Dan simply has to ask Laura for a date. For more than a week he’s chatted amiably with the retro clothing store’s pretty assistant,
Laura. Whose manifest attractions include a film star figure, radiant smile, and hard-to-define hint of… what? Dan searches for the correct word, ‘naughtiness’ perhaps? Even during their most mundane conversations, he has the sense Laura is ‘up for it’. Up for what exactly remains to be seen. One thing he has discovered is that both are keen fans of old movies.
Patiently waiting outside Dan eventually notices the shop is, but for Laura, empty. Five minutes later, the object of his desire accepts his suggestion of a visit to the local cinema, not a hard sell, Laura has been secretly hoping he’d take the initiative.
“I’ll lock up, bank the takings, get changed, and meet you in the foyer in time for the eight o’clock programme,” she says, busily.
“There’s always too much to do these days, life must have been simpler in black & white, like in those classic films,” muses Dan, idly perusing a monochrome picture of the town 50 years ago hung behind the counter.
“Maybe you’re, right,” Laura murmurs dreamily, the idea seems to hold a peculiar fascination for her.
His date arrives at the picture palace breathless and five minutes late, hair tied in a cute ponytail and wearing bright red lipstick.
“You look wonderful,” he says, “is that dress vintage?”
“Correct,” retorts Laura, pleased by the compliment, “since we’re watching a 1940s film, I decided to dress accordingly.
The movie is a golden oldie American screwball comedy, wherein the feisty leading lady leads the hero a merry dance until he exasperatedly hauls her across his knee for an all too brief spanking. Taken aback to see one of his favourite fantasies on the silver screen, Dan glances at Laura to gauge her reaction. Which is to lean in and kiss him avidly, confirming his earlier suspicion that they share a certain interest. In true romantic picture-goer fashion, Laura snuggles comfortably against Dan’s shoulder for the rest of the flick, during which he silently plots his next move.
“Back to my place?” Dan suggests as they walk home arm in arm.
“What sort of a girl do you think I am?” she answers in feigned indignation, role-playing the star actress in the motion picture they’ve just enjoyed. “I’ve already gone further than is wise on a first date. And what would the neighbours say?”
“I haven’t any close neighbours,” reasons Dan.
“You’ll just have to be patient and wait until tomorrow afternoon,” continues Laura. “Daylight’s the appropriate time for a well-brought-up girl to visit a gentleman for tea,” she adds primly. With a chaste peck on his cheek, she’s gone, leaving a very frustrated young man alone on the pavement.
As promised, after work the next day Dan has a glamorous visitor. In place of yesterday’s chaste outfit, his date has opted for glamour; Laura’s hair hangs in soft waves to her shoulders; eyebrows drawn into dark curves. A fitted jacket emphasises her trim waist, its matching full skirt swirling just below her knees. Demurely accepting his spellbound invitation to enter, Laura teeters across the room, unaccustomed to the high heels on her ankle-strap shoes.
“Wow! You look amazing,” Dan ushers Laura to the sofa where she gracefully sits, crossing her legs with a sensual swish of nylon.
“Went a bit overboard,” she admits mischievously, “I’ve been wanting to dress up in some of the shop’s stock for ages.”
“Care for a glass of wine?”
“Definitely, a large glass of red please.”
“You’ll be insisting on the same degree of propriety as last night?” Dan ventures.
“That’s for me to know and you to discover,” Laura adds, slipping into character as he passes her drink, ” and be careful, these stockings cost a fortune.”
“Why so special?” he asks, guilelessly.
“They’ve got seams.” Laura lifts her skirt to flash him a glimpse.
“So, you think,” Dan says, voice dangerously low, “flirting outrageously comes without consequences?”
“Worked for Hepburn and Tracey,” Laura responds cheekily, sensing the change in his tone and trying to escape Dan’s reach.
“Not so fast,” he says in the time-honoured manner of a B-movie hero, and unceremoniously tumbles her across his lap.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demands crossly.
“Same as Rock Hudson did to Barbara Rush,” he laughs, emphasising the point by bringing his hand down sharply.
Although Laura protests, it’s with a perceptible lack of conviction. Growing ever more confident, Dan methodically spanks every inch of her rear until his palm feels hot, although nothing in comparison to the burning sensation assailing Laura’s bottom. Spanking didn’t hurt this much in her imagination. “No,” She wails hopelessly as the chic skirt is raised to her waist.
