Living Arrangements

After rummaging around the kitchen, Amy found all the fixings for a nice roast beef and cheddar sandwich on rye with lettuce, tomato, and some kind of fancy German mustard. She figured she couldn't go too wrong with the items Patrick had bought for himself. "Coke or beer?" she called out cheerfully.

"Coke with lunch. And get yourself one too. And a sandwich." Patrick flopped down on the sofa happily. It had been a good hour, and the afternoon showed every sign of being just as much fun. Amy came out of the kitchen with a plate and a coke, having decided sensibly to serve Patrick first, rather than juggle two plates and two cans of soda. Seeing her, Patrick had to suppress a whistle. Bare from the waist down, her pubic triangle was a nest of soft, red silk over long, firm legs that seemed to go on forever. Her purple halter lifted up her breasts, presenting them, and she was wearing a very sexy smile. She bent over sensuously and deliberately in delivering his lunch. Holding the pose, she looked up at him and licked her lips once before straightening up and returning to the kitchen.

Patrick patted the couch by his side as she returned. "Sit and tell me about yourself while we eat. We hardly know each other." He smiled and took a big bite of his sandwich.

"Delicious!" he mumbled. An hour later they had established that Amy's major flaws included a love of pop music and reality TV. Patrick liked football, baseball, and hockey, all incomprehensible to Amy. They shared an interest in clubbing, Amy a little more than Patrick, and he resolved to outfit her in style. Abruptly, he switched gears.

"Amy, have you ever been spanked before?" His question caught her off guard and she blushed.

"Yes, uh, yes. By my Dad mostly. He, um, he uses a paddle."

Patrick frowned slightly and glanced to one side. "You did a lot of carrying on when I spanked you, so I wondered." He shrugged slightly.

Amy turned a deeper shade of red, looked down, and bit her lower lip. "Well, I'm a screamer. Maybe you noticed?" She looked back up at him and smiled mischievously. "You don't need to let that slow you down."

Patrick returned her smile, but still looked serious. "Amy, you asked me to whip you, so you'll know what it feels like. You put it in the lease. That isn't something I demanded, except to keep you in line if you are extremely misbehaved. You haven't done anything wrong, except for the business about being late and that was properly dealt with. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Amy looked back at him, still smiling. "I want you to know for certain that you have the right to. It isn't just words on paper. And . . . I'm curious. More than curious. It's a fantasy." She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "I know when you started writing my lease, you were making it up as you went along and you didn't know if I would go for it. Maybe you thought I wouldn't. But I keep my word." She spoke seriously and with conviction. Then abruptly she giggled. "Well, except when I say I'm going to be at your apartment at eleven." She looked back at him seriously again. "You should keep your word, too. Whip me!"

Patrick smiled back warmly. "You'll probably regret saying that in a few minutes, but alright. You want to know what a whipping feels like, eh? I don't actually own a whip. I haven't had any real need for one. And you haven't done anything wrong. So, I'll give you a tour of the apartment." He paused for a moment. "And along the way, I'll whip your tail with whatever I think of. Maybe a few other parts of you as well."

Amy gulped nervously and then nodded. She looked down shyly and asked "how do you want me to start with?"

"First, stand up. And toss your halter with your shorts. I want you nude." Amy complied quickly. Her tits stood up proudly even without support.

"We'll start in the entryway. Come here." Patrick walked over to the front door. Amy followed, scanning the small, tiled area. There was a 'welcome' mat just inside the door, made of bristly brown stuff. A coat closet lay to the right of the door and a small pile of shoes was to one side. To the left of the door was the love seat. She had already been turned over that. Patrick opened the closet and scanned its contents quickly. Maybe he didn't even remember what was in there? A large, red plastic fly swatter in the shape of a hand hung on a hook at one side. He grabbed it and swished it through the air. So, that would be first, Amy thought to herself. She suppressed a giggle. That thing would probably sting!

"Put your hands on your thighs and bend your knees. Arch your back a little if you can, or at least keep it flat and even with the floor." Amy got into position, leaving Patrick enough room to walk all the way around her. She was looking down at the floor, bent over. She managed to arch her back a little. It wasn't very comfortable, but she knew her bottom was stuck out, presented. Her breasts were also squeezed forward between her upper arms, nipples pointing down at the floor and a little forward. She felt very exposed, and realized that was probably the point. Patrick had walked around behind her.

