Old-Fashioned Values (9 page)

So, when he had her top and her bra off, and they were lying down on his bed together after dinner, the way they did practically every night, kissing passionately while Mark fondled her little breasts to his heart’s content, he said softly, “It’s time for me to take your pants down, Sally.” His heart pounded in his chest. Every time, it seemed like it became easier to issue that kind of command, because every time Sally complied and seemed to show him that she liked the way he enforced his will upon her. But he was still new to that way of thinking about how a relationship with a girl could go, and no matter how perfectly it coincided with his desires to tell his girlfriend what to do in his bed, in his dorm room, society’s many lessons about the proper way to treat girls, especially with regard to sex, seemed to push back against him. They resisted him, though, even as they made it all the more arousing when his pretty freshman girlfriend did as Mark said and took off her jeans.

She pulled them down over her narrow hips, and he helped Sally tug them off. Then he dropped them to the floor, over the side of the bed, and looked at the marvelous region he had uncovered.

Sally Lanchester’s pussy—Sally Lanchester’s sweet young pussy, covered in modest blue cotton panties that seemed to accentuate her nakedness as much as to cover it, with the way they mounded ever so slightly to show him where the sweet red-gold curls he had never seen lay hidden.

A wild sort of impulse came over Mark then, and he said, “Someday I want you to have special lingerie that you wear for me.”

“What?” Sally giggled. “Like in the catalogues?”

“Mm-hmm.” He pulled his eyes reluctantly away from her panties, and looked into hers. “I’ll pick it out, and you’ll wear it.”

Sally shivered. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Mark looked back down her body, at her blue panties. He reached his hand down and touched her right there, on that deliciously warm cotton. Sally gave a little whimper, and Mark looked up to see that she had closed her eyes. He returned his lascivious gaze to where he now began to rub, very gently. He could feel where her pussy-lips parted; he thought he could even feel her sweet little clit through the fabric. Sally gave a keening little moan; Mark realized that his fingers were becoming wet, and that a very damp spot had developed on Sally’s panties. Knowing that he was responsible for his sweet eighteen-year-old girlfriend’s shameless arousal made him feel so wonderfully in love with her that he kissed her over and over, still rubbing her pussy through her panties, until they were nearly soaked.

Part of him wanted simply to pull down those panties. Still, however, he kept in mind the consciousness of how much better it was to go slowly, and to savor these pleasures. He settled for pulling down his own jeans, and telling Sally to make him come, which she did with a hand that was quickly learning the requisite skill.

* * *

For the next week, night after night, Mark had his increasingly familiar way with Sally, with her pants or skirt off but her underwear still on. As those days passed, Mark also began to talk dirty, as a sort of extension of the way he had become comfortable telling Sally what he and she would do next, erotically speaking. He told her about the things he wanted to do to her, and the things he wanted to have her do to him.

“You’re going to suck my cock someday, aren’t you?” he said softly one night.

“Yes, sir,” Sally whispered, as she pumped her hand up and down his hardness.

The next night, he said, “My cock is going to go inside this little pussy, isn’t it?” as he rubbed her there, through her soaking panties.

Sally said, “Oh, please… yes, sir…”

Then he said, “Have you ever seen on one of those naughty cable TV shows, when a man has a woman from behind?”

“Y-yes… but you—you wouldn’t…”

“Yes, I would,” Mark murmured. “I will.”

More and more, he expressed these things as necessities, inevitabilities, and commands, because when he said them, Sally would respond in a way that had to mean that the thought turned her on, even though she would sometimes say, “Oh, no” or “You wouldn’t.”

Or, “But not yet,” she would whisper, as he told her these things.

“Soon,” he would say.

“Soon,” she would agree. Then one day, right before they were both headed home for Thanksgiving break, she said, “When?”

“After Thanksgiving?” Mark asked—then he remembered how she liked him to talk about these things, and he said definitively, “The Saturday after exams are over.”

“Where?”

