Impact 11: of Amends

For those who pay attention to such things: When Sarah is alone the story is in the past tense. When Claire and Sarah are together the story is in present tense.

Special thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for proof reading this chapter - repeatedly.

Impact of Amends

Claire wakes me extra early with smiles and kisses. I hadn't forgotten about the spankings, but dropping down on the toilet seat to pee I discover the hard way how tender my fanny still is.

"EEY!"

"What is it?!"

Claire was in the door looking alarmed.

"My butt!" I cry, glaring at her, and lifting my bruised cheeks off the seat. "You broke it!"

"Ah well, you were very bad..." she says with an air of resignation. "It hurt me more than you."

My eyes are wide with disbelief and outrage, which makes her burst out laughing and rush to me, holding my face in her hands and showering me with kisses until I relent and smile. Lowering myself cautiously back down, I suck air as my skin presses the seat.

"You know, that is something I've always wanted to do."

"Spank me?"

"Spank a girl," she corrects. That this was something she'd long fantasized about made my belly hot.

"Have you been spanked?"

"But of course, I lived in London!" Claire says with a happy wink as she leaves me to my misery.

She makes us dark bitter espresso and cold melon and berries. I sit gingerly at the kitchen island watching her work, coveting her naked back and perfect butt. I start to ask about the weekend when she reminds me that she will be in Belgium and France for the next two weeks. I'd forgotten about the art fairs, and suddenly her trip feels like an eternity. It must show on my face.

"Ah! Don't pout, I'll be back before you know it," she chides, handing me a bowl of fruit. "And we can do something fun tonight."

After I finish my fruit she leads me into the bathroom for a shower.

"Your eyes look better this morning but your hair is worse," she chided.

Using conditioner to loosen the tangles in my hair, careful of the lump on the back of my head as she does, Claire smiles down on me. She's only a little taller than me, but it's enough; the perfect amount. I want to go down on her, to take her in my mouth. I want her to smile down on me while I lick and suck her.

She lets me touch her and kiss her, and is sweet and flirty, but she is careful not to let things go too far as we clean and groom one another. I beg and wheedle and pout but my attempts to kneel are dismissed with sharp tsks and waves of hand.

Afterwards she dries and brushes my hair until it shines like rose gold. Pulling it back tight, she lacquers it against my head, twists and rolls it into a beautiful, if severe, bun. I watch her in the mirror as she does my makeup. Her mood is light, but again, taking extra time with my lips and eyes, she uses more eyeliner and mascara than I usually do, giving me a smoky look. My lips are a dark red and glossy. Like my hair, the effect is sexy, if again, a bit severe?

The only clothes I had in my weekend bag I'd either worn to work on Friday or weren't work appropriate, so I'll wear Claire's clothes today. I've been looking forward to this, she has so many beautiful things. But she stops me from choosing what I want, telling me she has it all worked out.

"Bu-"

"Next time don't show up naked," she scolds me, and begins picking things for me from her great antique armoire.

I ease myself down at the corner of the bed and watch as Claire picks out a black high waisted pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse, thigh highs and black patent leather Jimmy Choo pumps with four inch stiletto heels and wickedly pointed toes. She holds up a lacy bra, looking from me to it and back again with a critical squint. I start to protest that her bras will never fit, but she stops me before I can.

"This is my mother's," she says tersely. "It will fit."

The set is a pale cream and so delicate they almost look frail. Putting them on feels deliciously transgressive. Perhaps because they are her mother's panties. Or perhaps it's because Claire insists on dressing me as well, standing me up and taking away my towel, kneeling to slip the little white and cream panties over my feet and sliding them up my thighs.

Either way I feel both wicked and pampered.

Claire calls the bra a "balconette". And while it's a style I'd never pick out for myself - too scared I'd spill out of it - Claire is right about the fit. I've never pictured her mother, I realize, but am surprised. I would have assumed her breasts were Claire's size but the frail looking demi cups hug me nicely; only a little snug.

"It gives them a lovely conical shape" Claire gushes, holding it up in place and staring down at my chest. And she's right; that my nipples are hard, adds to the effect. My breasts look long. I hold it in place as Claire moves behind me and begins to fiddle with the straps. While the cups fit, my rib cage is narrower than Claire's mother, but with some adjusting, and a bobby pin, she makes it fit.

