This story takes place shortly after the events of my story "Rick and Linda: The Beginning." This tale can be understood on its own, but you'll understand the psychology of Linda better if you've read the earlier story.
Forty Steps
Linda had been ornery all evening. She snapped at me when I failed to hold the car door open for her, telling me a gentleman would have done so. But only minutes later, when we arrived at the movies, she glared at me for holding the theatre door open.
"Women don't need men to open doors for them!" she practically snarled.
I knew what she really wanted that night, what she needed. I also knew she could never ask for it. Well, not with words anyway. Of course, she
was
asking for it with her bitchy behavior.
It was close to midnight when got back to her dormitory, Pfeiffer Hall, after returning from the movie. As soon as we entered her room, 320, she started picking on me again, complaining about my clothes, my car, even my choice of movie. I did a slow burn as I listened, but I held my anger in check. I reminded myself that the literal meaning of her words was irrelevant. The real message she was sending me was about something else, something she could not allow herself to even think, let alone say.
I know what you're thinking: that she was just horny and that "all she needs is a good lay." Well, that was part of it, yes; but she needed something more, something deeper, something for which sex is only a side dish, not the main course. Providing it for her required me to go into super masculine mode. She needed me to be
commanding
in both the literal and figurative senses. For that, I had to keep myself in control; so instead of losing my temper, I spoke quietly but firmly.
"Linda, I've had about as much out of you as I can take." I said sternly, as I folded my arms and looked down on her.
Her face suddenly flushed and I could see the faintest glint of desire in her eyes.
"Come with me," I said as I grabbed her hand, "we're going outside."
"Huh? ... wha?" she stammered in genuine confusion.
She'd been expecting a spanking followed by sex; but I knew she needed something more powerful that night.
"All will become clear," I said mysteriously as I pulled her out of the room and down the stairs.
We descended to the ground floor, went to the back of the building where, still holding her hand, I led her out the back door.
Pfeiffer Hall was at the top of Pfeiffer Hill which descended gently for a bit more than the length of a football field till it reached College Boulevard. The hillside has patches of trees, some thick, others sparse; but also some open spaces. In autumn and winter it appeared almost bare, but in the spring when the leaves came back, it appeared as though it was at least half covered with woods. Viewed from the road at the base, it was pretty to look at in the day but almost spooky at night, with the back of Pfeiffer Hall looming at the top like some medieval castle.
Occasionally, someone held a picnic on its slopes, but otherwise the hill was always deserted, especially at night.
The moon was nearly full as I led Linda away from the building and into the leafy trees. As we passed a bush with long thin green branches, I broke one off and stripped the leaves from it. It was about three feet long and very flexible. I whipped it through the air a couple of times and it made an audible whooosshhip sound. Linda's eyes grew big.
"Wh- what are you going to do with th- that?" she asked with a quaver in her voice.
"Possibly nothing," I answered. "It really depends on you."
"You see, Linda," I continued, "you are going to be punished for your rudeness tonight. Specifically, you are going to get five sets of 10 spanks. We will walk downhill a ways between sets. By the time of the last one we'll be down in the trees near the road. The walks between spankings will give you a chance to reflect on your behavior. I'm going to be kinder to you than you deserve by using only hand spanks. I expect you to follow my instructions and obey me without any undue hesitation. If you don't, I'll give you extra whacks, which is what this switch is for: if you earn extra swats for hesitation or disobedience, I'll use this to administer the extras."
I slid the switch into my belt. The look on Linda's face told me she needed no further explication of its purpose. In our then still brief sex life, she'd only gotten a switch once. Just one stroke and she was wearing thick blue jeans at the time. Nevertheless, that one stroke made quite an impact on her, well, ...
memory
... among other things.
"Now, wait a minute," she said, "you can't spank me here, outdoors!"
"Oh, yes, I can," I pointed out, as I put my hand meaningfully on the switch, "and I believe I said something about getting extra swats for hesitation, did I not?"
"But what if someone else comes walking down the hill and sees us?" she asked plaintively.
"Well, then, they'll see you get a spanking you richly deserve, won't they?" I replied matter-of-factly.
It was a warm night in May, the best time of year in Iowa. The air feels different there in May. It feels soft, like a cashmere blanket caressing your skin. We were both dressed in blue jeans and sandals. I was wearing a t-shirt. Linda was wearing what appeared to be a kind of thin cotton tank top with spaghetti straps, light green, with a pattern of small pink flower buds scattered across it. It conformed tightly to her figure, bulging and curving just where her body did.