That was a problem, of course. He definitely didn’t want it to have to happen in his dorm room. His credit card had been taking serious hits from the few dates they’d gone on. But, dammit, this was one of those things that only happen once, and it would be the first time for both of them.

“The Mendon Inn,” he said.

“Oh, no…” Sally protested. “That’s much too expensive.”

“Do I need to spank you?” Mark teased. “We’re only going to do this once. Let’s do it right.”

“Only once?” Sally said mischievously. “That’s a little disappointing. Is that all you have, mister?”

“Now I really will have to spank you, young lady,” Mark said—but he was still teasing, of course.

In fact, there had been no occasion at all on which to spank her. The nights of exploration in his bed had distracted him from his desire to have her over his lap again, but he also—in accordance with John’s advice—refused to deny that he had begun to seek another opportunity.

That opportunity came the Sunday they both got back to school after Thanksgiving.

Mark had made Sally promise that she would text from on the road, as she drove back to Mendon from her family home in Greenwich, Connecticut, stopping at a specific rest stop to text him and to check the weather forecast. It was snowing fairly hard, and though Mark knew Sally was perfectly capable of taking care of herself—her independence, paradoxically he supposed, was the thing he thought he loved most about her—he worried the way he knew it was appropriate for a twenty-two-year-old boyfriend to worry about his eighteen-year-old girlfriend. Young love had a power that Mark had no intention of disrespecting, and he felt that asking Sally to text from the road represented a far from unreasonable request.

“Will you spank me if I don’t?” she had whispered, giggling, when they had had their good morning call, that same day.

“Be serious, Sal, please. This really matters to me.”

“Okay,” she said, turning serious. “I promise to get off the highway to text you.”

She was supposed to be back in Mendon by eight. At eleven o’clock, Mark, sure that she was dead in a ditch, had called her room for the millionth time and had spoken to an irate Cassandra, who had confessed that she was a little worried too.

That was when a knock came at Mark’s door, and he opened it to see Sally standing there, her hair wet with melted snow but otherwise completely unharmed, wearing her most winning smile. At the look of concern on Mark’s face, her smile vanished and she said, “Oh, shit. Mark, I’m so sorry. I am sooooo sorry.”

Mark opened his arms and took her inside them. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he said. “I was so worried.”

Sally started to cry. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I just forgot.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe, right now,” Mark murmured into her wet hair. “I missed you very much.”

“I missed you, too,” Sally said. They held each other for a few long moments, and then Sally whispered into his chest, “You’re going to spank me, aren’t you?” Her voice had a note of resignation in it that made Mark very happy despite the anger that had welled up inside him now that he had gotten over the worry and the shock of the relief.

“Yes,” Mark said simply. “I am. We have to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” For another moment he just held her, but then he said, “I’m going to whip you with my belt, Sally. You need to learn your lesson.”

“Oh, Mark, please. No.”

“I want you to lie on my bed. I’m going to take down your jeans and your panties and give you a whipping.”

“I’m so sorry, Mark. I promise I’ll never, ever do it again.”

“I hope that’s true, Sal, but I have to punish you, or I can’t be sure you’ll learn.”

Sally started to cry. “Please just spank me with your hand. Please. I’m so scared, Mark!” She trembled and pushed him away, holding her hands up in front of her.

Part of Mark was so angry that he wanted to tell Sally that she
should
be scared, and he supposed that would have some truth to it, because if there was ever an occasion to punish her, this one fit the bill. He knew that he would have to make sure she had trouble sitting down for a while.

But another instinct rose up more strongly. If Mark’s duty really was to protect Sally, the most important thing was to make her feel secure. If she didn’t feel secure, the punishment would fail to teach her the lesson she needed just as surely as it would if he didn’t whip her severely enough to make a real impression.

So he stepped forward and put his arms around her again. “Shh,” he said. “I know you’re scared. But you know as well as I do that you won’t feel right about us unless I keep my word and discipline you.”

“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “I know… I know. I just…” Sally took a deep breath. “Okay, but you’ll… you’ll hold me, afterward?”

