Funeral Rites

An unorthodox wake...

The old church is set incongruously among the city office blocks and hotels which have colonised the neighbourhood and now tower above it. Two strangers sit in the rearmost pew, empty seats between them and the sparse congregation at the front. Turnout at the funeral of this prominent businessman is less than might have been expected, evidently 'widely known' does not equate with 'universally liked'. A clergyman, unacquainted with the deceased, drones a monotonic eulogy by rote at the lectern. "Respected and admired by his loyal employees..."

"As if," blurts a female voice, that of the woman adjacent to Rupert. She gasps and raises a hand to her mouth, turns in his direction, face flushed and clearly embarrassed. "Oh Christ," she whispers - accidentally adding blasphemy to her vocal transgression - "I didn't mean to say that out loud, sorry if I offended you".

"Not at all," he reassures, voice low, the trace of a smile, "in fact, I completely agree."

"You do, really?"

"Indeed, an objectionable man. I'm Rupert by the way."

"Fiona, do you think anyone else heard?" The congregation has segued into the desultory rendering of a tuneless hymn, a welcome cover for their clandestine conversation.

"Doubt it and in any case, there are many here who'd share the sentiment. Look, it's nearly the end of the service and I feel I've discharged my duty, what say we discreetly depart and grab a coffee?" She nods assent, and they surreptitiously exit.

The sunlight outside allows a better view of his fellow 'mourner' and Rupert is immediately enamoured. She's dressed entirely in black from top to toe; hat and veil, stylishly cut two-piece and shoes; age hard to pinpoint, allure indisputable.

Fiona is equally impressed. A mature man in bespoke formal apparel, groomed and confident with effortless presence and considerable charm. Politely pulling out a chair when Fi decorously takes her seat in the coffee shop, he orders and pays, black Americano for both, the waitress beguiled by his old-fashioned good manners.

There's a palpable spark between them. Hooking up at a funeral is hardly classy, thinks Fi, already anticipating the way this liaison might proceed. Rupert, astutely interpreting the covert signals flashed by Fi's expressive green eyes, is determined to follow up on this thus far unspoken mutual attraction.

"So, if you dislike him so much why attend the funeral?" Rupert smoothly picks up their earlier conversation.

"Professional obligation, I worked, fortunately not directly, for the creep. 'Mr Wandering Hands', younger female staff used to call him. My reluctance to honour him resulted in being late - hence the seat at the back. How about you?"

"His company was a big client," explains Rupert. "I met him a couple of times and wasn't impressed. Overconfident, bombastic and just plain rude."

"If Linked-In profiles were ever truthful that would sum him up succinctly," smiles Fi.

"Nevertheless," Rupert's stare is transfixing, "decorum is required at such formal occasions. A lapse cannot go unadmonished."

Fi lowers her chin and returns the look through long lashes. "You're right, that was rather wicked of me." Her voice has assumed a sultry tone. It simultaneously occurs to each of them the conversation has reached a tipping point. This is no ordinary sexual encounter. An erotic ritual commences, he the chastiser, she the penitent; hers the greater jeopardy. Rupert's intuition indicates Fi's outward composure conceals an affinity for submission while she recognises a natural dominant. A perfect match.

"Shall we?" ventures Rupert, taking nothing for granted.

"I rather think we might," confirms Fi, adrenalin surging. Without either of them overtly acknowledging it, a Rubicon is crossed. Rupert has flown in from his European home, intending to make a weekend of the visit. Fi drove from a couple of hours distant, packing an overnight bag on the off chance. They adjourn to his upmarket hotel.

"Are you going to punish me for my intemperate outburst?" Fi asks nervously once in his room.

"Most certainly," confirms Rupert, calmly.

"With that clothes brush?

"Quite so. This place is most thoughtfully appointed: coffee maker, high-speed internet and this substantial hardwood brush. Accident or design I wonder? I hope the walls are soundproof."

"You're going to smack my bottom?"

"Your bare bottom," asserts Rupert.

Tongue suggestively tracing her red lips, Fi contemplates this information. "Across your knee?" she enquires in a sublimely low and sexy voice. Rupert's manhood stiffens; Fi is already wet.

"Of course not, I've no intention of holding you down like some recalcitrant brat, you're a consenting adult and I expect you to submit with dignity." Fi considers his demand and doesn't demur.

Why would she, submission is what lights her fuse.

"I won't need to keep my skirt on then." She surprises him by allowing the expensive fabric to drop to the floor. The hat and jacket have already been discarded, likewise the shoes. Fi now wears only a chaste white blouse and sheer black nylons.

"Stockings," observes Rupert, unable to conceal his pleasure at the revelation. "Seems exotic for the occasion."

"I dress to please myself," responds Fi haughtily, before once again wrong-footing her putative punisher. "I imagine these are also unnecessary." She decorously slides a pair of skimpy knickers down to her ankles, daintily lifting each foot in turn. Neatly folds the skirt and places it on a chair, picks up the discarded panties and tosses them to him.

"That," says Rupert, deftly catching the lingerie and placing it in his pocket, "was very naughty."

"How do you want me?" Fi decides not to provoke him further, yet.

"Kneel on the sofa, grip the back and push your bottom out, I'll begin with a dozen smacks and see how they alter your attitude." Fi meekly adopts the vulnerable and exposed position.

True to his promise, Rupert applies the brush a dozen times and observes her cheeks oscillate under its impact while Fi wriggles futilely to disperse the growing heat. Unmoved by her yelps and gasps, he continues inexorably until her rear has been rendered blushing red.

"How does it feel?" enquires Rupert, disingenuously, stepping back to survey the glowing result.