This is going to be a great night
, I thought to myself,
and spanking Linda is only part of it. In the end, she'll get more out of that than I will. But we've been having sex for several months now and she still refuses to give me oral sex. With a little luck, that's going to change tonight, too.
First Set
I led her by the hand about 40 steps down the hill where I stopped in a small clearing among the trees. Thanks to the leafy trees we were now out of sight of the building.
"Alright, Linda," I said, with a sighing tone that suggested this whole thing was an annoying chore she had burdened me with, "bend over, grab your ankles, and ask me politely for a spanking."
She stood there, doing nothing, thinking. I slid the switch out of my belt and whipped it against a tree trunk a couple of times. The whooosshhip whooosshhip noise it made sounded really wicked.
Linda needed no more encouragement.
"Alright, alright," she said, "put that away."
After glancing about fearfully in every direction, she bent and grasped her ankles as instructed. The seat of her blue jeans stretched tight over her bottom. She had to spread her legs about a foot and half to keep from falling over.
"Wasn't there something you wanted to ask me, Linda?" I prompted as I slid the switch back into my belt.
"Huh? Oh, yes. Um, may I please have a spanking, Rick?" she asked with an audible quaver in her voice.
Even as her head hung near her knees, she continued to look anxiously from side-to-side to see if anyone was approaching.
I stepped up beside her and brought my right hand down hard on her butt. It made a muffled sound like "packt".
"Ahh!" she squealed in surprise as she half rose and looked back over her shoulder in the direction of the building to see if anyone had heard.
"No one in the building can hear," I reassured her, and then added mischievously, "but someone passing by out here might."
"Now bend over, again, and if you get out of position any more I'll give you extra swats" I threatened while fingering the switch in my belt.
"Oh!" she squealed in a panic and she hurried to bend over again and grab her ankles.
I resumed with three quick spanks: packt, packt, packt. This time she bit her lip to keep from making a sound. I curved my hand for the next four and slapped harder, which produced a deeper and louder sound. Pockt, pockt, pockt, pockt.
"Uhh," she gasped after the last one, "please, not so hard."
"You know perfectly well that you've got harder than this coming."
But I was getting impatient with spanking a fully dressed girl, so I finished off the first set with two hard upper cuts to the base of her behind. PACKT! PACKT!
"Ow," she whispered almost to herself as she straightened up and unconsciously rubbed her bottom with both hands while she, again, looked around to see if there had been any witnesses to her embarrassment.
"Now, I think you should express your gratitude for this spanking, don't you?" I asked firmly.
"Thank you, Rick, for spanking me," she said, as she continued to rub her bottom.
"I'll accept that for now, but for the rest of your punishment, you must thank me for each set of spanks more elaborately than that. Phrase it in your own words and don't be repetitive or make it sound like a ritual incantation, or I'll make you take the whole set over again. Now, walk 40 steps down hill, away from the building."
She did, counting out the steps to herself as I followed. At 40 paces she stopped, and I stood just to her left. We were now surrounded thickly by trees.
Second Set
"Alright, Linda," I said quietly, "bend over at the waist but not all the way. Good, now undo your jeans, pull them down and hold them up just a little above your knees."
"Oh God, Rick, please no," she whispered, "don't make me show my underwear outdoors."
You're going to show a lot more than that
, I thought to myself, but did not say out loud. I needed to overcome her inhibitions gradually. Each step of her exposure had to seem to her to be a minor escalation from what she'd just done.
So I just hissed "I warned you about stalling. For that, you get five extra spanks in this set. Now, get those pants down."
She gave a little cry and hurried to obey. Her face turned pink as she undid the top button of the jeans and unzipped the fly. Still bent over, she looked frantically in every direction and then, with her thumbs in the waistband, she pulled them down and let them drop.
It was then that I got a most pleasant surprise. As she stood there with her hands resting on her thighs above the knees and her face flushed with embarrassment, I realized that her shirt was not a tank top at all. It was a skin tight, figure-hugging, one-piece, sleeveless leotard that served as both shirt and panties. Seeing it stretched over her form was powerfully erotic and the crotch of my own jeans started to feel tight. I willed myself not to take her there and then: the night was young and there was, ah ...
work
to be done.
"I didn't tell you to drop them," I reminded her sternly. "I said to hold them up just above your knees. I'm going to have to give you three more extra for that disobedience."
She gave another quiet panicky cry, reached down, and pulled the jeans up to just above the knees where she held them, gripping the waistband in both hands. I paused and watched her face turn redder. She was discovering that holding the pants halfway down was a lot more humiliating than just taking them down. With the latter, the act of surrender was just a moment. But having to
