BDSM Library - Story: Amanda, Chapter: Part 1

Amanda
A Short Story By Implacable

I met Amanda at the local village pub in one of those natural, casual ways that happen when you've finally given up trying to pick up women and just accepted that you are going to be single for the rest of your life.

I was living alone in the west country of England in a cottage on the coast. I had a modest regular income that allowed me to indulge my pretensions of becoming a serious writer. I adored the quiet of the country, the semi-isolation – my nearest neighbour was 100 metres away and as we were off the main road, there was no traffic.

While I enjoyed my own company, I also enjoyed spending the occasional evening in the local village pub. The folk were friendly enough, and there were enough immigrants from the big cities one way or another that there wasn't that closed community hostility that sometimes poisons the idyllic life in a village.

***

So there I was one Friday evening in the Horse's Head. There was a reasonable crowd, busy without being overwhelming. And there was no loud music playing. Heavens above! You could actually hear yourself talk, a far cry from one of those boisterous city pubs where you can only buy a drink through sign language!

I was standing at the bar, sipping on a pint, engaging in casual conversation with several bar acquaintances in desultory sort of way. Suddenly a shriek erupted in one the booths. It was swiftly followed by a tirade of abuse. The culprit was a young woman and the recipient was a stunned man who seemed incapable of responding to the volley of invective. In their mid-twenties, I assumed that they were a couple. She stormed out of the pub followed by the rather embarrassed young man who was clearly trying to mollify her.

"You know what his problem is?" a female voice opined from beside me, "He should be chasing her out the door to give her backside a good tanning, not to appease her wounded pride!"

I turned to look at the speaker. She was a reasonably attractive woman, though in my experience, most women can look attractive if they take the trouble to do so and keep themselves in shape. There you are, now you know I'm an unrepentant chauvinist! Auburn hair down to her shoulders, a pleasant summer dress, hazel eyes. I guessed her to be in her late 30s, but I'm notoriously inept at judging a woman's age.

"Too right!" I responded looking my new interlocutor. "Any woman tried that on with me and she wouldn't sit comfortably for quite a while." Well I'd had a couple of points and apart from the one jarring episode we'd just witnessed, the mood was one that encouraged a degree of plain speaking.

Heaven's above - the smile I got back almost knocked me off my feet. It was definitely a case of switching on the lights.

"I'm Amanda Karlson," still smiling as she introduced herself. "But my friends call me Mandy." It's one of those funny things, but though we have since become the most intimate of friends, I never really could bring myself to calling her Mandy. To me she will always be Amanda. Somehow that small gesture of formality was so apt for our relationship.

"Robert, Robert Johnson. I'm so pleased to meet you." I never was a Bob or Bobby, never will be. Can't help myself really, just have to be all stiff and formal. Probably that British diffidence that everyone else mistakes for arrogance. However, there was certainly good cause for stiffness in a certain quarter in chatting to this mature but rather sexy woman. The chemistry certainly seemed to be there, if I'm any judge – which of course I'm not, I'm bloody hopeless at understanding women and the subtleties of communication, but fortunately for me, it was there anyway.

By mutual agreement I bought another round and we moved to a booth where we could talk with a little more privacy. After a few harmless pleasantries I chanced my arm further and raised again my favourite topic – the chastisement of the female figure, with emphasis on the bottom.

"It sounds as though you were talking from experience when you suggested he give her a good hiding? So who's warming your bum at the moment?"

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not the sort of chap to come out with a line like that in normal circumstances, but remember I'd had a couple of points to loosen the chains of inhibition and anyway, she'd raised the issue in the first place!

And you will of course realise that Amanda, being your normal female, had already figured out all the social related things like:

I wasn't married – no wedding ring or the lack of sun-tan where one should have been if I was playing truant.
I didn't have a live in girl-friend – clothing not quite properly ironed, lacking that contented 'three square home cooked meals' look.
Wasn't gay – God knows how you can tell, cause I bloody can't (which has occasionally got me into no end of trouble on one or two occasions).
Clearly interested in succeeding in one of the most difficult things any girl can undertake – how to get herself soundly thrashed and fucked (sorry – engage in intimacy) without scaring the pants off the guy by asking for it.

