Pushing

Jessie gave herself a final once-over in the full length mirror; it was vital that she looked her best. Today was the day she was going to go all out for Martin, she knew he would be at the fete, and this time she wasn't going to stop until he came home with her. It seemed like years that she had been flirting with him, and getting nowhere. And every time he turned her down she wanted him more. She fantasised about him, and no-one else. Just imagining sliding her hands under his shirt was enough to get her wet, and if she imagined him reciprocating, freeing her breasts from blouse and bra, flicking her nipples with his tongue...well, once she started thinking like that it didn't take long before her own fingers were pushing into her pussy, as she imagined they were his finger, or his tongue, or his cock. She had had some great orgasms that way. There was no denying it. But she wanted the real thing too. Even if it was almost bound to be disappointing. She just had to have him.

Strictly ordering herself not to drift into fantasy land she twirled in front of her reflection. Black denim skirt, reaching to mid-thigh. Not too slutty, not too prudish. Green sleeveless blouse, unbuttoned at the throat, with a hint of cleavage...her hair was bouncy and shiny, her legs were shaved, her nails were polished. She looked as good as she was ever going too. And she had new underwear on, a matching set in deep pink satin, with black lace. She felt good too. He would want this, dammit. Grabbing her purse, she swung out of the house. She had timed it carefully, everything would be in full swing by now. Plenty of people around, but not so crowded that she couldn't get close to him. She was ready!

She edged into the beer tent carefully, she didn't want anyone else to button-hole her before she got to Martin. She had done several wander-casually-past-glancing-through-the-door moves, hoping irrationally that he would make this easy by happening to come out as she did it; but obviously there had been no luck with that. So it was time for the more direct approach. In spite of her confidence in front of the mirror she felt her heart pounding as she sashayed to the bar, a couple of feet from him. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, turning, registering it was her. She was turning towards him crying 'Hi, fancy meeting you here!' almost before he had finished recognising her. She was more eager than she had planned to be, but that was the effect he had on her. He was smiling now, it was a devastating smile – at least to Jessie. She had never been able to adequately explain how this man, who was after all more than 20 years older than her (but in really, really good shape!) managed to press all of her buttons so intensely. She loved his self-confidence, which was immense. The impression of always knowing the right thing to do that oozed out of him. He could have been arrogant, but he wasn't. His muscles were like wood, she knew from various hugs and whatnot. He was strong, and fit and just...just Martin. She had given up trying to explain it, even to herself, he was just Martin and he made her hot, and wet and dizzy.

He bought her drink, she had known he would; they flirted, as they always did. He knew that she really wanted to get him into bed, she knew that he fancied her too. He was married, but she had never seen his wife, and by all accounts they weren't really close. He didn't sleep with her; she couldn't remember how she knew that, but she was perfectly certain of it. Not that it would have stopped her. The wife was just an excuse, when they got too close. This time she was determined not to accept it.

They bantered for a while, she admitted that she had come there expecting to see him; he said that he had kind of expected to see her. They laughed. OK girl, she told herself, time to go for it! Wishing she wasn't quite so nervous about it she reached out, slid her hand down his chest to his belt, paused for a moment, holding his eyes with hers. Then, slowly, slowly, let her hand drift downwards, cupping his balls through his jeans. 'Coming home with me?' she said, smiling.

'No.' It was still good-humoured, they had been here before. But she was changing the rules now. She began to rub, through his jeans, pressing hard and then soft. Feeling him stiffen beneath her hand. 'You know you want too.'

'I do.' He smiled, it was obvious he wanted too he seemed to be saying. There was a distinct bulge in his jeans when she took her hand away, his body couldn't lie. 'But I'm not going too.'

She shifted closer, pressing against him; another button on her shirt drifted open and the curve of her breasts was visible if he chose to look down. She tilted her head up towards his, her lips glistened where she had licked them. She kept rubbing, her other hand creeping up his chest to hs neck, meaning to pull him down into a kiss but he grasped her wrist. Reached down between them to take hold of the other one. Firmly, putting her away from him.

'You're lovely,' he breathed, his voice was a little ragged, 'and I'm sure i would enjoy it very much. But I told you no. I'm a married man.' It was what he always said, although she had never pushed so hard before, never been quite so brazen. He was still turning her down.

