", Nicki said, "please wait. What about the...."

"About the... what?" Tom asked.

"That thing", Nicki said. "That thing that we..."

She blushed from the roots of her hair right down to to tops of her breasts.

"That thing, that spanking thing..." her voice petered off, lamely.

Tom stared at her.

"Nicki", he said, "if you want something, you have to ask for it properly. What is it you want?"

"The spanking thing", she blurted, "the thing we talked about. Can we do it?"

"If you want to be spanked Nicki, you have to ask me properly."

Tom didn't seem phased by her statement, he just looked at her patiently.

"Ask me properly."

"Please Tom, I want you to spank me. Please spank me, sir."

Nicki did not know where the 'sir' had come from, but it sounded right. She heard her own voice, scarcely believing what she was saying.

"Please sir, I need to be punished."

Tom took her hand and led her into her living room, plonked her down on the settee and took the chair by the window.

"OK", he said. "We need to get some things straight. You want me to spank you and if you agree to some conditions, I will."

Nicki was faint with a mixture of gratitude, desire, and fear.

"When I spank you", Tom continued, "you must understand that it will hurt. Really hurt. And once I start, I won't stop no matter how much you beg me. You will cry. Do you really want me to do this?"

Nicki didn't even have to think. She was already sopping wet and tingling, her panties in no fit state to be seen. How it humiliated her, that he would notice her arousal, flooding sex, her nipples like bullets thrusting against her bra.

"Yes", she said, "please. Please punish me sir."

Tom looked at her coolly.

"Stand up. Lift your skirt", he ordered.

Nicki blushed again.

"Could I just change my..."

Tom interrupted her and coldly stated: "If this relationship is to progress, you need to understand that I will be obeyed immediately or I will go and you will never see me again. Now, stand and lift your skirt."

Nicki instantly obeyed. The curtains were open, and anyone walking outside the flat could have looked in and seen her, hands holding her skirt up to her navel, her white panties with a spreading dampness in the pubic area. The fear of such public humiliation seemed only to increase her desire. What was happening to her?

"Come here", Tom said.

Nicki dropped her skirt and moved toward him.

"I didn't tell you to put you skirt down", he said. "Lift it and keep it lifted."

Nicki faced him, he still seated, examined her obvious state of arousal. He gently rubbed her thighs, and then caressed her nether lips through the fabric of her panties, she groaned. It seemed as if tiny electric shocks were running up and down her belly.

He pulled the top of her panties down and dispassionately examined her sex. Her pubic hair was sparse, tangled, blond and wispy.

"No", he said. "This won't do at all. Go and fetch me a razor, a bowl of hot water, and some soap. You need to be shaved."

Shaved? Nicki was aghast. Shaved?

"Why..."

"You will obey me now. Go and get the stuff and be quick."

Nicki stumbled to the bathroom, picked up the razor she had used on her legs from the shower cubicle, grabbed a bar of scented soap, and returned to the living room. The kitchenette was really just an extension of the living room, so she dug out a plastic bowl, filled it with hot water from the kitchen sink tap, and held it to her chest. Tears of humiliation started to run down her cheeks.

"Take your skirt and knickers off and get on the kitchen table. Now. Lie on your back. Lift your knees and open your legs as wide as you can. Put your hands behind your head. Don't move them."

Nicki's skirt and panties were discarded on the floor. She sat on the edge of the kitchen table, Tom took the bowl from her hands. She was bright red with embarrassment. She lay back, and opened her legs wide.

Not wide enough. Tom forced her knees towards her ears, her sex and anus were now clearly visible, her vulnerable parts on display for Tom to see. He ran his fingers over her pussy, slipping a finger inside her. She was sopping wet. He wet her pubic hair with the hot water, and lathered her with the scented soap. In a few minutes, he had removed all her tangled pubes, paying particular attention to the area where her slit met up with her puckered anus, his fingers inside her, idly playing with her clit. Nicki was humiliated by this process, noticing how very much more naked her shaven cleft made her feel, but this humiliation only seemed to increase her desire tenfold. His fingers on and inside her were sending such sensations through her body that suddenly and totally to her surprise, she had a towering and powerful orgasm that left her shaken, gasping and horribly embarrassed.

Tom simply ignored her wanton display. He dried her pubic area with some kitchen roll, and then inspected her private areas closely and thoroughly. He pulled Nicki's nether lips apart and examined her wet tunnel. He inserted one, then two, then three fingers inside her and then withdrew his hand and sniffed his fingers. Nicki was mortified. He ordered her to turn onto her stomach and spread the cheeks of her bottom. She held them open with both hands while he leisurely explored the area around her tight and wrinkled anus. He then, to Nicki's surprise, opened her cutlery draw and rummaged inside. He withdrew a wooden spatula, that Nicki used for stirring spaghetti, flat headed with a broad blade.

He sat down again, this time on the settee.

"Come here. Bend over my knees." His voice was flat and cold.

Nicki thought of closing the curtains, but the look on Tom's face told her that she should obey and obey quickly. She walked over toward him, feeling the strange sensation of the air circulating around her hairless snatch, and almost fell onto Tom's long legs, her bottom raised, her pussy rubbing up against his thighs.

"Open your legs. Wider."

Nicki adjusted her position, knowing Tom now had a good view of her anus and vagina.

"Put your hands behind your head. Do not move them."

When the first stroke of the spatula came down on her backside with a resounding 'crack', Nicki feared that she would faint. Pain flared over her buttocks, which angrily reddened immediately.

She cried out, "No, please, not so hard."

He simply ignored her cries. The spatula came down again, on the other cheek, even harder. Tears sprang from her eyes, to her horror she heard herself sobbing, her voice like a strangers, begging him to stop. She was angry, what right did he have to use her like this? Then she remembered that he had every right to use her thus. She had begged him to do so. Her nose started to stream. And something very strange was happening to her body. A wave of almost prehensile desire flowed through her, she became somehow even wetter, her buttocks were radiating signals of pain to her brain, but somehow, she was transcending this experience, translating it into something else. Crack, slap, whack. The spanking went on for, what seemed to Nicki, to be an eternity, but eventually Tom ceased the onslaught, and Nicki lay shuddering and sobbing over Tom's knees.

He said nothing. He didn't praise her or condemn her, compliment her or insult her. He idly ran his hand over her now burning backside, and started, to Nicki's horror, probing her anus with his middle finger. She had never had anyone do that to her before. What was he going to do?

"If we are to progress this relationship further", he said, "you will need to be stretched. Here."

His finger was deep inside her rectum, her sphincter muscles clenched against this rudest of onslaughts. Stretched? Nicki was aghast. What did he mean? What would he do to stretch her? He removed his finger, pulled Nicki up and sat her down beside him. Her buttocks flared again as her abused skin came into contact with the fabric of the couch. She groaned and shuddered.

"Goodbye Nicki", Tom said, and pecked her on the cheek.

He stood up and moved toward the door. Nicki was horrified. Wasn't he going to fuck her? She was desperate to feel him inside her. She was on the crest of another orgasm and he was just about to walk out of the door.

"No! " She begged, "Please don't go. Please sir. I need..."

"You need what? Nicki, if you want something you have to ask. Properly."

"I need to by fucked sir. I need to be fucked by you. Please, please fuck me sir."

Tom smiled. He grabbed her hair and pulled her down onto the carpet. He penetrated her without preamble, and slowly, sensually fucked her, long and hard. She came twice more, each orgasm bigger and more powerful than the last, his fingers clasping her bruised buttocks as he moved inside her. She finally lay exhausted, spent, throbbing, his juices trickling down her inner thighs, happier than she had ever been.