by Robert Price
Sally Phillips had left school at 16, but she had always regretted it. So, after a series of dead-end jobs, she decided to go back to college and belatedly try to make something of her life. She was therefore delighted to be accepted, at the age of 28, as a mature student to major in Sociology by her local state university. Knowing that her meagre savings would not last very long, even with crippling bank loans to cover her fees, she took a part-time job on campus in a coffee shop in the Arts Building, where she worked five evenings a week from 5pm to just before 10pm. It did little to enhance her social life, but apart from a busy period at the beginning of each shift, and a little flutter of activity immediately before and after the beginning of each of the evening classes, she only had to deal with the odd straggler who wandered in from the adjoining Library Building. In fact, once Betty, her supervisor, left around 6.30, Sally found she had most of the evening to herself and could actually manage to find some time to read or work on her assignments.
After two or three weeks she had got to know most of her regulars, so she immediately identified him as new. He was dressed in a suit and tie and was a bit older than most of her other customers - early 50s she guessed. His suit had a strangely old-fashioned cut, and looked as if it might once have been expensive, but it was now a bit crumpled and had a lived-in look to it. Although the evening lectures attracted a higher percentage of mature students, he did not look like a student.
"Are you aware of our rewards card scheme?" she asked as she fixed his order. When he said he wasn't, she explained that each time he bought a coffee she would stamp his card and when he had collected twelve stamps he would be entitled to a free cup of coffee on his next visit. He thanked her and, smiling, said he would be sure to bring the card on his future visits.
After that he became a regular visitor and would sit in his favourite seat in the corner, quietly sipping his coffee while pouring over some books he had obviously just borrowed from the library. He did not come in every night, but he came most nights. He spoke with some sort of foreign accent: definitely European, but not French or Italian or any of the other accents that Sally could readily recognise. Sometimes it sounded a bit like German, other times it sounded more like Russian, but it was not really either of these. Sally assumed he must be a Visiting Professor. (One of her classmates later confirmed that he was in fact Professor Varga, a world-renowned physicist who was visiting the university on an exchange scheme).
Sally found herself looking forward to his visits, and missed him the nights he did not come in. He seemed rather quiet, but he had a relaxed old world charm and was always very courteous and polite. Sally thought he appeared lonely, as in fact he probably was, being away from home. Unlike most of her customers he always left a generous tip: hardly enough to pay her way through college, but she appreciated the gesture. She reciprocated by asking him if he would like a refill, even though it was not actually the shop's policy.
One evening, probably on his sixth or seventh visit, as she went over to offer him a refill, she asked if there was anything else he would like, thinking of the small selection of cakes and cookies the shop offered.
"Yes... well, no," he replied.
"That sounded more like a 'yes'. Why don't you tell me what it is and I'll see if we have it in stock. If not we may be able to order it in."
"Well there is something, although it is not really for me," he replied. "But I don't know if I should ask."
"Well, if you don't ask, how will I know what you want? Why not just come out and say it?" Sally prompted, curious to know what simple delights a world-renowned physicist hankered over.
"Yes, you are quite correct," the professor replied, after giving the matter a few seconds thought. "You are a very nice young lady: pleasant, kind and, if I may say so, very attractive. I have grown quite fond of you, so it upsets me to see you so stressed. What I would really like is to help you relieve that stress."
Sally had in fact been feeling quite stressed, probably due to overwork.
"Oh, and how would you plan on doing that?" she asked, wondering what he had in mind. Maybe he was a herbalist or something.
"Well, I thought a nice long spanking on that pretty little bottom of yours would probably do the trick. Not too hard, of course. Just long enough and hard enough to induce an orgasm. I think it would do you the world of good. So what do you think? Would you like that?"
Sally was flabbergasted and completely lost for words. She was not sure whether she was more shocked by the outrageous nature of his proposal, or the casual way in which he said it, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to suggest to a respectable young lady after such a brief acquaintance.
"I... I don't think so," she eventually managed to stutter.
"Well, you should think about it. Most women find it quite pleasant, and everyone is entitled to a little pleasure from time to time. So if you ever change your mind, please feel free to ask. It would be an honour to be of service to such a beautiful lady," he said, before courteously thanking her for the refill.
