A Taste of the Cane for Maria

Her eyes, like twin emerald hued laser beams, had bored into me. Mesmerised me.

It had been oppressively hot and my eyes were sore from the smoke. There were far too many people and the music was screwed up way too loud. And if it hadn't been for the chance of pulling a bird I wouldn't have been there. Bogart's Discotheque.

She was leaning provocatively with a self-assurance that was almost intimidating against a pillar and supping casually from a glass. Slim and 'dressed to kill' in a skimpy black number

I'd fancied myself a bit of a 'wolf' back then so I'd meandered over, and for my own self-assurance I'd checked my reflection briefly in the mirrored surface of the walls: neat, well-groomed auburn hair, large brown eyes, strong features and a tallish athletic frame. I was also well presented, groomed, in an expensive patterned Midnight-Blue shirt with pressed, well fitting, tight around my arse, black trousers and shiny polished black shoes. Clothes define a person. Define me. I could still just discern the Zendiq aftershave I had slapped on my cheeks prior to leaving the house. I'd looked good, smelt good and had felt good. Very good.

I'd closed in on her. Cut off her retreat. Predator and prey.

Full and wavy raven locks had cascaded onto the exquisite exposed ivory flesh of her shoulders and had framed her oval face which was pale yet healthy and gifted with high cheekbones. A small, straight and cute nose had sat atop a mouth that was wide and expansive with glossed lips. Her eyes...

"Like what you see?" she had said, with a lilting Irish accent.

Naturally, I had expected to speak first and had almost been taken out of my stride. "Yes, I do rather. And what I hear--"

The rich green hue of her eyes, the dark depths of her large pupils, had drawn me in like the dangerous swirling waters of a whirlpool.

"My name is Jules, Jules Black." I'd suddenly felt awkward. Gauche.

She'd smiled, reassuringly and had replied, "I'm Maria," she had then paused significantly, mysteriously and not a little teasingly before adding, "It is all that you are required to know."

I'd understood. I'd thought.

We'd talked and she had reminisced, longingly, of Eire. Its landscapes, the people, the music, the myths, and the rich literature. Her family and growing up. I had explained my work in a laboratory, my career aspirations. Shared happy memories from my childhood. Funny stories.

As the evening had drawn on, I had warmed to her as a person. I liked her. I could have loved her.

And then we were on the dance floor. The lights dimmed. Slowly rotating to Three Times a Lady and her slender bare arms wrapped tight around my torso. Me erect.

And then I'd kissed her sweet lips and had slipped my tongue in her mouth...

But she had gently pulled away and for an instant I had feared rejection before she whispered in my ear, "Let's go," just as the music had begun to fade out.

I had caught the eye of one of my friends at the peripheral of the dance floor. He had read the situation and knew I wouldn't be requiring a lift back.

We had then passed out of the club's entrance into the comparative chill of the night.

"You came here alone?" I had been curious.

"I have a few I chat with here, but yes," she had partially answered.

There had been a pause in the conversation and I had listened to the waves breaking softly on the beach - the club was but a road away from the shore. The air had been still and the swell of the sea, gentle and rhythmic.

She had walked a little ahead of me - maybe she hadn't wanted to draw too much attention to us. She had moved with poise and I had wondered if she exercised, perhaps played tennis or swam.

We reached her car, a racing green Mini 1275 GT, and in a reversal of gender chivalry she'd unlocked the passenger door for me. A strong aroma of rose petal had greeted me from the air freshener dangling from the interior mirror.

I'd squeezed myself into the black-leather bucket seats and had drawn the inertia reel seatbelt across my chest before fastening it. She then started the engine and sped quickly out of the car park and onto the main road.

She driven nippily and I had admired the fluid movements of her limbs as she had shifted gear and handled the sporty steering wheel. I had hoped she wouldn't attract the attention of the law as she was, I had suspected, rather over the limit.

We'd travelled fast out of the small seaside town and into the country with the hedgerows and trees eerily illuminated by the cold lunar light.

After a while we'd turned into a new looking road that led shortly to the prestigious 'Garden Village' -- a recent development. I doubted that the four or so miles had taken any longer than seven or eight minutes.

Maria had swung the Mini onto a drive and had stopped a few feet short of a double garage. She'd killed the engine and then slipped out of the vehicle.

The residence had been large, detached, and like all the surrounding properties, new and in the style, I believe, Neo-Georgian. Everything about it said, money; and 'fuck you'.

Only the distant hoot of an owl had disturbed the peace as Maria had slipped the key silently into the lock. The door had opened into a sumptuous lobby and she had directed me through to the lounge.

"Would you be liking a coffee... first?" she had smiled wickedly.

I had merely stood there gaping at the opulence: oil paintings spotlighted by brass wall lamps; expensive furnishings; curtains with gold braided pull cords. It was casual wealth taken by granted by the occupants. Or maybe that was the image they sought to project.

"Two sugars and cream, please." I had followed her into the kitchen.

I had noticed a silver photo frame lying face down on a window ledge. I had sneakily picked it up. It was a snap of a bald, ruddy-faced businessman with heavy jowls at a 'bash' of some kind. I now knew why I was here.

Her back had been to me as she had prepared the filter coffee. I'd stolen up behind her and had lightly kissed the side of her delicious neck. She had immediately swivelled round and had said, "I'm going to give you what you so desire... me," she drew breath, "but before anything you will have to attend to wayward Maria."

We had moved into the lounge and I'd sat gingerly in an armchair being extra careful not to spill coffee onto the plush cardinal-red velvet covers. She was on a sofa - her toned legs folded under her.

