Chapter 2: Watching the Clock
Disclaimer: These are consenting adults, even if it doesn't seem like it at every moment. I believe in the importance of safe sex, but might skip it for erotica between fictional characters.
Amy stretched lazily in the sunbeam just now streaming in her bedroom window. She was nude and her blanket had slipped off the bed, but she just didn't care. She could still taste the saltiness of Patrick on her lips, and remembered the burning inside he had left her with the previous night. After she had swallowed the entire big load he had poured into her mouth, he had held her on his lap and his hands had wandered while he had nibbled on her ear and whispered the nicest things. She hadn't been able to stay long; she was still living at home with a midnight curfew. But that would all be changing soon. She smiled to herself, a little smugly.
He had given her a long, lingering goodnight kiss and told her that he expected her promptly at eleven the next morning to begin paying her security deposit. He had smiled in anticipation, anticipation that lit an even bigger fire in her heart. And lower. She stretched again, now with an eager wiggle, and glanced over at the clock, which was just clicking over to ten-forty. Ten-forty?! That would give her just twenty minutes to get out of bed, get ready, and make the fifteen minute drive over to Patrick's. She jumped out of bed, tossed on a robe and ran to the bathroom. She hadn't set her alarm clock, but she never slept this late! What had come over her? She brushed her teeth rapidly and ran a brush a few times through the tangles of her long red gold hair before deciding it was mostly hopeless. Running back into her bedroom, she pulled on a halter top that pushed the girls up and together, and wiggled into red thong underwear and a pair of super short cut off jeans. Maybe he wouldn't notice the hair if he had other attractions to stare at.
She hurried down her steps and out the door, yelling to her mother that she was going out and not to worry about her for dinner. She ran to her car and hopped in. She paused just long enough to apply a quick coat of bright red lip gloss before racing down the street. Pulling onto the Baltimore Beltway, she saw brake lights stretching out ahead and slammed on the brakes. Waiting for the random traffic jam to clear, she looked down at the clock and sighed. It read eleven-twelve.
Patrick didn't feel the slightest twinge of conscience at taking a personal day. It seemed every Friday at least a few of his coworkers had better things to do. This Friday, it was his turn. He couldn't think of too many better reasons to play hooky than the sweet young thing that would soon be on her way to spend the day scrambling his brains. He thought about the lease agreement they had signed the night before. Was she for real? It seemed too good to be true. Then his mind turned to the subject of asses and whippings. He had put that clause into the agreement almost as a joke. He had fully expected her to walk out, maybe after decking him. But not only had she agreed to it, she had all but insisted that he follow through. Now he had to beat her butt at least twice before she ever moved in. It seemed pretty clear that if he wanted this girl in his life, he'd better learn to be a disciplinarian. He sighed and then grinned. He could think of ideas that sounded like a lot less fun.
Over a casual breakfast, he thought of all the things he could and would do to her, and found himself growing more and more excited and aroused. Why had he said eleven? Ten would have worked, or even nine. He smiled to himself. This girl really had him going! He looked down at himself. He was wearing some tight jeans and a Ravens jersey, and the constriction around his crotch was really beginning to get annoying. It didn't matter what he wore, he hardly needed to impress Amy any more. Apparently he already had. He reluctantly sat down and waited impatiently for her to arrive.
As the clock passed eleven and the minutes kept ticking by, first he was angry, then worried. He had said promptly at eleven and she had left him with every belief that she was looking forward to this as much as he was. Maybe she had gotten cold feet and changed her mind. If she was going to stand him up, that would be the wreck of a perfect day. Maybe she had crashed her car, or gotten into a shouting much with her Dad. Maybe... It didn't matter; there was no way to know. He was watching the street through his front window when Amy's Dodge Neon pulled up. She literally ran up the steps to the apartment and he breathed a sigh of relief and then grinned and rubbed his hands together. This was going to be fun!
Amy finally pulled up to Patrick's apartment building, jumped out of the car, and ran up the steps. She took a moment to calm down and catch her breath before knocking tentatively on his door. It opened immediately, and Patrick was there looking down at her with a smile. He didn't say a word, just put his big, strong hands on either side of her waist and pulled her in for a deep, sloppy kiss. She noticed in the part of her mind that could still think that he had taken a step back and kicked the door shut. He set her back on her feet and frowned. "You are late." He glanced at the clock. "Twenty-eight minutes late."