So she didn't play coy in answering. No. For once in my life I got a straight answer from a woman.

"Well no-one actually, more's the pity. How about you. Are you laying a few tramlines across some lucky girl's sit-upon."

All I can say is – thank God for beer! I'd usually be tongue-tied and gibbering by now. Honestly if a relative stranger came up to you and basically asked you to thrash her bum, how would you react? But this time, I was suave, I was sophisticated, well actually about half cut, but I thought I was suave and she didn't run off so it amounts to just about the same thing in my book.

"I happen to be between engagements," not a bad way of saying that I hadn't beaten a girl in many months. Come to that, it had been a jolly long time since I'd even had a girl's knickers down at all. "Would you care to adjourn to my place where we can discuss this in more privacy and perhaps examine the seat of the problem?" You could tell I was definitely sliding smoothly on the lubrication of alcohol – which is a blessing for all concerned. As any sensible woman knows, you have to make allowances for mere males, be they the gods or not.

To cut the story short – and get to the good bits, we did indeed move to my place. I had a strong suspicion that my erection had become petrified and obvious was not the word as we entered the house. She put her hand to the front of my trousers and and looking into my eyes, smiled that smile again.

"Been a while Robert?"

"Nice girls don't fondle a man until they've been given permission. That makes you a naughty girl, and naughty girls have their bottoms bared and smacked. Smacked hard." I said with mock severity, all the while desperately trying not to ejaculate into my underwear.

"Ooh, I think I'd rather like that." She replied, giving my tent a good squeeze that sent jolts of lightening through me. "But perhaps I should deal with this first, otherwise you might wet your trousers. I've got very wet knickers and I know how uncomfortable it can be unless you can get them off quickly."

By this time, I think I had definitely become a babbling idiot. Have you ever noticed how juvenile conversation becomes when sex is involved. Two grown adults who would otherwise discuss any range of issues in a mature and intellectual manner just throw all of that culture and maturity away and revert to the most embarrassing childish tripe.

There is no question that on this first meeting, Amanda took control, like any good submissive. She led the way in almost everything. Even when I started to beat her, she had engineered the situation to ensure that things proceeded smoothly. Since our relationship has developed, this is no longer the case. It is I who now call the shots … except, of course, when she wishes to achieve a certain outcome and then, on looking back, I will be forced to recognise that she, in her subtle, gentle way, has led me again. In such situations it is almost always that she wants me to treat her more harshly, to be more cruel, to be more outrageous, disgusting and depraved, to go beyond my own standards of where to draw the line. It took some while for this understanding to arise.

Thus it was that I soon discovered how good, no not good, fantastic! Amanda was at "la pipe" as our French colleagues say. She licked and sucked on my cock, stripping both me and herself at the same time (I still marvel at how women can deal with bras one handed). It didn't take very long for me to fill her mouth. And, heaven be praised, she swallowed my spunk to the last drop, except for a small amount that she dribbled out of her mouth. A very, very, erotic trick that all the girls in porn movies know how to do. Seeing it in real life was a thousand times more of a turn on, I promise you. And then she licked it up again. Wow is the only expression that goes close. Just plain WOW.

I pride myself on being a gentleman. Well, we all have our conceits don't we. So, my main tackle being temporarily out of ammunition, and quite frankly drooping and shrivelled, I resorted to tongue and fingers to investigate this wild-fire woman that had somehow got the wrong address and picked me! I ravished her. With some pride I exclaim to world that I did not stop when she reached her first orgasm that night, I took her to three in that first session alone, the last one involving a most satisfying impalement on my resuscitated equipment.

During the skirmish she came across another of my little oddities, my fascination with not only her buttocks, but with her anus. When it became clear that Amanda was truly made in heaven just for me and that her anus was one of her erogenous zones, my initial tentative touches became rather extended lickings and fingerings. She whispered to me that she loved the attention but that she only allowed buggery after a beating. Fair enough, I thought at the time. I still do. Suffice to say that is a rule that we both strictly adhere to, to this day, and she gets buggered rather often.

