The Bottom Line (6 page)

 

We saw one another occasionally for several months after that. Most of the time she would let me make love to her, but I had to learn the limits. I was never allowed to linger between her legs, and there was really only one permitted position until the night when we suffered a miscalculation and she ended up on top of me, which she seemed to like. And there was never any question of oral sex or anything remotely kinky.

But she could kiss all night, her breasts were fantastic and she gripped me so tightly when I screwed her I could come almost too easily and quickly. I tried everything I knew to make her orgasm as well, but it was all to no avail. In fact, everything would have been totally predictable until the miscalculation. What happened was that once, as I was feeding my erection into her, she felt uncomfortable. We struggled about trying to ease the cramp without me popping out and finished up rolling right over.

I was still tight inside her and she moved slightly, as if to throw me off. Then she paused, looked at me, raised herself off the bed so that her breasts were swinging above me and nodded. So this time I had an extra-special play with them as I screwed her more slowly than usual, finishing with a lot of kissing and closer attention to her bum, as she lay on top of me, than had ever happened before.

She still didn't have an orgasm, but there was no doubt that she felt real pleasure beyond the simpler stimulus she usually enjoyed. But try as I might, the limits remained the same as ever and I just couldn't find how to help her any further. At least, not until our holiday.

We'd been back together on an intermittent basis for over a year when the opportunity came along. I had to fly abroad on a short business trip and had permission to extend the visit by taking a few days' holiday. Barbara, though now well over her bereavement, was bored and looking for an opportunity to do something different, so when I mentioned my visit to Toulon she asked whether she could come.

I was a little hesitant at first. After all, I'd be tied up for two days and I didn't know how she would amuse herself in a foreign town on her own. But she was quite happy that she would cope easily and enjoy it, so I agreed and we flew off one afternoon in early June.

The business was concluded in two days, as I had thought and hoped it would be, so we had four more days in which to amuse ourselves. I hired a car and we wandered along the aromatic lanes of Provence, by the coast when traffic was quiet, in the remoter foothills during busier times. We quickly adapted to the routine of being abroad - morning shopping for our picnic, a long midday break in some scenic spot, sometimes accompanied by a dip in a lake or even in the sea, a drive through the afternoon and then a hunt for a comfortable and quiet auberge with a reputation for good food.

The sex was very much as it had been; available on demand, affectionate but not passionate, generally predictable and only mildly satisfying to Barbara. Indeed, I often thought that her greatest sexual pleasure lay in satisfying me, and then only strictly within the limits which she imposed upon herself. But the effects of the Provencal sunshine were not to be underestimated.

We were driving one languorous morning along the Esterel coast, loitering really and looking for the perfect picnic spot, which had become something of a quest, when we saw down below us a tiny cove, with silver sand amongst the red rocks and a deep blue sea visible through the pines.

‘Let's picnic by the beach,' I suggested.

‘Sounds lovely,' Barbara enthused, ‘but we must be sensible. The sun's going to get very hot this afternoon and we're not used to it. Just a dip and a picnic and then we either come away or shelter under the trees.'

I agreed, of course, and fifteen minutes later we were in the sea, Barbara showing her growing emancipation by bathing topless. An hour later we were just finishing our picnic, and five hours later we returned to the car!

Our hotel that evening was in a tiny
village perche
. Even as we arrived in the late afternoon there were wonderful odours wafting about the place and our balcony offered views over the several kilometres leading down to the sea. The room was large and comfortable, with the usual immaculate bathroom, and everything seemed idyllic. But Barbara felt a little uneasy.

‘I think we stayed in the sun just a little too long,' she said. ‘Would you mind rubbing some after-sun into my back and shoulders? I don't want to risk burning.'

I was quite happy to oblige, so she stripped naked, fetched a towel from the bathroom, spread it across the bed and lay facedown on it. Actually the damage didn't look too serious; a slight reddening across her shoulders, perhaps, and a patch on her lower back where she had been unusually exposed, but otherwise her skin had no more than a healthy glow befitting several hours spent outdoors in a favourable climate.

Slowly and thoroughly I worked the cream into her shoulders as she gave occasional gasps of pleasure, or of irritation if I threatened to stop. When I'd finished her shoulders I straightened up but she didn't like that.

‘You haven't finished,' she said indignantly. ‘There's an area on my back where I've definitely caught the sun.'

There wasn't actually much potential soreness at all, so I turned my attention to her bottom, which was pleasantly plump and a pleasure to knead. I had on a few secret occasions wondered how it would be to fuck her bum, and now I wondered about really doing it.

But I continued to rub and knead, adding little slapping strokes occasionally and watching the flesh quiver and ripple. I forgot all about screwing her arse and began to slap more systematically and a little harder, a dozen strokes building up to a climax. I expected to be told at any moment to pack it in, but all I heard was a satisfied murmur, so I continued experimenting, slapping harder all the time, switching from one cheek to the other and then striking her right across the middle and watching her skin redden as the blood rushed to the surface.

Still she didn't object to what I was doing, and I was well into my stride now, pausing only to switch on the television to cover the noise I was making. For another ten minutes I continued to spank her until her skin was a deep pink all over and the murmurs of satisfaction were turning to gasps of some deeper emotion. My arm was getting tired and my hand positively ached, so I gave her another dozen or so and then told her that she'd had enough and it was time to stop.

‘Oh no,' she cried, ‘you can't stop now. It's just getting interesting, but I need something harder and heavier.'

I began to protest but she interrupted me. ‘Here, try my flip-flop and do it till I tell you to stop.'

I wanted to tell her that I wouldn't, but something stopped me. For one thing I was enjoying it, as my still stiff prick confirmed, and for another I was getting curious to find out how much she could take. I'd been spanking her quite hard when I paused, and so I picked up the flip-flop and settled down again to my task.

