He should have kept his left hand up. Caroline was a big girl-just over six foot, topping him by 2 inches-and the extra height brought her right cross over his guard to impact squarely on his eye. He saw flashing lights, felt the skin begin to puff up immediately. She hadn't pulled the punch.
"You stupid cow! What the hell...?"
She tried to say she was sorry, that she'd been carried away by the excitement of sparring with him-he was, after all, a professional--but before she could speak he had slammed out of the flat.
.......
Two hours later, after a few drinks and a lot of kidding from his mates ("What happened: she cross her legs then?), he returned to the flat. His black eye throbbed painfully as he opened the hall door. On the table in the hall lay a small parcel with a large label: "For Rick." She was nowhere in sight, had not come to greet him. He opened the parcel. It was something she knew he had wanted for a long time: a wide, black leather belt with a Harley Davidson buckle: flashy, pretentious, but very macho! Still feeling bitter-so she thought she'd get round him like this, did she?--he stripped off his old belt and threaded the new one through the belt loops of his jeans. He opened the living room door.
She was waiting for him. Not on her feet, ready for a kiss. Not on the couch, with a couple of buttons undone, showing a lot of leg and flashing a come-hither smile. Not even on the carpet with her legs apart. She was bent over the wide, padded arm of the armchair, her head on its seat and her rump in the air. Her skirt was hauled up to display her tight, well-rounded buttocks, shrouded only by semi-transparent black knickers. She heard him enter, and spoke: "I'm really sorry. Now punish me!"
Just the sight of her in that defenceless position made him harden at once. His first thought was to forget the insult to his pride and make peace with a good hard shagging from behind. His second was to butt-fuck her savagely. Then his eye throbbed again. Setting his teeth, he unbuckled the new belt and pulled it from its loops. He doubled it in his hand and stepped up behind her, holding it by the buckle. He drew back his arm, then whipped it forward.
The first lash across her behind brought from her a muffled scream. Maybe she hadn't expected that he would take her request at face value. At the second stroke, even harder, she began to straighten up-she had had enough already. Too late: his left hand flashed to the nape of her neck, holding her down across the chair arm. Still holding the belt, he managed to hook two finger of his right hand into the waist band of her pants, hauling them down around her knees. Two wide red welts marked her pink cheeks. That excited him. His arm rose again.
