Grace Ch. 11

"I have a gift for you," Richard says kindly.

Another gift. He is so generous with me and I hardly deserve it.

"Richard, please, you're letting me stay at your house. And you already gave me this tattoo and this," I pause "bracelet."

I rub my hand around the braided red leather doubled around my wrist and smile, remembering when I had pretended it was a collar, still a little unsure if that's how it was meant to be worn in the first place.

Richard returns my smile and his topaz eyes met my hazel ones.

"That was a very simple piece. Your next gift is a bit more complex and it is actually from the same hide."

"What do you mean?" I ask, "Did you make this?"

I pull the bracelet up to my eyes and inspect it closely, as If seeing it for the first time. I imagine Richard cutting and braiding the pieces of leather himself, installing the snaps, spending time working on a piece of jewelry with me in mind.

"I did. And I also made you this."

Richard opens the night stand and pulls out a red leather journal in exactly the same shade of deep cherry red. I gasp in disbelief that he could cut, sew, and bind such a journal himself. Even more incredulous was the idea that he would put in the time and effort for me. He hands me the book and I hesitate before taking it. It's almost too beautiful to touch and I feel that I will ruin its perfection.

"Richard, this is too much," I insist.

"Shh, little one. This is a two-way gift. I created the journal for you, but you are the one who must fill it. And, if you accept, I have something specific I'd like you to fill it with."

"Of course," I reply quickly, it's the least I can do.

"I'd like you to write about your experiences with BDSM with Catherine and myself after each scene. We want to know what you liked and what could have been better. What's going on in your head. I've noticed that you are quite articulate with your written word and I believe you'd do well to communicate your feedback with us this way and also to reflect and journal."

I nod. "Thank you," I manage, humbly. How many 'thank yous' can I manage in one evening.

"You're most welcome. And now I have a question for you."

Richard stands up, leaving me sitting on the edge of the bed along, staring up at him. I'm beginning to admire his body more and more. True, he is not as thin and fit as some boys my age, but I can tell from the edges of his muscles that he is strong. And he is covered in small scars that I'm sure each have stories. The more I look at him, the more I realize that he has lived and experienced so much that I have not and I long to learn from him as much as I long to press my lips to his.

"Are you ready for bed, or would you like to join me on the upper floor tonight?"

-

The room on the upper floor is dark, red tapestries casting dark shadows against the wall from the flickering, flameless candles that line the floor. It looks so different then when Richard tied me up here yesterday, under the recessed but still bright lighting. This time, it is romantic. The candles make light dance across the room to the beat of soft new age music. Richard must have expected that I would accept his offer, to have set things up so beautifully.

As we reach the top of the stairs, Richard unlocks and opens the door, then stops me from crossing the barrier with a gentle hand to my shoulder.

"Before you cross this top stair, I would like you to always ask permission to enter. Is that acceptable?" he asks.

I think it to be a rather strange request, since Richard had already explained how I was allowed free access to their house, food, and even cars if I needed. Why would I only need to ask permission to enter this one room? Still, I figure that it is the least I can do, and so I oblige him.

"Yes, of course," I answer, and then, "May I enter?"

"You may, little one."

I follow him to the four-poster bed, draped with red fabric, nearly identical to the fabric on the walls.

"Today, I'd like to introduce you to spanking, "he says gently.

I smile and look away, feeling shy.

:Is that something you're interested in?" I pause and feel my cheeks light up with a blush because, yes. That is something I had thought about before. Not just spanking but pain in general. I've always heard about people who find pain enjoyable or arousing and its been somewhat of a fascination of mine. The roughest any of my partners have ever been is to pull my hair, which I enjoyed, but to enjoy a spanking seems like a whole new realm.

"Yes, "I begin, "but I'm a little worried."

"Come sit with me and tell me what worries you. He gestures and leads me to the bed. I g follow and sit down gently next to him, folding my hands in my lap. "I think what I'm most worried about it is the pain, "

That's understandable." Richard says, "Pain is a scary concept. It can be confusing to see people enjoying pain and not understanding how or why they do it. It can become even more confusing when you, yourself are drawn to those same feelings." He pauses. "Tell me , Grace, What was it that you enjoyed about getting your tattoo.?"

I think back to that night with Richard at Sensations and imagine myself in the tattoo chair, being tattooed by his expert hand.

