Sir (Part Two)

By Klayton Frost

Copyright 2012 Klayton Frost

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It was one of the most difficult weekends Clare had ever had. The main source of stress wasn't work, or the train schedule, or even the erratic bin collections on her street. Rather it was the fact that she had to conceal from her loving and attentive boyfriend the fact that her boss had, on Friday last week, taken her into his office, bent her over his desk and spanked her until she came, then put his cock into her willing mouth.

It wasn't the kind of problem Clare was used to dealing with. And, worse still, she wasn't even a good liar. Hell, she didn't really want to lie to her boyfriend Daniel. He was wonderful, thoughtful, gentle and kind. Sure, he'd never made her come like she had in her boss's office that day, nor had he ever really been particularly good at sex, but he tried, and it was a wrench to Clare to deceive him. To make things doubly difficult, there was physical evidence of her wrongdoing. Her backside and the top of her thighs were blushed a deep purple with bruises that still ached every time she sat.

She loved the bruises of course. Every time she looked at them in the bathroom mirror she remembered with delicious clarity the feel of Jonathan's hand smacking into her, jolting her forward against the desk. The shock of being spanked for the first time ever, the dirty, secretive thrill of it... Yes, she loved the bruises; she just wished that they didn't make everything so bloody difficult.

The best course of action, Clare decided, was to pretend to be on her period. This would, at least, buy her some thinking time. The whole tangled mess of Daniel and Jonathan and spanking and sex and work would take a while to unravel. For the moment, the priority was to just keep everything steady over the weekend. She'd survive that, and then see about all the rest.

Her plan went off remarkably well in the end. Even though it had been only two and a bit weeks since her last period, Daniel accepted her announcement that she was on without a murmur. They kissed and cuddled, but little else all weekend. In fact he was almost painfully attentive, always jumping to make her a cup of tea or a hot water bottle.

By the time Daniel dropped her off at work on Monday morning Clare had managed to relax a little. She'd lain awake last night, staring at the ceiling, unpicking things in her head. The best course of action, she'd decided, was the truth. This evening after work she would march into Jonathan's office and tell him that she had a boyfriend, who she loved, and that they could never repeat what had happened on Friday ever again.

And that was almost what happened in real life. Almost.

By the time the end of the work day rolled around, Clare was a nervous wreck. The thought of the approaching confrontation had played on her mind all day, and with it thoughts of seeing Jonathan again, of being alone together in his office again. It was unbearable. Alternately she was seized with arousal and guilt and nerves and shivering anticipation. It was no surprise that when she did eventually step through his door at five fifteen PM she was shivering all over.

Jonathan sat at his desk, signing his way through a pile of documents. Without looking up to see who had entered, he motioned for her to sit, and Clare did so, her knees folding almost of their own accord. She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to still the shaking. She had no reason to be afraid. She knew exactly what she was going to say, and there was little he could do to her that he hadn't done already. All the same, the butterflies would not abate.

It was four or five minutes before Jonathan set aside his work and looked up at her with a hard, piercing gaze. "Clare," he said politely. "What can I do for you?"

She swallowed, the sound clearly audible in the small room.

"I think we need to talk," she said.

"Talk?" said Jonathan, raising an eyebrow. "About what, pray?"

Clare swallowed again. "About last Friday. About... what happened."

The ghost of a smile crossed Jonathan's face, but otherwise he remained impassive. "Of course." He made an encouraging gesture towards her. "Talk then. You have my attention."

Clare paused. She knew what she was planning on saying, but part of her was also overwhelmed completely by the aura of power that seemed to surround him. Despite all her promises to herself, she felt sure that a few words from him would be enough to make her do almost anything.

"Well," she said determinedly. "I've thought about it a lot over the weekend, and I just wanted to say that it can never happen again."

"Oh. And why is that?"

Clare couldn't help but sound apologetic. "Because I have a boyfriend. And I love him. And I'm not going to... to cheat on him."

Jonathan considered her over steepled fingers. He nodded slowly. "Good," he said. "Very noble." And then, his voice taking on an unexpected sharpness, he said, "Stand up."

Clare stood, her limbs moving almost of their own accord, her mind in a whirl. What was he doing? What was she doing obeying him like this?

"Take a step forward," he said, and again she did so without a moment's hesitation. "Now bend over the desk."

At this last command a small gasp escaped her. It felt as if a firework had gone off in her stomach. Part of her was eager, part afraid, and part outraged that he had so plainly ignored her little stand against him. The eagerness was the strongest of the three, and it surprised her. It was powerful as an animal, unyielding and feverish and needy. The thought that she would feel his hand on her again, punishing her, giving her pain and pleasure both at once...