Patrick looked down at her sternly, but inside he was grinning. She was a vision of loveliness. Her hair was long and a bit tangled, like some kind of wild animal. She was wearing come-fuck-me red lipstick and some short shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Best of all, she was still a little out of breath from her sprint and the kiss, so her proud bosom was heaving in a halter that practically presented her tits as a gift. She stammered out. "I know. I'm sorry. I, um, got stuck in traffic." Patrick raised an eyebrow, at the same time reaching out to casually unbutton and unzip her shorts. "What time did you leave the house?" She blushed, bit her lower lip slightly, and looked down. "Um, I think it was, uh, five to eleven." He laughed slightly and she blushed deeper. "Is there a reason you didn't call me to let me know you would be late?" She shook her head, ashamed. "No, I'm sorry, I just..." Whatever she intended to say trailed off as Patrick hooked his thumbs into the band of both her jeans and thong and pulled them down around her knees. Grabbing her arm he turned her, pushed her down, and bent her over the arm of his love seat in one smooth motion.
Patrick looked down at Amy's bottom cheeks bared, turned up, and presented to him. Her behind was a creamy white, with not a hint of a tan. Her moons practically glowed in the late morning sunlight, with just enough baby fat to give them a nice round curve over lean, muscular thighs. He suddenly had the strong urge to drop his pants, ram her pink rosebud, and savage her virgin ass. But he restrained himself. Her first time should be at least a little gentle, and that was definitely not what he had bent her over for. After all, he did have all day to play with her. He looked at his right hand and consciously flattened his palm and fingers so it would sting more when he slapped her. "You are not nearly as sorry as you are about to be," he promised her. Then he pulled back to give himself plenty of room to swing and landed a very solid smack on her left cheek, leaving his hand resting there afterwards. She squealed in sudden pain and squirmed a little under his hand. He lifted his arm again and looked down at the red hand print he had left on her, marking her. Well, that did seem to make an impression at least. He wondered how much he should spank her. Well, she was twenty-eight minutes late. That seemed like as good a number as any. He pulled back and swung again, leaving a matching hand print on her right cheek and drawing another squeal. He felt a sudden stiffening of his cock painfully against the fabric of his jeans. He wondered: If one smack gets a yelp, what will three in a row right on top of each other get? He abruptly decided to find out.
Bent over with her face in the leather of the love seat, Amy felt deeply ashamed. She was very aware of her ass up in the air. She knew she deserved every bit of the spanking she was going to get. How could she be so stupid as to be almost half an hour late to meet a man she had invited to whip her just the night before? He probably thought she was the worst kind of inconsiderate airhead. I hope he still wants me, she prayed to herself. She tried to lift her hips to give him the best possible angle. What was he waiting for? Abruptly she felt the impact of his hand on her left cheek. She had been ready, waiting for it, but she still yelped and moved away from the first smack. Damn, he was strong! And if he was holding anything back she didn't want to ever make him really mad. He waited a while before delivering the second, long enough for her to regain her composure and her position. Then it came down hard on her other cheek. She was a little more prepared this time, but cried out anyway. Then he waited another long pause. His hand was almost as fierce as her Dad's paddle. Oh this was going to be bad. A little voice inside her answered: oh no, this is going to be very good.
Her reflections ended when Patrick's hand came down even harder again on her left cheek, right in the sit spot above her thigh. Before she was even done squealing, he had hit her again in the same place, just as hard. And then he smacked again, a third time. He didn't stop there, though. He then delivered the same triple of smacks on the other side: smack-smack-smack. She could feel her bottom squirming, trying to get away from the burning sting. She could feel tears running down her cheeks. "Please. Please stop?" She whimpered. "It hurts."
Patrick looked down at Amy crying and squirming. "I'm glad it hurts" he answered her firmly. "We are just getting started." He pressed his left hand to the small of her back to hold her in place. Her dangling legs could kick all they wanted, but she'd have to really try hard to move out of position now. And if she tried to shield her backside with her hands, he'd catch them. "And if you ever keep me waiting again for more than two minutes for no good reason and with no explanation, you will get worse." Then he started in again, harder and faster than before. She had twenty left to go, and he counted them in his head. He settled into a nice rhythm: left, right, left, right. She squirmed under the assault, but she didn't really try to get away. The tears ran down her face and she began sobbing a little.