We had supped at our drinks and excitement had coursed through my every nerve. This was what life was all about.

"There's no need to worry. He is in Dubai and won't be returning for a month. Don't you think I'm rather naughty for bringing a man back," she'd sucked in air, "and do you not think I deserve to be punished?"

How could I resist?

We had finished our drinks and she had asked me to follow her.

We had entered the master bedroom which unsurprisingly was as ostentatious as the rest of the house.

In front of me, Maria had stopped and then to my utter amazement pulled her dress over her head in one motion with her lustrous dark locks falling back into place onto her bare shoulders as though in slow motion. She was now standing in front of me naked and absolutely shameless.

"What you are going to do now Jules is to strip off yourself and then you are going to beat me first with a plimsoll and then cane me hard on my buttocks. After you have spanked me with the plimsoll you are going to attach clamps to my nipples. When I'm ready - I'll tell you - you can fuck me from behind. There's no need to concern yourself with pleasuring me as I'll come anyway. Have you got that?"

"Yes," I had replied, and had thought that this was one uncomplicated woman who knew exactly what she wanted in life.

"Not get your clothes off, Jules, and try not to ejaculate before you fuck me. I like cocks hard. Really hard."

As Maria had padded over to the corner of the spacious room I had swiftly taken all my clothes off. She had then lifted the lid of what looked to be an antique Ottoman chest and had taken out a small white plimsoll, a school cane and some shiny steel nipple clamps. She picked up the gym shoe walked over to me and plonked it into my sweaty hand. "I want you to smack me with it as hard as you can. Leave about twenty seconds between strokes so that I can savour the pain fully. Don't worry about anyone hearing -- the house is well insulated and detached."

She then walked over to a similarly ornate chair, bent over and placed the palms of her hands on the seat. I then positioned myself parallel to her and savoured myself her undraped form which was pale, lithe and taut. Her cunt was shaved smooth and enticingly thrust out.

I had hesitated for a second but then thought, 'What the hell' and had brought the plimsoll hard and swiftly down on to her bare left buttock. There was a loud 'thwack' yet she didn't flinch. But straightaway, there was a reddening imprint of the sole upon her flesh.

She had thrust out her posterior even further as she relished the impact of the second blow, which I delivered with even greater force. She had gasped and already, her left buttock was beginning to purple. I then switched to the right and gave her two satisfyingly hard swats in succession -- she had trembled but I had given her another three hard double-whacks on each cheek ignoring her instructions to leave time between swats.

Each blow had caused her to sway forward before she had returned to the punishment position and her previously white skin was now raw. I administered another dozen or so before she said breathlessly, "Cane me now... and don't forget the clamps."

She'd straightened up and turned to me, her pretty face flushed, and had kissed me. "You're doing a good job." She then stared at me plaintively with her beautiful green eyes for a second as I placed the plimsoll back on the chest. I then picked up the steel toothed clamps and as I did she thrust her large firm breasts towards me, her nipples dark and engorged. To each nipple in turn I watched as they bit deeply into the dark sensitive flesh causing her to wince. She then embraced the discomfort with fortitude - she knew what was to come -- before swivelling round and assuming the punishment position once again.

I remember 'weighing' the curve handled cane in my right hand and again studying the almost sculpted form of her nude body. I noticed the tiny little dark hairs on her toned arms and the cute little mole on the small of her back.

Without any further delay I had swung the cane down in an arc with a whoosh and then a 'crack' as it struck her skin.

"Uh," she had uttered.

A ruddy ridge had appeared instantly, and my god it must have stung.

I then gave her another, slightly harder I felt and I'd watched with twisted satisfaction as her fingers had clutched at the fabric of the chair. Yet she had suffered in silence.

She shuffled position slightly in anticipation of the third stroke. Her tight bum was scarlet and purple but now with two deeper purple stripes overlaid.

I had then raised and brought down the cane another fifteen times upon her buttocks. I had observed her body shudder with the agony, her clamped breasts sway under her. Her labia was pink and swollen with her juices. I kind of felt sorry for her but it was what she craved and lived for. She was a masochist, a pain-slut who pitted pain against pleasure before the final triumph of ecstasy.

After another six she was shaking and wretched and broken and I feared for her.

"Fuck me now, do it hard, do it fast. Take me, whilst it still hurts!" she suddenly cried out.

And I did. I was as hard as I had ever been in my life before. Still bent over the chair I had easily penetrated her from behind. Immediately, her internal muscles had seemed powerfully grip and caress my shaft. She had moaned but this time in anticipation of pleasure. I had felt the spasmodic contractions as she had attained orgasm and screamed out almost simultaneously as my cock had exploded shooting my hot spunk into her cunt, my fingers reflexively tightening around the naked firm flesh of her upper arms.

Her body then went limp and she nearly fell onto the chair taking me with her. She then turned and faced me, her face red and sweating and her eyes watering before kissing me sweetly on the lips. "Thanks," she said, was all she said. And I understood.

I had dressed, without a word, still dazed and had then headed for the door -- she had made no move to stop me. Before I placed my hand on the brass door handle I had turned and blown her a kiss before exiting. But it felt cheap. Ungracious. Corny. I then let myself out into the moonlight night and walked the eight miles home. It took just over two hours.

About six months later I thought I saw her in the high street. I'm not certain she recognised me; or would have wanted to have recognised me.

She appeared older, about mid-thirties. She was still beautiful, still had style, but she didn't look happy. There was a poignancy about her. About me. About life.

I will never forget her though.