She bent over the desk, arms and hands flat on the surface just as she had done before. Maybe this was a bad idea, but there would be time to think about that later...

Jonathan stood and came around the desk so that he was behind her. Her breath stalled and her heart hammered. She arched her back, tensed, waiting for the first stroke to fall.

It never came.

"Stand up," he said.

Puzzled, wrong-footed, still burning with need for him, Clare straightened. She began to turn, but as she did he spoke again.

"Don't turn around. Just listen." She froze where she was, his voice low and calm in her ear. "Look at yourself. You've already chosen me. One word and I can make you mine."

"But--"

"Just listen. You know I'm right. Don't pretend. Maybe you love your boyfriend, but you're certainly not turned on by him. You're turned on by me, aren't you?"

Clare felt the very tips of his fingers brushing a stray hair from her neck. She shivered. She couldn't help it. Her insides felt like they were melting. How did he know? It was like he could look right through her.

"I'm not going to fuck you," said Jonathan. Suddenly his hand was gone and his tone was brisk. "And I'm not going to spank you again. Not until you are honest with your current partner. You tell him the truth, and then you come back here to me again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," she said. Her mouth felt numb, and the words slipped out unbidden. She sought inside herself for the argument, the reasons that had seemed so right and powerful before, but they weren't there. Jonathan was right, of course, Jonathan knew her better than she knew herself. And she saw it clearly all at once. She couldn't just go back to Daniel and carry on as before. What happened on that Friday evening had changed her, lit a fire in her, sparked a need that could never quite be extinguished.

"You may go," said Jonathan curtly, and he returned to his side of the desk, sat down and carried on with his paperwork.

Clare was still burning as she left the office. The memory of that moment, poised over the desk, the expectation of pain sending lightning through her nerves. The way something had stirred deep in her stomach, the way her legs had trembled in anticipation. Even the faint smell of ink she had caught as she bent over the desk. All of it was impossibly erotic.

That evening, as Daniel moved on top of her in their bed, she thought back to that moment. She felt her skin, naked against bedsheets, tingle. Daniel grunted and groaned, thrusting softly into her, his face buried in her neck. How she longed for him to be Jonathan. For him to grab her by the hair and turn her over, to push her down into the soft bed and punish her with his hand. The pain of each slap indistinguishable from pleasure, the two one and the same.

She shut her eyes. "Harder," she moaned. But Daniel would not go harder, and before long with a final groan and a shudder he was done. He pulled out and flopped onto the bed beside her, spent.

They lay there in the semi-dark, the two of them. Barely touching. Already Daniel was drifting off to sleep. Tell him, thought Clare. Now was not the perfect time, but there never would be a perfect time. Perhaps if she told him the truth now she would be able to leave, to take a taxi to Jonathan's house, to offer herself up to him. For once she wouldn't fall asleep unsatisfied and empty. For once...

But of course, she didn't.

Over the next week she tried everything she could think of. Every day after work she would sit down and try to write a letter to Daniel. Every morning she looked at herself in the mirror and told herself that today would be the day, today she would finally come clean. Nothing worked. By the time the weekend rolled around everything was exactly as it had been before.

It was no longer a question of what to do or what she wanted. She knew perfectly well what it was she should do. It was just a case of doing it, of working up the nerve.

On Sunday, while Daniel was out shopping, she sat down at the desk and looked up one of her favourite clips. Watching other women be spanked was a poor substitute now that she'd experienced the real thing. In fact, she'd avoided it until now, thinking that it would only make her want Jonathan all the more. But perhaps, she thought today as she settled down to watch, reminding herself of what she wanted might strengthen her resolve. Might, in fact, make her take action finally, once and for all.

The clip was a short one, but it was beautiful. In it, a blonde woman lay naked on a bed, a rolled duvet under her hips raising her bottom into the air. Her hands were cuffed to the head of the bed, her face buried in a pillow. A suited man came into view, a loose belt curled in his hands. Black leather, with a glinting clasp. Something about the contrast of the hard black belt with the girl's pale nudity set Clare's heart racing. She knew what was coming. The man was relaxed, at ease. He set about coiling the belt until he had a short, folded length, the buckle safely within his fist. All the while the girl on the bed squirmed... until the man put his hand in the middle of her back, pinning her down.

Clare watched, breath caught in her throat, as he raised the belt and brought it whipping down. It cracked against the girl's soft flesh, making her jerk and cry out, her voice muffled by the pillow. Her bottom reddened, and the belt was rising again, ready to fall once more. Clare's own skin flushed hot and she felt her blood sing through her. It was perfect. It was everything she longed for. If only that girl could be her, helpless and restrained...

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End Of Extract

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