With the first smack of the fly swatter, she released the breath she had been holding. It stung a little, but really it hurt a lot less than his hand. He repeated the smack on her other cheek. That wasn't bad, she decided. Suddenly he went to town, with dozens of fast light strokes. He alternated cheeks. No one stroke had much impact at all, but the repeated little stings were starting to burn a little. Then suddenly he stopped.

"That was just a small taste" he explained. Then he walked around to her front. He lifted and squeezed her left breast brutally. She whimpered as he began giving her tit the exact same treatment with the swatter. He focused on the nipple, but rained down small smacks everywhere. Just as the burn was becoming hard to stand, he let go and abruptly switched sides. When he had finished, Amy could feel a light stingy burn across her whole chest and bottom. She was also breathing heavily, feeling excited. Patrick replaced the fly swatter on its hook in the closet and studied Amy for a moment. The skin of her breasts and behind was just slightly pink from his efforts. The redness from her earlier spanking had mostly faded over lunch. She was also panting and flushed. He slipped a hand between her thighs to cup her labia. Just as he thought, she was good and wet. He tweaked her clit roughly and she yelped and moaned. He took a step back. "That's one item down, a few to go. Next, we'll try a slipper." He slipped his hand inside the shoe, and placed it flat across one of her thrust out cheeks. He watched her tense, and smiled. She was nervous about this one. He placed his free hand firmly on the small of her back.

Amy felt her bottom explode with pain as he struck her right cheek hard with the rubber-soled slipper, not once, but five times in rapid succession. He had aimed right for the crease between her butt and thighs and it felt white hot to her now. Her first impulse had been to stand straight up, but Patrick's hand on her back had stopped that. He showed no sign of following up immediately, so she had a chance to recover. She knew that tears were streaming down her cheeks. After what seemed a long time but probably wasn't, he announced "Now we'll do the other side." Before she could even tense, he was raining blows on her left cheek: smack-smack-smack-smack-smack. Then he tossed the shoe back in the pile.

"There are a lot of things in the apartment, so let's head into the living room. You can stand up when you are ready." It took Amy a moment to stop sobbing and stand up. Patrick pulled her behind him over to the sofa. He set down and pulled her roughly over his lap. "You've already been introduced to my hand, but I think it's worth revisiting."

Amy started crying immediately, burying her face into the fabric of the sofa cushion and waited for the hand spanking to start. It wouldn't be worse than the slipper, she was sure. To her surprise, he didn't smack her. He was squeezing and rubbing and massaging. And he was being gentle. It took a minute or two, but her sobs turned to moans. Her behind felt swollen and throbbing, but he was massaging out the sting. She lifted her backside up into his hand. She moaned, and his hand slipped in between her legs. Now he was rubbing her clit with two fingers while his thumb had somehow penetrated her, finding her G spot and pressing lightly in circles. "OH! Oh, oh, oh, OH!" She moaned and squealed under his attentions. But before she was anywhere near a climax, his hand was away from her pussy. He inserted his thumb into her asshole without prelude. It was lubed up a little with her juices, but the sudden insertion was still rough and shocking. "You!" she yelped. He chuckled and removed his hand, also lifting her by the waist and setting her up on her feet.

"It's time to visit the dining room." It wasn't really a room, more like a nook between the living room and the kitchen. Amy didn't see anything there he could spank her with. He certainly wasn't going to beat her with the candlestick. He pulled out a chair. "Bend over the back of the chair and put your hands on the seat." He moved off towards the kitchen. "And keep them there." She heard him running the sink and supposed he was washing his hands. He rummaged about a bit. "Next we have the wooden spoon. Since we've already given your butt some attention, I think we'll focus on your thighs with this one."

Amy answered him "yes, Sir" resignedly. She was still worked up from the play on the sofa and not looking forward to another round of whacking. He beat a quick staccato rhythm up and down the back of her legs. She was sure he could have hit her with the spoon a whole lot harder, but he was still getting a good swing. As she felt the sting in her ass fading, there was a new burn from the backs of her knees to the tops of her thighs. "Now, let's move on to the cutting board. This is just a little one, or I wouldn't be able to swing it. Just three smacks with this I think."