The panties are a low waisted bikini that doesn't quite cover the crack of my ass, and while the bra is supportive, the cups don't entirely cover my nipples. Whatever image I might have had in my mind of Claire's mother is shifting - and becoming a lot sexier. Not in a million years can I imagine my mother wearing something like this.

I lean on Claire's shoulders as she kneels again and smooths the hose up my legs. She smiles up at me as she pushes my heels into the pumps.

We stand together in front of her mirror; her buttoning the blouse and zipping up the skirt, which is high waisted and snug down to my knees where there is a little slit - so I can walk, one assumes.

The blouse is her mother's as well. It is a crisp white cotton with a high collar and floppy French cuffs, darts at the waist and bust give it a lovely silhouette. But it has plenty of room for me in the bosom. Claire leaves the top three buttons undone, so the delicate frill of the bra is just visible. A bit racy for the Gray Lady, but I say nothing. With the blouse tucked into the skirt, the overall effect is almost architectural.

"Look at that ass!" Claire murmurs appreciatively, making me flinch, expecting a swat that never comes. Instead she has me turn for her. I look in the mirror as I do.

"It's swollen," I whine, which makes her laugh, but she gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"Maybe a little," she concedes.

Studying myself in the mirror, something about the outfit feels like a costume or a disguise. Like a little girl sliding around in her mother's shoes - but naughtier, much naughtier. I'm dressed for a porn set in a law firm, except I'm wearing her mother's underwear. I get a queasy feeling there are going to be more spankings. I'm not sure I can bear it.

"All I need is a pair of black rimmed glasses to complete the office dominatrix look," I say nervously. "No replays of last night I hope."

"No," she laughs, studying her handiwork for imperfections over my shoulder Claire smiles at me in the mirror. "Today you are my finance bro!"

Her long thick hair is pulled back into a lovely loose bun, and she's made her face up as well - but not for work... she looks like... she's going out for a date. I'm confused by the "finance bro" comment, but when I ask what she meant she ignores my question.

"Now me," is all she says, casually dropping her robe and turning back to the armoire.

"What did you mean about alway wanting to spank a girl?" I ask. "Always, like..."

"Like always," Claire says simply as she picks out a skirt and a blouse. "I saw my aunt spank my cousin Charlotte at the beach once. At the time it was very frightening."

Claire's shoulders go tight with the memory. I can't see her face, and without turning around she begins to dress.

"I remember watching Charlotte's body squirm and twist, her tears..."

The skirt is short and tight for work, but not scandalously so.

"But it was also so exciting. I would think about it over and over, and at some point it became something I fantasized about, something that would make me cum."

She shoulders the blouse. It's a pretty cream silk I don't recognize. Her head is lowered as she buttons it.

"Did I disappoint?" I ask quietly. "Or was it..."

"No!" she says, turning. Her eyes glittering again. "My young Sarah never disappoints. She surpasses all my fantasies."

She is smiling and flush. At first I think it's the subject matter, that I am indeed going to get spanked again, but then I see the discolored front of her blouse; recognize the skirt. It's the outfit she wore the night we first met. The blouse I splashed with rose. She is pushing her feet into a pair of high heels and smiling at me. I feel myself blushing. Her hair and makeup are the same as that first night as well...

"Come my Jeune Gault," she says, taking my hand, "Time for you to study The Fountainhead."

She leads me into the living room. I follow her to the couch, not sure what's going on. That's when we both see what my boots did to the upholstery the night before.

"Oof! It seems I am going to make an enemy of my stepfather," she says with an air of surrender. We're both staring down at the black skid marks my boots left all over the beautiful white fabric. Like a pair of wings, there are a series of arcing oily black scrawls on either side of where Claire had knelt and eaten me out.

"Claire, I'm so sorry..."

"Ah, don't be...' she says with a wave, then turns and looks me in the eyes. "What was it like?" she asks, it's still early, the apartment is drenched in long morning light. I look around, trying to understand what she means.

"Like?"

"The first fantasy," she says, and I think of her cousin Charlotte getting spanked. Claire can see I'm not understanding.

"Your fantasy that first night," she says with a hint of impatience - am I being dense?

"At the bar."

And suddenly I understand. She sees it and smiles like a cat. I feel rooted.

"You were naked..."

"Did I strip for him?"

I try to remember. I picture the scene in my mind, cast my imagination back to how that fantasy had played on me that night, and the week or two after - before... all this.

