by Lucy Appleby
I was nineteen when I first met Martha Golightly. It was Friday night, and me and the boys stumbled out of The Royal Oak, making quite a racket ... not surprising as we'd each had four pints of Old Fart ale, and were letting rip every few paces and guffawing as we did so. It became a contest as to who could produce the loudest fart. That dubious honour went to Mike; the silly bastard almost blew a hole in the seat of his pants. It was impressive at the time and we all fell about laughing hysterically. Well, you know how it is when you're young and stupid and the worse for drink.
So there we were, belching and farting our way along Winchester Street. As we passed the public library on the corner, the most gorgeous woman stepped out, locked the door behind her, and headed towards the car park. She was maybe late twenties, with long dark hair and an hourglass figure. We were fulsome in our praise, making detailed comments on various parts of her anatomy. She whirled round to face us, her eyes blazing grey steel.
"Morons," she hissed. "Keep your ribald remarks to yourselves."
"Oooo ... ribald," mimicked Trevor in a falsetto voice.
"Ribald, what's that?" pondered Mike.
"Ignore these two," I told her. "They're pissed as farts."
"Farts," echoed Mike, and let rip with another big rumbling one.
The woman darted us a look of pure contempt and carried on walking. She had great legs, I thought, elevated by three-inch heels. She was wearing a fitted suit made from some soft, figure-hugging fabric, with a vent up the back of the skirt which revealed a hint of thigh as she walked. I was mesmerised, my gaze travelling slowly upwards to her bottom.
"Nice arse," I ventured. "Very nice."
She ignored me and quickened her pace slightly, her heels tap-tap-tapping on the pavement with each step. I couldn't get enough of her swaying hips, and I too quickened my pace. What possessed me to reach out and grab her arse I'll never know. But grab it I did, and it felt all bouncy and meaty and...
"OW!" I yelled as she turned round and swiped me in the crotch with her handbag. Handbag? It was more like a small suitcase of stiff, black leather, and it bloody hurt I can tell you. I doubled over, clutching my tender manly bits. "That wasn't very nice!" I yelled after her.
"And neither are you," she said dismissively, and stalked off to her car.
"Librarian," I spat in disgust as I rubbed my battered balls. I limped along for a while, then we went into one of the curry houses where I became suitably distracted by a Vindaloo.
Needless to say, the farting continued as the evening progressed, but this time, we didn't even have to try...
It was a few days later that I found myself walking on Winchester Street again. I walked right past the library, and then suddenly stopped. On impulse, I turned back and went inside. The place was heaving with people, and I quickly scanned the main area, looking for the gorgeous woman whose arse I had so rudely fondled. I supposed if I were to see her again, that I should go over and apologise ... then maybe ask her out for a drink, just to show how sorry I was. Then again, I could grope her again and leg it. I grinned as my fantasies took hold.
I still had that stupid grin on my face when I almost walked right into her. She had obviously recognised me and was heading towards me with a mean-looking expression on her face. I gulped, and considered getting the hell out of there, but there was no time. With a few more long-legged strides she advanced and I felt a pincer-like grip on my right arm.
"This way," she said tersely, and steered me to the end of the room where there was a row of doors, each marked with a sign that said 'Staff Only'.
"Er ... hello," I said lamely. "I, um ... I'm glad to see you again. I came to apologise."
"Is that so?" She levelled me with a cold, hard stare that turned my knees to jelly. She had her hair in a ponytail today, and it somehow made her look extra fierce. She was still stunningly attractive though. I couldn't help glancing at her as we walked. She had class ... real class. I don't suppose she took too kindly to the fact that I'd molested her.
"Yes. I ... well, I'd had a bit to drink you see, and I-"
"In here." Opening one of the office doors, she shoved me inside. "Name?"
"Eh?"
"Your name." She released her hold and pushed me towards a chair. "Sit."
"Oh. Right. It's Jake. Jake Roberts." I extended my hand. She ignored it. Deflated, I sat down, feeling like a naughty schoolboy about to get a bollocking from the teacher.
The next minute was like an eternity. She said nothing. She just stared at me. Now if I say it myself, I'm not a bad looking guy. I'm tall, broad-shouldered and I work out a couple of times a week. Hell, I'm a pretty fine specimen and the girls go for guys like me. Normally I'm confident around women, but this one unnerved me with her frosty stare and her detached assessment of me. Gradually my confidence evaporated altogether, and I stared dejectedly at my feet, unable to meet her eyes.
So when she laughed, it startled me.
"If that's the carpet you're staring at, I guarantee you'll become intimately familiar with it before the evening is through."
I perked up at that. The words 'carpet' and 'intimate' filled my mind with visions of naked romps. Was I in with a chance with this siren after all?
"I'm Martha Golightly," she offered.
