‘No! I’m not some erotic fiction writer,’ Julia protested.

‘Well, I didn’t mean that in the pejorative!’ Richard sounded a little defensive, but Julia could hear from his tone that he was teasing her.

‘No, it’s a story of a lost soul who takes a much longer aimless train journey than our recent little jaunt. There are some sexual elements to the story, though they are very much secondary. I’m exploring the idea that when we embrace our directionless reality, we can discover our true direction. I suppose it’s an anti “just-do-it” manifesto if you like.’

‘“Just do it!” Now that’s a rather good line. You should be in advertising.’ Richard was teasing her again. Julia couldn’t help but be a little peeved. She HAD been in advertising and didn’t like people to know that. She was not about to tell Richard.

‘So!’ Richard wanted to get to more practical matters, ‘you finished a first draft of your book in a little over three days?!’

‘Yes, well, and quite a portion of the nights, too!’ Julia was fishing for praise.

‘Seems like you don’t need any more assistance from me.’ His statement was matter-of-fact. She wished there’d been a least a note of sadness from him at such a prospect.

‘No!’ Not for the first time, Julia sounded a little desperate in responding to Richard. ‘You see, in my frenzy, I’ve been neglecting the gym, and the cottage is a bomb site. That’s not good. I feel I need help with that.’ 

‘Well, it’s somewhat understandable to neglect things a little when you’re so inspired. But maintaining balance is very important. So, you’d like my assistance with regaining that balance?’

There was a long pause. In truth, Julia had vastly overstated her slovenliness to create a reason to see Richard again. Sure, she’d skipped the gym once, but who doesn’t, now and then? The cottage was quite tidy too. Yes, she had worked in a frenzy, but she knew better than to avoid breaks altogether and found domestic chores were an excellent way to clear her head for more writing. Glancing around the tidy cottage, Julia felt a little naughty in her white lie. She cleared her throat.

‘Yes. Please, Sir.’ 

‘Very well, Miss Jenkinson.’ He sounded kind and warm, but Julia was both electrified and frustrated. Electrified by the thought of being spanked, and hopefully fucked, by him once again; electrified and frustrated in equal measure by her demotion back to ‘Miss’ Jenkinson.

‘I hope you’re good with a duster, Sir?’ Julia was feeling cheeky. She was trying to lighten the mood and to goad Richard.

‘Be careful what you wish for, young lady. The handle of the right sort of feather duster can make for rather a good cane.’

Julia felt the cheeks of her bottom tighten in reflex at Richard’s mention of caning. There was just such a feather duster in the cottage, a quality one, with real ostrich feathers and a long, smooth, springy wooden handle. As much as she dreaded the idea of a caning, Julia found that she couldn’t resist describing the feather duster in detail to him. 

‘It sounds like that could be very useful. If I feel you deserve it.’ Richard left the potential of a caning hanging in an enticing fog of uncertainty. 

Julia hadn’t been caned since she was sixteen and studying at a dreadful Catholic boarding school, dispatched there by her parents while her father was posted abroad with her mother in tow. The nuns were indifferent to her sense of abandonment. She’d hated their strict, detached teaching style and their cold, self-assured authority. Julia instinctively tried to subvert them.

She’d planned her revenge on the cruel nuns with some creativity and precision. Julia snuck into the laundry late at night when, so she’d discovered, the nuns’ had their blue habits laundered. She stopped the machine mid-flow, tied the sodden habits in knots and added large volumes of beach to the cycle. Julia was buzzing with the thought of the nuns in tie-dyed habits as she climbed out of the window to avoid using the corridor. The door to the laundry was unglazed. There was too much risk she’d be caught in her getaway by a patrolling nun if she’d simply retraced her steps. 

Unfortunately, the window chosen for her escape was as old and rotten as the nuns. Thick layers of blue paint disguised the rot. The window gave way as the young Julia lowered herself to the ground. It betrayed her in what felt to be the noisiest and most dramatic fashion. Yet the fall proved to be just the start of the much fiercer drama of the nuns’ outrage and Julia’s very humiliating caning in front of the whole order. How was she to know that the blue colour of the habits held religious significance? 

Julia’s robust plea that desecration was never her intention seemed only to inflame the sisters’ wrath. Still, she feared her parents’ reaction even more. Julia was surprised to be told that the school would not be notifying her ‘poor’ parents. She was strongly encouraged to keep the matter from them, too, since ‘they’ve enough on their plate without the shame of your sins adding to their burden.’ 

