Amanda
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Amanda
A Short Story By Implacable
Copyright 2004
I met Amanda at the local village pub in one of those natural, casual waysthat happen when you've finally given up trying to pick up women and just acceptedthat you are going to be single for the rest of your life.
I was living alone in the west country of England in a cottage on the coast.I had a modest regular income that allowed me to indulge my pretensions ofbecoming a serious writer. I adored the quiet of the country, the semi-isolation – mynearest neighbour was 100 metres away and as we were off the main road, therewas no traffic.
While I enjoyed my own company, I also enjoyed spending the occasional eveningin the local village pub. The folk were friendly enough, and there were enoughimmigrants from the big cities one way or another that there wasn't that closedcommunity hostility that sometimes poisons the idyllic life in a village.
***
So there I was one Friday evening in the Horse's Head. There was a reasonablecrowd, busy without being overwhelming. And there was no loud music playing.Heavens above! You could actually hear yourself talk, a far cry from one ofthose boisterous city pubs where you can only buy a drink through sign language!
I was standing at the bar, sipping on a pint, engaging in casual conversationwith several bar acquaintances in desultory sort of way. Suddenly a shriekerupted in one the booths. It was swiftly followed by a tirade of abuse. Theculprit was a young woman and the recipient was a stunned man who seemed incapableof responding to the volley of invective. In their mid-twenties, I assumedthat they were a couple. She stormed out of the pub followed by the ratherembarrassed young man who was clearly trying to mollify her.
"You know what his problem is?" a female voice opined from beside me, "Heshould be chasing her out the door to give her backside a good tanning, notto appease her wounded pride!"
I turned to look at the speaker. She was a reasonably attractive woman, thoughin my experience, most women can look attractive if they take the trouble todo so and keep themselves in shape. There you are, now you know I'm an unrepentantchauvinist! Auburn hair down to her shoulders, a pleasant summer dress, hazeleyes. I guessed her to be in her late 30s, but I'm notoriously inept at judginga woman's age.
"Too right!" I responded looking my new interlocutor. "Any woman tried thaton with me and she wouldn't sit comfortably for quite a while." Well I'd hada couple of points and apart from the one jarring episode we'd just witnessed,the mood was one that encouraged a degree of plain speaking.
Heaven's above - the smile I got back almost knocked me off my feet. It wasdefinitely a case of switching on the lights.
"I'm Amanda Karlson," still smiling as she introduced herself. "But my friendscall me Mandy." It's one of those funny things, but though we have since becomethe most intimate of friends, I never really could bring myself to callingher Mandy. To me she will always be Amanda. Somehow that small gesture of formalitywas so apt for our relationship.
"Robert, Robert Johnson. I'm so pleased to meet you." I never was a Bob orBobby, never will be. Can't help myself really, just have to be all stiff andformal. Probably that British diffidence that everyone else mistakes for arrogance.However, there was certainly good cause for stiffness in a certain quarterin chatting to this mature but rather sexy woman. The chemistry certainly seemedto be there, if I'm any judge – which of course I'm not, I'm bloody hopelessat understanding women and the subtleties of communication, but fortunatelyfor me, it was there anyway.
By mutual agreement I bought another round and we moved to a booth wherewe could talk with a little more privacy. After a few harmless pleasantriesI chanced my arm further and raised again my favourite topic – the chastisementof the female figure, with emphasis on the bottom.
"It sounds as though you were talking from experience when you suggestedhe give her a good hiding? So who's warming your bum at the moment?"
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not the sort of chap to come out with a linelike that in normal circumstances, but remember I'd had a couple of pointsto loosen the chains of inhibition and anyway, she'd raised the issue in thefirst place!
And you will of course realise that Amanda, being your normal female, hadalready figured out all the social related things like:
I wasn't married – nowedding ring or the lack of sun-tan where one should have been if I wasplaying truant.
I didn't have a live ingirl-friend – clothing not quite properly ironed, lacking that contented'three square home cooked meals' look.
Wasn't gay – God knowshow you can tell, cause I bloody can't (which has occasionally got me intono end of trouble on one or two occasions).