"I liked how you helped me and guided me through it. " I answer. "I liked how I was able to sort of regulate it with my breathing and my focus."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, I liked when it was finished...I felt like I had accomplished something amazing. I felt proud.

Richard nods, a slight smile on his lips. "You'll find similar benefits to the pain you feel in BDSM, Grace." He assures me. "IT's really not all that different."

I think over his words and it seems to make sense to me, I mean, I could process and, dare I admit it, maybe even enjoy the pain of getting my tattoo. Maybe I could enjoy the pain of getting spanked.

"Can we do it very lightly?" I ask.

"Of course, We'll take it slow," he assumes me "And if you even slower, you just say yellow. And if you want to stop entirely you say -"

"-Red," I finish.

"Good girl."

Richard pulls me up to stand with him runs his finger softly up my neck, tilting my chin upwards and towards him for a gentle kiss.

"Such a very good girl, you are."

He caresses my arms with his fingertips, as if he is drawing lines up and down and then across my stomach. His hands slip under my dress and I shiver as he touches my bare skin but I don't pull away. His touch is soft and inviting and I feel safe under his hands. I close my eyes and feel my dress being pulled up and over my head. I shift, allowing myself to be disrobed and imagine the pile of yellow roses falling at my feet. When I open my eyes, I see Richard staring at me in adoration and I fight off blushing at his attention. The feeling of standing in front of him in just my bra and thong panties, while he looms over me, still very dressed up in his red button-down shirt and black slacks, is embarrassing to say the least. Then again, it also seems to overtake me will sense of smallness that I can't help but crave.

Richard moves to the side of the bed this time, sitting a little farther back. I trail behind him as he moves and then stop in front of him. The strangest thought passes through my brain and I wonder what it might feel like to be made to kneel in front of him. Oh, how very small and humble I would feel then.

"I would like you to lie, face down, on my lap, please Grace."

I stare at him, wanting so badly to do as he asks but frozen by anxiety. I didn't realize he would be spanking me over his lap and the very idea seems so shameful and yet, why am I so drawn to it? Why is every muscle urging me to move towards him while my brain floods me with 'what-ifs'?

"Don't overthink it. Just follow my lead."

Just follow. I can do that. Just do exactly what he says, and I will be safe and there won't be any reason to feel ashamed. Besides, it just stands to reason that, if I'm doing exactly as I'm told, then I can't be blamed for any embarrassing position of situation.

I kneel next to him on the bed and place my hands on the other side of his lap. Then, I begin to lower myself down so that my weight is resting on his lap. Oh god, what if I am too heavy. No, don't overthink it, I tell myself, repeating his advice. Just follow him.

I relax on to him and he pets my hair, smoothing it all the way down my exposed back before starting back at the roots. I sign and lift my head up towards his pets, wanting more.

Suddenly, he grasps my hair at the root in his fist and gives a tug, eliciting a gasp from me.

"Oh, we like that?"

I moan quietly, and he moves my head around roughly by the hair still caught in his grasp. My head follows helplessly and with each pull he draws out small, delighted whimpers from me. God, I can already feel myself getting wet. It's as if he can read my mind with his touch, knowing exactly how to most precisely affect me with very stroke and jerk. Still holding my hair, he traces his free hand down the length of my exposed back, all the way down to my ass,

curved and angled over his lap, presented to him. I've never felt so exposed.

He begins to tap lightly in what could hardly be called spanking but I flinch all the same under his hand. Maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe this is something I will be able to handle. Tap tap tap. The pressure increases and I shiver under his touch, my ass growing warm at his tapping, steady and firm.

"Are you ready for the first strike?" he says, his voice suddenly seeming darker, husky and sexual.

Ready? Were we not already beginning? I tense my body, bracing myself for a hard smack, that never comes.

"No, sweetheart, you need to relax. Breathe with me."

Richard releases my hair and rests his hand on my upper back, pulling upward to encourage my inhale and pushing down slightly to encourage me to exhale. I fall into his rhythm and feel by body begin to relax under his hand as it rises and falls.

Richard's hand lands with a smack and I jolt, but the pain seems to radiate through me and isn't nearly as jarring as I thought it would be. I let out a big breath and with it comes a set of soft giggles.

"There we go," Richard encourages, "You're giggling."

"Yeah," I admit, folding my arms, and laying my head into them, my hair loose and falling messily around my smiling face.