"I think you just took off your clothes without explaining yourself?"

"And him?"

"He was fully dressed."

"Good," she says, as she unbuttons her blouse. She throws the blouse to the floor and unzips the skirt, letting it fall. I had been so flummoxed by seeing the blouse again, it only occurs to me now that she hadn't put on a bra or panties. Was that because...

"You weren't wearing panties?!" I ask, truly scandalized.

"No," she laughs. "Can you believe it? I was so determined to get laid that night, but I couldn't go through with it. He was that awful!"

This makes me guffaw, Claire is making a pouty face remembering her date, but smiles at me.

"You though! You kept dipping and curtsying... I was sure you were going to kneel in the bathroom - I was terrified you'd see!"

I remember my urge to kneel, how I'd forced myself not to, how I'd blushed with shame at just the impulse. I wish now I had knelt, that I'd been shameless and eaten her pussy in that bathroom.

"What then?" she asks, snapping me out of my regrets. Claire is studying me, she's naked and at ease. Not shameless, just totally unashamed.

"The fantasy?" she prompts.

"Oh, you were on the sofa?"

"Like this?" she asks, sitting down on the middle cushion, her hands on her knees, the curved black scrawls from my boots to either side of her smooth muscular thighs.

"Yes," I murmur, "but, you had your arms spread on the cushions?"

"Like this?" Claire reaches out and props her elbows on the sofa back, letting her hands drape carelessly.

"Yes, and your legs were spread... very wide."

She opens her knees as far as the sofa would allow.

"Like this?"

"Yes," I tell her, but now I can feel my color rising, unsure how to tell her.

"What is it?" she asks. "What else?"

"You... you were smiling... I mean, your smile was different, it was just more... arrogant."

Claire's smile widens and she almost laughs. I know I'm turning red, Christ, I must be scarlet. I can tell she's enjoying my discomfort, but she draws her lips between her teeth, composing herself, and after a pause, smiles again, this time with a disdainful lift of her chin.

"Yes," I hiss, my voice shaking.

I hesitate in front of her, staring at her in all her glory. Looking at the way she's spread across the couch, the arrogant lift of her chin I feel a spike of excitement. This is Claire as I've only ever imagined her, the Claire of my dreams. She is so perfect, and now, her shaved pussy, it's wet and open. She's so ready for me.

"You like that," she tells me.

And I do, having her look at me this way is surprisingly exciting. I want this.

But despite myself I glance back at the windows across the way, the morning sun makes them into mirrors, I can't see into the apartments, can't see who might be watching us. I am staring at the smoker's window.

'Can you see what I'm about to do?' I think, remembering how exciting it was to imagine someone watching us last night. But drunken fantasies are one thing...

'You weren't drunk last night,' I think, remembering our reflection in the dark glass of the huge double hung window. The bug-eye chandelier above us, shining down, illuminating us for all to see. Her fists and teeth pulling at the white duvet, my face pushed in her ass. Unlike the night before, my brother wasn't sleeping a few feet away. There was no reason for Claire to hold herself still, to stifle her cries, to bite her tongue...

""Ahh... Filthy bitch!" she had growled. "Look at you licking my ass like a whore!"

She had surprised me by jerking me away and turning onto her back, spreading her knees wide. I had thought she was done with ass play, that she wanted me to eat her out, I move to lick her open cunt.

"No!" she barked as I tried to go down on her. Rolling her hips upwards, she pulled her knees back to her shoulders, pointing her asshole at my mouth. "Finish what you started you dirty whore! I want to watch my beautiful Young Sarah eat my ass."

And I had.

And just like her I didn't need to hide in the dark, to hold myself still. I was free to make as much noise as I wanted. So there under the glare of her lights, in front of whoever might have been watching, I had loudly licked and fucked her ass with my tongue like a woman possessed. I moaned and made crude blubbery noises with my lips. Pushing at the back of her thigh with my hands, scratching her with my nails, I did my best to force my whole mouth into her rear passage, doing anything and everything I thought might please her, watching her, while she stared back at me, teeth bared and wild eyed.

She had pulled my hair, mocked and goaded me with abuse in French and English, but when she came she had sobbed, pulling me to her bosom, whispering endearments and telling me how beautiful I am, how precious. I held her while she wept, soothing her. And finally I had been the one to get up and turn off the lights after she had passed out. I had been the one to wrap myself around her and hold her.

