tagBDSMConcierge

Concierge

byLaurelAspen©

After posting nearly 30 stories on Literotica I'm undecided between taking a break, or simply ceasing to write any further spanking and sex orientated erotica.

- As far as inspiration goes I've pretty much exhausted my imagination and personal experiences as a source of story ideas.

If readers have suggestions for plots or particular scenarios they'd like to see in narrative form I'll certainly consider them - pm me or add to comments. Keep in mind that consent is at the heart of my fiction, (just as it should be in real life encounters).


*****

An alert blinks and bleeps from the VDU; James is straight on the case, taking the stairs to the third floor at a trot and arriving for his 5pm appointment bang on the dot.

A slim female answers his discrete knock, long fair hair lightened by streaks of silver and blond, symmetrically pretty face and turned up nose.

"Hi, I'm Kerry."

"You know why I'm here?"

"Yes," she looks downcast.

Once inside James comes straight to the point. "I made the situation very clear when I gave you the keys. Your aunt has been good enough to lend her flat for the vacation; the only condition being no parties and no noise; so what happened on Saturday?"

"Well it wasn't really a party there were only six of us, but I'm afraid it became rather loud."

"Meaning I had to go around soothing some less than happy neighbours," says James. "I assume you don't want your aunt to hear of this"

"Christ No! Please, I'll do anything"

"As I also made clear when I gave you the keys, I'm very strict about rules. You broke them so you're going to be punished. To be blunt I intend to spank you."

"Spank me? You can't mean that. You're joking."

"Perfectly serious, so I suggest you accept your chastisement, I promise no one else will ever know. Unless of course you'd rather throw yourself on the mercy of your auntie?"

"No, You're right, it's just I've never done anything like this before," Kerry confesses nervously "I didn't intend the other night to get so out of hand."

James nods. "You should have called the concierge."

"Well you're here now, so I suppose you'd better just get on and spank me, but please, not too hard."

"I don't think you're in any position to bargain," replies James, as he sat on the sofa. Abruptly changing tone, he adds sternly. "Come here, Kerry. At once girl, hurry up."

'"Yes sir" she whispers contritely.

"Really, this was quite irresponsible of you," he continues, "inviting strangers to your Aunt's flat. You richly deserve to be disciplined."

Meanwhile she stands quietly; eyes focused into the middle distance as James slides her jeans down over narrow hips to reveal a pair of snug white cotton knickers.

"Naughty girls are never, ever punished over clothes," he explains, pulling Kerry across his lap, toes barely touching the floor. "Time for this pretty little bottom to receive a thorough spanking."

James feels a tremor run through her body. He begins to smack the pale crown of each springy buttock, the firm flesh bouncing and rippling beneath his hard hand. Gradually Kerry's bottom cheeks turn pink and, squirming across his knees, she responds to each ringing slap with cries of mingled anguish and excitement. Ignoring them James continues spanking, until Kerry's entire bottom is uniformly red and hot to the touch.

"How does that feel?" he asks.

"Oooh, it stings, my bottom is burning all over," she complains."

"Stand up and take a look."

Kerry scrambles to her feet, twisting round to peer over her shoulder. Agitated wriggling has worked her knickers into the cleft of her buttocks, the white material accentuating a very red backside. "You cruel man, my poor bum's so sore," she pouts. "Can I rub it, please?"

"Be my guest."

Kerry's hands urgently began massaging her glowing cheeks. "However a spanking alone isn't sufficient to deal with your naughtiness young lady. Kneel on that chair and push your bottom out." James loosens his belt. 'You'll take six," he informs her firmly, "on the bare.'

"But it's my first time," wails Kerry, significantly making no attempt to move. Wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of short white socks she pouts sulkily as he draws her knickers down to her knees.

"And unlikely to be your last," retorts James, raising his arm. Kerry tenses and screws her eyes tight shut; for a moment, time seems to stop. Thwack! Half a dozen methodical strokes sear Kerry's pert buttocks, punctuated by ever-louder cries. She struggles in his firm grasp, feet kicking the air.