As soon as she had finished pouring, Sally quickly scuttled back to the relative safety of her space behind the counter. There were a few other customers at the far end of the shop, and there were always people passing in the corridor on the other side of the large glass windows of the shop, so she did not feel she was in any danger of being attacked. However, what he had suggested had left her in a state of shock.
As he was leaving, he doffed his hat and politely wished her a pleasant evening as if nothing unusual had happened. Perhaps it was normal to spank passing acquaintances in his country, wherever it was he came from. It was not as if he had threatened her, or made any lewd comments: it had only been a casual suggestion, as if he had merely been asking for more cream for his coffee. And he looked disappointed rather than either angry or upset when she had declined. It was difficult to reconcile how someone so nice could have been so forward. She wondered if he was some sort of pervert, or whether it could all be attributed simply to cultural differences.
When she got home that night, she examined herself in the mirror. He had said she had a 'pretty little bottom'. She had never thought of her bottom as either pretty or little, especially compared with the skinny little butts that many of her teenage classmates had. However, as she pulled down her nylon uniform pants to have a better look, she consoled herself that it was no larger than average for a woman her age. And, if you like bottoms that gracefully swell out, terminating in two full rounded cheeks with a deep divide, as some men apparently do, then perhaps her bottom could be described as pretty. Personally she would have preferred something smaller and less prominent, but there was no accounting for taste!
She gave herself a gentle slap, wondering what it would feel like. The slap did nothing for her. Maybe she was not slapping hard enough; but if she slapped any harder it would probably just hurt. She could not imagine it being pleasurable. Perhaps it would be different if someone else was doing the slapping. However, although the thought of actually being slapped did not appeal to her, she had to admit there was something deliciously wicked and sexy about the idea of being spanked over an older man's knee.
He did not come in the following night, nor the one after. Sally was worried that he might have been too embarrassed to show his face. She hoped not. Despite his outrageous proposition, she still liked him and missed him when he was not there. She was therefore relieved when he came in on the third night, ordered his coffee and sat down in his favourite seat in the corner. She thought he might have referred back to their previous conversation when she went over to offer him a refill, maybe even apologise, but he did not mention it. In fact, there was no mention of it on any of his subsequent visits. He continued to be very polite and courteous, and continued to leave her a generous tip. It was as if the incident had never occurred. Sally began to wonder if perhaps she had just imagined the whole episode.
Although he never brought the subject up again, she could not help but think about what he had said every time she saw him. And the more she thought about it, the more she wondered what it would be like. It would obviously be embarrassing, but she found the idea of submitting to his wishes curiously exciting. But would it hurt? And could he be trusted? Would he stop if she asked him to? Could he really give her an orgasm just by spanking her? None of the small number of boyfriends she had taken into her bed over the years had ever managed to do that. Until then all her orgasms had been self-induced, and she had often wondered what it would be like to experience one with someone else. Would it feel different? Would it be more intense? She had even allowed herself to be seduced once by an older woman in her previous job to see if being with another woman would make any difference. Jennifer had been very tender and caring, and knew exactly how a woman liked to be touched and caressed; but, although the experience had felt naughty and exciting, exhilarating even, it had also somehow felt wrong and left her unfulfilled.
Wondering about what it would be like to be spanked began to develop into an obsession with her. The idea of actually being slapped, in the sense of experiencing pain, did not appeal to her at all, but she was increasingly drawn to the idea of having to submit. She kept fantasizing about being over a man's knee, or even Jennifer's knee, waiting to be spanked, dreading what was about to happen, yet bursting with anticipation. For some reason she did not understand, it was a real turn-on. Yet she knew she was too timorous to ever do anything about it.
One evening when he presented his rewards card to be stamped she noticed that his card was full.
"Your card is full now. That means you are entitled to a reward on your next visit," she explained.
"A reward? How wonderful," he beamed, in an exaggerated good-humoured manner. "I will be counting down the minutes until my next visit."
There was no hint of sarcasm in his reply - he was simply being playful, making a joke out of something as trivial as a free cup of coffee. But she could not help thinking about the reward he would really like.
As she looked over at him, sipping his coffee with his head buried in a book, she considered granting him his wish.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.