Julia's Luxury Spanking (M/F)
Posted: Thu May 24, 2012 9:54 am
“Hi Julia! – sorry to keep you so long,” said Lucien, entering to the pretty sight of lemon yellow panties that exactly matched her dress. She'd been told to hoist it up above her waist and keep her nose tucked in the corner, and she'd obeyed him to the letter while she waited.
“That's okay,” answered Julia without moving. “How's Philippe doing?”
“He's doing you proud, darling. Don't you worry about a thing. He's probably glad to be on his own for a bit anyway.”
Lucien sat down and patted his thighs to let her know that he was ready, then watched Julia run to him, skittish, nervous, so excited, hands still holding up her dress from piano to the sofa in just the same position. She was over him in a trice and then reflexively, she dropped her head down to the carpet straightaway, stretched her legs and raised her bottom, heels together nice and tidy. She then placed both hands in the waistband of her panties, ready for their swift descent the instant he might say so.
“Hey! That's nice, darling – thank you!” said Lucien gently, stroking her sweet and delicate behind. “But ease up for now and just lie across my lap more comfy while we talk, okay?”
“I just wanted to show you how good I'm always going to be from now on in,” she answered shyly as she readjusted, “whenever you do this. I'm so sorry about all that silly yes-no fuss I made the last time you were here.”
“I know, boo-boo, I know, and I really do appreciate it. When you're ready for your spanking I want you to be as good as gold for me and go back just the way you were, but for now, you deserve a little luxury, a bit of you-time.”
“I do? Wow! - why?”
Julia was already purring, lapping up the smooth rubs and caresses that Lucien was lavishing on her suntanned thighs and pantied buttocks.
“Well, lots of reasons; one, because I'm not your papa and you're allowed to relax before your lesson; two, because I want a moment to tell you how wonderful you are; three, because it's Saturday afternoon on a sunny day; four, because you've done your good deed for the millennium with Philippe and should be suitably rewarded; five, because you've put your trust in me to take your hurts away. I could add more, but how many good reasons do you need?”
Julia was not prone to tears, but in her heightened and elated state, his softspoken words of love pierced deep. She reached a hand behind her as she lay face down across him, and used it to say thank-you to his chest, his mouth, his neck, anywhere at all of him that she could find to reach.
“Oh Lucien... my darling angel... please be mine and never leave me...”
“Here I am,” he reassured her, patting on her panties just in case she needed proof, “and here I'll be, for as long as you should need me.”
“That's forever then,” she sobbed.
“Forever's fine by me.”
He waited for a moment, until the shock of being cherished even before discipline had settled down a little.
“Now then; why were you late for work on Wednesday?”
“Oh dear,” she sighed. “No good reason, as I say – how can there be, considering I'm only three minutes from the office here? But I went out with Sylvie on Tuesday night, and she was full of this new guy she's met, and I had boat-loads to tell her about you and Clara and Philippe, and what with one thing and another, we both had far too much to drink and stayed up far too late. I simply couldn't haul myself out of bed next morning, even though I heard the alarm-clock just as merciless as always.”
“Right. Next this girl on the train; anything you need to add to what you've already told me?”
Julia shook her head guiltily. “No, not really. Just a sweet young thing in obvious distress, and I just sat there feeling embarrassed. I still don't know why I didn't try to help in some way. I know you'll have to be very strict with me on that one.”
“Was she still sitting there when you got off?”
“Yes, she was. Why?”
“Nevermind that for now. So then: priests, confessionals, penances; all my favourite things rolled up in a ball. So tell me how the hell you managed to sin when confessing to your sins?”
Julia chuckled. Lucien had been an atheist since the age of seven, and she had been twelve when she last bothered pleading with him to try and save his soul.
“Ah, yes, well – that was a disaster. I went there expecting a lovely, wise, solemn man, like Father Alphonse was for me all through the Jean-Patrice days back in Valdois. Instead I got this dry old stick who couldn't seem to care less. I got the impression he regards the world as a great big sausage factory of sin that does nothing all day but churn out its sausage-sins, and mine were just a few more chipolatas on his quota. Honestly Lucien, I left there feeling worse than I went in.”