Clearly interested in succeedingin one of the most difficult things any girl can undertake – howto get herself soundly thrashed and fucked (sorry – engage in intimacy)without scaring the pants off the guy by asking for it.
So she didn't play coy in answering. No. For once in my life I got a straightanswer from a woman.
"Well no-one actually, more's the pity. How about you. Are you laying a fewtramlines across some lucky girl's sit-upon."
All I can say is – thank God for beer! I'd usually be tongue-tied andgibbering by now. Honestly if a relative stranger came up to you and basicallyasked you to thrash her bum, how would you react? But this time, I was suave,I was sophisticated, well actually about half cut, but I thought I was suaveand she didn't run off so it amounts to just about the same thing in my book.
"I happen to be between engagements," not a bad way of saying that I hadn'tbeaten a girl in many months. Come to that, it had been a jolly long time sinceI'd even had a girl's knickers down at all. "Would you care to adjourn to myplace where we can discuss this in more privacy and perhaps examine the seatof the problem?" You could tell I was definitely sliding smoothly on the lubricationof alcohol – which is a blessing for all concerned. As any sensible womanknows, you have to make allowances for mere males, be they the gods or not.
To cut the story short – and get to the good bits, we did indeed moveto my place. I had a strong suspicion that my erection had become petrifiedand obvious was not the word as we entered the house. She put her hand to thefront of my trousers and and looking into my eyes, smiled that smile again.
"Been a while Robert?"
"Nice girls don't fondle a man until they've been given permission. Thatmakes you a naughty girl, and naughty girls have their bottoms bared and smacked.Smacked hard." I said with mock severity, all the while desperately tryingnot to ejaculate into my underwear.
"Ooh, I think I'd rather like that." She replied, giving my tent a good squeezethat sent jolts of lightening through me. "But perhaps I should deal with thisfirst, otherwise you might wet your trousers. I've got very wet knickers andI know how uncomfortable it can be unless you can get them off quickly."
By this time, I think I had definitely become a babbling idiot. Have youever noticed how juvenile conversation becomes when sex is involved. Two grownadults who would otherwise discuss any range of issues in a mature and intellectualmanner just throw all of that culture and maturity away and revert to the mostembarrassing childish tripe.
There is no question that on this first meeting, Amanda took control, likeany good submissive. She led the way in almost everything. Even when I startedto beat her, she had engineered the situation to ensure that things proceededsmoothly. Since our relationship has developed, this is no longer the case.It is I who now call the shots … except, of course, when she wishesto achieve a certain outcome and then, on looking back, I will be forced torecognise that she, in her subtle, gentle way, has led me again. In such situationsit is almost always that she wants me to treat her more harshly, to be morecruel, to be more outrageous, disgusting and depraved, to go beyond my ownstandards of where to draw the line. It took some while for this understandingto arise.
Thus it was that I soon discovered how good, no not good, fantastic! Amandawas at "la pipe" as our French colleagues say. She licked and sucked on mycock, stripping both me and herself at the same time (I still marvel at howwomen can deal with bras one handed). It didn't take very long for me to fillher mouth. And, heaven be praised, she swallowed my spunk to the last drop,except for a small amount that she dribbled out of her mouth. A very, very,erotic trick that all the girls in porn movies know how to do. Seeing it inreal life was a thousand times more of a turn on, I promise you. And then shelicked it up again. Wow is the only expression that goes close. Just plainWOW.
I pride myself on being a gentleman. Well, we all have our conceits don'twe. So, my main tackle being temporarily out of ammunition, and quite franklydrooping and shrivelled, I resorted to tongue and fingers to investigate thiswild-fire woman that had somehow got the wrong address and picked me! I ravishedher. With some pride I exclaim to world that I did not stop when she reachedher first orgasm that night, I took her to three in that first session alone,the last one involving a most satisfying impalement on my resuscitated equipment.
During the skirmish she came across another of my little oddities, my fascinationwith not only her buttocks, but with her anus. When it became clear that Amandawas truly made in heaven just for me and that her anus was one of her erogenouszones, my initial tentative touches became rather extended lickings and fingerings.She whispered to me that she loved the attention but that she only allowedbuggery after a beating. Fair enough, I thought at the time. I still do. Sufficeto say that is a rule that we both strictly adhere to, to this day, and shegets buggered rather often.
