Thursday, 17 March 2016

Hidden In Plain View

As the first shafts of dawn's light intruded through the semi-open blinds, Joan looked at the – compared to her short, slight build – behemoth by her side. She watched as he lay there gently snoring, her hand reached out to his shaven scalp. As her fingers reached to trace his fuzzy, peachy skull, she felt a dull, but satisfying ache in her bottom cheeks and upper thighs.

She smiled, that ache informing her that last night was indeed real, not just some odd dream. Of course the fact that she was lain there, naked in Tom's bed, should have been enough to tell her that last night had been real, even if somewhat surreal.

How it had all come to be, that though was still a mystery. How someone, that she had never even considered to be attractive, never mind her type. Yet still he had managed to not only lure her to his bed, but all those other things.
Those other things, things she would never have even thought to discuss with another soul, let alone take part in. Hidden desires, dark desires; desires best left unspoken, yet he had somehow tapped into her soul, found them, and then made them a reality!

It had all started with innocent conversations on public transport, the long journey to work, broken by talking about the shared passion for the local football team. A passion that the said team was failing to show on the pitch, was the jist of most of their talking.
Then slowly, bit by bit, the talks would change to more personal matters. Work, family, hobbies, music, all the usual small talk. Nothing risque, nothing to make her think that Tom was in anyway flirting with her.

Nothing that is other than his intensity, where some - most – people tend to avoid eye contact. Tom seemed to revel in it, causing Joan to feel that she was the at the centre of his universe. As if he was hanging upon her every word. On occasion she had even heard the muffled vibration of his cell phone, but that noise would never even register upon his face, as he listened intently to her words. It felt strangely good, that feeling of...importance?

She also vaguely recalled, that it was indeed herself who changed the timbre of their little tete-a-tetes. It was her who had brought a slightly cheekier aspect, an aspect that Tom happily ran with, but still it was comparatively innocent to the banter at her workplace.

Then, some three weeks after her break up with Paul, she happened to mention that she was at a loose end for the forthcoming Friday, as her son was going to visit relatives.

Had she mentioned it as a come on?

Was she looking for an offer of a date?

She was sure that she didn't mean it that way when she said it, she only remarked upon the fact as a throw-away piece of information.
Yes, she was certain that that was the case.

However, when Tom invited her to his house for a meal, she did not decline. Of course, she was only being polite when she accepted, as there could never be anything between them, she was sure of that.
Yes, she was sure that she was sure. Still though, she felt that to not make the effort in the way that she was dressed would somehow seem rude.

There was no other reason for her taking so much time in her attire, her hair and her makeup, anything less would seem rude, wouldn't it?

She arrived, the warm summer sun still hanging high in the sky, it's rays cutting through her thin dress giving Tom a fine view of the figure underneath the diaphanous cloth. A view that he was clearly drinking in, causing Joan to feel her face burn up in embarrassment.

“Hi Joan, please come in.” He said, his face beaming in his usual greeting smile. “You are early, I so like that in a young lady!”

“Young lady” Joan thought to herself, when was the last time anyone had called her that?

“We can have a glass of wine, the food will take another quarter of an hour or so.” Tom said, as he ushered Joan into the room to the right of the front door.

As she entered the room and sat down on a small leather sofa, her eyes darted about her surroundings. This was just how she imagined it would be, organised chaos.

Bookshelves filled to bursting, walls virtually covered with pictures and artwork; a guitar case in one corner, a TV to the other side of the fireplace. The fireplace, like everywhere else in the room, was well adorned with items; candlesticks, animal figures, and a vase of fresh roses, all adding the “Old Curiosity Shop” look of the room.

She smiled and thanked Tom as he handed her a glass of red wine. “That's great, red is my favourite.”

“I know,” He replied grinning mischievously. “I recall you saying that you were a red girl. Though, when I saw you standing there, I thought perhaps rose would have been more in order.”

She recalled the conversation, it was weeks ago, and surely it was Tom that said; “so you are a red girl?”

And what did he mean by rose wine, she and he had both agreed that rose was neither fish nor fowl in the wine stakes?

As Tom went out to check the cooker, it dawned upon her, she was wearing light pink bra and knickers, which must be showing through the thinness of her dress!

As she sat waiting for his return, she wished that the carpet would swallow her up like in the film Trainspotting, as this was not turning into a Perfect Day.

Just as Joan was considering to make excuses and leave, Tom came back into the room.
“We may as well relocate to the dining room.” He said.

“Yes, that would be nice.” Joan lied, as she arose self consciously from the sofa, and Tom shepherded her into the dining room.

If Joan had half expected the living room to be as it was, the dining room was another story. The clinical look of the plain white walls caught her by surprise, those walls only broken by a glass case, and a large painting of what looked to be a ruined church.