Smack

This time he hits me a bit harder. I jump at the sound though I feel nothing for the first moment, then pain cascades through me in a slow wave and I writhe under Richards hand as it ebbs through me. I am giggling again, drinking in the sensations as if they are made for my body to feel.

"Don't stop breathing," he instructs, firm.

Smack Smack Smack

Three hard blows land on my lower ass and I scream into my arms, overwhelmed. I suck in air greedily and blow it out in heavy bursts. Then the glorious transition of the pain into that same gentle flowing sensation happens once again and I am rocking harder, filled with sexual energy and I find myself lifting my ass toward his hand, feeling increasingly shameless.

"How are you doing?"

"Me?" I ask, as the hazy feeling begins to fade. "I feel amazing. I want to keep going."

Richard begins to hit a bit lighter but faster, in a quick, rhythmic pattern. I let my mouth fall open and give a sigh, then breathe in deeply though my nose. I am matching my breathing to his strokes, breathing in, two smacks, letting it out, two smacks. It is almost as if we are dancing together, keeping this rhythm. It is all my mind can focus on and, for the first time in such a long time, I find myself without any anxieties at all.

He keeps his pace and I keep mine, feeling as if I am filling with energy with every inhale. The strokes get a progressively harder, but I find that I'm able to absorb the pain and that is passes through me effortlessly, as long as I keep breathing.

Then Richard's hand slides down between the cheeks of my ass and he rests his hand on my dripping sex. I lay, limp, on him, any trace of embarrassment or insecurity long past as his skilled fingers find my clit and begin to stroke gently. I don't know why am surprised to find that he knows exactly what he is doing. After all, he is older than me and married to a woman, but every guy I've ever been with had had trouble when it's come to using their hands. But not Richard. He's attentions are rhythmic and perfect, and I let out soft moans of pleasure into the red comforter, hoping that it is enough to encourage him to keep up what he is doing.

He slips his fingers into me and I gasp, pressing myself towards him, clenching around him, wanting more of him, deeper inside of me. He seems to read my mind as he obliges, thrusting deeper and eliciting a small scream from my parted lips.

"Thank you," I hear myself whisper.

"Oh my, you truly are a special girl, Grace." He says, pulling his fingers out and then trusting in once again.

I let out a long, deep sound into the bed, which pulsates with his movement of his arm. I am his puppet, my body and my sounds totally controlled by him and his wishes. I let my body stay limp. I let the sounds come out as they will. I stay entirely open to him and his desires.

His speed increases and it feels as if I am outside myself, watching myself be pleasured and used in this beautifully, freeing way. My body reacts entirely of its own volition and I am rocking against his hand. We are dancing again. Pressure and pleasure are rising in me and with every slight movement his drives me closer to my inevitable climax.

How I long to orgasm here and now, under his hand, complete by his command and control. It is the closest thing to feeling owned that I have ever experienced. The fantasy of being owned by him overtakes me and I am shaking hard on top of him, shameless and wanton. Then it crashes over me with an intensity I didn't expect and I hear myself scream, pressing my palms into the bed, and arching my back.

I fall, still shaking, as the orgasm holds on to me, demanding to be felt longer, refusing to past.

"Thank you," I whimper. "Thank you, Richard."

"You can call me, Sir" he offers, and the sound of it is sweet to my ears.

"Thank you, Sir."

-

Richard is unhooking my bra and wrapping me in a blanket, folding his arms around me, and planting tender kisses on the top of my head.

"Why did we stop so soon," I mumble, my voice hoarse as I stumble to get the words out.

"Grace, our scene lasted for almost an hour."

"What!?"

An hour? I swear it felt like the whole thing was over in just a few minutes. How can that be possible.

"Come on, little one, let's get you to bed." He soothes.

He walks me back down the stairs and my mind slowly starts to regain clarity. I just allow Richard to spank and finger me upstairs and then got off on the thought of being owned. I called him 'Sir' with no inhibitions or shyness. My own perversions and sexual fantasies are surprising me less and less lately.

I lie with my back against Richard's chest in the soft, white comforter of the guest bed and he softly pets my hair.

"You're such a good girl, Grace. Did you enjoy everything?"

"Yes, Sir." I say sleepily, and cuddle back into him.

"Rest now, and listen to me. You might feel a little sad or blue as you come down from the high of this. Please come to the master bedroom if you need company, okay?"

"Okay, thank you." I yawn and close my eyes.

There Richard holds me, still petting my head, until I fall asleep.