“Oh dear. I really am very sorry to hear that. Poor old Julia, you always set so much store by all that stuff, so I can guess how much it hurts. But I don't quite see what you've done wrong – why have you put it on your discipline list for me to help you clear?”
“Because I'm annoyed with myself for thinking and talking about him so disrespectfully; because I don't think I'm ever going again, and because I gave up on the penance he gave me halfway through.”
“Good grief! Can this really be Julia de Valdois speaking? What did you get, by the way?”
“Five decades of rosary; sorrowful mysteries.”
“Ouch! Sweet Jesus but that's steep! I wouldn't dream of asking you to say the sins you went there to confess to, but did they possibly include burning down the Vatican with the Pope still in it?”
“Close enough – I told him I hadn't been to Confession for three years.”
“Well, okay Julia, let me think on that one. I've got nothing of my own that I want added to your list, so that just leaves your joke at Claudine's, about which the less said the better.”
She nodded ruefully and said nothing.
“Right then!” - and he underlined his change of tone by smacking her rump smartly - “Back in your position for a spanking, Julia.”
Lucien was touched by the speed and fluency of her compliance; within five seconds her head and heels were all exactly where they'd been before, her bottom just as neatly raised and at his full disposal, waiting to be bared by her own hands if he should give the signal.
“There's a good girl, boo-boo. Jean-Patrice would be proud of you, and so am I.”
“Thank you, Lucien, thank you so, so much.”
“Okay – we're going to take these one at a time, all right? And put your hands down for the moment; most of these are pretty minor in my view, just panties-up offences.”
“You,” she said emphatically, as she put her palms flat on the carpet by her head, “are a treasure of a man, and I'm honoured to be over you.”
He gave her two brisk smacks as his acknowledgement and thanks.
“Good, that's nice to hear. Now – we haven't got all day, so I'll be briefer than I'll normally be in future. We'll start with you being – late! which is – not! like – you! at – all!”
Having given her four hard ones to let her know her punishment had started, he settled down to an easy, moderate, introduction to her spanking, talking as he did so.
“Ten minutes late is nothing, of course, and it's the first time ever. By most standards that's an impressive record, but we both know you don't judge yourself by others' standards, but your own. If you lie in bed one time and it goes unpunished, it could happen again and then again. That's the way you think about these things, and who am I to disagree? You like punctuality and you're good at it, so this is just a minor lapse. Think about that and nothing else during the next minute.”
“Yes, Lucien.”
“Having said his piece, he upped the power and tempo slightly, and smacked her fifty times or so in silence. Once done, he stopped and rubbed her rump in circles.
“So – d'you plan on being late again next week?”
“No, Lucien, I definitely don't.”
“Then that's all settled and behind you. Actually you can and should be proud of your attendance record, just as you can be proud of all your work there. Madame Dubois wouldn't have said what she did if she hadn't thought you were exceptional at what you do. But the easiest time to slip backwards is just after you've been praised, so be on guard for that and tell me if it happens.”
“Understood, my darling. Thanks.”
“So. Next we come to the girl on the train.”
His buttock-rubs became still gentler, just tender sympathetic touches, full of consolation.
“Julia, what happened there, was that you were not the one. You have the kindest heart I've ever known, and you also have antenna. She felt your concern, felt your pity and your need to help, and she sent out her own waves back, asking you to please leave her alone. Without those waves, nothing on this earth would have stopped you coming to her aid. But after you got off, some other woman took your seat, and she was the right one. She could help. And if she didn't find the perfect stranger that day, then she did the next day or the next day after. That girl will be crying for a long time yet, and she will find her comforter. She thanks you for your concern, which I promise you she noticed, and she thanks you too, for overcoming your first instinct and not throwing yourself on her barb-wire fence. And barbed-wire is all you would have met with had you tried, believe me. So well done Julia; well, well done. When your punishment is over, for that one you'll be well rewarded.”
Julia sniffled back her tears, and didn't even try to say just what she felt for him that moment.
“And now we come to your hilarious remark at Claudine's. We've all been there, Julia. We've all made a joke that's fallen hideously flat. It's an awful feeling, but nobody died. Did you notice how the conversation rushed in to heal the situation, the way white blood-cells form a clot around a gash? But a pot and Pernod session is what it says on the label – when you're slightly plastered and slightly stoned, you can't exactly hold yourself to the highest standards of sober good judgement in everything you say and do. But yes, you did hurt Laurent's feelings, and no, I'm not at all surprised you've put it on your list. Have you apologised to him yet?”