'Big spoon,' I think, remembering the feel of our bodies pressed together in the dark.

"You like that too," she tells me now, bringing me back to the moment, to the bright morning light shining through the windows, illuminating us both. Claire is watching me, sees the direction of my attention, my hesitation.

"I... do you like it?" I ask - stalling.

"I do with you," Claire says. Her expression mild and relaxed, but still arrogant. She seems to challenge me, dare me to defy her. I think of the asian girls watching me cun against Claire's thigh, how she mocked and abused me afterwards, how ardent she'd been, how hard she had cum.

'This is her fantasy too,' I think with a spike of excitement, and a last glance at the building across the way.

'Put my money where my mouth is.' I think. But still I hesitate and Claire makes an impatient sound with her tongue, making me flinch - my mind returning to the spankings, my ass seems to pulse at just the thought.

"I'm all made up..."

"I like that - that's what I want," she tells me, her demeanor is cool and haughty. "This is my fantasy too."

I see her fingers flexing, clawing the fabric of the sofa.

Her nipples, hard and dark, point at the ceiling. Her pussy is open and wet. A thick bead of milky cum is threatening to drip down her perineum. She's been thinking about this all morning; anticipating seeing me this way. I look up at her. Her expression is still arrogant and cold, but her voice is warm and gentle.

"I want you to imagine it's that first night," she tells me, "that you don't know me, that you saw I wasn't wearing panties but didn't tell me, and when I invited you here for a glass of wine, you came. But when we arrived, instead of offering you a drink I undressed and waited," she says, gesturing at her spread legs and reaching for her pussy. She pulls back her lips, exposing her clitoris. "That this is all you know."

I remember wanting to kneel in front of her in the bathroom. Remember leaving the restaurant alone, how angry and sad I'd been, that I had looked back to see if Claire was still there. I imagine I'd seen her, that she had followed me out.

"We're both leaving alone," I imagine her saying with a careless laugh, but catching herself, softening her tone. "You look like your date was maybe worse than mine?"

"Pretty sure mine was married," I imagine telling her, "and he tried to stick me with the bill."

"Wankers. Come back to my place, we'll have a glass of wine. I think we both could use some good company to wash away the bad."

I imagine how happy I would have to leave with her. How excited and scared I would have felt to have accepted her invitation after the way we met, how beautiful and bold I'd found her that night, how much more bold I would have found her if I'd seen she wasn't wearing panties.

I imagine walking back here, arms linked, her babbling, making me laugh; me trying not to look at her nipples bounce as she walks - of looking at her ass as she climbed the stairs ahead of me, the way I did the night I climbed the stairs behind her and ate her pussy for the first time. But I imagine looking up and seeing her bare ass, seeing flashes of cheek, the shadowy profile of her lips.

I picture myself looking out her windows, at her neighbors windows, admiring her view, trying to pluck up the nerve to say something sophisticated or witty, but wanting to ask her about her panties. Should I make it a joke?

And I picture the shock I would have felt when I turned around to see her casually stripping herself naked dropping her clothes to the floor and seating herself in front of me in nothing but her heels - waiting for me to eat her cunt like a fucking queen. My heart is thundering. Her eyes shine with recognition, her face and neck are flush. The milky drop of cum is defying gravity, suspended over the dark crease of her ass.

"I... I think there's been a mistake?" I tell Claire, licking my lips. "A misunderstanding..."

Her mask of imperious contempt falters and there's a brief pause... but then I see a twinkle as she understands I'm role playing. She regains her mask, lifting her chin.

"No misunderstanding," she tells me. "I saw you looking up my skirt, I know what you want, why you came here. You followed me home to lick my pussy."

"I'm not-"

"Call me a liar!" she snaps.

"No I didn't-"

"That's right, Sarah. You didn't - and that's why you're here, to kneel at my feet - now kneel."

I feel a plume of heat rise up through me at the command, but actually doing what I'm told is tricky. Using the coffee table for support I manage to kneel in the tight little skirt and the ridiculously high heels. The sharp tips of her Jimmy Choos dig into the thick white shag as I crawl to her on my hands and knees, taking care, not wanting to spoil her hose. But then I look up at Claire. Her usually warm hazel eyes glint with something sharp, something dangerously cold. She is the Claire of my fantasy. My awkwardness, the hose, it's all forgotten.