will you know?”
“When I make up my mind.”
“When will that be?”
“I’ll let you know,” he promised, deciding he would also have a drink.
“We were having an affair,” she blurted out, because she’d gotten into his whiskey.
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
“Me and my boss. But it wasn’t an ordinary one. At least, not from my point of view. In fact, it was the most exciting purely sexual affair I’ve ever had.”
“Do I get to hear the sordid details?”
“Do you want to?”
“Sure. I might be able to pick up some pointers.”
“You don’t need any pointers,” she told him, turning her head to hide a shy smile.
When Michael decided she should spend the night, Damaris did not protest. He put her in the back bedroom, thinking, “I can’t rush this.” This room contained the four-poster bed he had bought with his upcoming marriage in mind. It was spread with a blue counterpane. She admired the bed.
“Jane and I picked it out together.”
“Who’s Jane?”
“My ex-fiancée.”
“When did you break up?”
“About a month ago.”
“That recently? What was she like?”
“Wholesome, healthy, athletic and politically committed.”
“Doesn’t sound like she and I have much in common,” Damaris observed.
“And she never wears shoes like that,” Michael said with a glance at her gleaming black high heels.
“You like the way I dress?”
“It’s an art form.”
“But, your fiancée was pretty, huh?”
“You’re pretty,” he said, in a way that made her face grow warm. She nervously fumbled with her lighter. He sat down on the bed beside her and lit the cigarette for her.
“We’ve got to break you of this habit too,” he told her. Then he said goodnight and left her alone.
A little while later, Michael was reading in bed, when Damaris appeared at his door, wrapped in a cashmere robe that belonged to Marguerite.
“If the bottom half matches the top I’m not leaving this room,” she remarked of Flagg’s torso.
“Come over here, young lady,” he said, patting the bed. Damaris came to him.
“I hope the girl this robe belongs to won’t mind if I borrow it.”
“I’m sure she would.”
“Maybe I should take it off.”
“By all means, do.”
“Well... just don’t tell her.” Damaris enjoyed being teased.
“She’d smell your perfume on it anyway.”
“This doesn’t look like the sort of robe your ex-fiancée would own.”
“It isn’t,’ he replied, wondering how the robe ever stretched to fit Marguerite.
“Listen, what’s your name?” Damaris asked.
“Michael.”
“Well, Michael, the reason I came in here was to ask you, do you think that it would work for us in bed?”
“It’s always worked for me before,” Michael said, indicating a sizeable erection under the cover.
“I see what you mean,” she laughed. “That size always works.”
“We can test that theory after you’ve had your spanking,” he said, pulling her face down across his lap. “And don’t bother arguing. You know you’ve got one coming after all the wicked mischief you’ve been up to.”
But Damaris didn’t argue. She had been stunned into silence. He then began to spank her in a slow and measured manner. And much harder than William had spanked her, right from the start. He paused for a beat or two between smacks and alternated cheeks, though his palm was almost broad enough to cover both at once. After about 10 stingers, the girl began to wriggle and whimper. His hand was very heavy. She counted 20, 30, 40 smacks. He went on and it stung more and more.
“Take it,” he told her.
After his metronome arm had descended about 100 times, Damaris started squirming in earnest, and whimpering much louder than before. And though he hadn’t even lifted the cashmere robe yet, she put up one tiny hand to shield her bottom.
“No you don’t,” he told her, pinning her wrist to her side. “Starting to feel it, huh?” He then raised the skirt of the robe to her waist to reveal her ravishingly well-rounded cheeks, now tinged a dusky rose. “I’m just getting started,” he told her, pausing with his arm locked on her waist. “And you’ve got such a lot to answer for. Like disloyalty.” He gave her a resounding smack that made her cry out. “Dishonesty,” Michael continued, administering another spank; “Deceitfulness... Be still!” he warned, for her squirming was annoying him. “I’m not through with you,” he told her, speaking sharply for the first time. “You’ve done some reprehensible things lately, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” she admitted, sobbing aloud and hiding her face.
“Did you think you could get off Scott free?”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“That’s your problem, you don’t think. But apparently you do feel.” And he proved this by applying an additional volley of hard smacks, so that she was kicking and sobbing aloud by the time he let her up.
“Tears of shame, young lady?”
“I’m contemptible!” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.
“Stop that,” Michael said, pulling her hands away from her face and taking her in his arms.
“I hate myself!” she cried.
“But I like you,” he said, holding her tighter. “Now let’s find out if it’ll work.”
On Saturday morning William told Laura he’d be driving into Boston to visit his tailor and wouldn’t be back until late that night.
“Poor Damaris,” Laura said as her husband got into the convertible.
“Don’t start that again.”
“She