It was years later, when she was going through her mother’s papers, that Julia discovered some old photostats of a parents’ guide to the convent school rules. It was evident from those rules that Julia’s desecration, as the nuns had seen it, should have led to her immediate expulsion. It occurred to Julia that the nuns had been even more attached to her school fees than they were to the idea that the blue of their habits represented purity. Perhaps they’d enjoyed stripping and caning Julia? The rules were also clear that corporal punishment, where needed, was to be delivered with pupils fully clothed. Julia shivered as she recalled bending naked in the stable, feeling the eyes of every nun burning into her. Perhaps, given their deviation from the rules, they’d chosen the stable to be as far away from their precious religious buildings as possible. Julia mused on that thought for a moment but doubted the nuns had that kind of compunction or self-awareness.

Julia briefly considered divulging the story to Richard. But she found an intoxicating appeal in the idea of him caning her that was in sharp contrast to the aversion she felt at the memory of the haggard nuns having done the same. It didn’t feel appropriate to burden Richard with the baggage of her past quite so early in their acquaintance. Besides, she’d prefer not to feed the rising anger she felt as she recalled her ecclesiastical chastisement.

‘Miss Jenkinson?’ Richard brought Julia snapping back to the present. ‘You’re distracted. Do you need to go?’

‘No, sorry, I, err, thought someone was at the door, but, no, it’s all, err, it’s fine, Sir.’ Julia blushed a little at her fib.

‘Where?…’ Richard started to speak, but Julia cut him off.

‘You could come here. If that’s okay, Sir?’ 

It was a risk, of course. She didn’t much know him at all. But, since Julia was renting the cottage short-term, it felt like an appropriate solution. And she could get a friend to call and check on her about an hour after he’d be due to arrive.

They finalised arrangements to meet the following day. ‘It’ll be a pleasure to see you again, Julia.’ 

‘I look forward to it, I think!’ She was fibbing once more. She was desperate to see Richard.

She noted that he’d dropped the ‘Miss Jenkinson’ once more, and Julia found the sense that she had somehow pleased him so utterly thrilling that she winced at what felt like a rather deep and sudden attachment to Richard’s approval. Where did that sit with Julia’s feminist principles? But she’d worry about that another time. Right now, her hands were sliding deep into the thoroughly-wet gusset of panties.

Julia rose at 7 am sharp the following morning. She ate a quick breakfast, and before she even took a shower, she set about messing up the cottage so that it fitted with the story of domestic neglect. Her early attempts were hopeless: like a third-rate film set. Julia was astonished at just how much of her storytelling imagination it took to falsify slovenliness convincingly. 

The kitchen proved to be especially taxing, and she was part way through scraping deliberately burnt toast into counter crumbs around the toaster when the front doorbell rang with its piercing trill. Julia looked at the clock and froze. It was 10:30 am, the time she’d arranged for Richard to arrive. ‘What!’ She was talking to herself out loud. ‘There’s no way this can have taken more than three hours!’ But the clock wasn’t deceiving her. Having not even stopped to put on her watch, Julia had entirely lost track.

She was horrified. She’d fully intended to be showered, very well dressed and made up for Richard. But then it dawned on Julia that her look, while mortifying, fitted her story perfectly.

Julia opened the door gingerly, mostly concealing herself behind it. Richard was looking clean and sharp in chinos, a tight-fitting navy jumper and a smart bikers’ jacket. His eyes flashed with surprise and, she hoped, desire. Those eyes moved between the dishevelled Julia, clearly naked under her dressing gown, and the unkempt cottage beyond. 

‘I can see I have my work cut out!’ Richard struck a slightly theatrical note of concern, tinged with relish at teasing her.

Julia moved a little to the side, widening the opening. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

Richard stepped inside, took the door from Julia and shut it in one slow, firm movement. Their eyes locked.

He placed his jacket on the hall table, stepped forward and pulled Julia into him, embracing her firmly. He kissed the side of her neck, breathing deeply to draw on Julia’s unshowered musk. Richard’s crotch was tight against her hip, and since she felt she was in a rather disgusting state, Julia was relieved at his evident arousal. He brushed a hand across Julia’s face, held her by the side of the head and parted her lips with his. She dared only to breathe in; she’d not even cleaned her teeth that morning. Richard’s long tongue explored her mouth. He pulled away to speak.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ he whispered through a wandering smile, ‘the unkempt, unwashed Miss Jenkinson looks and tastes even more appetising than the neat and fragrant Miss Jenkinson.’ Richard brushed her fine cashmere dressing gown across her bottom, patting it lightly in admonishment. ‘You’ve been neglecting yourself,’ Richard chided, ‘I’d better inspect you properly.’ 

