Garda and Augie played on Friday night, met again on Saturday, at a Hollywood B&D club, in order to be able to esoterically gambol in a dungeon, then spent all of Saturday night and most of Sunday together as well, continuing to play and make love. Since Garda hadn’t had a regular spanking boyfriend in over twenty years, she couldn’t seem to get enough.
They played all over his stylish little estate, established a safe word, which was never used and spent a portion of Saturday afternoon visiting Dream Dresser, where Augie bought her several outfits in leather and PVC.
By the time she ascended to the Noho offices of her firm on Monday morning, she had all but forgotten about Jeffrey Jardine, and what had happened between them at the party.
He was giving one of his Monday morning pep talks and looking particularly Clark Kentish in a crisp shirt and slim tie, when she walked in. Garda remembered the party and promptly exited the meeting without paying the slightest attention to the injunctions her supervisor was forcing on her hapless associates. When they next ran into each other, some hours later, at The Eagle Coffee Shop, he appeared to take umbrage at her earlier act of insubordination.
“So guess what, Jeffrey,” she lightly murmured while dropping into the next booth, “I cleared up that awkward misunderstanding with Mr. Rose about the rental of the house. He’s agreed to a reduced fee of 5K per day.”
Jeffrey reddened, imagining her to be purposely insulting him. He had extorted her temporary submission to him at the party on the basis of her costing the company an extra 30k. Now that she had erased the debt, the spanking he had given her seemed all the more gratuitous and he felt rebuffed by her exuberance.
“I see!” said Jeffrey darkly, which gave Garda that certain feeling. “You obviously went home with him that night!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“When can I see you?” he demanded. “I want to spank you for a long time, uninterrupted.”
Garda felt Cupid’s dart pierce her heart. “I might be free tonight. Call me.” She wrote her home number on the back of her business card and gave it to Jeffrey.
“What about your address?”
“Let me come to you.” Garda was far too fastidious to wish two different men to appear in her bed in the same week.
Jeffrey lived in a small, plain beach house in Zuma, smelling of fresh pine and sand. She arrived on the later side that evening, with cheese, bread and wine and was charmed to dine on the lanai overlooking the ocean. It would be pleasant to fall asleep to the sound of the waves in the big, muscular arms of the aggressive business school freak who ran her department so stupidly. His nearly empty boy’s house rather held the scent of him and she enjoyed breathing it in from the start.
“I don’t want you to do anything until we finish the wine,” said Garda to Jeffrey as the sun went down.
“That will take for ever,” Jeffrey protested. Garda laughed at his eagerness.
“We’ll go up in the little attic,” he tempted her. “I’ve built a few pieces of custom furniture that you’ll find interesting.”
“I hate surprises.”
“Even a spanking bench, a horse and a sturdy armless chair?”
“So you really did spank me the other night at the party in Beverly Glen!”
“Did you doubt it?”
“Well, I was drinking.”
“You know damn well I spanked you. I enjoyed it too. I’ve been thinking about nothing else since.”
“I’m surprised by that. A strapping young go-getter like yourself must be inundated with submissives,” Garda buttered.
Jeffrey snorted with derision, “I’m still reeling at the fact that you work in my office. You don’t know how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you today.”
“Is that so?”
“You have a beautiful waist.”
They went up to the charming attic. Jeffrey was particularly proud of a carved, solid oak spanking bench, padded down the center with black leather and designed to elevate the bottom while spreading the knees. There were grips in front and on the sides and rather smart retractable straps affixed at various points for holding the culprit or starry eyed submissive in place at the waist and knees. Around the attic were freestanding mirrors to reflect whatever activity took place therein from several interesting angles. Garda was suitably impressed.
“Why don’t I have a room like this?” she wondered, bitterly reproaching herself for being so ignorant about what was happening in her own back yard. “So, what do you plan to do now?” Garda asked, quickly gulping the remainder of the wine.
“You did let me spank you the other night.”
“Yes, I let you extort me into compliance.”
“Was that the sheer force of my will, or do you really enjoy this sort of thing?”
“Both, I guess.”
“So, if I now proceed to spank you again, you are likely to again enjoy it?”
“In all probability,” she smiled.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”
“The sight of all this superb equipment answers most of my questions,” Garda sighed, “although I’m still not sure this is proper.”
“You mean because we’re associates?”
“No, because I don’t think I really like you,” Garda let slip out, due to having drunk most of a bottle of wine. “That is, I didn’t like you at all until the other night. Now I seem to like you to a certain degree, but maybe that’s because I’m starved for playmates.”
“So, you really don’t like me, huh?”
“Then there’s also the age difference,” she declared. “You’re quite young, aren’t you?”
“You’re seven years older than me. Big deal.”
“You know exactly how old I am?” she sputtered.
“I looked up your records.”
“Damn you.”
“Did your bottom stay red from your spanking? It must be very fair with your coloring.”
“Go to hell.”
“Did you go home with Augie Rose that night?”
“I took him home with me!” said Garda deliberately, lighting a cigarette and blowing blue smoke up to the skylight.
He took the cigarette away from her and crushed it in an ashtray then took her by the earlobe and led her to the big wooden chair.
“No!” she resisted him, pulling back.
“Come over here, you little slut,” he told her sharply, thrusting her down across his lap. “I don’t like that arrogant way you just bragged about taking Augie Rose home!” Jeffrey’s hand came down hard on the back of her khaki Capri’s. “But I like this little J. Crew outfit you have on,” he said, flipping up the tail of the thin white cotton shirt that had been clinging so provocatively to her pert, upstanding, erect-nippled bosom. Then he dusted off her slim, oval bottom through the thin trousers with his big palm. She wriggled and twisted on his lap so he clamped his other hand to her waist. “You should not have taken Augie Rose home. Not after I had spanked you for the very first time. It was promiscuous and very wrong!” he scolded, slapping her cheeks alternately in a manner both robust and stinging.
“I thought it was great. Getting foreplay from