The final impact kisses her firm young flesh and she cries out, half in pain, half in triumph; stretches towards the ceiling then slumps forward, clutching the back of the chair for support. Sneaking a hand between her thighs and into her knickers Kerry's fingers work to ease a delightful and wholly unexpected side effect of being punished. Moments pass, James waits tolerantly, allowing Kerry time to regain her composure.

"Wow, that was amazing! I wasn't expecting an orgasm," Kelly enthuses, gingerly pulled her panties up over her sore bottom. "I don't suppose you could...?"

"Certainly not, I'm old enough to be your father."

Time to go, before things get complicated.

The next day is quieter, the building is running smoothly, and, since James is on the morning shift and it's early yet, the demands of residents and guests are minimal.

Being concierge, more correctly one of small group of concierges, at the prestigious Talbot Towers block had never been part of his career plan - but the job has suited him very well. It'd only been intended as a temporary expedient while James, back from abroad, settled in London but somehow weeks have turned to months.

OK, the wages aren't much, but a free room, however modestly proportioned and in the basement, pretty much sealed the deal. Working shifts allows him time for a diverse range of other interests and moneymaking activities; James is a man of the world.

'Concierge' is perhaps a rather grand title for an employment combining the roles of receptionist, security guard and general fixer. With an enviable portfolio of contacts across the city James can conjuror hard to get theatre tickets, recommend art exhibitions to visit, (and to avoid) plus a range of other more esoteric services. Want a reliable plumber, carpenter or any other trade; sorted. Need company, a restaurant at short notice, your recreational drug of choice? All discreetly and efficiently supplied, James is your man.

Not forgetting the building itself, a venerable 1930s art deco block of a dozen floors and 150 apartments. Built from high quality material for upmarket buyers and unlike others of a similar vintage the block has fortunately neither fallen into disrepair nor been butchered by 'improvements'.

Another day, another screen, prompt: 8.45am, but only when James is on duty. He takes the lift to the seventh floor and rings the doorbell. An attractive woman in her thirties, clearly somewhat harassed and in a hurry, opens it immediately.

"Good morning, Asha," says James cheerfully.

"Could we skip it, just this once?" she pleads immediately, dispensing with pleasantries.

"Or not,' "James replies firmly. "Remember why I'm here Asha, because you can always rely on me to keep you up to speed. When self-discipline fails I apply the necessary correction to ensure you stay focussed and ahead of the game. This session is already overdue and we haven't much time before you need to leave for work, so assume the position please."

With a resigned sigh Asha, high heels clicking on the parquet floor, walks elegantly to the head of the dining table and turns to face it. Reaching behind she slowly slides down the zip of her expensively tailored skirt and lets the fabric fall around her slender ankles. Sinuously she bends forward to grip each edge of the table. "Ready," she confirms in slightly shaky voice.

Ensuring she's watching, James theatrically rolls up his sleeves and flexes a slender cane. Asha's dark eyes widen in anticipation, a palpable electric tension suffuses the air. Purposefully he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of a surprisingly racy pair of knickers, and gossamer sheer tights, pulling them down to mid-thigh and baring her bottom. Asha's caramel-hued rear is always a delight, a fraction fuller than the rest of her figure, but curvaceous, firmly contoured and wholly erotic.

"How many?" she croaks, knees trembling.

"Eight," James tells her.

"Eight!"

"Two extra for arguing at the start, you want more just keeping talking."

So silence reigns and eight it most certainly is, methodically delivered with a 30 second pause between each stroke to let the searing smart permeate her buttocks. An interminable four minutes of pain, culminating in parallel bands of fire, livid stripes and a fiercely burning bottom.

Asha hangs on to the table top for dear life, leg muscles straining; each successive kiss of the cane forcing her further up onto her toes. Clenching her teeth she stifles a cry after the fifth and lowest stroke, right across her sensitive 'sit spot', and is furiously blinking back tears by her chastisement's conclusion, hoping to hell her mascara won't run. His hand fleetingly seeks the damp crack between her thighs sparking a surge of arousal within Asha.

"Find this a turn-on?" James enquires wickedly.

"Sod off!"