Coffee restored us somewhat and allowed us to have a slightly more rational conversation about our mutual desires and expectations.

It turned out the Amanda had been married up until about five years before, when she had lost her husband in a road accident. The marriage had been a very happy one, and one in which she had early learned of the pleasures of submitting to frequent and very thorough punishment. She indicated that if her bottom was always well marked and very sore, it wasn't the only part of her body that she was agreeable to being whipped. Her eyes sparkled with remembered pleasure and tears of loss as she recalled her life with her very much loved master. As ridiculous as it must have looked, two naked near middle aged adults holding hands and discussing tender moments was most poignant.

Losing her husband had meant that she had been cut adrift in life, reasonably comfortably financially, but without the anchor on which she had come to rely. A series of affairs had proved unsatisfactory with most men running a mile when they understood her need to be physically dominated and punished.

She had turned to other women to see if she could fill her needs through that avenue. She told me how she had enjoyed the experience and rather enjoyed the taste of a woman's sex and still happily went to bed with other women from time to time. She had formed some close friendships, one with a woman who thrashed her as hard as any man, but in the end they didn't quite fulfil her the way a relationship with a true master did. And so she had kept looking.

We talked a lot that first evening. Once the first raging passion had been dealt with, we were able to explore each other's minds at leisure. It was important for me to understand Amanda's needs as well as her limits. Apparently she didn't have any! At least none to which she would admit then. Having spent some years testing this theory out, I have to admit that her limits are those of her physical body, not her mind or her ability to take pain. But you have to take these things a little carefully, even if the lady in question is desperate to be thrashed to a 'fair thee well'. One previous experience leads me to exercise caution, at least at first, when introducing a woman to severe chastisement. It is far easier to step up the tempo than to withdraw a cane stroke that went too far.

We slipped most naturally into our first spanking. After much talking and desultory kissing and fondling (my appendage was well in evidence and ready for another innings), I just pulled her over my lap. "Time to put the hand to the plough Amanda dear, or rather to the bottom," I joked rather excitedly as my first slap smacked loudly into her pale flesh of her behind.

In my experience, I have never seen a woman so wantonly seeking a beating. No pretence, no game playing, she lay over my lap perfectly presented. "Lay on McDuff," she giggled.

Affronted by such misuse of the Bard's good work, I proceeded to deliver a rather extended series of smacks. And I have to admit, shrieks of "Harder" and "Can't you do better than that" did rather cause me to increase the tempo and force somewhat. After five minutes, I'd admit to being rather heavy handed. But at least I'd quietened the demand for extra verve and there was even the odd "Ow" and a few cries, particularly when I moved from reddened buttocks to fleshy thighs.

A few moments rest, after all my poor hand was fairly stinging, and her bottom and thighs had that rather appealing tone common to ladies who've been well smacked. Amanda wasn't crying, she's made of much sterner stuff than that. But the insolent banter had gone, to be replaced by a rather more thoughtful look on her face as she squirmed and rubbed her bottom, until I made her stand in the corner with hands on head. Not original I know, but there is a pleasing aspect to this tradition. Seeing a well reddened bottom squirming while the naked owner stares at the corner under my command, not allowed to touch said same scorching bum is rather a turn on, I must say.

I then spoke words that, to this day, she both loves and hates to hear, "Bring me your hairbrush."

I knew she had one with her because she had told me that she always carried one in memory of her late husband who required her to have it handy at all times. He and I had a lot in common for we both considered our favourite implements to be the cane and the hairbrush. I have followed his lead and I also require Amanda to have her brush with her at all times. It certainly comes in handy when we are travelling and I want to stop to give her a quick thrashing on the side of the road and I'm after something rather more devastating than my hand.

The hairbrush is for tears. I always beat Amanda's bottom and thighs with her brush until she weeps for me. I have not yet failed to achieve this accolade to the severity with which I treat her. It is exceedingly effective when applied to a well bruised bottom. I love to cane Amanda then follow up with a session with the hair brush a little while later. I find the effect of a small delay most salutary in tenderising the affected area.

