NSFW. Porn. Kinky Porn. sadomasochistic violence. Spanking. This is fiction, y’all!
Flor thought she laid draped over the leather sofa for an eternity, or at least an hour. It was actually 10 minutes. The Captain walked up to her,lifted her off the couch , turned her, draped her over his shoulder, and took her to bed. She stirred when her skin felt the cool sheets. She welcomed the warm down comforter and the silky duvet cover. Her naked body reveled in the tactile awakening. She felt leather, the cotton of The Captain’s shirt, and now this silky warmth. Luxury. The ring of her anus felt its brusque intruder, Flor noted it as well. And at this moment, Flor fell asleep.
She had no idea how long she slept. Greta entered the bedroom with a tray. Flor noted the espresso pot, the pitcher of hot steamed milk, the sugar bowl, and the large cup. The croissants, butter, jam promised something rich, and the fresh pineapple, mango, and strawberries were more than welcome.
“Shall I fix your coffee while you use the bathroom, Mistress Flor?”
“Yes please. Sweet please. And strong.” She entered the bathroom and was taken aback by the mirrored walls opposite the toilet. As she made water, she was struck by her vulnerability, her exposure, if only to herself. After she voided, she stepped over to the bidet, cleaned herself, and here too, she saw her reflection. A mirrored bath. Decadent. She noted the drapes that were hiding the mirrors when she “freshened up”last night.
“Incremental decadence,”she noted inwardly.
Flor noticed the breakfast items had been set on a table overlooking a garden, planted with autumn flowers and rose bushes bore their last few flowers of the season.
“May I ask where The Captain is?”
Of course. He is at the pool and the gym. Then he checks with his office.”
“When will he join me?”
“When he is ready, Mistress, you will be taken to him. Please enjoy your coffee before it’s cold.”
Flor noted the abrupt change of subject, and the ominous sound in the passive voice (will be taken…) The coffee was hot, sweet, delicious. The croissant was a buttery extravaganza. Just sitting nude, in the warm and sunny room was a luxury.
Flor, as instructed, had brought no clothing with her. Since last night’s evening attire was provided, she assumed there would be suitable clothing provided for the day’s activities.
“Greta, I’d like to get dressed now.”
“Mistress, I have no instructions to provide you clothing. Are you warm enough?”
It then dawned on Flor that a choice had been taken away from her. She was being kept in this house, naked, waiting for this man, this Captain, to join her in his own good time. Her gorge rose. She was being ordered, directed, controlled. It dawned on her that there is a term for those who possess no power of choice, slave.
“The Captain is ready to see you. Please follow me.” It wasn’t Greta who made this announcement, but a man, a stranger, who entered the room. Flor felt her vulnerability as embarrassment, covered her breasts with her arm. Her other hand covered her pubis.
“Please put your hands at your sides. Walking will be easier.”
He opened a door to the terrace. She followed him, down a little step, to a path of stone pavers that felt cold and hard and rough on her bare feet. Her nipples hardened and pointed out in the autumn chill. She was relieved the servant was not looking at her, but the man mowing the lawn, stopped the mower and stared, as did the woman, in the flannel shirt and jeans, planting bulbs. She put down her trowel, and looked straight into Flor’s eyes, as she approached her. She smiled, then whistled, then winked.
Eye candy! At my age! A little insulted, a lot flattered, and even more frightened, as her vulnerability became even more apparent.
Finally they reached his office, a stone cottage, with that Lake Country quality. She almost expected Wordsworth to be inside. But no. The Captain was.
He made general inquiries about her comfort, as courteous as always.
Flor responded with anger and disrespect.
The Captain simply said, ” I knew showing you your place would bring this out. You were looking for the thrill that sex with a rich stranger would offer and yet you were indifferent to what that cost to you might be. But cheer up. My price is only what you want, what you need to lose.
“Thank you, Dr Phil!” Her sarcasm came bubbling out and she instantly regretted the remark.
I’ve noted your rudeness, your insolence, your discourtesy at resenting my… hospitality. There is, of course, corrective action to address your lack of manners.
He pointed to the leather ottoman in front of the arm chair in the office sitting area.
“Bend over that. Ass up.”
Any reticence was preempted by the hand gripping her bicep, then pushing her down and over. He was behind her to her left. She heard a drawer opening, then closing. There was a pause, then the paddle hit her squarely on her raised ass.
“We won’t have any counting strokes theatrics, but you will keep your hands on the floor.”
The paddle struck her buttocks, then again, and again, as the tempo increased and the heat in her ass, rose. She lost her dignity as the tears began. Her imagined stoicism vanished with the sobbing that came deep within her.
The spanking, no, paddling ended. As it was last night, she was alone, this time with her crying, her tears, and the snot. And she felt that something had left her. Something she needed to lose.