Coffee restored us somewhat and allowed us to have a slightly more rationalconversation about our mutual desires and expectations.
It turned out the Amanda had been married up until about five years before,when she had lost her husband in a road accident. The marriage had been a veryhappy one, and one in which she had early learned of the pleasures of submittingto frequent and very thorough punishment. She indicated that if her bottomwas always well marked and very sore, it wasn't the only part of her body thatshe was agreeable to being whipped. Her eyes sparkled with remembered pleasureand tears of loss as she recalled her life with her very much loved master.As ridiculous as it must have looked, two naked near middle aged adults holdinghands and discussing tender moments was most poignant.
Losing her husband had meant that she had been cut adrift in life, reasonablycomfortably financially, but without the anchor on which she had come to rely.A series of affairs had proved unsatisfactory with most men running a milewhen they understood her need to be physically dominated and punished.
She had turned to other women to see if she could fill her needs throughthat avenue. She told me how she had enjoyed the experience and rather enjoyedthe taste of a woman's sex and still happily went to bed with other women fromtime to time. She had formed some close friendships, one with a woman who thrashedher as hard as any man, but in the end they didn't quite fulfil her the waya relationship with a true master did. And so she had kept looking.
We talked a lot that first evening. Once the first raging passion had beendealt with, we were able to explore each other's minds at leisure. It was importantfor me to understand Amanda's needs as well as her limits. Apparently she didn'thave any! At least none to which she would admit then. Having spent some yearstesting this theory out, I have to admit that her limits are those of her physicalbody, not her mind or her ability to take pain. But you have to take thesethings a little carefully, even if the lady in question is desperate to bethrashed to a 'fair thee well'. One previous experience leads me to exercisecaution, at least at first, when introducing a woman to severe chastisement.It is far easier to step up the tempo than to withdraw a cane stroke that wenttoo far.
We slipped most naturally into our first spanking. After much talking anddesultory kissing and fondling (my appendage was well in evidence and readyfor another innings), I just pulled her over my lap. "Time to put the handto the plough Amanda dear, or rather to the bottom," I joked rather excitedlyas my first slap smacked loudly into her pale flesh of her behind.
In my experience, I have never seen a woman so wantonly seeking a beating.No pretence, no game playing, she lay over my lap perfectly presented. "Layon McDuff," she giggled.
Affronted by such misuse of the Bard's good work, I proceeded to delivera rather extended series of smacks. And I have to admit, shrieks of "Harder" and "Can'tyou do better than that" did rather cause me to increase the tempo and forcesomewhat. After five minutes, I'd admit to being rather heavy handed. But atleast I'd quietened the demand for extra verve and there was even the odd "Ow" anda few cries, particularly when I moved from reddened buttocks to fleshy thighs.
A few moments rest, after all my poor hand was fairly stinging, and her bottomand thighs had that rather appealing tone common to ladies who've been wellsmacked. Amanda wasn't crying, she's made of much sterner stuff than that.But the insolent banter had gone, to be replaced by a rather more thoughtfullook on her face as she squirmed and rubbed her bottom, until I made her standin the corner with hands on head. Not original I know, but there is a pleasingaspect to this tradition. Seeing a well reddened bottom squirming while thenaked owner stares at the corner under my command, not allowed to touch saidsame scorching bum is rather a turn on, I must say.
I then spoke words that, to this day, she both loves and hates to hear, "Bringme your hairbrush."
I knew she had one with her because she had told me that she always carriedone in memory of her late husband who required her to have it handy at alltimes. He and I had a lot in common for we both considered our favourite implementsto be the cane and the hairbrush. I have followed his lead and I also requireAmanda to have her brush with her at all times. It certainly comes in handywhen we are travelling and I want to stop to give her a quick thrashing onthe side of the road and I'm after something rather more devastating than myhand.
The hairbrush is for tears. I always beat Amanda's bottom and thighs withher brush until she weeps for me. I have not yet failed to achieve this accoladeto the severity with which I treat her. It is exceedingly effective when appliedto a well bruised bottom. I love to cane Amanda then follow up with a sessionwith the hair brush a little while later. I find the effect of a small delaymost salutary in tenderising the affected area.
