Lucy Submits to a Spanking Pt. 2
This is best read as a sequel to 'Lucy Submits to a Spanking'.
Master Kane stood staring out of the window of his sixth floor -- Study? Emporium? Lair? - he was never quite sure what to call it. It was getting late on a Friday evening. Outside the streetlights glowed through the drizzly gloom. He was in reflective mood. Tristan and Isolde was playing on the record player atop his desk (yes, a record player, Master Kane was an old school traditionalist in many things). If the BBC were ever to broaden their horizons and invite a well-respected spanking disciplinarian onto Desert Island Discs, this would be his number one disc. The famous half diminished Tristan Chord, evading the expected, satisfying resolution. A perfect metaphor for so many aspects of life. Was the idea of him appearing on Desert Island Discs so ridiculous? After all, they had invited Mr Lovell, the eminent gynaecologist from the floor below on the other week, and he had slept with far more of his clients than Master Kane ever had.
Delayed gratification. Not fashionable these days, he rued, as he looked down at the crowds far below, released from work for the weekend -- assembling, socialising, drinking, flirting. From his perspective, the street looked like a sexual wild west. How many of the men and women down there appreciated what the great 19
th
Century artists knew - that climax is most satisfying when there is proper tension in the build up?
Still, his wavering faith in the state of civilisation was perked by Sylvia's announcement that Lucy was returning for another session. His final appointment of the evening. He remembered Lucy especially from her first session a few weeks ago. Not that he ever forgot any of his clients. If a woman does you the inestimable service of presenting her bottom to you for a spanking you damn well pay her the respect of remembering the experience. That was Master Kane's decided view. But he had to admit he had a particular soft spot for Lucy, as far as softness could go within the cold heart of a professional spanker.
Lucy, perhaps because she was English, seemed to have an intrinsic understanding of rules-based discipline. He set great store by the way she pronounced "bottom" in a slightly embarrassed way with a rounded mouth, far sexier than the rasping sibilance of a hissed "ass". She went over his lap respectfully, embodying the secular sacrament of that position, rather than an eye rolling, bratty slump. Most importantly, unlike many clients who came to visit him, she definitely seemed to be into spanking.
As for Lucy, she had also reflected on the consequences of her first session. Initially, she felt so excruciated and shamed she vowed never again. But as time passed, she discovered, as Nietzsche claimed, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. She noticed herself feeling more assertive and less anxious. After all, if you've survived exposure with your spanked and caned bottom on display, what fears can a demanding client meeting hold? She felt her sentences becoming crisper and clearer, less meandering. She had stopped biting her nails and noticed her cuticles improving. She felt sexier and more confident in her appearance. Discipline was good for her! Time to return to Master Kane.
She had finished in her office that evening, turning down an invitation for after work dinner with her colleagues, claiming she was going to see her great aunt. She travelled a few stops on the tube to Debenhams (site of her frustrated climax the last time) where she could change anonymously in to her new outfit. After being unsure about her attire for session one, she had a much clearer idea of how she wanted to look this time -- a simple black dress, layered at the skirt giving a hint of flamboyance, black tights (this was still the English winter after all), black ballet style shoes, lacy black knickers and matching bra underneath that fit her body perfectly with no loose fabric. Expensive underwear does make a different, she realised. The black ensemble made her feel sexy, not too tarty, and well put together. She could feel the lines of her underwear cutting in a tight 'v' by her groin, tantalising her in anticipation of what was to come.
She arrived outside Master Kane's building early and waited in a bar opposite, feeling like a glass of wine to relax after the working week, but she was restrained and drank sparkling water instead. She wanted to be fully alert in all her interactions with Master Kane. Nothing to dull her senses. She could feel the thrill of submission disciplining her in more ways than just the sexual.
Right on time, she crossed the street and pressed the buzzer for the sixth floor. Master Kane answered directly, which surprised her. Where was Sylvia? The building was quiet now as most of the accountants and consultants on the lower floors had left work. The lift was empty so there was no need for Lucy to hide her embarrassment before strangers about where she was going. She looked for the button for the sixth floor carefully and realised that the lift only did go as far as the fifth floor. Of course, she remembered, you have to take the stairs for the last part.
Lucy opened the door at the end of the fifth-floor corridor, biting her lip in anticipation as she opened up the twilight zone of the red walls adorned with the black and white photos of supplicant spankees. Now I know how
they
feel, she reflected as she walked up the stairs. There was no Sylvia at the desk, so she knocked straight on Master Kane's door.
"Come in."
Master Kane's (let's call it a room for now) looked softer, more mellow in the artificial evening light than Lucy remembered from her previous afternoon session. She took in the desk, the Mart Stam chair, the bench -- site of her arousal the last time, the corner - site of her humiliation last time. Despite these memories (or was it because of them?), Lucy had a sense of positive feng shui from the order of the room. It reassured her that Master Kane was someone she could trust to lead her journey into spanking.
Again, Lucy admired Master Kane's appearance. His dark hair framing his strong features. He was dressed simply in smart navy trousers and a slim fit light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He stood by his desk, inserting the Wagner record back into its sleeve. Lucy noticed his hands. They looked like pianist's hands, with a wide span and prominent tendons. The right hand which had been applied to her bare bottom a few weeks previously. Good hands for a spanker, she thought.
"Good evening sir," she said, smiling as she began to remove her coat.
