We have found ourselves in a grassy clearing secluded by mulberry bushes and elm trees where we lay out our blanket, the gentle swell of the river at our feet. It feels like there is no one to disturb us for miles around. For a few blissful minutes we lie silently together staring at the high summer clouds, listening to the river and the birds singing, breathing in the fresh air and the fecund smell of the countryside. We kiss, at first shyly, then passionately and when I feel his hand on my breasts I close my eyes, my nipples hardening to his touch. I turn on my side while he slides his hand under my frock, stroking my thighs, moving higher, teasing the soft down of my pubic mound, settling on the plump roundness of my buttocks. I moan and move seductively beneath his splayed fingers. Hungrily, we tear off our clothes and kiss long and deeply. I can feel him hard against me and I sense he is ready to make love. I get to my knees showering him with kisses, my mouth and tongue moving down his body. But before I reach his manhood, he sits up and whispers in my ear, words that make me catch my breath.
“Excuse me, but what did you say?”
“What I said, Catherine, was ‘Have you ever been spanked?'”
My heart pounds, and I’m thinking, well yes, but it’s been a while. Memories come rushing back of the headmaster’s study, on my 18th birthday to the music of flutes and oboes. The magic of it. Somehow I manage to stay calm.
“Well, yes, once, when I was eight,” I reply. He would get no more help from me than R.C. Montgomery did. “Mummy thought I was teasing the kitten when I wasn’t, honestly. I was just playing dress up. She was furious and…”
“Not what I’m referring to,” he said.
I laugh. “I know what you’re referring to. And why do I deserve a spanking, pray tell?”
“For flashing me back there. Are you aware that willfully distracting the operator of a passenger vessel while under way is an offence under the Rivers & Inland Waterways Navigation Act of 1652? I might have run into something, we could easily have capsized.”
He thrust out one arm striking an oratorical pose:
Full fathom five
Lies Ryan’s punt
sunk by silken thighs
and thy sweet cunt.
“And exactly what sort of punishment,” I shyly enquire, “is proscribed under that rivers thing act of 1652?”
“First offence – a spanking.”
Again, the oratorical pose.
I think that I shall never find
A bottom needier than thine
This is wonderful. The first time was to Ravel’s Bolero. Now apparently I’m going to be spanked in iambic pentameters. I’m not about to appeal the sentence, but two can play the poetry game. I strike an oratorical pose of my own.
Good Sir, I bow with due submission
Bottoms up to your petition
So saying, I slide over his lap, thrusting up my buttocks. I feel them caressed by the breeze and I waggle them enticingly until I feel a restraining hand in the small of my back. In this position I can reach behind to hold him. How long and slender his cock feels, how soft, yet so hard. He pauses a few seconds, stroking my bottom, then begins, three on the right cheek then three on the left in quick succession. This is a harder spanking than the last time and I feel my cheeks instantly reddening. The sting is exquisite. The pace quickens, then slows, then quickens again. After a few wonderful minutes he pauses and I feel his lips and tongue. I’m on fire and close to coming. He senses this, clever boy, and lies back, holding his cock like a mast for me to mount at my leisure, which I am just about to do, when suddenly we hear a rustling in the bushes and someone bursts on the scene.