When she presented me with her hairbrush that first time, on her knees, Icouldn't resist the temptation. I had her take my penis in her mouth againand pay it the homage that she so loves to. As she sucked away, I gently brushedher hair. When she had finished, I had her lay over my lap again and took thebrush to her bottom with gusto.
I find the brush cracks against her behind with a most satisfying sound,leaves excellent marks and draws forth cries and yells within a few smacksand tears usually follow not too long after. However, on that first evening,I was not completely satisfied with my handiwork after two dozen hard thwacks,though Amanda had exhibited copious symptoms that the beating was highly effective.I had her change position by leaning over the back of a lounge chair with herhead on the seat. In this position not only were her buttocks beautifully presentedand nicely tight, but her thighs were in a perfect position, not to mentionthe sulcus between bottom and thigh which had been somewhat protected as shelay over my lap.
We did not count stokes. I have never really valued this aspect of CP, notthe least because I never beat a woman with a set number in mind. On that occasion,I thrashed this beautiful woman with her hairbrush until she wept. And thenI beat her some more. And she cried and begged and pleaded. The funny thingwas, she never once begged me to stop, her pleas were decidedly non specific.She was bending over the chair of her own free will and could have got up atany time, but she didn't. She lay there soaking up the fiercest hairbrush thrashingI had ever delivered up to that time, and cried and wailed and screamed. Ifound out later that she had orgasmed during that thrashing, and had thoroughlyenjoyed it and had not particularly needed it to stop when it did. But stopit did.
I cuddled a sobbing child-woman in my arms for some minutes until she quietened.Then she disentangled herself from my arms and went to her handbag. Smilingthrough her still wet eyes, she handed me a tube of lubricant. "Now it's timefor buggery," she said, and again draped herself over the same chair over whichI had just thrashed her.
"Just a moment." I said. "I have a very firm rule about anal sex. I ratherprefer the area to be well prepared. While I am rather partial to using a womanthat way, before I take my pleasure in your arse, I must ask you to agree tomy rule. Anything that goes into your behind, be it my finger, my prick, avibrator or whatever, afterwards goes into your mouth. I find that helps agirl to remember that cleanliness is important. I also require you to be availableto me whenever I desire your behind. However, I accept your condition thatyou be beaten before buggery. Do you agree?"
"But I haven't had a chance to prepare myself properly this time." she gasped.
"I suggest that it will provide you with an invaluable lesson for the future,even if for tonight it leaves a nasty taste in your mouth."
Suffice to say she somewhat reluctantly agreed and suffered the consequenceswith an admirable stoicism. She even admitted later that, while she was notscatologically inclined, the imposition of my will on her in that way had beena real turn on. However, as general rule, my condition has had the desiredeffect and she is careful to ensure that not only is she always well lubricated,but she takes an enema daily to avoid a repetition of the unwanted complicationsof a soiled cock.
I didn't cane Amanda that evening. After taking my pleasure in her behind,and using her mouth, I had her stand in the corner again. It is an absolutedelight for me to watch my lover stand in the corner with a thoroughly thrashedbottom with my semen seeping from her anus, trickling down her thighs. It isa pleasure I indulge in most regularly, though more often than not, I haveAmanda wear stockings and high heels – that way the semen pools at thestocking tops for a while. Yes I know I'm a degenerate, but believe me whenI say that Amanda takes great pleasure in it as well.
And if I didn't cane her that first night, I made up for it by caning herbefore breakfast the next morning. And then again mid-morning. You'll thinkme a cad, I know, but I couldn't resist attending to a thoroughly welted andbruised but willing bottom again with the cane that Saturday evening. And aftereach of the canings, I followed up with the hairbrush. By Jove! How she wailedand wept, and afterwards smiled and laughed through her tears.
And I've been caning her ever since. I've acquired any number of instrumentsfor her chastisement and I've been far more severe with this woman than I wouldhave thought possible and the marvel of it is that, the more I beat her andtorture her, the more she seems to blossom and take pleasure in it all. Neverwas a man so blessed!
She has never agreed to marry me, mostly I think out of respect for her latehusband. But in all other respects she is my partner and mate for life. Andoh, what a life!
Pansy
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