Julia shuddered in nervous anticipation. She was not expecting an intimate inspection, much less receiving one in her current state.

‘Where’s your bathroom?’ Richard sounded purposeful.

‘There’s a loo just there. Sir.’ Julia gestured to the door beneath the somewhat crooked staircase.

‘No, I didn’t mean the loo. You do have a bathroom?’ Richard was teasing again.

‘Yes, of course, it’s the room further back, behind the stairs. Sir.’ The cottage was compact, and the upstairs was even tighter than the ground floor. Julia could see that a downstairs bathroom, though less than ideal, had been the only practical option. As Richard disappeared into the bathroom, Julia’s heart skipped a beat. It suddenly occurred to her that it was the one room she’d not gotten around to staging.

‘It looks as though you haven’t been in here for days!‘ Richard chided. Julia was relieved. Even her lack of staging was working to support her yarn. Julia heard the squeal of the old taps as Richard began to draw a bath.

He emerged with a steaming flannel and, taking Julia by the arm, led her to the small sitting room that overlooked the rear garden. He stood her against the back of a low, soft armchair. She felt him reach around from behind and undo the belt of her dressing gown with his free hand. It swiftly slid down to the floor, leaving the cool air to tease at Julia’s flesh. Her nipples hardened.

Richard pressed Julia’s back and bent her over the chair, sliding his hand between her knees to part her legs. ‘Let me take a proper look at you, Miss Jenkinson.’ Julia’s face reddened. She pondered which was more excruciating: was it her unwashed state or her all too obvious arousal?

The flannel had rapidly cooled, and Julia started a little as Richard worked a beflanneled finger around her anus. He withdrew it, and there was a mortifying pause as she imagined him inspecting the state of the flannel behind her back. He headed for the bathroom, and Julia heard the bath taps squeal once more as he twisted them shut.

On his return, Richard said nothing but dropped to his knees and buried his tongue into Julia’s unwashed cunt from behind. Her eyes widened.

For a moment, she was horrified. She’d not washed her cunt since she’d masturbated enthusiastically following her call with Richard the day before. She’d luxuriated in her sexual juices for the rest of the day, teasing herself to further orgasms as she went to bed. She hated to imagine how her stale cunt tasted now.

He ate Julia’s cunt with an intense and original hunger, like a man discovering an exquisite and exotic taste, unable to control the gluttony it was unleashing. Her knees gave way entirely, and she was balanced across the broad back of the chair, shivering in waves of intensifying pleasure. Crack! He spanked the side of Julia’s butt cheek without, even for a moment, pulling his face away from her cunt. Crack! Crack! Crack! Three more spanks pretty much on the same spot. Julia could feel Richard’s handprint starting to glow on her right buttock almost as clearly as she felt his tongue flicking around her clit and teasing out the juices from deep within her cunt. More spanks followed. Julia felt a cool breeze pique her skin. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she was orgasming hard, fast and uncontrollably.

Crack! Crack! Crack! There were sharp volleys of spanks across both of Julia’s butt cheeks. Richard drew his face next to her ear. ‘I didn’t give you permission to orgasm, Miss Jenkinson.’

Julia was in no state to articulate a coherent apology. ‘Sorry. It’s just… I mean… But. Thank you. Sir.’

‘I’m going to bathe you now, Miss Jenkinson.’ Richard spoke in a firm whisper. ‘As punishment for your slovenliness, you’ll clean the cottage in the nude after your bath. But, before the cleaning, as an admonishment for your wanton abandon, you’ll be caned without being allowed to dry off first.’ At the thought of the cane, the deepest shivers gripped Julia.

She winced as the tenderness of her freshly-spanked butt cheeks descended through the bubbles to meet the intense warmth of the bath water. Richard knelt, sliding watery bubbles across Julia’s shoulders with a fresh flannel and teasing Julia’s nipples with the occasional sharp pinch.

‘May I clean my teeth, Sir?’ Julia’s unbrushed teeth had been troubling her, and she was pleased to detect a look of surprise on Richard’s face at the request. He lined her toothbrush with a stripe of bright pink toothpaste and handed it to her.