The furniture consisted of a four seat heavy oak dining table, and an oddly incongruous rose patterned chaise longue. Other than the candlesticks on the fire mantel, there were no other decorations barring the heavy velvet green curtains.

“Oh, this is rather minimalist?” She said, in clear surprise.

“Yeah, I like clutter, but I'm a walking paradox,” Tom replied, a slightly quizzical look upon his face.
“I also like order, does that make any sense to you?”

“I guess, everyone is like that to a degree...”

“True, but perhaps I overdo it a little?” Tom said, his eyes now mischievously sparkling. “I'm just going to check the oven, I would hate to be giving you burnt offerings for dinner!”

As Tom walked through the doorway to the adjoining kitchen, Joan followed as she wasn't sure if she was supposed to take her seat at the table, and for that matter he hadn't said which seat was hers.

“Is there anything that I can help you with with?” Joan asked, as her eyes flew around the almost barren kitchen.

The kitchen, like the dining room was almost all plain white, and kept in a manner that she would never expect a male, let alone Tom, to have it. It was almost clinical, the only things breaking up the walls was a large clock and a rose patterned breadboard. The breadboard looked totally impractical, it's narrowness negating it being of any use other than decorational.

“I don't think so Joan, I pretty much have everything under control here. For once, everything seems to be running to plan!” Tom said, than almost as an afterthought added. “Though, if you could please pass me the cutting board?”

Taken aback, Joan's hand reached up to the wall.

“No sorry, I meant the one on the counter,” Tom said clearly trying not to laugh. “we can get more garlic bread on that one!”

Now feeling slightly foolish, Joan saw the board that Tom was referring to.
“Yeah, I guess this one is more practical,” Joan said, feeling her face redden. “the other one would barely hold a baguette!”

“Yes, it is a gift from a very close friend, apparently they are a popular thing in the States. At least in some parts anyway, also it is a surprisingly useful thing to have around the house.”

“Uh-uh.” Joan muttered and nodded, though clearly far from convinced.

“Right, lets eat young lady!” Tom declared, now satisfied that his dish was ready.

The meal caught Joan by surprise; when Tom invited her, she had half expected something along the lines of steak and chips. Instead she was served something akin to a rich Mediterranean stew, the flavours of which were enhanced by the Spanish music that Tom had playing in the background.

“Who is this?” Joan finally asked, as the third track started.

“Ojos de Brujo, they are a Flamenco Hip-Hop band from Barcelona. I thought that the music would add to the Catalan mood. I know how much you love that area.” Tom replied. “Actually, I'm learning Flamenco guitar, I know, you must be thinking – at your age – but I'm a big believer that everyday is a school-day.”

Joan nodded, finding it hard to hold Tom's gaze. It was something about the way he said “everyday is a school-day”, that Joan found slightly unnerving. Or perhaps not so much unnerving as intriguing.

“That is an odd painting, is it based upon a real building?” Joan asked, trying to get her mind off the way that Tom had said school-day.

“You know, I'm not sure. I suppose there must have been something that inspired it, I just liked the it when I saw it. I dunno, something about it's bleakness appealed to me, I'm not religious but I do like churches, and this has the feeling of a post-reformation abbey.”

“The design on the spire, I have seen that before?”

“Ah yes!” Tom said shrugging his shoulders. “It is odd to see that on a Christian building, which is what makes me doubt that it is based upon a real building.”

“It reminds me of Yin and Yang?” Joan said, still staring at the oddness of the painting.

“With an extra leg!” Tom said in clear amusement. “I like to think of it that way, Yin and Yang are basically darkness and light, the extra leg gives another aspect. A shade of gray if you like?”

“You mean like the book?” Joan said laughing.

“Which book?”

“Fifty Shades Of Grey, of course!” Joan said amazed that Tom didn't know what she was referring to.

“Ah....I see! I've never read that particular work.” Tom said placing his cutlery down on his plate.
“Clearly, I know of it, just never read it.”

“I know it's not everyone's cup of tea.” Joan replied. “You know that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Well you know what the book is about!” Joan said, clearly getting flustered that she would have to describe in detail what the book related to.

“Yes, I know what it is about. It's about power transference; submission; spanking; the correlation between pleasure and pain. I know what it is about, I just haven't read that book.” Tom said, his blue-grey eyes gazing steadily into Joan's.

“Ah...I just thought the way you were talking...” Joan said her voice trailing off under his gaze.

“What, that I was ignorant of such things?” Tom replied, winking his left eye and smiling openly, still holding eye contact in a vampirish manner. “But. You know what these things are really about don't you?”