“Yes, Lucien. He's fine about it – he said pretty much the same as you about it. Even so.”
“Even so is correct. Think about that while I spank you for it.”
“Yes, Lucien.”
Lucien dealt with this one for the next two minutes, using somewhat crisper hand-strokes than he had for being late. He wound down in the final few seconds, then finished with some love-pats.
“Okay – you don't hurt a friend and not pay, not in your world you don't, but now you've paid, so that's that.”
“Yes, darling, that's exactly how I feel now, too. Thank you for making it go away.”
“Parfait! Which just leaves us with your high priest of the sausage-cult. And here I have a problem; I'm not qualified to pass judgement on your religious conscience, Julia, and we need to talk this one through a whole lot longer than Philippe's omelette will allow. You've been a faithful Catholic all your life, and what you're feeling can't all be settled in one go, not remotely. So for now, let this be between you and you, with my right hand as just your medium, your intermediary. Decide on your own punishment, and leave the rest to me.”
Julia nodded thoughtfully, pausing for a moment to consider her own sentence.
“Seven minutes without stopping,” she said with quiet resolution. “Very, very hard indeed; my panties not allowed.”
Lucien didn't want to speak another word on this one, not even the instruction to pull her panties down. Neither Jean-Patrice or her papa had ever had to take the trouble, and he certainly wasn't going to be the first one ever to resort to manual labour on her backside, so when they were still in place ten seconds later, he unleashed a thunder-crack on them so blisteringly fierce it penetrated two closed doors to startle Philippe in the kitchen, who was busy chopping up some mushrooms. Such is the difference, he groaned to himself when he heard Julia's responding squeal of anguish a millisecond later, between the minor medal he had won from Julia and the first place on her rostrum.
“Yoww!! Sorry Lucien, I was waiting for you to say,” she said meekly, putting things to rights at once. He started spanking her the instant she had bared her rump, and spanked her harder than she had known in all her life from either of his predecessors. She gasped with every stroke, but kept to her position. There was no way she was playing tennis if he kept this up for long. He knew it and so did she. He stopped after a single minute, and used his hand instead to quench the bonfire it had started.
“This will have to be a tree-stump punishment, sweet boo-boo; a little at a time, okay?”
“Okay, darling. I understand. But that was exactly what I needed, and I'm glad you've made a start on me.”
“I'm really happy you feel that way. So then – we now come to all the good you've done in the world this past week, which outweighs all these faults at least a hundred times over; spread your legs please, as wide apart as you can possibly manage.”
Julia gulped, but complied at once. Lucien's authority had been growing in her at the speed of a bamboo, and from its beginnings in a childish game less than three weeks ago, was now not far off absolute. She felt him start to tease and please between her legs, and listened as he spoke so glowingly of everything she should be proud of. This shock-of-the-new was as strange and fabulous and thrilling as all the other sweet sensations freshly felt today: her corner-time of waiting, knowing she'd be spanked; her shy young Philippe in her life and home, suitably in awe and tucked into the background; her glad submission, unconflicted now, to a man who for so long had been an equal friend and partner. Lucien talked warmly about all the times she'd made them laugh out loud at Claudine's, the brilliant piece she'd written for the magazine, the tact and sense she'd shown to leave the crying girl in peace; for all of these and more she was rewarded in her pussy, and she sighed and squirmed in bliss.
But when he talked of Philippe and all she'd done for this nice lad, he started playing with her bottom-hole as well, and pleasured her two-handed. Making her come had always been a hard-won effort in the past, but now it was absurdly easy and he did it three times over in unstoppable succession. While doing so he promised he'd wrap up Philippe for her in sparkly paper, just the way she wanted, add a label with her name on it, then tie her gift with yellow ribbon. Bewilderment and wonder, modest shame and wildcat rapture, all bedazzled her at once and churned her into buttermilk.
