Tease to Please Ch. 08

She heard Doctor Yamamoto begin to talk. The two men exchanged a number of phrases in Japanese that Elise could make no sense of. She tried to hold still. She waited.

Suddenly she felt hands fiddling with the ankle-straps of her shoes. Doctor Peters announced that his partner was taking them off; first the left one, then the right. Elise shifted her weight as each shoe was removed. The same hands then pulled down her stockings; first the left, then the right. Again Elise lifted her feet in sequence to assist with their removal.

She then felt the hands move to her beltline and quickly unzip her miniskirt. There was so little of it left, Elise rationalized, that it probably did not matter. Still, she felt more naked than ever as the skirt fell to the floor. Her only remaining clothing was the stapled shirt and her white G-string.

'Jesus,' Elise thought in silent torment, 'This is fucking crazy!'

In one smooth motion her G-string was pulled down to her ankles.

"Wait!" she squealed. "Why is he taking my underwear?!"

"Because of the oil, Elise," Arthur responded. "He doesn't want to ruin them."

"Oh my fucking God."

Elise clenched her fists in tight balls atop the leather cushions. Baby oil all was being poured all over her ass. Then two hands began to rub it in.

"Doctor Peters," she whispered pleadingly, "Please don't let him hurt me!"

"He's just being dramatic, Elise." Arthur replied. He sounded unsure though, as if he were trying to convince himself too.

Arthur's eyes were closely attuned to the orbital movements of his partner's hands upon Elise's pert young bottom. The high gloss of baby oil was making an absolute spectacle of it. Large handprints from his recent attentions glowed pink. The overhead lights reflected as bright specular pinpoints all across its oily surface.

Elise felt more oil being squirted onto her ass. It tickled her exposed genitals. It ran down the backs of her thighs.

Arthur watched, gob smacked, as filaments of baby oil began to drool off her vulva. The dirty half of his mind reveled: 'Damn...'

Doctor Yamamoto waved his hand to get Arthur's attention. Then he made a lifting gesture with two fingers and spoke a few words of simple Japanese.

"Elise," Arthur began, "he wants you up on tip-toe... as if you were wearing heels."

"Uh... Like this?" Elise asked, raising herself up onto her toes.

"Exactly. Just hold that pose dear. Doctor Yamamoto has told me that he will restart your count at zero if, at any time during his spanking, your heels drop to the box. Do you understand?"

"Um...Are you kidding?"

"I don't think he's kidding, no."

Doctor Yamamoto lifted the ping pong paddle in his right hand. He flexed his fingers around the handle, testing its weight and balance. Then he turned his body perpendicular to Elise and crouched low with his feet wide apart. He drew back his right arm. Arthur realized he was adopting the stance of an Olympic table-tennis player about to serve.

"Uhh..." Arthur hesitated.

There was a brief whistle followed by a sickening crack as the paddle crossed Elise's upturned bottom.

She screamed so loud that Arthur's ears felt pain.

"STOP!!!" he yelled in fright. "Are you fucking insane?!"

A wail escaped Elise's throat. Her knees buckled. Her hands shot backward to cover her ass and she collapsed forward onto the back of the sofa with a cry of shock. But her naked feet remained on tip-toe. Her heels did not drop. And then, after sucking two breaths through gritted teeth, she surprised even herself by uttering a plaintive, terrified: "One?"

"No, Elise! Don't encourage him. Are you okay?"

Elise allowed herself a single sob. She could not answer. Her left ass-cheek was momentarily numb, but she knew the pain was coming. She knew the pain was about to explode through her nervous system.

"Yamamoto!"' Arthur bellowed, turning his full attention to the squat doctor beside him. "WAY too fucking hard! Understand?!"

Doctor Yamamoto's visage remained cool for a moment. Then his impassivity softened. There was no need to translate Arthur's body language. The big man's outrage was clear.

The Japanese doctor straightened himself into a less athletic stance, turned slightly to face Arthur and dipped his chin. It was a mere fraction of a bow, barely noticeable across the room, but it was genuine. He yielded. He turned the paddle over in his hands and then extended it to Arthur, handle-first. As soon as Arthur accepted it, he spun abruptly on his heel and left the room.

Arthur's panic mushroomed.

"Jesus Christ Elise, are you okay?" he asked, quickly leaning over to help her up onto her feet.

Elise resisted his touch. She twisted away, crawling over the back of the sofa and down onto the seat cushions. She yanked off the eye mask and curled into a ball, clutching her left buttock.

"I'm so sorry!" Arthur fumbled, desperate to undo the past few seconds. "I had no idea that he—"

"—that he's an asshole?!!?" Elise finished for him, spite seething in her voice.

Arthur swallowed. His forehead began to sweat.

Elise continued: "You do realize he's insane, don't you? Completely bat-shit insane?!"

"Well, he's odd, yes, but..."

Elise's face was bright red. The pain had arrived and it was overwhelming. Not able to hold out any longer, she released a long, loud cry: "AahOwwww!"

Tears streamed from her eyes. She repeated the same cry until her voice softened to a whimper.

Arthur felt his heart collapsing inward. He moved to front of the sofa and knelt down, feeling useless as he gently stroked the top of Elise's head. All of this was his fault.

"I'm so sorry," is all he could think of to say. He kept repeating those words.

Eventually Elise regained enough lucidity to ask for an ice-pack. Doctor Peters, glad for any way to make himself useful, ran to the kitchen to prepare one. He then sat down next to her and gently held it to her injured bottom.

Elise would have a bruise, clearly, but they both agreed that the skin had not been broken. She did not seem to have the makings of a welt, either. So that was a something. Probably, he suggested, just a few days of tenderness. The bruise would fade through its various colors, as bruises do, and be gone in a week at most.

"I'm cold," Elise said.

Arthur fetched a blanket and wrapped it around her near-naked body. He felt a wave of relief wash over him when Elise managed to smile. She made a joke about Doctor Yamamoto being 'a real pain in the ass.'

Arthur forced out an awkward chuckle. Once again it was he who was terrified of consequences, not Elise.

"I'm hungry," Elise whispered a few minutes later.

Arthur brought her a selection of take-out menus. She chose a Mediterranean place and asked him to order her a large Greek salad.

Twenty minutes later Doctor Peters was backing his old BMW out of the garage to go pick up the food.

Elise stayed behind. She took a quick shower without getting her hair wet, washed the tears and make-up from her face and changed into some yoga pants and a t-shirt. Then she unfolded her sofa-bed and laid silverware and plates on the dinette table. By the time Doctor Peters returned with the food, she was laying sideways atop her bed, checking email on her old laptop.

During dinner, the two of them had the most open and mature exchange of life-stories either could remember. Arthur re-counted the entirety of his divorce-tale, even the less flattering parts. Elise told him about her disastrous college years, including her affair with a married Professor.

They were, both realized, suddenly relating as equals. It felt good.

When the dishes were done Elise crawled into bed. She was beyond exhausted. Doctor Peters paced around the room for a few minutes, tidying up this and that, but he was clearly at loose ends.

"Goodnight Elise," he said finally. He turned toward the short hallway that led to his master bedroom.

"Goodnight Doctor Peters,' Elise replied. "Thanks for uh... saving me."

"No. Don't say that. I never should have started... it. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Well... we can talk about it tomorrow."

Elise rolled onto her side beneath the feather-down comforter. Arthur turned off the light.

*