He helped her stand. He moved the kneeling bench to one side, positioning her in front of him, still within reach. It was warm in the room, in fact, Sofia realized, she was uncomfortably hot.
Master Lucas leaned forward. “Turn,” he said. “Slowly. Stop when I say.”
Slowly, Sofia began to turn, a sudden memory of charm school classes in her youth when they had taught the seventh grade girls how a lady pivots. It made her smile, the absurdity of all the lessons on keeping your legs together. But right now –
Her back was to Master Lucas when he said, “Stop. Open your legs a bit, there you go, now bend over just a little, please.”
She didn’t want to, but she did, opened her legs a bit and bent forward. His hands started at her calves and moved upward, stroking both legs. Without lifting her skirt, he continued upward til until his hands were on her inner thighs and she moaned. The movement had lifted her skirt, but it dropped into place when he removed his hands.
“Stand, and turn,” he said.
She was facing him again when he told her to stop. “Take your shirt off,” he said.
Fine, Sofia thought, and with memories of the “how to strip for your lover” class she had taken once in mind, she gracefully took her shirt off.
“Nice,” he said. He stood, touching the swell of her breast along the line of the bra. “Very nice.” Her nipples, already hard, grew harder as he touched.
Then he slipped a hand into the bra, lifting her breast so that it came out, still supported underneath by the material, but uncovered, the nipple exposed. His thumb stroked the nipple briefly, and she caught her breath, whimpered. His hand moved to expose the other breast.
Sofia stood, mesmerized, as he touched each nipple, pinched gently, and finally leaned down to taste, his mouth warm and wet. She moaned. When he removed his mouth, he blew on the nipple, a cool breath that made her whimper again.
Looking at her face, he said, “Nipple clamps are good, right?’ and she opened her mouth to say, “omg,” or “not really,” but what came out was, “Yes, Sir.” She almost laughed at herself. And then added, “But good for whom, Sir?”
He laughed and pinched her right nipple, hard enough to make her bite her lip to keep from crying out. “Certainly good for me,” he said, smiling. “And,” as he pinched the left nipple, “Good for girls who want to please. Right?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, sounding a bit strained as he was still pinching the left nipple.
“I thought you’d agree with that,” he said, finally releasing the nipple. She sighed with relief. “Take your skirt off,” he said, in the same casual tone.
He sat down, leaning back in the chair, leaving her standing, already feeling naked and exposed. But she supposed the skirt had to come off too.
Slowly, she slid the skirt down, letting it drop in a pool around her feet. Since he had already taken her underwear, she was bare. She moved as if to cover herself, but “Hands behind your back please,” he said, then added, “No, wait, bra off first.”
She had almost forgotten the bra, and hated to take it off, hated that her breasts just weren’t perky, hated being old. But a glance at his face and she bent forward, reached behind her to unhook it, and wiggled it off her shoulders and arms. Let if fall to the ground.
“Good girl,” he said, and she flushed with pleasure. “Stand up straight, there you go. Hands behind your back, please. Open your legs. There, yes.”
And Sofia stood. Ready, alert, waiting, she thought. There was no point in hiding now, this was who she was.
Master Lucas leaned forward. “Turn,” he said, “Slowly.” When she was standing sideways, he stopped her with a hand on her thigh.
“Raise your arm,” he said, “Over your your head. Leave your other hand right where it is, just raise this arm.” Obediently, she put her arm up, curving it over her head, remembering old ballet moves. “Yes,” he said, “Good girl.”
He touched her. Using both hands, starting at her foot, he moved his hands over her body, exploring. She struggled a bit to maintain position when her legs had turned to jelly, but she kept reminding herself to focus on being pleasing to him and not her self. Letting go of her own insecurity and fear.
When he reached her armpit, he stroked her with his thumb, making her shiver. “Smooth,” he said, “Very nice.” And she smiled, pleased with herself. When he had touched every inch within reach on that side, he pulled back.
“Turn. Slowly.” She turned. Predictably, when her back was to him, she felt his hand on her leg, stopping her. And the process started again. His hands roamed freely, her legs, her back. When he got to her hands, which were still clasped behind her back, he said, “You can move your arms, stretch them out a minute, and then put them behind your neck, please.”
She made the adjustment, feeling even more exposed. His hand stroked her ass, still pink from the spanking. She tensed. His voice was silky as he said, “Maybe more spanking would help you relax?”
“No, Sir,” she said quickly, half-amused.
“Then bring your hands down, bend forward a bit, and bring your hands back to spread your cheeks for me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she brought her hands down.
More slowly she leaned forward a bit. Moved her hands behind her, one on each cheek. Paused. Hesitated.
“No, stop,” he said. “Move your hands and stay right there.” She heard movement behind her and then he stood, stepped to one side. She could not see that he had a short leather strap in his hand. did not know what was about to happen until the split second when she heard a whoosh as the strap cut the air, and then felt the sting as it landed across her ass. She cried out, part in shock, part in pain.
“One,” he said firmly. “You’ll get five.” He paused and she braced herself, but “What do you say?” he asked.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said quickly. And then the second landed. Master Lucas counted, all she had to do was say “Thank you, Sir.” And she did, even through the stinging pain, the burn, she thanked him, and noticed, with just a touch of dismay, that she meant it. She had needed this.
When he was finished he sat back down.
He had not rubbed her ass and she not going to take the initiative to do it herself. Although she wanted the soothing touch, she imagined that would not be allowed. When he said, gently, “Open your legs a bit wider, Sofia, and spread your cheeks for me,” she obeyed quickly.
Again she heard movement behind her, and hoped she was not about to be spanked again. But she smelled lube. Tried not to tense as he rubbed the lube against the tight entrance that she was offering. Then his finger, exploring the crevice between her cheeks, circling the puckered hole that had not been used in a very long time.
“Almost virgin again,” Sofia thought ruefully as the finger began to push into her.
“Breathe,” Master Lucas said, “don’t forget to breathe.” And as she exhaled, he slid his finger in to the first joint. And stopped. One hand on her thigh holding her steady, the other penetrating her. Her world narrowed to those two hands.
“Good, good girl,” he said, “Steady, good girl.” Even his voice seemed distant, and she felt his finger slide in further and pause. Held suspended, she thought, frozen in time, waiting…
…and the finger slid deeper, all the way in. She felt her muscles expand around it, relax and accept. She sighed, settling into it, accepting the intrusion, and finally, welcoming it.
When he removed the finger, slowly withdrawing it, she felt a deep emptiness. Dismayed to realize she wanted to be filled again. He let her move her hands, stand up straight.
“Good girl,” he said. “We’ll work on that.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, “I would like that.”
“Turn,” he said.