Friday, October 12, 2012

Woodshed

Alice and I met at a book launch where she arrived alone and I with a friend who had heard that such events were great for picking up sex-mad literary vixens. This took place in the roomy upstairs of a Soho pub, and I made directly for the bar while my companion secured a table with some acquaintance of his. Queuing for the beer, I got elbowed by a woman with designer specs and aggressively coloured magenta hair. The elbowing incident turned into a pleasant, unmemorable chat. She helped me carry the third pint through the scrum.

She wandered off to socialise, but a while later we found ourselves (not entirely by accident on my part) in the same corner of the pub, chatting some more.

It took us a few weeks to get around to getting naked. The first time was intense, urgent, and remarkably quiet. Alice  rented a room in a house with three other people. Not wanting the others to know about her predilection for spanking, bondage and calculated roughness, there was a certain unease with the inevitable noises of kinky sex. She was thrilled to get the opportunity to housesit out in Hertfordshire. The place was a modest two-up-two-down at the end of a leafy cul-de-sac, normal as could be, except for one feature: 

"There's a woodshed in the back!!!" She texted me urgently, possibly including more than three exclamation points in violation of her own dearly held principles of punctuation.

I trekked out there one evening to experience the thrill of this borrowed wonderland.

The woodshed was a sturdy thing, remarkably roomy. The flimsy door could be shut with two of us inside, so long as Alice got in first and bent over the much-diminished stack of firewood. It was late April - this would not have worked in October.

It was chilly that evening. The grass was wet, so Alice put on an incongruous pair of wellies with a white and pink flower pattern. She switched the light on over the woodshed door when she stepped in, then bent over the stack, looking at me with an intensely serious expression.

This was something she'd really thought about. Wanted. It was not the moment to make fun of the wellies.

The shed was nice and dry, smelling faintly of earth and wood musk.

I stepped inside, pulled the rickety door to behind me and stroked her bottom, enjoying the moment before I pulled up her black wool dress. She was wearing thick, opaque stockings, no knickers.

With no preliminaries I slapped her ass a few times. She arched her back, closed her eyes... I hit her harder, spanking her so that I felt the sting of every stroke on my palm.

Her skin reddened slowly. I paused to stroke her aching buttocks.

"Why are you spanking me?" she asked.

"Why do you think?"

"Because it gives you pleasure?"

I hit her, a sharp, decisive smack on the bottom. "Exactly. I spank you because it pleases me."

She held her breath, and let out a little squeaky moan as she'd been holding in the excitement and the sensation.

At the next pause, my hand hovering over her buttocks, a throaty whisper: "Am I...?"

She cleared her throat.

"Am I a good girl?"

In response, I slid my hand in between her thighs, slowly working my way up to her cunt.

"Am I a good girl...?" she insisted.

I pushed my thumb inside her, feeling the warm puddle forming in the palm of my hand.

"Please?" she whispered.

"Yes." I withdrew my hand. "And when I'm done spanking you, I'll take you inside..."

3 comments:

Michaela said...

I really like ur blog. Its just a shame u dont post very often. Miss ur dirty posts!!

Georgia Brown said...

More please, Sir.

theodoro said...

Indeed more please.
It has been too long