“You certainly do have Betty Grable’s legs,” Dan says admiringly, “and very fetching French knickers.”
“Real silk,” sniffs his paramour, “please don’t rip them.”
“Then you’d better not struggle while I take them down.”
“Hang on,” she objects, “you can’t possibly intend….”
Dan pins Laura’s wrists into the small of her back and inches the flimsy lingerie down to reveal two hotly glowing pink cheeks. Despite wriggles and pleas for clemency, Laura meekly lifts her haunches to assist him. Whereupon Dan resumes smacking her bare bottom, dispelling any remaining fight from Laura, who now lies limply in his grasp.
“Not quite so defiant now,” he observes, admiring his handiwork.
“Brute,” Laura complains, making the most of the chance to rub.
“I think you exaggerate,” responds Dan smugly.
“Don’t patronise me, you sod,” comes the waspish reply, “my poor bottom feels as if it’s on fire.”
“I see,” he replies, unabashed, “any other aftereffects?” Her pussy is visibly damp and beckons alluringly.
“An involuntary reaction,” says Laura, blushing scarlet as Dan deftly locates her clitoris, eliciting moans of delight. Squirming across his lap simply makes matters worse; the friction sends jolts of pure pleasure through Laura’s sex.
“Now you’re warmed up, it’s time to get serious,” declares Dan, opening her thighs to expose Laura’s dewy labia. He gently spanks her lust-swollen pussy, creating surges of pure passion. Laura jerks and moans her way to a noisy orgasm, an outcome thus far denied Dan. “I think you’re forgetting something,” he says testily.
“What?” Laura says, feigning innocence, the customary spark restored to her violet eyes. Dan looks pointedly at the uncomfortable bulge in his trousers.
“Poor thing,” whispers Laura, slipping to the floor and freeing his erection. “Oh my,” she adds appreciatively, delicately running her tongue up the length of his glistening shaft.
“I thought,” croaks Dan, gasping at the exquisite joy of her hot mouth, “you were supposed not to have seen one before?”
“Yes well, nostalgic playacting or not, claiming to be virgin stretches credulity too far,” admits Laura, continuing to practice an obviously well-honed skill.
“Leaving me no option,” he says, anxious to avoid an all too premature conclusion, “but to discipline you further.” Dan positions his blissfully bemused beauty astride a well-padded sofa arm. Legs spread, buttocks perfectly poised for further chastisement, rather than be embarrassed, this blatant exposure seems to enhance Laura’s excitement. Framed by stocking tops and rumpled clothing, her pussy gapes invitingly. Drawing the belt from his trousers Dan raises his arm.
“Six strokes, Laura, I want you to count each one out loud.”
“Yes, Dan,” she replies obediently, positively embracing her predicament and pushing out her enticing posterior. “One,” she cries shrilly, struggling for control. “Two!” The next stroke falls lower, and Laura’s legs kick in instinctive response. She waits tensely. He experiments with a backhand, higher this time, arcing across her burning skin. “Three!” she yelps, only halfway through her torment. “Four!” A diagonal stroke, across previous welts; somehow Laura stays in place.
“Very good,” nods Dan approvingly, squeezing her sore cheeks. Laura feels the pain ebb to an almost bearable throb, sending urgent tingles of arousal to her molten pussy. The belt catches her tender inner thighs, marking the sensitive skin just above her stocking tops.
“Five,” she whimpers, blinking furiously.
“Last one…” This final band of fire hits the tender crease where buttock and thigh meet, uniting pleasure and pain, stoking the inferno.
“Six! No more. If you want to make me scream just fuck me.”
Dan stills Laura’s undulating hips and slides his full length deep into her from behind. Tilting back her head and rolling her eyes, she groans sensuously. Dan allows her to do the work and dictate the pace, sliding enthusiastically back and forth along his cock while he thrusts vigorously in response, their union loud and frantic. Neither can defer coming any longer and they exultantly climax. Gently Dan carries Laura to the bedroom and removes every remaining scrap of clothing. Laid on her back Laura dreamily spreads her legs, urging him to fuck her again, slowly this time, and in technicolour.