'You don't mean it,' she pouted. Twisting one hand free she groped for his belt-buckle.

For one moment she thought she had him, as the leather began to slide through the belt loops that pinned it but then he had hold of her wrist again; far tighter this time. 'Now that really is enough.' His voice was tight, with lust she was sure, but also, possibly, with anger. She tried to pull free again, but found that she could not. He had her secure. 'I have told you again and again. And while flirting is harmless you have gone way beyond that young lady.' He was telling her off she realised, like a naughty girl who had snuck out when she was grounded or something.

'Let go!' she demanded, intending to sound in-control, like the adult she was. But actually it sounded petulant, and almost like a challenge.

'I don't think so,' his voice was smooth, controlled. The bulge in his trousers had not gone away. 'I think I need to teach you a lesson, about what happens when you go too far.'

'I...I don't know what you mean.' This had gone in a direction she was not familiar with, and she didn't really understand what was happening. He was aroused, unquestionably. But that should have led to his leaving the beer tent with her, for an afternoon of delights in her bed. Instead he was still here, standing now, holding both of her wrists in one hand. He pulled her arms up above her head, his grip was still too firm for her to escape but she was frozen anyway. He looked her up and down, and smiled. To himself rather than her.

'A lesson,' he murmured, 'you know what that is. You have behaved in appropriately. And inappropriate behaviour gets punished, so that you learn not to do it again.'

Jessie's voice stuck in her throat, she had of course fantasised about him taking control. Pinning her to the bed perhaps, while she writhed and begged. And he had certainly taken control. But something about his tone seemed to suggest that he wasn't talking about teaching her exactly how mind-blowing sex with him could be. Her breathing seemed very loud to her suddenly. He was tall enough that he could pull her almost on to her tip-toes without unduly stretching himself, and stretched out as she was her breasts felt very prominent. His free hand hesitated at the open throat of her shirt, and she waited for it to slip inside the fabric, her nipples stiff in anticipation. But it didn't. Instead it moved downwards, suddenly decisive. He found the button of her skirt, and deftly opened it with finger and thumb. 'What...' she started to say, but he shook his head.

'Be silent, unless I ask you something.' He said. It was brusque now, business-like.

'But I...'

'It's not a difficult instruction. And ignoring it is only going to mean I have more of a lesson to teach you. Be silent.' He pulled the zip of her skirt now, she could feel it opening. Although she couldn't see it she knew that her new knickers would be visible now, in the open V the garment. Bright against the black fabric. He held her like that for a moment. 'I'm going to let go of your arms in a moment, you will put your hands on your head and stand still.' There was no question that she would, the authority in his voice now was absolute, and even knowing that there were other people here, that they were watching, was not enough of a distraction. He released her wrists and, as he had told her, she put her hands together on the top of her head.

She felt extremely vulnerable in this pose, and he made her wait in it while he sipped the last of his drink . He ordered another and took a sip of that one too before turning back to her. He was seated once again, on a bar stool, and he drew her forward until she stood just in front of and between his knees. Then he took hold of the hem of her skirt and started to pull downwards. She made a squeak of protest as the waistband was jerked over her hips and began to move down her legs, but somehow she didn't move. A sharp 'shhh' from Martin actually shamed her, as if he had expected better of her, and she looked down as the skirt fell in a puddle around her ankles. 'Step out of it. Pick it up. Give it to me.' He ordered quietly, and she did as he said. There were some whispers around them as she bent, picked up the discarded garment and handed it to Martin. She put her hands back on her head without being told to, and his soft 'good girl' flushed her cheeks with pleasure, and then with shame and confusion and she hung her head.

Martin stood, and padded softly round behind her. 'Bend forward, over the stool,' came his voice in her ear. The stool was just under hip height on her and, still puzzled as to what exactly he had in mind, she stepped forward to do as he said. She hesitated just for a second before leaning forward, her belly pressed against its padded seat, reaching down and grasping the legs to keep herself steady. He slipped a hand in between her thighs and spread them apart, and although he went nowhere near her pussy she found herself pushing her hips up and back towards him, and he muttered something about that being what got her into trouble. Obedient to his instructions she kept her legs apart and stretched them out straight behind her, as far as she could while keeping her toes on the floor. She could still hear the murmur of voices from the other people in the beer tent, and she was glad that her hair was over her face now so she couldn't see them. She still hadn't realised what he was going to do, but her humiliation was already acute, and the more so because, as she had realised when she touched her legs, this was actually turning her on.

