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I began to buck in his face and let out moans that were mostly caught in my throat due to my intense spasms. As soon as I came down, he laid me across his lap and rubbed my bottom. I sighed in contentment but was immediately returned to full alert by an abrupt slap and the subsequent stinging of my behind. Before I could bring my hand around to protect myself, I felt another firm slap. Then the third brought tears to my eyes. The fourth and final contact was followed gentle kneading and rubbing. ‘Why did you do that’, I whined. ‘You promised to let me help you the next time you needed to cum. If I didn’t come in here and catch you, you would’ve broken that promise. I deserved some retribution. This spanking satisfied your debt.’ Carter took a deep break, ‘Let me ask you one thing K, didn’t my mouth make you feel better than humping that rag?’ The answer to this question was yes, but I didn’t want to have to explain that using my lovie was a comfort thing, almost like a nervous tick.. I had a hard time believing that this man, who seemed utterly polite, normal, and respectful, could do the things I wanted to me. The only thing that made me go ahead? The hungriness I caught in his eyes, and the way his hands grasped the table tightly when we spoke. A need to control. - - - - - - - - - - Stepping off the bus, I smoothed down my clothes. My stomach was writhing, and I was so nervous I could barely breathe. I checked the text. Pleated checked skirt, short. White T-shirt, tight. Ponytail, neat. 187B Cambridge Road. All present and correct. Heart aflutter, I took off my camel coat, bundled it into my rucksack, and walked up to the door. A normal door, a nondescript grey street in Streatham. I knocked. A moment later, Henry opened the door. ‘Hello, Miss Weston. Follow me.’ He was dressed sharply, in suit trousers, a crisp blue shirt, and immaculate black brogues. The warm eyes of the man I had met in the cafe were gone, instead a steely glare. As we reached the end of.
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