“Sex?” Joan whispered in reply, her face burning for the third time in little less than an hour.

“To a degree, most of all it is about trust. Trusting someone to get that pleasure-pain link right, giving up yourself, even just for a few hours is a cathartic thing, but you must have that feeling that the person you are with will respect your boundaries.”

“Yes...of course such things are just a foolish fantasy...” Joan said her voice even less than a whisper.

“Are they? Really, do you think that they are. Perhaps we should find out?” Tom replied, leaning over and picking up Joan's now empty plate. Placing her plate upon top of his, with the two knives a forks now on the upper plate he handed the ensemble to Joan. “Could you please put these in the sink, and bring that little breadboard in from off the wall?”

Joan felt the cold rush of adrenaline trickling down her spine, fight was not an option, flight ran fleetingly through her mind.

She picked up the two plates, and headed to the kitchen.

Instead of following her instructions, Joan washed and dried the plates, not out of some wish to be subservient, only to put off what now seemed to her to be inevitable.

Upon returning to the dining room, she saw that the heavy curtains were now drawn, Tom had left the table to sit upon the chaise longue. He held out his hand for the board, upon receiving it he placed it pattern up on the plain green carpet.

“It will give you something pretty to look at!” Tom said, his right hand now pointing at his lap.

This was it.

This was Joan's final chance to flee, her final chance to escape the madness.

She took up his invitation, and slowly, carefully, draped herself over his thighs.

She felt a little shudder as Tom's fingers went to the hem of her dress, and pulled it up over the fullness of her hips and bottom. Despite her small frame, Joan was indeed all woman, the swells and bulges in all the correct places, reminding Tom of the song My Humps.

“Yes, your underwear looks as delightful as I expected it to, a vision in pink.” Tom said, his hand slowly running along the said garment. “However,” he continued his hand crashing down upon Joan's proffered behind, taking her by surprise and causing her to gasp out in shock. “for future reference, I have a penchant for green!”

“Future reference!” she thought to herself, “what an arrogant bastard!” assuming that there would be a future occurrence of this folly.

“Don't worry,” he said conversationally all the time his hand falling onto her bottom,”it's not some schoolgirl thing, it's just I find green both relaxing and stimulating at the same time, I think it is the Irish in me!”

Joan gasped more as his hand alternated not only between her cheeks but also in delivery. Sometimes it was just his fingertips attacking her, other times it was the fullness of his palm, all through this though he continued talking of different shades of green. As if the conversation was the most important thing, the spanking just a sideshow to him stating his preferences for dress. Soon though she felt the heat building, if it was to him just a sideshow, it was an effective one!

Then he stopped.

As suddenly as the onslaught had begun, he brought it to a close.

“You see that little paddle in front of you?” Tom asked, but continued before Joan could reply. “It is solid oak, and even though people call them toys, they can be a rather painful playthings. So, I need to know that your bottom is well warmed up before I introduce you to it's delights. You see it can sting; bruise and cause severe pain, all of course depending upon the manner that it is delivered in.”
Joan lay there, her eyes now concentrated upon what a few minutes earlier she had looked upon as being a mere kitchen ornament.

“Of course, tonight will not be a bruisy night, least ways not too bruisy. Tonight will be an introduction, nothing more, but I need to know that you a fully warmed up. Now, you may be interested to know that your bottom is pinking well, which is a good sign!”

“Pinking well?” Joan said incredulously.

“Yes, quite rosy in places,” Tom said, his hands running over her knickered bottom cheeks, “but I need to see a uniformity in colour.” Tom informed her matter of factly as his hand went to the top of her panties.

“Whoah!” Joan gasped as she realised that he underwear was heading in a Southerly direction.

“You knew that these were going to be coming down Joan?”

“I thought....I thought they would...you know protect me, from....”

“These skimpy little things protect you when being paddled?”

“Yes!” Joan replied sounding every inch a grumpy teen, rather than the mature middle-aged woman that she was.

“No, trust me, it's better that I know you are really warmed up!”

Now, with her knickers at her knees, Tom continued his “charitable” chastisement. This time though, Tom seemed to have moved up a gear, the conversational aspect gone as he pursued the job at hand. For Joan's part she could feel the heat building, not just in her bottom, but in the whole area directly below her waist. The lips of her sex seemed to be warming as much as he now pain-filled bottom.

“I think, perhaps you are now ready to taste the paddle?” Tom announced, then his two middle fingers of his right hand deftly dipped into the petal like folds of her sex. His curiosity satisfied by the dampness that he found. “Yes, you are ready!”

As Tom helped Joan to her feet, her knickers slipped to her ankles, at a loss at what to do, she merely stepped out of the pooled garment at her feet.