Now it seemed much more serious, but I began by striking her fairly gently and experimentally, seeing what patterns the sole made on her skin and judging how hard to strike to increase the reddening effect without doing any real damage. Several times in the next few minutes I thought to stop, but she wouldn't let me. By now I was hitting her in groups of nine strokes, three on each cheek in turn and then three right across the middle.

‘Okay,' I warned her, ‘that's nearly enough. Another nine and I'm stopping.'

After another nine there were definite signs of bruising as opposed to simple reddening, and I told her to get up, but she wasn't disposed to listen and I realised she was desperate to find out about herself something she'd spent so many years not knowing. Finally she offered a compromise.

‘Take the belt of your trousers and give me six really good ones with it, and then I'll let you stop.' I faltered, thinking this sounded a bit too heavy for me, but then she added, ‘Come on, make them really sting and I'll give you a bonus you won't forget in a hurry.'

So I slipped the leather belt from my slacks and told her to kneel, my erection so stiff I decided to take off my clothes and underwear before administering the final six of the best.

She didn't answer in words, but obediently knelt on the bed, her forehead resting on her hands and her bottom stretched tight and high. I stood back, took careful aim and let fly with the belt, noting how it sang through the air and landed with a satisfying crack across her cheeks, bringing from her an involuntary gasp. I gave her two more quick strokes, each one producing the same reaction, and watched as the edge of the belt began to raise slight weals across the punished flesh.

‘You'll feel this next one all right,' I promised her, striking as I spoke so that she had no time to compose herself, and watching with satisfaction as she instinctively straightened up and clutched her martyred flesh. But she was quick to bend forward again and took the fifth stroke with apparent calm. I promised her a last stroke she'd never forget, and lay the belt lovingly across her bottom. Then I drew back my arm, waited for a long moment so she could fully anticipate what was about to happen to her, and finally brought the belt whistling down across her bottom at an angle, ensuring it crisscrossed some of the previous tramlines.

The blow forced her to exhale suddenly, the breath driven out of her. Again she straightened up and clutched her injuries, squeezing slightly and then relaxing again. After what seemed an age she looked round at me, smiled that entrancing smile and resumed her submissive position. I thought at first that she was going to demand more, but her words were even more surprising.

‘Come on then,' she said. ‘You want to fuck me like this, so now's your chance. You'd better make the most of it though, as it may be the only chance you get.'

I asked her where the cream was, but she assured me she wouldn't need any lubrication this time. Slowly I guided my throbbing prick between her legs and rubbed it against her sex lips, conscious of how wet she was, and as her lips parted I pushed my rigid cock as deep inside her as I could. But as I reached forward, my hands encircling her and cupping her breasts, she suddenly straightened up.

‘Graham,' she said, ‘I'm sorry, I just can't do it. I'm so desperately sorry.' She burst into tears and I eased myself carefully out of her and knelt for the time it took her to turn over, look at me through eyes misty with tears and then cling to me. ‘I don't know what it is,' she sobbed, ‘I just can't bear having you in me like that.'

I tried to comfort her, stroking her hair as I murmured that it didn't matter, but she continued to cry. I stroked her hair for a few moments, then moved my hands down to her bottom to feel for any evidence of damage, and when I reached the first, and apparently minor weal, she winced involuntarily.

‘I'm sorry now,' I said. ‘I didn't start out intending to hurt you. It was only a game.'

‘Oh no,' she contradicted me, ‘it was a lot more than a game. I can't explain but it was the most exciting feeling I can ever remember. But I have to admit that I'm feeling a bit sore now, especially just where you were touching me.'

‘Let's have a look,' I said, and sure enough the first weal was already turning a purplish-yellow and there were two more slightly lower down. ‘Have you any cold cream in your bag?'

She nodded, so I went to the dressing table and rummaged through the bag until I found the small jar. ‘Lie still,' I told her, ‘and let's see whether this helps. It ought to be soothing, even if it has no actual clinical properties.'

I rubbed the cream gently into the punished flesh. She had stopped crying and was obviously enjoying the treatment. When I finished treating the injuries I continued to rub the cream into her bottom, widening the area as I did so and pulling gently on her cheeks to expose the inviting valley between them. Several times I did this and the occasional sighs of appreciation continued, so I dipped my index finger into the jar, pulled harder on her cheeks and thrust my creamy finger into the cleft. Not only was there no objection, but the sighs became a more recognisable gasp of pleasure as I began rubbing my fingertip along the divide, pausing deliberately each time I brushed it over her little anus.

It was now or never, I told myself, and pushed the tip of my finger into the tight hole, felt a slight resistance and pushed harder. As my straightened finger sank into her bottom I could feel the sphincter grip tightly, and realised I was as powerfully excited by this as I had ever been with her. I moved my finger up and down with increasing intensity, noting that she continued to gasp and started to writhe her hips slightly. For several minutes I played with her like this, using one hand to pull her back against me while I explored her arse with the other. Then I carefully eased my finger out of her, to gauge her responses.

‘No,' she murmured, ‘don't stop. Please don't stop.'

‘Do you mean...?' I began.

‘Yes,' she whispered, ‘I mean it. Please, fuck my bottom while I still feel like this.'

Scarcely able to believe this plea, I wrapped my fingers round my prick, slipped it between her buttocks and felt for the tiny opening. Once engaged I used both hands to pull her cheeks apart and widen the passage, pushing as I did so and again feeling her muscle tighten as I forced my way inside her. I realised she was holding on to the bedstead with one hand only, while her other was between her legs providing stimulation I could not see but could easily guess at.