Patrick examined her for signs of damage. The marks on her bottom had faded to a uniform light red, and her thighs matched. Her chest was barely pink. He decided he could probably go on a great deal without really hurting her. He pressed the cool wood against her bottom, pulled back and let a stroke fly. One moment, Amy was bent over, dreading the smack of the cutting board. The next moment she was howling in pain, standing up straight, rubbing her butt, and hopping from foot to foot. It felt a lot like the paddle. Only this pain was more solid, with a deeper thud. And he swung hard.

"Get back in position!" Patrick demanded.

"Owww..." Amy responded. But she got back into position before he could answer. "I'm... I'm sorry Patrick. I couldn't help it" she whined. "Do I need to tie you up? Or can you remain still?" His voice was sharp, and Amy trembled a little. Would he beat her harder if he had her tied?

"No, I'll be good. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting it to hurt so much." She felt she was babbling, in between sobs.

"Alright. Three strokes then. That one didn't count."

"Yes Sir." She sobbed, and gripped hard on the edge of the chair, willing herself to stay in position. The blow, when it came, was as hard as the first. The smack seemed to echo around the room and shatter some kind of tension in her. She jumped at the pain, but then fell back limp on the chair. She could feel her fingers digging into the fabric of the seat. The second stroke fell right across her seat as she was recovering from the first. "Aieeeeee!" she creamed out. Her feet left the ground for a moment and she kicked just to give an expression to the pain she was feeling. She resumed a fully proper position, muttering "ow, ow, ow, ow, ow". The third stroke fell, and she stayed in place only by an act of will. She screamed, not once but three times, and then flopped limply over the chair. Then she screamed in an entirely different way.

Patrick knelt between her thighs, looking up at her dripping twat. Without hesitation he sucked her clit hard, entirely into his mouth. He wanted to surprise her. He was rewarded when he heard her wail of pleasured shock. He began to lick lazily at her clit as she give small cries of pleasure: "Oh! oh, oh! Oh, Patrick!" He plunged his tongue deep into her, enjoying the taste of her honeyed salt. She moaned. He reflected that she was probably not too far from a climax of one kind or another and gave her pearl a little nibble before withdrawing. He didn't want to have to punish her because he brought her to orgasm to soon.

Patrick's voice was calm and a little superior as he rose. "There are all sorts of things in the kitchen to whip you with, but I think we'll skip the spatulas and so forth. It's time to visit the bathroom. Come along." He had to carry her for a few steps before setting her on her feet and leading her by the hand. Amy wiped her tears away and calmed a little. She wondered if he had a hair brush, or a bath brush. It turned out he had both, but she was surprised at the way he used them. He told her to grab the shower curtain rod and spread her legs. Then he smacked her lightly and repeatedly with the bath brush, not just on her legs and the backs of her thighs, but over most of her body. He skipped her neck, face, and back but covered new territory as well as revisiting everywhere that had already been spanked. Still, it was almost like a break. He was smacking so lightly it was almost pleasant. Just a bit more glow and a bit more burn. Then he grabbed a lava rock. "Try not to scream too much" he warned her. He started in on her bottom cheeks, already more than a little tender. The abrasion on her already stinging body was a different kind of torment. Amy gritted her teeth and didn't scream. But she wanted to. He rubbed all her body except her face with the pumice. She felt as if the surface of her skin was on fire, and she felt completely, totally naked. Patrick picked up the hair brush and smacked all up and down the inside and outside of her legs, her belly, her breasts, and then returned to her ass. Again, none of his smacks were really hard enough to hurt her. They just added slightly to the burning sting.

Amy noticed the feelings started by his tongue were ramping up again, amplified by this new attention. Oh God. He was playing with her so expertly, pain and pleasure and pleasure and pain. "Stand up and turn around" he was saying. Did he have to repeat himself? Amy wasn't sure, but she obeyed quickly. Patrick looked her up and down and smiled. "We have two rooms left to visit, and I think you are well prepared for some real punishment." Amy gasped. "Real punishment?" she dared to ask. He just nodded.