James nonchalantly tosses the bamboo rod onto the table, its clatter breaking the spell. "You've five minutes to make yourself presentable before leaving for the office," he announces. Stiffly Asha stands, tentatively hauling panties and tights up over her ravaged rear, wincing as she does so. "I'm going to be squirming on a hard chair all though my morning meeting," she observes ruefully.

"Good, it'll keep you concentrated," replies James nonchalantly, watching with amusement as she frantically massages her blazing buttocks. "That caning was intended to get your adrenalin flowing and mind focussed, your idea originally, remember?"

"Oh, but it's sore," moans Asha ruefully, carefully refastening her skirt, and repairing her lipstick. "Bloody hell, my bottom seems to have expanded."

"Could be a bit swollen,' James agrees mischievously. "I did lay them on rather hard."

"Well go a bit easier next time," replies Asha fervently as she sets off to work. She pauses at the door, struck by a thought. "Could you possibly pop up and apply a little TLC when I get back this evening?" she suggests with a mischievous smile, "I'm sure the marks will still be there."

"Seven o'clock suit?" responds James rhetorically, ever the consummate professional. If only the shareholders in Asha's fashion empire knew what their MD does to remain the most successful entrepreneur in women's online retailing, thinks James on his way back to the foyer.

Next day James takes the lift to the uppermost story where Mrs Hope occupies the penthouse suite - and why not? After all, she owns the entire block, lock, stock and freehold.

A woman of a certain age, who's worn exceedingly well, she welcomes him on the threshold. "I get the distinct feeling I'm not the only person in this block to receive such individual concierge attention. I hope nobody suspects any connection between us?"

"Of course not, give me credit for discretion," replies James smoothly. "True, I have other clients requiring similar services; relationships also based on confidentiality and trust. I discipline them, just as I intend to discipline you."

"Is that any way to talk to your employer?" Mrs Hope replies with a coquettish look.

"Were you simply my employer, probably not," responds James evenly. "But that's no the case is it?"

"No, our connection is more complex," she murmurs, seductively.

"Not at all," counters James, "it's actually very simple. I enable you to surrender control in safety and complete privacy; an arrangement based on a certain mutual attraction. Anyway, quite enough small talk; you require chastisement, Mrs Hope. Go and fetch your riding crop, please, today I intend to whip you."

"Whip me. But I've got an important social gala to host this evening. People are sure to notice if I walk stiffly; I always do after your visits. And I hate the crop."

"Which is your problem, not mine. We agreed the rules at the beginning of our arrangement. I decide the punishment, you obey without question."

Reluctantly Mrs Hope acquiesces and shortly afterwards returns to the lounge holding a slender leather-covered wand in trembling hands. "Splendid," says James, taking the implement of correction from her and swishing it through the air approvingly. "Glad to see you've decided to comply. However, as regards your initial recalcitrance a little corner time seems appropriate. You will stand over there, facing the wall; I have handcuffs here somewhere if you don't cooperate. Better just link your fingers behind your head for me, and while you reflect on the likely consequences of your disobedient behaviour I shall pour a glass of your rather fine red wine."

As the evening sun filters through the adjacent French windows James sits contentedly, sipping Malbec.

Good posture, he muses approvingly, and a trim waist, black hair cut into a fashionable bob and perfectly painted pink pearlescent nails. Slowly he runs his eyes down over the mature curves of her hindquarters. Further still roves his gaze, past the hem of a well-tailored kirt, past the fine hollows at the back of her knees, down to trim ankles and Mrs Hope's exactly aligned high heels. Time he got down to the pleasurable business ahead.

"Raise your skirt," he commands curtly.

Mrs Hope is well aware of her necessary part in the CP ritual, initially to protest, struggle and generally bewail her fate, prior to presenting and permitting as directed.

"I certainly don't intend to display myself in such a vulgar manner," she answers petulantly.

"Lift your skirt or I'll do it for you," growls James, an angry edge to his voice.

Hands shaking, she reaches for the hem and raises the garment to her waist. Mrs Hope is, James reflects, possessed of a truly superb pair of pins, clad in sheer dark nylon and held up by taut black suspenders.

