across her slim hips, still girded by the charming corset he had bought her that afternoon. “However, it can be still pinker,” he decided, commencing the spanking again. For her naughtiness, he wanted her bottom a solid color field of magenta against her snowy skin when he lay her face down on the table.
“Hurts you?” he asked, several minutes later. She was wriggling and panting but scarcely protesting. Distantly, she knew it must hurt, but she was floating in a heavenly sphere of submissive bliss. It had always been this way with Hugo. They’d play for hours, the next day she’d be as sore as if she’d athletically trained and not remember why. Then it would come back to her, the spanking that had lasted an hour in the woods, or during the entire Oscars. The way he paced his smacks, and how he placed them, was quite an art, she had always felt. She felt it then and now, that Hugo spanked with symmetry.
“Now that you’re entirely pink,” he observed, transporting her to the table and placing her on it, face down, “we can continue in the place that seemed to intrigue you.”
Hugo thrilled Garda by roughly spreading her ankles as wide as they would go and binding them with the soft suede straps.
“Remember how I told you I wanted your hands, Garda?”
She obediently put her wrists behind her and allowed him to enclose them in the soft leather cuffs and link them together loosely so that she could turn them either palm up or palm down. First Hugo turned her palms up and very sternly spanked each of them once. She whimpered more at this than all the hard spanking that had come before. “Are you going to obey me tonight, Garda?”
“Yes,” she murmured sincerely.
“And please me?”
“Of course, if I can.”
“Show me your bottom,” he ordered. Garda slowly responded by turning her hands palm down on each cheek and faintly spreading them. “Is that the best you can do?” he asked, pushing her hands up so that her forearms folded against each other and rested on her lower back. Now he selected a small, oval shaped paddle of varnished red teak, about a half an inch thick, and began to apply it firmly to either cheek. She squirmed and yipped. Finally he stopped, unfolded her arms and placed her hands on her cheeks again. Without being told she pulled them apart.
“That’s just the way I want you to stay, Garda, dear,” he told her, selecting a short crop with a two inch square leather spanker at the end. “Because of all things you really need to have your bottomhole disciplined tonight.”
She made some inarticulate noise of protest, but timidly kept herself spread as he began to methodically spank her anus.
“Oh god!” she cried, feeling bitterly ashamed and on the edge of an orgasm at once. “Please!”
Hugo took this to mean, please don’t stop, which he didn’t intend to. “This is only the beginning, darling,” he promised, cropping her quickly. Then he laid down the crop. Again, he removed her hands from her cheeks and folded her arms up on her lower back above her pink cheeks. “Don’t move,” he told her, touching the button and causing the table to tilt up 30 degrees, to elevate her bottom and drop her head.
Then he went to a console where he’d left the whiskey, poured himself a shot, drank it, then decanted a cigar from a silver tube. But he didn’t light the cigar. He screwed the lid on the tube and returned to Garda. Placing one hand on her wrists on the small of her back, he inserted the smooth, rounded end of the cigar tube into Garda’s exceedingly creamy pussy.
“Oh! What are you doing?”
“You’ll feel it in a minute,” he warned her, withdrawing the fully lubricated cylinder from her pussy and inserting it firmly into her freshly pinkened bottomhole.
“No! Oh please!”
“I’m sorry,” he said insincerely, twisting the tube deeper into her rectum until only a few inches of it protruded. “But nothing short of total humiliation will due tonight. Now don’t move,” he told her, reaching for a thin leather strap. Bound, with her thighs apart and her anus filled for her strapping, Garda was incoherent with embarrassed confusion.
“I’ll be good,” she promised wriggling with shame. Again and again the strap came down, scoring her dark pink bottom rose. He would only stop every twenty or so strokes to roughly, deeply fingerfuck her pussy. The third time he paused to do this she came.
But that was not the end. He removed the tube, unfastened her bonds and ordered her to set herself to rights. When she returned to him, still in a sort of daze he took her to a couch, turned her on her tummy, pulled her up by the hips, inserted his cock in her pussy and drove into her with the robustness that she so fondly remembered. She came again as he held her by the waist and pistoned into her relentlessly for ten or fifteen minutes, until expiring in a flood of personal pleasure himself.
The next morning, while Hugo’s large black tomcat lay heavily against her, Garda was served her cappuccino in bed by her host. Meanwhile, Damaris and Pamela, again in two similarly styled, smart woolen dresses, their shiny black hair perfectly groomed, were enacting the rituals of opening the shop.
As Damaris set the steamer opposite a rack of sleek, short suits and Pamela started the coffee, the doorbell tinkled and Laura Random entered, the picture of a New England tomboy in cords and a tucked out plaid shirt layered over a solid one. She was in her early 30’s, exceedingly pretty and youthful, with an extremely long, chestnut brown ponytail and dark eyes. Her voice was softly pleasant as she cheerfully greeted them, placing a small but heavy looking carton on one of the glass countertops.
She announced, “I have our second book!” Opening up the carton she pulled out a thick, elegantly covered graphic novel. “And Anthony didn’t even have to finance this one. Susan and I were able to pay the printers ourselves out of what we made from the first one.”
“Laura, it’s spectacular,” said Damaris, leafing through the thick, all color pages, from back to front.
“Damaris, you’re not reading Hebrew, start from the beginning!” Laura cried, happily, for she and her sister had just published their second book and it would soon be in the stores, which brought an intense feeling of happiness to the artist-author.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” echoed Pamela, her own pulse racing with that mixture of jealousy and excitement she always felt when she encountered Hugo Sands’ lover.
“Can I leave some in the store with you?”
“Of course!” Damaris agreed.
“You keep half of everything you sell, okay?”
“Deal!”
Pamela gazed at Laura and Damaris with bafflement. How could Laura Random be so cordial to the woman who now lived with her ex-husband? Then she reminded herself that Laura now had Hugo Sands all to herself. Except for the redhead.
“Listen, Laura,” said Damaris, suddenly remembering the redhead too. “Something came in yesterday that you have to have. Here, try this on!” She thrust a size 6 cocktail dress in cranberry silk into Laura’s hand.
“That is pretty,” Laura said, obediently walking into the fitting room.
The instant she disappeared, Damaris dialed the phone.
“Who are you calling?” Pamela demanded.
