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“Have you ever been given a rectal exam like this?”, “When you go to the doctor, does he make you lay across his lap and pull your panties down to take your temperature?”, “Does he also put you across his knee to give you your rectal exam?”...Mike emphasized this last question with a wiggle of his finger in her rectum. Linda was beet red as she listened to Mike talk. She could feel his finger punctuating each question. If she could, she would get up and pull her panties up in embarrassment, but Mike continued to hold her firmly down as he questioned her. She felt like a little girl in this position. Mike finally pulled his finger from Linda's rectum and stripped off the rubber glove. He began to massage Linda's backside before starting to spank her again. He began slowly, methodically, smacking each naked cheek lightly, watching it wobble and turn pink under his hand. Linda was taken by surprise by this new spanking, she had felt a certain empty feeling when Mike had pulled his. The pleasureful pain shoots through my body and forces me to thrust my breasts forward and arch my back, gasping unevenly. You tug steadily on the chain between my clamped nipples until my face is almost even with yours. I can feel your warm breathe on my breasts, my neck, my face. I want so desperately to open my eyes and look at the face of the man who owns me, controls me, exhilarates me, loves me, but I don't dare. I'm scared if I open them, you'll just disappear as if in a dream.After what feels like an eternity, I feel your mouth on mine, hungry, needy, taking what's yours. The roughness of your cheek and chin against my soft skin thrills me and I greedily kiss your mouth and suck on your tongue until I push you back on the bed. I still don't dare open my eyes and I can't take my mouth off of yours, but I need to feel your bare skin against mine. As if by braille, my hands glide down your shirt, finding your buttons, clumsily undoing them one by one. I straddle your thigh as.
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Suddenly the day had grown brighter – for both of them. Exactly thirty minutes later she emerged from the lift wearing a black shift dress with a synched-in waist and a decently-low scooped neckline. Over her shoulder was an orange leather handbag, and on her feet were black Sloane suede court shoes. Gently chic, but still managing to look business-like. “At your service ma’am, standing by my boots with my bed in my hand!” He threw her a mock salute and her laughter tinkled across the hotel foyer. She sashayed towards the door. His eyes followed her progress, enjoying the view. There was, indeed, a little bistro just around the corner. L’Hirondelle was inviting, and they found a table with a window seat from which they could watch the evening world go by. They each ordered a croque monsieur, and she let him choose a Chablis to accompany it. One bottle of wine later, and having both set the world to rights (and discovered a discreet sufficiency of information.

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