I smiled my best smile. "Nice name." Then I caught sight of her name plate on the desk: Mrs Martha Golightly. "Mrs?" My smile faded as my heart sank. Bugger, she's married.
"Divorced."
"Ah." My smile came back. I lunged in with, "I hope you'll let me buy you a drink ... or dinner, maybe? I behaved very badly and I want to make it up to you," I said earnestly.
"And you will," she said.
"Really?" I was amazed. Delighted, but amazed. "That's great!"
"But there are certain conditions."
"Yeah?" I looked at her expectantly. She stepped over to the desk and perched on the end, crossing those lovely long legs of hers.
"You've been a very naughty boy, Jake Roberts. Shall I tell you what I do to naughty boys?"
I gulped, then made an effort to shut my mouth, conscious that I was gaping at her in surprise, for I certainly hadn't expected her to say anything like that. "Tell me," I croaked. God, she was something, this Martha Golightly. And in her presence I truly felt like a very naughty boy ... and it was a deliciously exciting feeling too.
"I spank them." She scrutinized my face, gauging my reaction.
After the initial shock, my grin returned double strength. Kinky bitch! Hell yeah, I'm up for some of that!
"I take it the idea doesn't fill you with dread and disgust?"
"Not at all. It sounds like fun."
"Oh it will be. For me at any rate." Her grey eyes sparked as a slight smile hovered over her lush lips.
"Spank away," I said magnanimously.
"Here's what's going to happen. The library closes at nine o'clock this evening. Come to the front entrance at nine thirty and I'll let you in. We shall come back here and you'll go over my knee, and I'll spank your bare bottom with my hairbrush. Then when ... and only when ... I'm satisfied you are truly contrite, we'll go to the Italian restaurant in the plaza and you can buy me dinner."
My senses reeled. She really was proposing to spank my bare arse. I found the prospect exciting beyond belief. "It's a deal," I said.
"Good. Off you go then. I'll see you later." She uncrossed her legs and moved to open the door for me. I was dismissed.
"You will - and you won't regret it," I assured her.
But you might.
And that was that. I left the room, conscious that my cock had stiffened up and was straining to break out of my jeans. I left the building, and all I could think about was the delectable Martha Golightly whacking my bare arse.
Bottling out was not an option; I didn't even consider it. Instead I showered and shaved and put on some decent clothes and made my way to the library. I got there early, and watched as the last minute stragglers exited through the double doors. A member of staff locked the doors behind them, and then went back inside. Fifteen minutes later, three women and two men let themselves out. I assumed they were staff. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes to go. I used those minutes imagining me shagging Martha Golightly in every conceivable position.
She appeared at exactly nine thirty and opened the doors.
"Hi, Martha." I stepped inside.
"Jake." She gave me an appraising look, and her lips curled into that sexy little half smile I was becoming so rapidly enamoured with.
"I bet you thought I wouldn't turn up."
"Not at all. I knew you'd come."
"Such confidence. I go for confident, older women."
"I know."
She led the way through the dimly lit library, and we went to her office. I noticed that the plain wooden chair I had been seated on earlier had been placed in the middle of the room, and on the floor next to it was a silver-backed hairbrush. Martha seated herself on the chair and crooked her index finger.
"Come here."
I stood in front of her. "Like this?"
"Take your trousers and underpants down."
Now that it had come to the crunch, I felt ... what did I feel? Shy. Awkward. Gauche. Embarrassed. And excited. Drawing in a deep breath, I unfastened my trousers and slid them down. Standing there in my underpants, I began to feel very foolish. Martha looked at me expectantly. Oh what the hell, I thought, and yanked my underpants down.
And here's the thing. She sat there and she looked at my cock. As cocks go, it's not a bad size and I'm quite proud of it ... but beneath her gaze, I felt myself wilt, shrivelling to the size of a pickled walnut. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment, to her obvious amusement. She patted her lap.
"Over you go."
And over I went, all six foot four of me. I felt ungainly and uncomfortable with my bare arse sticking up and my arms and legs stretched out. I didn't quite know what to do with my hands, so I placed my palms on the carpet.
"That's it," she said, and leaned over to pick up the hairbrush.
As she rubbed my bare backside with the heavy silver-backed brush, it felt cool and pleasant; and as she continued smoothing my skin, the feeling became even more pleasurable. My cock began to stiffen up again. My dignity was restored! Besides, she had hitched up her skirt a little, and my thighs against hers made my cock grow harder still. To my surprise, she spread her legs a little, trapping my growing tumescence between her delectable thighs.
"There," she announced. "I do believe we're ready to begin."
"Okay," I said, wondering what it would be like.
I soon found out.
Crack!!
It fucking hurt!
As the pain kicked in, I felt my mouth open in a silent scream. I had no idea it would be like this. I thought it would be a bit of kinky fun, not real pain. Wrong.
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