“Oh, Sal. Of course I will. You couldn’t stop me.”

She nodded once, against his chest. He released her from his arms, and she moved to lie down on the bed.

“Take the pillow and put it under your hips, Sally,” he said.

“Why?” The fear crept back into her voice.

“To raise your bottom for your whipping.”

She turned to look at him, an expression of desperate shame on her face. Mark thought that she must see the determination he hoped to convey, for she turned back and got the pillow. She put it halfway down the bed, and then she lay over it, reaching down to unbutton her jeans.

“I’ll do that, Sal,” Mark said softly. “When you do something that thoughtless, you lose the right to be the one who bares your own bottom.”

Sally gave another soft sob, and nodded her cheek against the comforter, her face turned away from Mark.

“Get up on your elbows, and put your face in the covers.” These commands, rehearsed in his mind so many times, seemed to come naturally to Mark.

Sally obeyed, and then Mark reached under her hips and unfastened the button on her jeans. He unzipped them and pulled them down to Sally’s knees, distracted as always by the prettiness of her little bottom, again in the polka-dot panties he had come to love.

“I’m going to take your panties down now,” he said. “Girls who behave thoughtlessly need to be punished on their bare bottoms.”

To his surprise, Sally nodded miserably into the blue comforter.

Mark hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled the panties down to rest just above her jeans in a little tangle of cotton.

Then he stood up and quickly removed his belt. He started to roll it up, but then remembered to double it, first.
Someday,
he thought,
maybe I’ll have a punishment strap for times like these.
For reasons he didn’t quite understand, that thought caused his cock to stir: a punishment strap just for Sally, when Sally was naughty.

He doubled the belt and rolled it around his fist.

“I’m so scared, Mark,” Sally whispered. “P-please just do it, so it will be over.” Then, “I’m sorry I forgot. Thank you for teaching me my lesson.”

Chapter Eleven

Sally wasn’t sure why she had thanked Mark that way: all she knew was that the words were absolutely sincere. Her cheeks felt very hot as she realized just how sincere her gratitude was, for his punishing her.

What made her blush so terribly wasn’t the fear of the pain, or even the way Mark had put her in this humiliating position with her panties down on his bed, the same place where Sally usually had her lovely sex lessons, where she had learned how to make him come, and where she herself had been touched on her pussy for the very first time. The thing that made her blush was how right it felt to be punished with a man’s belt.

Mark started to whip her. It stung worse than the hand-spanking had, yes, but Sally had expected pain so bad she couldn’t think, and the belt didn’t do that at all. The sting of the belt was mostly different because it concentrated itself in a smaller area, she thought, and somehow that made it seem much more natural to give a little cry or whimper every time Mark brought the nasty thing down.

Or were her whimpers again because he had decided to punish her with his belt—the one he wore around his waist, the one she had looked at furtively from time to time, wondering whether this very scene might unfold some time?

As the whipping, the sting, and the whimpering went on, Sally started to wonder if something in her had actually been
hoping
Mark would punish her. It was entirely unlike her to forget to text that way.

Mark wore that belt every day. Whenever she looked to his waist, there it was, with its plain, elegant silver buckle. Sally felt like it had almost been fated that eventually she would feel it chastising her bare bottom, and ever since Mark had told her, the night of her first spanking, that there would be things for which he would punish her that way, she had hardly been able to keep her eyes off the thick strip of leather that went round her boyfriend’s hips.

Now that that fate had found her, now that she lay over the pillow feeling the way her virginal pussy pressed against it, the place on the pillow where Mark rested his head at night, the sheer ambivalence of her emotional state nearly overwhelmed her. It wasn’t fear, or even pain, that made it hard to think: it was how very badly she felt like she
needed
to be whipped.

How could it be?
her mind whispered over and over. How could she love Mark for whipping her? When he had spanked her for the first time, and when they had had their nearly nightly sex lessons, in which Mark took control—and, when he took control, made her arousal seem to soar into the stratosphere—she had begun to see something about herself that she knew she didn’t yet have the ability to deal with.