OTK Spanking of Emily X and lingerie punishment of English spankee over the knee for a hand spanked lesson in discipline for the female lawyer
It had begun, as it constantly did, with a phone call. That voice on the alternative give up of the line–his voice. Soft and measured, with a way as calm as his phrases have been innocuous, or definitely would have regarded to the casual listener.
“We need to talk.”
Sitting at her desk, she’d shuddered imperceptibly as she’d changed the smartphone on its cradle. She knew complete properly what those words meant, and the mere idea of them made the sudden flutter of butterfly wings in her stomach appear an unusual counterpoint to the uncontrollable pounding in her chest.
“We want to talk.”
His words hovered just beneath the floor of awareness for the the rest of the afternoon. Emily Sharpe felt them tugging at her as she labored to complete the tough brief that become because of be filed by day’s end. She heard them, like an insistent whisper, in every purchaser phone communique and each interaction with her co-people because the day wore on. She tried, in vain, to push the implication of these words from her thoughts because the clock crawled inexorably toward 5:00 PM.
She walked to her car on barely unsteady legs, trying desperately now not to betray her inner turmoil in any sort of visible manner. Safe in the luxurious confines of her late-model SUV she sat for a moment, secretly allowing her developing sense of excitement to wash over her; to flood her with sensations of choice and longing and more than a little apprehension.
How does he do that? How can those 4 simple phrases, uttered in the most non-committal manner, lessen me to this mass of quivering anticipation? How can he rob me–a formidable, respected, surprisingly successful attorney–of my very breath with some little phrases? What is this electricity he has over me and, more importantly, what is it in me that seems to now not only allow it, however yearn to surrender this power to him?
She shook her head and started the engine, brooding about those questions–and developing increasingly more resolute–as she made her way thru the overwhelm of rush hour traffic. She wanted nothing extra than to be home; to embark upon this ritual she craved with each ounce of her being; to get the entirety ready–for him.
Later, as she set aside her empty wine stem, she smiled dreamily at the manner the room’s soft mild curved and danced through the perfect crystal. Sitting by myself at her dressing table, she absently smoothed the comb via her shoulder duration auburn hair, staring straight via her image inside the replicate and focusing, instead, at the day the brush had arrived at her door, at the side of a handwritten note:
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“From now on you may use only this brush. It is an heirloom-solid oak with the finest exceptional boar’s hair bristles. Your super beauty deserves nothing much less than its equally wonderful caress.”
She emerged from her reverie and realized that the smooth, cool wood of the comb’s lower back became mendacity against her cheek. Blushing furiously, she quick got up from the table, and walked purposefully in the direction of her bed. With a almost inaudible moan, she laid the comb on the silk sheets and stepped returned to survey the room. Everything changed into in order. Everything become exactly as he could expect. Everything changed into perfect.
The unmistakable sound of tires on the gravel driveway.
She gasped involuntarily. Her heart commenced to race; her breathing became shallower. Emily Sharpe changed into almost overcome by using what she had come to call a sensual panic as she checked herself inside the replicate for the umpteenth time.
What happens next? Follow the spanking adventures of Emily Sharpe in the Adult list library of kinky stories.