“Pass me the paddle please,” Tom said, as he picked up the barrel shaped cushion from the chaise longue and placed it on the oak dining table, after pulling the chair clear. “if you please?” Tom said pointing at the cushion as he took the tiny paddle from her hand.

In a daze, Joan lowered herself over, the cushion now pressing hard into her stomach. Her stomach that was now filled with butterflies of contemplation.

“Five pops, I think will suffice by way of introduction. I advise you to hold onto the sides of the table, I'm not going to be harsh, as this is your first time.” Tom whispered softly in Joan's ear, his mouth close enough for her to feel the words coming from his mouth. “However, even lightly, it will hurt.”

Tom was right, the first pop was delivered to the centre of her bottom, catching but not covering both cheeks. “If this is light, what the hell does harsh feel like!” Joan thought to herself, desperatley forcing herself not to call out in pain.

“Have you noticed anything odd about the roses on this paddle?” Tom asked, putting the paddle close to Joan's misting eyes.

She shook her head in clear confusion.

“Thorns! The roses have leafs, but no thorns.” Tom informed her, pointing out the omission. “You see the sting comes from the plain side of the paddle, so there is no need for thorns on the painted side.”
Joan then sensed Tom returning to behind her...seconds later the second pop landed, this time it was concentrated upon her left cheek. This time she ran no pretence of stoicism, as she called out in in pain upon the paddles report.

The pain, even as the heat began to build up, was interceded with pleasure as Tom's fingers massaged her sex from the rear, the fingers of his left hand trailing, tracing the length of her labia, tracing but not entering.

Then the third pop fell, hitting her right cheek, the fourth quickly followed, again her right side being the target.

Now, his fingers entered her.

He leant forward, Joan feeling his body tight against hers, his fingers still deep within her.
“Which side would you like the fifth pop on?”

Joan sighed in frustration, wishing that just for once a lover could make her cum.

“Which side?” He repeated

“Don't know...” She gasped, tears running down her face. The tears not caused by the paddle's sting, but from her own body that always seemed to block her sexual enjoyment, accept of course those moment when she was alone. Even this, even living out her deep dark fantasy, she was still just being held upon the brink of satisfaction.

“Indecision young lady is a very bad thing!” Tom said. “I had better make it another two instead of one to even everything out?”

With that, Joan felt the paddle scorch first into her left cheek, then land again across the middle of her bottom. She heard mixed in with her cries of pain, the sound of oak upon oak as Tom dropped the paddle onto the table.

Next thing she knew he had pulled her up into his arms, and was kissing her deeply.

Their first kiss!

“How odd.” She thought to herself, a kiss being in most cases the precursor to sexual activity, yet here she was kissing Tom only now for the first time.

As Tom led her to the stairs, Joan's dress fell back down, the light flimsy material causing a sensation upon her bottom like a thousand bee stings with each step she took.

When they reached the bedroom, they were both naked in seemingly a matter of seconds. Tom took her from behind, slowly, unhurriedly, his thighs rubbing against her punished nates. But, still she could not cum.

She thought of faking an orgasm, something she had done on countless occasions, but a little voice in her head told her not too. Something about Tom told her that he would neither want, nor need such false re-assurance.

So, still she stood upon the brink as Tom sated himself.

The two then collapsed upon the bed, arms soon entwined in a loving embrace.
“Hmm...” Tom muttered, breaking the silence. “I always look upon myself as being a gentleman, and as such try to follow the ladies first rule?”

“It's fine, I never cum.” Joan said, trying to avoid Tom's eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Joan said, now in tears.

“Let's see if we can change that,” Tom said, as he gently pushed Joan over onto her back. “not wanting to sound crude, but perhaps if we think outside of the box we may have some success?”

Joan smiled at Tom's weak joke. “It's OK, I enjoyed everything....just I don't you know...”

“Two of my friends informed me that their nipples are hot-wired to their clits.” Tom declared out of the blue, throwing Joan into further confusion he then added. “Perhaps I should practice my Flamenco guitar technique upon you?”

“What the hell are you talking about Tom?” Joan asked between giggles.

“Rasgueados young lady, rasgueados!”

Before Joan could reply, she felt a sudden burst of exquisite pain on her right nipple, as the fingernails of Tom's right hand rapidly flicked her nipple, the index finger coming back for second helpings.

“The lady likes?” Tom asked in a comical Spanish accent.

“Yes.”

“Si, la chica gusta mucho!” Tom said, as his fingers set off on a train of rapid rasgueados, taking and pushing Joan over the brink.

Joan remembered all of the previous night's events, as her fingers now played gently with Tom's long thick earlobes. Thinking to herself “who would have thought he was into anything like that, there was nothing about him to make anyone think that he would be?”.

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