For her, a man's knee had always been a place of penance and apology, of necessary pain and justice, of best behaviour with her legs together. But her Lucien, while keeping all of these traditions, had transformed his seat of power into something radically new as well - a place of praise and celebration of his one and only Julia.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
an extract from my work-in-progress: the houseboy & The Master of Miss Julia de Valdois. More details, photos, and a synopsis of the story on my site (simonlowrie.com)
“That's okay,” answered Julia without moving. “How's Philippe doing?”
“He's doing you proud, darling. Don't you worry about a thing. He's probably glad to be on his own for a bit anyway.”
Lucien sat down and patted his thighs to let her know that he was ready, then watched Julia run to him, skittish, nervous, so excited, hands still holding up her dress from piano to the sofa in just the same position. She was over him in a trice and then reflexively, she dropped her head down to the carpet straightaway, stretched her legs and raised her bottom, heels together nice and tidy. She then placed both hands in the waistband of her panties, ready for their swift descent the instant he might say so.
“Hey! That's nice, darling – thank you!” said Lucien gently, stroking her sweet and delicate behind. “But ease up for now and just lie across my lap more comfy while we talk, okay?”
“I just wanted to show you how good I'm always going to be from now on in,” she answered shyly as she readjusted, “whenever you do this. I'm so sorry about all that silly yes-no fuss I made the last time you were here.”
“I know, boo-boo, I know, and I really do appreciate it. When you're ready for your spanking I want you to be as good as gold for me and go back just the way you were, but for now, you deserve a little luxury, a bit of you-time.”
“I do? Wow! - why?”
Julia was already purring, lapping up the smooth rubs and caresses that Lucien was lavishing on her suntanned thighs and pantied buttocks.
“Well, lots of reasons; one, because I'm not your papa and you're allowed to relax before your lesson; two, because I want a moment to tell you how wonderful you are; three, because it's Saturday afternoon on a sunny day; four, because you've done your good deed for the millennium with Philippe and should be suitably rewarded; five, because you've put your trust in me to take your hurts away. I could add more, but how many good reasons do you need?”
Julia was not prone to tears, but in her heightened and elated state, his softspoken words of love pierced deep. She reached a hand behind her as she lay face down across him, and used it to say thank-you to his chest, his mouth, his neck, anywhere at all of him that she could find to reach.
“Oh Lucien... my darling angel... please be mine and never leave me...”
“Here I am,” he reassured her, patting on her panties just in case she needed proof, “and here I'll be, for as long as you should need me.”
“That's forever then,” she sobbed.
“Forever's fine by me.”
He waited for a moment, until the shock of being cherished even before discipline had settled down a little.
“Now then; why were you late for work on Wednesday?”
“Oh dear,” she sighed. “No good reason, as I say – how can there be, considering I'm only three minutes from the office here? But I went out with Sylvie on Tuesday night, and she was full of this new guy she's met, and I had boat-loads to tell her about you and Clara and Philippe, and what with one thing and another, we both had far too much to drink and stayed up far too late. I simply couldn't haul myself out of bed next morning, even though I heard the alarm-clock just as merciless as always.”
“Right. Next this girl on the train; anything you need to add to what you've already told me?”
Julia shook her head guiltily. “No, not really. Just a sweet young thing in obvious distress, and I just sat there feeling embarrassed. I still don't know why I didn't try to help in some way. I know you'll have to be very strict with me on that one.”
“Was she still sitting there when you got off?”
“Yes, she was. Why?”
“Nevermind that for now. So then: priests, confessionals, penances; all my favourite things rolled up in a ball. So tell me how the hell you managed to sin when confessing to your sins?”
Julia chuckled. Lucien had been an atheist since the age of seven, and she had been twelve when she last bothered pleading with him to try and save his soul.
“Ah, yes, well – that was a disaster. I went there expecting a lovely, wise, solemn man, like Father Alphonse was for me all through the Jean-Patrice days back in Valdois. Instead I got this dry old stick who couldn't seem to care less. I got the impression he regards the world as a great big sausage factory of sin that does nothing all day but churn out its sausage-sins, and mine were just a few more chipolatas on his quota. Honestly Lucien, I left there feeling worse than I went in.”
“Oh dear. I really am very sorry to hear that. Poor old Julia, you always set so much store by all that stuff, so I can guess how much it hurts. But I don't quite see what you've done wrong – why have you put it on your discipline list for me to help you clear?”