When she presented me with her hairbrush that first time, on her knees, I couldn't resist the temptation. I had her take my penis in her mouth again and pay it the homage that she so loves to. As she sucked away, I gently brushed her hair. When she had finished, I had her lay over my lap again and took the brush to her bottom with gusto.

I find the brush cracks against her behind with a most satisfying sound, leaves excellent marks and draws forth cries and yells within a few smacks and tears usually follow not too long after. However, on that first evening, I was not completely satisfied with my handiwork after two dozen hard thwacks, though Amanda had exhibited copious symptoms that the beating was highly effective. I had her change position by leaning over the back of a lounge chair with her head on the seat. In this position not only were her buttocks beautifully presented and nicely tight, but her thighs were in a perfect position, not to mention the sulcus between bottom and thigh which had been somewhat protected as she lay over my lap.

We did not count stokes. I have never really valued this aspect of CP, not the least because I never beat a woman with a set number in mind. On that occasion, I thrashed this beautiful woman with her hairbrush until she wept. And then I beat her some more. And she cried and begged and pleaded. The funny thing was, she never once begged me to stop, her pleas were decidedly non specific. She was bending over the chair of her own free will and could have got up at any time, but she didn't. She lay there soaking up the fiercest hairbrush thrashing I had ever delivered up to that time, and cried and wailed and screamed. I found out later that she had orgasmed during that thrashing, and had thoroughly enjoyed it and had not particularly needed it to stop when it did. But stop it did.

I cuddled a sobbing child-woman in my arms for some minutes until she quietened. Then she disentangled herself from my arms and went to her handbag. Smiling through her still wet eyes, she handed me a tube of lubricant. "Now it's time for buggery," she said, and again draped herself over the same chair over which I had just thrashed her.

"Just a moment." I said. "I have a very firm rule about anal sex. I rather prefer the area to be well prepared. While I am rather partial to using a woman that way, before I take my pleasure in your arse, I must ask you to agree to my rule. Anything that goes into your behind, be it my finger, my prick, a vibrator or whatever, afterwards goes into your mouth. I find that helps a girl to remember that cleanliness is important. I also require you to be available to me whenever I desire your behind. However, I accept your condition that you be beaten before buggery. Do you agree?"

"But I haven't had a chance to prepare myself properly this time." she gasped.

"I suggest that it will provide you with an invaluable lesson for the future, even if for tonight it leaves a nasty taste in your mouth."

Suffice to say she somewhat reluctantly agreed and suffered the consequences with an admirable stoicism. She even admitted later that, while she was not scatologically inclined, the imposition of my will on her in that way had been a real turn on. However, as general rule, my condition has had the desired effect and she is careful to ensure that not only is she always well lubricated, but she takes an enema daily to avoid a repetition of the unwanted complications of a soiled cock.

I didn't cane Amanda that evening. After taking my pleasure in her behind, and using her mouth, I had her stand in the corner again. It is an absolute delight for me to watch my lover stand in the corner with a thoroughly thrashed bottom with my semen seeping from her anus, trickling down her thighs. It is a pleasure I indulge in most regularly, though more often than not, I have Amanda wear stockings and high heels – that way the semen pools at the stocking tops for a while. Yes I know I'm a degenerate, but believe me when I say that Amanda takes great pleasure in it as well.

And if I didn't cane her that first night, I made up for it by caning her before breakfast the next morning. And then again mid-morning. You'll think me a cad, I know, but I couldn't resist attending to a thoroughly welted and bruised but willing bottom again with the cane that Saturday evening. And after each of the canings, I followed up with the hairbrush. By Jove! How she wailed and wept, and afterwards smiled and laughed through her tears.

And I've been caning her ever since. I've acquired any number of instruments for her chastisement and I've been far more severe with this woman than I would have thought possible and the marvel of it is that, the more I beat her and torture her, the more she seems to blossom and take pleasure in it all. Never was a man so blessed!

She has never agreed to marry me, mostly I think out of respect for her late husband. But in all other respects she is my partner and mate for life. And oh, what a life!