Julia felt she could remain in the bath for hours, but Richard enquired where he might find the cleaning materials. Julia knew her bath would be ending soon; she had a sudden chill at the thought of what was to follow. She could hear him moving the cleaning materials through to the sitting room. Then he was standing in the doorway, looking intently at her naked breasts among the bubbles of the bath water.

Richard pointed to the bath mat. ‘It’s time to get out of the bath and stand here for a moment, Miss Jenkinson.’ She obeyed his instructions and shivered at the rude intrusion of the cool air, unchecked by the warmth of a bath towel. Richard had Julia stand on that spot for a few moments, allowing the excess bath water to drift down onto the mat. Then he made her walk in front of him to the sitting room, leaving a trail of ever-decreasing puddles in the wake of her footprints.

Richard had arranged the cleaning materials next to the armchair. That is, except for that long-handled feather duster he’d lent ominously against the armchair itself. Julia’s head, quite lost in the buzz of her shivering, was brought to a sudden focus. 

‘I think six strokes of the cane would be appropriate, Miss Jenkinson, would you agree?’ There was a calm warmth to Richard’s voice that was in sharp contrast to his message.

Julia was having flashbacks to the convent school. Could she go through with this? She was torn between desperation to escape the punishment and a sense that this was a chance to face and bury an old demon.

‘Yes. Yes, Sir.’ Julia could barely believe what she’d just said. 

Richard placed a towel over the back of the armchair and bent Julia’s wet body over it. She felt the light tap of the long, smooth wooden handle of the feather duster across her buttocks and lay in suspended animation. Julia was not yet quite in shock, but the grip of her nervous anticipation now froze her shivers.

Schwack! The first stroke hit Julia like an electric shock. It was somehow both lighter yet much more intense than anything she remembered from her experience at the convent school. She let out a silent scream as a tear came to her eye. Her hands shot back across her wet, naked buttocks in protection.

Richard pulled Julia’s hands away. ‘Remember, Miss Jenkinson, I expect your forbearance, but you can say “orange” if you can’t abide the level of intensity or “red” to stop the session altogether.’ Julia couldn’t abide the intensity. But she had the power to stop or stifle this caning, which made her oddly determined to continue. Richard tapped the cane lightly on her buttocks again. ‘Okay?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Schwack! The second stroke resonated through Julia as though she were a church bell. The intense pain vibrated from the top of her head and down through her feet. She gripped the padded arms of the chair tightly, trying to work the ringing agony away from her buttocks and into the softness of the upholstery through her fingernails. Mercifully, she felt her skin beginning to dry out a little. Julia held her breath. She was determined to get through this. The light tapping of the cane made her flinch.

Schwack! Richard laid the third stroke at a slight angle across where the previous two had landed. Julia’s fingers shot forward before she dug her long nails back into her palms, trying to freeze her nerves for a moment to stop the pain coursing through her. It was futile. She was sobbing now. Julia abandoned herself to her agony as a strange vibrating fog filled her head and started to lift her from her body. The memories of Julia’s convent caning came rushing back to meet and intensify the all-too-current reality.

Schwack! Schwack! Two strokes in quick succession saw Julia unable to exhale. After a few lingering moments, she let out a shuddering wail and, gripping the arms of the chair firmly with her hands, threw her legs out in an attempt to disperse the energy of the pain.

‘Just one more stroke, Miss Jenkinson. You’re taking this rather well.’ 

Julia was numb. She lifted her bottom as if defiantly to invite the stroke, though her real aim was to position herself to be sure the final blow would land in quite a different spot from the previous lashes.

Schwack! Julia’s eyes shot to their widest. ‘Fuck!’ ‘Fuck!’ Unable to control her responses, Julia fell to her knees and dropped to the floor, writhing in tears and piercing pain. At that moment, she hated Richard with furious intensity.

He tried to help Julia up, but she shrugged him away angrily. Gripping her growing welts, she stumbled to the sofa and fell face down into it. She began to sob the deepest, slowest of sobs. Sobs that came from somewhere so profound that, to Julia, it felt as though they originated far below the confines of her body.

Keeping a careful distance, Richard gently placed a blanket over Julia and brushed the hair from her face with an outstretched arm. Julia searched for the anger, the pure, raging revulsion, that she’d felt for him just a few moments ago. Strangely, she found her explosive hatred towards Richard had rapidly faded.