“Because I'm annoyed with myself for thinking and talking about him so disrespectfully; because I don't think I'm ever going again, and because I gave up on the penance he gave me halfway through.”
“Good grief! Can this really be Julia de Valdois speaking? What did you get, by the way?”
“Five decades of rosary; sorrowful mysteries.”
“Ouch! Sweet Jesus but that's steep! I wouldn't dream of asking you to say the sins you went there to confess to, but did they possibly include burning down the Vatican with the Pope still in it?”
“Close enough – I told him I hadn't been to Confession for three years.”
“Well, okay Julia, let me think on that one. I've got nothing of my own that I want added to your list, so that just leaves your joke at Claudine's, about which the less said the better.”
She nodded ruefully and said nothing.
“Right then!” - and he underlined his change of tone by smacking her rump smartly - “Back in your position for a spanking, Julia.”
Lucien was touched by the speed and fluency of her compliance; within five seconds her head and heels were all exactly where they'd been before, her bottom just as neatly raised and at his full disposal, waiting to be bared by her own hands if he should give the signal.
“There's a good girl, boo-boo. Jean-Patrice would be proud of you, and so am I.”
“Thank you, Lucien, thank you so, so much.”
“Okay – we're going to take these one at a time, all right? And put your hands down for the moment; most of these are pretty minor in my view, just panties-up offences.”
“You,” she said emphatically, as she put her palms flat on the carpet by her head, “are a treasure of a man, and I'm honoured to be over you.”
He gave her two brisk smacks as his acknowledgement and thanks.
“Good, that's nice to hear. Now – we haven't got all day, so I'll be briefer than I'll normally be in future. We'll start with you being – late! which is – not! like – you! at – all!”
Having given her four hard ones to let her know her punishment had started, he settled down to an easy, moderate, introduction to her spanking, talking as he did so.
“Ten minutes late is nothing, of course, and it's the first time ever. By most standards that's an impressive record, but we both know you don't judge yourself by others' standards, but your own. If you lie in bed one time and it goes unpunished, it could happen again and then again. That's the way you think about these things, and who am I to disagree? You like punctuality and you're good at it, so this is just a minor lapse. Think about that and nothing else during the next minute.”
“Yes, Lucien.”
“Having said his piece, he upped the power and tempo slightly, and smacked her fifty times or so in silence. Once done, he stopped and rubbed her rump in circles.
“So – d'you plan on being late again next week?”
“No, Lucien, I definitely don't.”
“Then that's all settled and behind you. Actually you can and should be proud of your attendance record, just as you can be proud of all your work there. Madame Dubois wouldn't have said what she did if she hadn't thought you were exceptional at what you do. But the easiest time to slip backwards is just after you've been praised, so be on guard for that and tell me if it happens.”
“Understood, my darling. Thanks.”
“So. Next we come to the girl on the train.”
His buttock-rubs became still gentler, just tender sympathetic touches, full of consolation.
“Julia, what happened there, was that you were not the one. You have the kindest heart I've ever known, and you also have antenna. She felt your concern, felt your pity and your need to help, and she sent out her own waves back, asking you to please leave her alone. Without those waves, nothing on this earth would have stopped you coming to her aid. But after you got off, some other woman took your seat, and she was the right one. She could help. And if she didn't find the perfect stranger that day, then she did the next day or the next day after. That girl will be crying for a long time yet, and she will find her comforter. She thanks you for your concern, which I promise you she noticed, and she thanks you too, for overcoming your first instinct and not throwing yourself on her barb-wire fence. And barbed-wire is all you would have met with had you tried, believe me. So well done Julia; well, well done. When your punishment is over, for that one you'll be well rewarded.”
Julia sniffled back her tears, and didn't even try to say just what she felt for him that moment.
“And now we come to your hilarious remark at Claudine's. We've all been there, Julia. We've all made a joke that's fallen hideously flat. It's an awful feeling, but nobody died. Did you notice how the conversation rushed in to heal the situation, the way white blood-cells form a clot around a gash? But a pot and Pernod session is what it says on the label – when you're slightly plastered and slightly stoned, you can't exactly hold yourself to the highest standards of sober good judgement in everything you say and do. But yes, you did hurt Laurent's feelings, and no, I'm not at all surprised you've put it on your list. Have you apologised to him yet?”
