The 19-year-old Virgin Ch. 09

I woke when I felt the bed move as she got up.

She had a thing about her weight and we played with it. It could go either way. I might bring home a Gallon of Rocky Road and feed it to her while we watched something silly on TV. Or I might bring home a "prep kit," one of those sets they give to people before their colonoscopy. I would feed her the small bottle of Milk of Magnesia, and the bigger bottle of the slightly salty tasting (I know, I tried it) laxative and then push in the four Dulcolax suppositories. Then for the next three or four hours I would hold her hand and brush her hair and kiss her while she sat on the toilet and emptied her system. When she was finally done I would shower with her, clean her up, take her to bed, and make love to her while her stomach grumbled her hunger and we both giggled about it.

She also taught me to explore the pleasure/pain of what she called "domestic discipline."

That started on Thursday night after we had been to ΘΘΘ. On the way home she was obviously upset with me. And I had no idea why.

"Okay," I said, when we got home, "what?"

"I know we're not married," she said, and there was an odd snap in her voice, "but I don't expect to be ignored, either."

"Oh," I said, starting to understand, "I thought you wanted me to, you know," and I sort of chuckled at the word, "mingle."

"That wasn't mingling," she snapped, "that was treating me as if I wasn't there. It was rude and it was hurtful."

"Oh, God, Carla, I'm sorry," I said and moved to embrace her.

"Nuh-uh," she said, holding me at arm's length.

"What?" I asked.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Stay right there," she said.

As I watched, she walked into the dining area and grabbed one of the sturdy dining table chairs, brought it back, and placed it in the middle of the front room.

She looked at me and then sat on the chair.

She didn't say anything, just crooked her finger, beckoning me.

I went to her, without any hesitation.

I smiled as she unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped them, and then pulled them down far enough to leave my ass and my erection exposed.

She smiled up at me then, took my hand, and pulled me forward until I reached the point of no return and bent at the waist to keep from falling. I was laying over her lap then and her strong hands lay right between my shoulder blades, holding me pinned to her thighs.

I realized suddenly that I was in the classic over-the-knees spanking position. Her hand on my ass, cupping it, rubbing it very gently actually, reinforced that image.

I could smell her arousal and my cock was so hard it hurt.

"I'm sorry," I said, wanting her, hell, NEEDING her.

She didn't say anything and when she lifted her hand my ass clenched automatically, a purely instinctive attempt to protect myself.

When I tried to roll off of her, wanting to kiss her and tell her I was sorry and make love to her, her hand between my shoulder blades pressed down and I realized I had no leverage at all.

She was silent and I was hard and she was warm and soft under me and finally, I relaxed.

The first stroke of the first spanking I had since I was in grade school was hardly a "stroke" at all. It was more of a pat. I hummed softly, and said, "forgive me."

She said nothing, just started caressing my ass right where she had touched me.

Again I was making that satisfied humming sound and her hand felt good on my ass.

She lifted her hand again and my body clenched. Once again she waited me out, and when I relaxed the second stroke hit the same spot and it was a bit harder.

By the tenth stroke, each one was hard enough to sting and I could feel the warmth building up in my ass. I realized that she was slowly warming me up and I started to wonder how far she intended to take this.

But I was so goddammed excited by then that I really didn't care much. My erection was throbbing against the softness of her thigh.

By 20 I was squirming, each stroke was hurting and this was turning into a real spanking.

"I'm sorry, Carla," I said, breathing hard now, my ass burning even, "please, enough."

But it wasn't enough for her.

I tried to roll off of her lap, but her hand between my shoulder blade held me, her fingernails digging in, making me cry out, "Jesus, Carla!"

The next stroke was much harder and my leg kicked involuntarily.

I told myself not to cry, but the next stroke broke that resolve and once I started it was like a dam broke. I was beyond crying, I was sobbing and the next stroke made my back arch as I tried to escape the worst of the pain.

"PLEASE," I cried out and the next stroke was even harder.

I lost track, then. I was reduced to the pain in my ass and wishing it would end.

And suddenly it did, but not in any way I expected.

I came, the hard muscular contractions more powerful than any I had ever experienced. I thought I could feel my prostate and my testicles contracting, spasming, as the pure white pleasure, that's the only way I can really describe it, drove out the blackness of the pain.

Her hand was light now, caressing my ass, as my body spasmed again and again.

I have no idea how long I lay like that, limp, spent, across her big thighs, panting, struggling to breathe, as my body slowly shed the residuals of both the pleasure and the pain.

When I thought I could move again I rolled off of her lap, this time she didn't stop me, and scooted around on my knees until I knelt before her.

"I'm sorry, Carla," I said, "please let me make it up to you."

"You hurt my feelings," she said, and I took her hand and kissed it. Wet, messy, salty kisses I'm afraid after the way I had been crying so hard.

"Let me make it up to you," I said, lifting her foot and covering it with more of those wet sloppy kisses.

"Well," she said and for the first time since we got home I heard a bit of a smile in her voice, "that's a start."

I made love to her feet then, first one then the other, lifting them, kissing them, sucking each toe, and probing between toes with my tongue. I took my time until she was sighing softly, saying, "that's nice, baby."

I worked my way up her legs then, kissing ankles and shins and calves and knees. I sucked the soft skin behind each knee, leaving little circular hickeys.

By the time I got to her thighs, she had scooted forward a bit on her chair, and as I kissed my way up to her sex the thick white honey of her excitement was overflowing and I latched on, hungry for her salty nectar.

And she was hungry to give it to me. Her fingers entwined in my hair and she pulled me to her, almost using my face and mouth as a sex toy.

I welcomed it. I was desperate for her forgiveness and figured overwhelming her with pleasure was the surest way to get it.

My mouth was busy and I pushed forward with my face, gently moving my head from side to side, using my cheeks to part her labia until my mouth found her tender inner lips and I sucked gently, feeling that delicate tissue swelling and filling my mouth as I swallowed her ecstasy.

Finally, she came, a true orgasm, with a solid grunt and clenching of muscles, filling my mouth with that salty, oily, delicious Ambrosia, making me think this truly WAS what you were fed if you were lucky enough to reach Valhalla.

I swallowed, drinking her pleasure, wanting to give her more and take more too.

Finally, she collapsed, spent, and I sat back on my heels, holding her hands as we both got our breathing back to normal.

"Am I forgiven?" I asked, knowing I must look like I had just stepped out of a shower.

She flashed that Grin she could sometimes show.

"For now," she said, and rocked forward to stand.

She led me to bed and we both slept very soundly that night.