She opened an eye but saw little through her tears. Julia wanted the deep sobs to continue. Whatever this was inside her was much more than physical; she needed for it to come out. ‘Touch me, Sir.’ Her words made their way through the grimace on her face like a quiet scream between her sobs. He placed his hand under the blanket and in the small of her back. The warmth of it unlocked something within her, and the sobs quickened. Julia felt herself returning to her body. It seemed lighter, clearer than before. She began to shake violently.

Richard lay down alongside her. She turned towards him, and he gently rocked her on top of his body, just a little to one side, moving the blanket across Julia’s back to ensure she remained covered. Her hands were still on her bottom, but rather than gripping it to freeze the pain, she was stroking it now.

Julia’s sobs had given way to deep, shivering breaths. Her eyes had started to clear. ‘Kiss me, Sir.’ Her words emerged as something between a quiet command and a submissive plea. She turned her head towards Richard’s face, and he stroked away her damp hair and slowly placed his lips on hers. 

It started as the gentlest of kisses, the soft biting and sucking of lips. Then those kisses gradually built in intensity until they were deep and lingering. Richard kissed the last sobs out of Julia. In their place, she found a glow like a gentle, poignant wash of sunlight after a fierce storm. Running her hand down Richard’s chest, she unbuckled his belt and freed the top of his trousers. His cock was not yet completely hard. Lightly, Julia ran the tip of one fingernail along its length, and his cock began to twitch into fullness. 

Without, even for one moment, breaking their deep kisses, she rocked herself directly on top of Richard and slid up his torso, arching her back so that her cunt was now above the tip of his cock. There was no urgency. Slowly, as they moved with the rhythm of their kisses, they drew together until his cock and the outer lips of her cunt were teasing one another.

Without thrusting or thinking, they continued to sway rhythmically in an intense yet languid tryst. The head of Richard’s cock was just inside Julia now, finding its own gentle way. She felt soft waves of pleasure flowing through the energy lines that the shocking pain of her caning had formed; they rippled throughout her body and released through her head and toes. Delicate as these waves were, they were full of impulsion. It felt to Julia as though the caning had cleared away long-held tensions, empowering entirely new sensations of sexual energy within her. And this was merely the start. They were barely moving. 

It seemed that both Richard and Julia were trying to take one another without any perceptible motion from their hips. Every quiver as they drew slowly together sent shivers of deepening intensity through her until, at last, he was in her so deeply and intimately she was not sure where she ended, and he began. They were locked together, entirely still except for their probing mouths and the shudders of sexual frisson that drifted in waves over Julia’s body as she felt her wetness pooling on his groin. Lightly, she ran her fingers up Richard’s balls, spreading her juices over them.

Their hips were moving now. Not thrusting, it was a gentle gyration that kept his cock in the closest, deepest contact with Julia’s cunt. It was much more than a fuck. It was something entirely fresh yet somehow intensely familiar. Their sexual energy rose together from plateau to plateau. Julia felt sharply focused yet wholly blown open. A powerful illuminating force drove her firmly, gradually towards an intense and extraordinary orgasm. Richard tried to pull away. ‘I’m going to come.’ He writhed to take his naked cock out of Julia’s cunt. She sat back, pinning him down to the sofa. ‘I’m safe,’ she whispered, ‘please! I want you to come deep inside me, Sir.’

Julia was sitting hard against Richard’s balls now. She could feel them tightening as he began to trip over into orgasm. Julia shut her eyes tightly and let go. Pulses of light buzzed through her head. Wave upon wave coursed through her body in a deep, raw, and fresh ecstasy. She collapsed onto Richard’s chest, her glistering cunt continuing to spasm on his softening cock as their juices flowed together inside her.

They lay there silently. Each did not dare to move or speak, as if they might break a spell they had just conjured from somewhere beyond their understanding.

It wasn’t long before Richard’s phone pierced apart the magic. He’d put it on vibrate, but in their intimate tranquillity, the buzzing of someone phoning felt almost deafeningly intrusive. ‘Damn! I’m so sorry.’ Richard fumbled to pull the phone from his trouser pocket. He turned it off and pitched it across to the armchair in disgust.

‘Shit! My call! God! No!’ Julia jumped to her feet, tearing apart what remained of their intimacy. She’d intended to take her phone off silent long before Richard arrived. But things had run away from her. She’d entirely forgotten the check-in call from her friend. Julia leapt across the room and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom, grabbing her phone from the bedside table. ‘Fuck!’ Eighteen missed calls.