herself and for Chris, who had made it very clear that he preferred her clothing disarranged rather than right off. He’d also made it clear that he liked the idea of being seen, which she found both frightening and exciting. Not that anybody had caught them, but they’d been right out in the open and another couple might easily have driven past, or worse, a logging crew, which really would have been embarrassing, too much so for reality, if not fantasy.
She buried herself in her book on the way home, once more enjoying the story now that she was sure none of her fellow commuters were spying on her. There was even another spanking scene, this time with a buxom Turkish girl turned over the knee of Mustapha bin Yunus, the villainous white slaver who had agreed to buy Evangeline from Lord Jasper. It was quite detailed, describing the unfortunate girl’s bottom as a magnificent amber peach, wriggling in her struggles of desperation, a phrase that made Laura chuckle, then smile. An idea had occurred to her.
Saturday was spent tidying her flat, messing it up again in case he thought she was too fussy, and an attempt at some impromptu Feng Shui designed to give the impression of a casual, Bohemian lifestyle she felt might seem appropriate for the sort of girl who liked to be thrown over the bonnet of a car and rogered from behind or, better still, spanked.
It was an alarming prospect, for several reasons. The worst case scenario would be if, when she had finally managed to get the hint across, he didn’t dish out a spanking but a lecture on human dignity and inappropriate sexual behaviour. That didn’t seem very likely, judging by the way he’d behaved on the plantation, which meant she might succeed and end up having to cope with the pain and indignity that turned her on so strongly in her fantasies but might be very different in real life.
By the Sunday morning she was finding excuses not to go through with her plan, even to cancel their date, while she was convinced he’d be put off by her flat, either because it was too neat and tidy or too messy. Smudge was also a problem, apt to want attention at inappropriate moments and too big to be easily ignored. In the end she put him out into the tiny yard behind the house, assuaging her guilt by promising him the bone from the rib of beef she’d bought at the farmer’s market. That left the flat dog free, but either a mess or not a mess, depending on his perspective.
As it was, he took no notice whatsoever, arriving half-an-hour earlier than he’d said he would, plonking himself down on her sofa and asking if she had any wine in the fridge. Laura obliged, selecting one of the four bottles she’d put in just in case – along with three brands of beer, a local organic cider and various mixers – and serving it to him before pouring her own glass. He took a couple of reflective sips and then began to talk, as casually as if he’d known her for years, with no hint of the tension she’d been suffering from since the moment they parted.
Gradually Laura relaxed, grateful for his casual manner. To let him take her to bed would be easy, effortless in fact. She considered postponing her attempt to get something more, but the idea brought such a sharp pang of disappointment that she abandoned it immediately.
Lunch was carefully planned, set early to ensure there’d be plenty of time to digest before an afternoon hopefully spent half naked in the bedroom with a red bottom, but his early arrival meant that she had to put the joint in the oven before they’d finished their first glass of wine. As she busied herself rolling potatoes in the minimum possible quantity of fat his voice carried through from the living room.
‘What are we having?’
‘Roast beef.’
‘Delicious. Will you be in and out of the kitchen all the time, or can you spare a little for me?’
It seemed a peculiar question, but Laura answered anyway.
‘Just let me get the meat in.’
‘That can be
She buried herself in her book on the way home, once more enjoying the story now that she was sure none of her fellow commuters were spying on her. There was even another spanking scene, this time with a buxom Turkish girl turned over the knee of Mustapha bin Yunus, the villainous white slaver who had agreed to buy Evangeline from Lord Jasper. It was quite detailed, describing the unfortunate girl’s bottom as a magnificent amber peach, wriggling in her struggles of desperation, a phrase that made Laura chuckle, then smile. An idea had occurred to her.
Saturday was spent tidying her flat, messing it up again in case he thought she was too fussy, and an attempt at some impromptu Feng Shui designed to give the impression of a casual, Bohemian lifestyle she felt might seem appropriate for the sort of girl who liked to be thrown over the bonnet of a car and rogered from behind or, better still, spanked.
It was an alarming prospect, for several reasons. The worst case scenario would be if, when she had finally managed to get the hint across, he didn’t dish out a spanking but a lecture on human dignity and inappropriate sexual behaviour. That didn’t seem very likely, judging by the way he’d behaved on the plantation, which meant she might succeed and end up having to cope with the pain and indignity that turned her on so strongly in her fantasies but might be very different in real life.
By the Sunday morning she was finding excuses not to go through with her plan, even to cancel their date, while she was convinced he’d be put off by her flat, either because it was too neat and tidy or too messy. Smudge was also a problem, apt to want attention at inappropriate moments and too big to be easily ignored. In the end she put him out into the tiny yard behind the house, assuaging her guilt by promising him the bone from the rib of beef she’d bought at the farmer’s market. That left the flat dog free, but either a mess or not a mess, depending on his perspective.
As it was, he took no notice whatsoever, arriving half-an-hour earlier than he’d said he would, plonking himself down on her sofa and asking if she had any wine in the fridge. Laura obliged, selecting one of the four bottles she’d put in just in case – along with three brands of beer, a local organic cider and various mixers – and serving it to him before pouring her own glass. He took a couple of reflective sips and then began to talk, as casually as if he’d known her for years, with no hint of the tension she’d been suffering from since the moment they parted.
Gradually Laura relaxed, grateful for his casual manner. To let him take her to bed would be easy, effortless in fact. She considered postponing her attempt to get something more, but the idea brought such a sharp pang of disappointment that she abandoned it immediately.
Lunch was carefully planned, set early to ensure there’d be plenty of time to digest before an afternoon hopefully spent half naked in the bedroom with a red bottom, but his early arrival meant that she had to put the joint in the oven before they’d finished their first glass of wine. As she busied herself rolling potatoes in the minimum possible quantity of fat his voice carried through from the living room.
‘What are we having?’
‘Roast beef.’
‘Delicious. Will you be in and out of the kitchen all the time, or can you spare a little for me?’
It seemed a peculiar question, but Laura answered anyway.
‘Just let me get the meat in.’
‘That can be
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