Once she was posed over the stool to his satisfaction he paused for another drink. She couldn't see him without moving, and he had told her not to move. She lay and waited for whatever was going to happen next, the tension trembling in her legs and a fire beginning to burn in her pussy. It was a total surprise to her when a hand cracked sharply into her neatly posed buttocks.

She yelped and jumped, breaking her pose, although not quite getting up. Shocked she twisted her head upwards, to meet Martin's gaze. 'Get back into position,' he said firmly, 'and don't move again unless I tell you.'

'But...'her stammer was cut short with another smack, harder this time, and she remembered she was not to speak unless spoken to. She dropped her head back down, and stretched her legs out again. For the first time she realised that she didn't have to, but at the same moment she realised that she did have to. That she needed to. She didn't try to explain that to herself, just accepted it as she accepted both Martin's commands and his right to punish her as he saw fit.

Jessie had never been spanked before, not even as a kid. If she had stopped to think about it she would probably have argued that being smacked with the flat of someone's hand couldn't be all that painful. Undoubtedly there were more painful things, if you were going to make a scale of them. But somehow the stinging of his palm against her bottom was harder to take than she could have imagined; not only did it hurt, but the pain was cumulative, each smack delivering more than its predecessor. There was also the knowledge of an audience, half-heard comments and smothered giggles. She held her position as best she could but the combination of emotion and sensation made her squirm and wriggle under his chastising palm.

He spanked in a steady rhythm, first one cheek and then the other. Striking upwards at the curve where bottom met thigh, and occasionally landing one blow on the crease between her cheeks. These were the were the ones she quickly came to dread the most, because although they stung less they also jolted a shameful pleasure into her pussy; part of her wanted him to keep spanking her just there, building up the heat and the sensation. The rest of her squirmed in humiliation at that desire, and in reaction to the pain of her spanking.

Martin stopped spanking, and grasped the back of her knickers. He yanked them upwards, hard into her crack, exposing most of her bottom. 'It's not even close to a matching colour yet,' he mused, 'I obviously need to work a little harder.' He slid his fingers under the band of her knickers, and before she had realised what he was intending to do he had pulled her knickers down, tugging them out from between her stomach and the seat and drawing them down her thighs. He left them just below her knees, stretched taut by her posture into a humiliating pink ribbon. Her now naked bottom felt suddenly huge, and the warmth and wetness between her legs suddenly obvious and degrading. Martin stepped away again, presumably to admire the picture he had created and she whimpered. Preferring even the pain of the spanking to the humiliation of exposure, with nothing to distract her.

Then he was standing behind her, drawing her knickers down and then off before pressing against her upturned bottom, between her open legs. She could feel the harsh whisper of his denim jeans against the skin of her inner thighs as he pressed forwards, and then more intimately pressing against her pussy. She could feel the texture of the fabric, a hint of coldness from the zip. He thrust forward, as if they were fucking and she groaned. 'This is what you wanted isn't it?' he reached forward and seized a handful of hair, pulling her head up and back, still grinding his crotch against hers, 'this is it, right? You and me? Getting down and dirty?'

Stepping backwards again he began to smack again, sharply, punctuating each word as he spat it out. 'Well, it's not what I want. This is what I want. Obedience, submission, humility, acceptance of pain and humiliation because I choose to inflict it. Stand up.' She did as he said, scrambling to her feet, her hands creeping back on top of her head again. He smiled. 'Now you know what I want. If you want to give it to me you'll be outside this tent when I choose to come.' And he turned away, back to the bar.

Jessie's face was painted scarlet with humiliation, her throat and eyes ached with tears that she had not cried. She was naked from the waist down, and the thought of meeting anyone's eye on her way out was a painful as her spanked cheeks. But her pussy was aching too, with a lust that was increasing with every new humiliation. It was so swollen with arousal that even the friction as she took a step was delightful. There was no doubt she would be waiting by that door, even if it took all night .