But Amanda was too fascinated by their reflection to notice the pain.
“With all this talent on hand,” she suddenly said, turning to him, “why hasn’t Hugo ever shot videos?”
“I guess he thinks it would be too much work,” Michael replied at length.
“Maybe it will fall to me to take the company into the 21st century,” she posited with some excitement.
“I see your mind is going all the time,” Michael observed. “But that sort of interjection is very (swat!) very (swat!) rude (swat! swat! swat!) when someone is taking the time to show you around their equipment.”
“Would you please show me around that equipment?” Amanda said, turning her head towards the rod-like object tenting his trousers.
“Fresh little girl, aren’t you?” Michael responded by smacking her a good deal more vigorously and now, unremittingly, for a good two minutes, until a violent orgasm took her by surprise, leaving her tingling and breathless. She jumped up and rubbed her bottom through the wool trousers, which kept the heat in. It had been the combination of hard, fast, thoroughly penetrating spanking and looking up at that handsome and determined profile while it was happening that had triggered the throbbing, drenching response.
“Thank you,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips lightly against his but for a very long moment.
“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, squeezing her waist, burying his face in her hair and pressing his mouth against her silken throat. She trembled against him, electrified by the sensation of being kissed first softly and then hard by this extra tall and extra virile older man, the man even her father’s fiancée had come to give herself to.
“Yes you did, you made me come, just by spanking me, through my clothes. I didn’t even think that could happen.”
“It must have had something to do with the way you were pressed against the bench.”
“You were pressing me down. You really know what you’re doing.”
“If you came just like that you must be incredibly responsive.”
“I hope we can do this again,” said Amanda.
“Whenever you like,” Michael promised. “You’re just so cute, I want to eat you up,” he said, kissing her on the mouth again. “But I shouldn’t keep you in here any longer.”
“Hugo, please don’t jump to conclusions,” said Laura, pouring and handing him a glass of Cognac with a none too steady hand.
“Novel way you have of thinking over a proposal,” Hugo observed, sampling the amber Courvoisier.
“It was just something I had to get out of my system,” Laura explained, a gust of defiance coming into her voice and demeanor.
“Well? Is it out?”
“No, because we got interrupted,” she replied.
“I see!” Hugo slammed his glass down and she jumped. “You planned to go all the way.”
“I did, but Michael didn’t want to. He said it wasn’t right, since you’d just proposed.”
“Admirable. But I happen to know he has the morals of a rubber band. If we hadn’t come along you would have consummated.”
“Hugo, don’t you understand, all my girlfriends have had him, my little sister’s had him, her best friend’s hand him, Marguerite, Damaris, Patricia, Carmen, Hope, Polyxena, Susan, Diana - everyone’s had him but me, and I’ve been looking at him all along. I’m curious!”
“You deserve to be strapped until you cry.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Nothing is ever going to be easy with you and me, is it?”
“You’re putting too much on this. View it as a sort of bachelorette party. For one.”
“So, you’re saying you’d decided you do want to get married?”
“Yes. I want to get married. I really do. You’re the only one for me. Forever and ever.”
“Really?” Hugo broke into a smile and took her in his arms.
“I love you completely,” she murmured, her pulse returning to normal as she realized she’d either escaped or postponed a serious licking.
“But you’re still determined to sleep with Michael!” Hugo thrust her away from him, his indignation returning at half strength.
“Just once.”
“Okay, Laura, you get a free pass, just this once.”
“Really?”
“Why not? I’m not unreasonable,” Hugo said with sudden decision, realizing that he himself would be needing at least one free pass in the very near future.
Chapter Two Amanda’s Diary October
October 10th
Hugo warned me B&D support groups can be as exciting as standing in line at the bank and last night proved it. I couldn’t help but doze during the orientation, except I could never really achieve a satisfyingly somnolent state because a rude young man sitting beside me appeared to delight in constantly exhorting me to, “Pay attention!” This David Byrne type was toothpick thin, with hair neither long nor short, horn rims and a silly watch full of dials. He also had a teasing smile (with good teeth), which I considered presumptuous to flash me, on such short acquaintance.
A lecture on knife play began and I decided to leave. I had to wriggle past a dozen pierced, tattooed, leather swathed or gothed out dudes on the way and one had the nerve to squeeze my bottom. I gave the closest pair of goons a scathing look and told them they weren’t hot enough to get away with that. I glimpsed my annoying prodder grinning at my indignation.
So cosmically perfect that I was able to get Hugo to buy me the leather dress and fetish pumps instead of a lot of junk for my dorm room. It has long sleeves, a stand up collar plunging into a sweetheart neckline and a tight skirt that laces up the back. “You might want to be ambiguous about your orientation,” he advised. “Let them think you’re dominant, you’ll get more respect.” The shoes were 5” stack heeled black leather dream girl pumps. I want to make a good impression when I go places like that, one that people won’t forget.
The annoying guy followed me outside and fast-talked me into having coffee with him. He was only just lucky that there was a cafe right alongside the punk club where the orientation meeting had been held. I never would have agreed to go anywhere that had required a cab or tram. He should have known he was wasting both our time but he was persistent.
He introduced himself as Marty Patmore, got my name out of me and started asking me impertinent questions as soon as we sat down, such as my orientation, whether I was married, belonged to someone, etc. I just looked at him, sipped my hot chocolate and pretended to be impressed