“Yes, Lucien. He's fine about it – he said pretty much the same as you about it. Even so.”
“Even so is correct. Think about that while I spank you for it.”
“Yes, Lucien.”
Lucien dealt with this one for the next two minutes, using somewhat crisper hand-strokes than he had for being late. He wound down in the final few seconds, then finished with some love-pats.
“Okay – you don't hurt a friend and not pay, not in your world you don't, but now you've paid, so that's that.”
“Yes, darling, that's exactly how I feel now, too. Thank you for making it go away.”
“Parfait! Which just leaves us with your high priest of the sausage-cult. And here I have a problem; I'm not qualified to pass judgement on your religious conscience, Julia, and we need to talk this one through a whole lot longer than Philippe's omelette will allow. You've been a faithful Catholic all your life, and what you're feeling can't all be settled in one go, not remotely. So for now, let this be between you and you, with my right hand as just your medium, your intermediary. Decide on your own punishment, and leave the rest to me.”
Julia nodded thoughtfully, pausing for a moment to consider her own sentence.
“Seven minutes without stopping,” she said with quiet resolution. “Very, very hard indeed; my panties not allowed.”
Lucien didn't want to speak another word on this one, not even the instruction to pull her panties down. Neither Jean-Patrice or her papa had ever had to take the trouble, and he certainly wasn't going to be the first one ever to resort to manual labour on her backside, so when they were still in place ten seconds later, he unleashed a thunder-crack on them so blisteringly fierce it penetrated two closed doors to startle Philippe in the kitchen, who was busy chopping up some mushrooms. Such is the difference, he groaned to himself when he heard Julia's responding squeal of anguish a millisecond later, between the minor medal he had won from Julia and the first place on her rostrum.
“Yoww!! Sorry Lucien, I was waiting for you to say,” she said meekly, putting things to rights at once. He started spanking her the instant she had bared her rump, and spanked her harder than she had known in all her life from either of his predecessors. She gasped with every stroke, but kept to her position. There was no way she was playing tennis if he kept this up for long. He knew it and so did she. He stopped after a single minute, and used his hand instead to quench the bonfire it had started.
“This will have to be a tree-stump punishment, sweet boo-boo; a little at a time, okay?”
“Okay, darling. I understand. But that was exactly what I needed, and I'm glad you've made a start on me.”
“I'm really happy you feel that way. So then – we now come to all the good you've done in the world this past week, which outweighs all these faults at least a hundred times over; spread your legs please, as wide apart as you can possibly manage.”
Julia gulped, but complied at once. Lucien's authority had been growing in her at the speed of a bamboo, and from its beginnings in a childish game less than three weeks ago, was now not far off absolute. She felt him start to tease and please between her legs, and listened as he spoke so glowingly of everything she should be proud of. This shock-of-the-new was as strange and fabulous and thrilling as all the other sweet sensations freshly felt today: her corner-time of waiting, knowing she'd be spanked; her shy young Philippe in her life and home, suitably in awe and tucked into the background; her glad submission, unconflicted now, to a man who for so long had been an equal friend and partner. Lucien talked warmly about all the times she'd made them laugh out loud at Claudine's, the brilliant piece she'd written for the magazine, the tact and sense she'd shown to leave the crying girl in peace; for all of these and more she was rewarded in her pussy, and she sighed and squirmed in bliss.
But when he talked of Philippe and all she'd done for this nice lad, he started playing with her bottom-hole as well, and pleasured her two-handed. Making her come had always been a hard-won effort in the past, but now it was absurdly easy and he did it three times over in unstoppable succession. While doing so he promised he'd wrap up Philippe for her in sparkly paper, just the way she wanted, add a label with her name on it, then tie her gift with yellow ribbon. Bewilderment and wonder, modest shame and wildcat rapture, all bedazzled her at once and churned her into buttermilk.
For her, a man's knee had always been a place of penance and apology, of necessary pain and justice, of best behaviour with her legs together. But her Lucien, while keeping all of these traditions, had transformed his seat of power into something radically new as well - a place of praise and celebration of his one and only Julia.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
an extract from my work-in-progress: the houseboy & The Master of Miss Julia de Valdois. More details, photos, and a synopsis of the story on my site (simonlowrie.com)