Thankful he can't see her blushes Mrs Hope determinedly keeps her back ramrod straight and presses her knees tightly together, lest they betray her by shaking. Adrenalin courses through her like a drug. She can't recall when last she's felt so excited, so alive, so deliciously vulnerable.

Unseen by her, James moves about the room. An item of furniture is picked up and transported to a space somewhere close by. Mrs Hope feels a hand grip her elbow as James turns her to face him.

"Kneel, please," he instructs brusquely, pointing to a padded stool stood in front of an easy chair. Now completely in his thrall, Mrs Hope obeys and once in position turns her large hazel eyes to meet and hold his steely gaze. "Bend forward, rest your forearms on the chair cushion and put your head on them," he orders.

Reluctantly she does so. Just as he'd intended, her elevated position on the padded stool thrusts her buttocks up, higher than her head and perfectly posed to receive whatever chastisement he choses. But not quite yet, James has one more petty humiliation to Mrs Hope must submit prior to his applying the crop to her delightful derriere.

"Take your knickers down," he intones calmly.

"You can't mean... surely not on the bare!" With her bottom so prominently proffered to his lascivious gaze Mrs Hope is in no doubt what intimate sights this ultimate act of obedience will reveal. Yet amid her genuine cries of protest an inner voice struggles to be heard. Isn't this what she so often dreams of'? To be completely possessed by an alpha male. One of the images which so frequently come into her mind on lonely, restless nights, when she flushes hotly and the only way to fill the emptiness inside is with a vibrator kept carefully locked in her bedside drawer.

To which, of course, there is only one answer, submissively Mrs Hope reaches to pull the skimpy knickers down to her knees.

"I shall deliver eight cuts of the crop," he announces, running his hand across the silken skin of her full, firm moons and causing an involuntary shudder to ripple through Mrs Hope's body. "Two extra as an exemplarity correction for defying me earlier on. Afterwards you'll pull those ripe peaches asunder, exposing your bottom cleft."

"Nooo!" Mrs Hope's wail of protest is almost simultaneously truncated by a squeal of pain as the first of eight successive blows from the flexible, leather-bound crop sinks into her soft flesh. Delivered with ruthless precision, each perfectly horizontal stroke scores a livid red line of fire across the previously pristine flesh.

A dishevelled, Mrs Hope eventually manages to restore some semblance of composure. Despite the heat suffusing her poor sore bottom she somehow remembers his previous instruction and, with a sob of embarrassment at the lewd display, pulls her cheeks apart to humiliatingly expose the puckered rose of her anus. Whereby James cruelly brings the crop's tip into searing contact with the sensitive skin of her buttock cleft, forcing shrill cries of dismay from Mrs Hope's lips.

After several similar eye-watering applications he reluctantly lays the implement aside and runs his hand soothingly across Mrs Hope's indecently disciplined buttocks, making her groan out loud yet again, albeit this time with pleasure.

"You took that very well," he says. "Not that I'd expect anything less. It's only fair, therefore, that such stoic forbearance be rewarded."

"Rewarded?" Mrs Hope's heart races and her thighs involuntarily clench as if to stem the sharp thrill of liquid pleasure welling up within, engulfing her sex with unrequited desire. His questing fingers skilfully seeking out her aching clitoris, Mrs Hope requires precious little foreplay to ready her for his erection. Her velvety cave is already seeping with moisture when the tip of James' cock slides between her lust-engorged labia. With a series of quite unladylike moans Mrs Hope urges him on, urgently thrusting back her hips to draw him deep into the slick welcome of her overheated cunt. Within moments he's penetrated her yearning pussy to the core, working his penis rapidly in and out, harder and harder. Neither can last long and she climaxes seconds before him, an uninhibitedly intense, emotional and physical release.

"Anything else you require?" James enquires solicitously.

"Pour me a glass of wine, and when I've drunk it fuck me again please, a little more slowly this time."

"It'll be my pleasure," James replies truthfully; after all, a good concierge always enjoys being of service.

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byLaurelAspen© 1 comments/ 6738 views/ 1 favorites

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by Anonymous

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by pe1er08/15/18

Please don't stop writing.

Your stories are amongst the best on this site.

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