"How do you think?' snaps Fi, immediately regretting her words. Rupert delivers two hard slaps, one to the back of each thigh, eliciting squeals of dismay.

"That reply was neither appropriate nor respectful," he says coldly, "answer properly."

"Very sore," pouts Fi, furiously rubbing her burning bottom.

"Better, I'd intended to stop there, however, your rudeness warrants an additional dose." Rupert is in no mood to compromise.

"Where do you want me?" Wisely deciding not to argue, Fi eyes him warily, still massaging her burning orbs, delightful in her flustered discomfort.

"Sit on the sofa." She does so, wincing when her hot-spanked bottom makes contact. "Open your legs wide." Sulkily obedient, Fi complies, pussy exposed, glistening and gaping. Rupert stares pointedly at her shaven sex.

"I can't help it, spanking always does this to me."

"So, not your first time?"

"No." She holds his gaze steadfastly, proud and unrepentant.

"Expect these extra smacks to smart," announces Rupert, "keep still and I may reward you afterwards."

"And if I move?"

"Penalty slaps to your pussy, do you want your pussy spanked?"

"Not right now." He'd anticipated a vehement 'no'. Fi again proves unpredictable.

Rupert nods approvingly at the answer, mentally filing it for the, hopefully near, future. Places his hand on her pussy, fingers moving as if strumming a guitar, insinuating and stroking. Fi pushes her hips forward greedily, inviting further intimate attention, moaning at the abandonment when this exquisite pleasure peremptorily ceases.

Slowly and deliberately, he spanks each tender inner thigh. Fi unable to stay quiet as her pale skin is marked with red handprints, squirms and gasps, yet crucially stays seated, completely in thrall to his commands.

"Thank you, sir," she whispers, unprompted when he stops.

"Well done," Rupert's approval lights her world. "Now back where you were please." Thighs burning, Fi resumes her former kneeling position, remembering to push her posterior into prominence, praying the hated brush won't revisit her buttocks.

"You're probably wondering what happens now," he says.

"I hope you're going to fuck me."

"I know I'm going to fuck you."

He caresses her heat-radiating hindquarters, Fi's arousal abundantly apparent. Holding her hips firmly, Rupert draws the willing woman back onto his straining cock. Slips easily into her warm pussy, feeling it tighten around his girth.

"Think you can take it all? he enquires. Like she has a choice.

"Try me." Slowly building a rhythm, Fi slows her breathing, wriggles to accommodate his length and gives a low sensual moan - being taken from behind is by far her favourite. An experienced lover, Rupert commences slowly, varying the depth of his penetration as Fi, dips and arches her pelvis, to enhance their mutual stimulation. "Oh yes," she gasps, "so good to have a real man inside me, don't hold back." Rupert doesn't, thrusting vigorously until Fi is overwhelmed by orgasmic waves and both shudder to a powerful climax.

They disengage shakily, awed by the intensity of their coupling. Emboldened by excitement, Fi flourishes the funeral schedule. "According to this," she announces mischievously, "the wake is being held at the hotel next door, we've still time to attend."

Shortly after the respectably dressed pair merge easily into the throng. With high-end catering and a free bar, the gathering is celebratory, and Rupert takes the opportunity to network,

Fi, panties still in Rupert's pocket and naked under her skirt, continually tempts and distracts him. Undoes a couple of buttons and 'accidentally' exposes her cleavage when bending forward. It occurs to Rupert that he hasn't yet set eyes on her breasts, nor have they kissed. Sat across the room, conversing with the late departed's increasingly merry widow, Fi coquettishly crosses and uncrosses her legs, momentary flashing stocking tops, uncaring if anyone else gets a glimpse.

Fi recalls the sublime sensation of his cock inside her, imagines taking Rupert's erection into her mouth and watching his face as she fellates him to orgasm. Thrilled by this fantasy, she ponders slipping out to the loo and fingering herself to a desperately craved climax. No, Fi decides, too tacky, better to let her anticipation build, such sweet torment. Within minutes, too turned on to defer gratification any longer, she sidles up to Rupert, grabs his hand and leads him urgently away. Game on.

Back in his hotel room, they at once become passionately entangled. Bum still deliciously tender, Fi isn't up for a second round of spanking, wanting only hot and heavy sex. Rupert is content to defer further discipline, confident the future will yield plenty of such opportunities. Instead, eager to explore the erotic promise of Fi's body, he exposes her firm boobs, tonguing and squeezing each until the over stimulated nipples stand erect. Fi responds by giving Rupert the BJ she'd earlier imagined, teasingly stopping just short of his point of no return.

Swapping their earlier roles, she manoeuvres her lover onto the bed, straddles his upright erection and decisively rides Rupert's cock, sending waves of sublime pleasure through his pulsing shaft. Fixes him with a challenging stare, 'Who is in charge now?' the implicit message. Aware he's being tested, Rupert wrests back control. Easily flipping Fi onto her back, he slaps her buttocks.

"You only top when I permit it," no macho boast, simply an assertion so masterful Fi almost comes there and then. He thrusts into her sopping pussy, hard and fast, while Fi, complicit in this surrender, crosses her ankles behind him. Clenched tightly within, Rupert can hold back no longer and comes, the sensation of him jetting sperm into her consummately fucked cunt causing Fi - thighs trembling, holding on tightly - to orgasm as well.

"That," gasps Fi, with considerable understatement, "was a lot".

"And yet," replies Rupert meaningfully, "just what you deserved."

"I think I deserve a lot more, of everything," agrees Fi, "perhaps a less formal setting next time?"