"Next we'll visit my office. I don't ever want you in there unless I invite you." He led her from the bathroom into the smaller of the apartment's two bedrooms. It was dominated by a large desk. A computer covered one corner and the rest was neat, uncluttered with papers or other work. Amy noted with dread that a fraternity paddle hung next to Patrick's framed diploma. He caught the direction of her gaze. "Yes. Assume the position. That's bent over the desk. Grab a hold of the far edge. Normally, we'd measure these in the dozens. But since you are just learning what a whipping feels like, we'll stop at six. But you'll have to ask me for them. And count them. And I think the line is 'thank you Sir, may I have another?', hmm?" Amy bent over the desk, gripping the far edge. She said "Yes, Sir" with an attempt at confidence that was given the lie by the small sob that escaped her throat.

Her universe exploded with pain as the first stroke landed. The first words she muttered were "Oh my God oh my God." But she gripped tight to the edge of the desk and tremblingly asked for another. She somehow survived the next five, which were no easier than the first. She choked out a last "Thank you Sir" and then went limp sobbing with the pain. Patrick looked at her throbbing, dark red, slightly blistered behind. He took in her sobbing form and wondered if it was too much. She had asked for it, repeatedly, and very literally. He wasn't sure who this was for. She didn't seem to be enjoying it, and he could have quit some time ago. She wasn't wicked. He wasn't angry with her. She was delightful! So why was this necessary? He gazed at her crying over his desk and was assailed by doubts. But there was nothing to do but go forward.

Amy lay over the desk, feeling shattered by the pain, like a million points of light in her brain. In the strange state in which she found herself, the sound seemed almost as bad as the sensation. It had been so loud, echoing around the room, breaking her. Now she heard Patrick's voice. It was harsh and demanding but somehow for away. "On your feet. Turn around." She wondered how many times he had said it. She struggled back to her feet, and stood straight and proud. She turned to face him. His face carried an expression of concern and maybe love? She smiled at him, waiting to hear what he would command, demand, ask.

"Amy, have you had enough?" His voice was so very gentle. She felt that she had more than enough, but it wasn't for her to say, was it? "That's up to you, Sir." She knew somehow that was the right answer, but he wasn't quite satisfied with it.

"We still have the bedroom to visit. If you are up to it?" He sounded tender and a little afraid. Amy realized he had probably already been more physically cruel to her than he had to anyone in his life.

"Please, let's go to your bedroom, Patrick?" She was unsure of what she could endure, but she was totally sure of him. He stepped into her and kissed her, oh so sweetly, softly on the lips. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bedroom. Patrick was more than half in love with this girl, who took all the beating he dished out and asked for more. It wasn't that she was immune. No certainly not that! It was that she wanted to prove herself, she wanted to submit, more than she was afraid. But what to do next? He ran a hand through his hair, pondering as he led her to the bedroom.

Amy was unconcerned with how Patrick was feeling. The pain in her bottom and in her everywhere had led her to a state of calm, meditative acceptance. Her decision to accept and obey had left her feeling only love and trust from somewhere far away and deep inside. Patrick led her to his bedroom. The room was dominated by his big four poster bed and he was ordering her up onto it, on her knees. Obeying, she distantly noticed the weight bench and the enormous flat screen television. Both were obviously his. He ordered her hands behind her head and her knees spread wide. Amy made sure to kneel up straight so he could admire all of her. He caressed her breasts idly with one finger, making her shiver. Then he was massaging her clitoris with the knuckle of his right thumb. The agonies in his office had dried her right up, but now he was bringing back her need. Very deliberately, she was sure.

Patrick played with his girl, stimulated her, wanting to bring her back a little from the faraway place she had gone. She seemed dazed, and there was little fun in fucking a woman who was gone, and even less point in disciplining her. She began to take interest in his hands, in his thumb massaging between her legs. He didn't slow, he continued teasing, waking her. When her juices were flowing freely again and she was moaning and beginning to try humping his hand, he knew his work was done. He moved his hand away, bringing forth a protesting moan. He smiled at her, glad she had returned.

Amy felt her burning desire return as Patrick turned her on again. She wondered idly how much more she could take. He could take her, anytime. He could always have taken her. Instead there was this punishment she had asked for. But now he was withdrawing and she whimpered with need. He walked to his dresser, and returned with... shoelaces? Yes, shoelaces. Many of them. he doubled them and doubled them again. He had a fist full of shoelaces. And he was talking about them. "I haven't yet whipped your hungry little pussy. That will be next."