Unlocking the big oak doors Emily glances up at the Spring sun filtering through the stained–glass windows of the ‘Institute’. Originally endowed by a Victorian benefactor, now part of a modern university, this old building goes unnoticed by most people passing by on this bright 1993 morning.
The research library within opens on just three days a week with Emily, its part-time librarian, fitting the job around her Ph.D. studies. Some colleagues consider it a fusty backwater; Emily rather enjoys the church–like surroundings – lofty ceilings and marble floors – and calm, quiet ambience.
Staring the day as usual at 8.45 a.m., Emily turns on the lights, picks up the post and then sits at the front desk waiting for students to arrive. The job isn’t the most exacting; mainly helping undergraduates locate obscure books, its perk being plenty of time to write her thesis and, blush–making to admit, peruse the rather splendid erotica section. Something that’s become a bit of habit of late, leaving her distracted and almost perpetually aroused.
This ‘special collection’ is kept locked; its key supposedly secure in a safe; in fact, on a chain around Emily’s neck. Currently ‘in between boyfriends’ (no, not like that!), in truth, modern men – mostly boys inhabiting adult bodies in her opinion – don’t really do it for Emily. Call her traditional but, well, she wants someone old–fashioned.
Emily’s romantic, bookish outlook on life sometimes feels unsuited to modern times. As exemplified by today’s attire: cardigan, blouse, and a string of pearls, the epitome of respectability; a typical librarian. Knee-length skirt, sensible shoes, minimal makeup, and glasses habitually perched upon her head complete the academic look. However, underneath, one (who? she reflects glumly) might be surprised to find some almost sinfully brief lingerie adorning her trim figure. Perhaps not so conservative after all…
Later that afternoon, Emily looks at her watch, half an hour until closing, not likely to see anyone else today, she thinks. Wrongly, because striding confidently through the rotating door and purposefully approaching her desk is a new customer. In contrast to the usual scruffy students (although arguably the lecturers are worse) he’s smartly dressed. Wearing a tie in fact; Emily likes a chap in a suit, and his fits very well. This tall man with silvery grey hair favours her with a confident smile and Emily melts inside – lust at first sight.
Michael, they are quickly on first name terms, is a postgrad mature student working on the final dissertation of an English literature MA. He’s taken a couple of weeks’ leave from an unspecified (Emily suspects high-powered and well-remunerated) job to complete it. Meaning, she sends a silent prayer of thanks to whichever celestial deity might be responsible, he’ll be making frequent trips to the library. Visits she soon begins to eagerly anticipate – feeling disproportionately disappointed on days when this charming, personable, and undoubtedly assertive man doesn’t appear. Get a grip girl, chides her inner voice, whatever your fantasies, this is a purely professional relationship.
“What did you do before studying,” she enquires one morning.
“Came from money, followed the family tradition into the City and made some more,” he shrugs. “Clichéd thing for a privileged person to say but it didn’t make me happy.”
“What does?”
“Good writing, hence my being here in literary mode, how about you?’
“A very bright kid from a feckless, underachieving family; got a scholarship, got out of my dead-end town and got a higher education. Not having money means I’ve had to take a series of dull jobs to pay my way.” She’s no need to make her point any more strongly, Michael gets the implication.
“Though I detect a steely determination,” he responds without rancour.
“Academically, yes,” she agrees, “in order to remain with my beloved books, but unfashionable though it is, I’d happily be rescued by a knight in shining armour. Will you be my knight?” Christ, she thinks, where did that come from? Silly mare, you’ve blown it now.
“If you’ll be my damsel in distress I’d be delighted,” Michael answers lightly, but a die has been cast.
“What are you working on today?” he enquires conversationally when next visiting.
“These books were recently acquired for the special collections section. I’m trying to catalogue them,” she explains, outwardly serene, but heart beating fast.
“Ah, the erotica,” Michael raises a knowing eyebrow, “better leave you to it then.” He turns to a nearby table with a couple of hefty tomes and commences making notes while covertly observing Emily, absently twirling a lock of hair with one hand, the other no longer on the table but underneath. Much later, abruptly jolted from a pleasurable reverie by his shadow, Emily becomes abruptly aware of Michael’s looming presence.
“You’re spending a lot of time on books from that particular genre,” he says, it isn’t a question.
“Well…” she stammers
“Perhaps that’s why you’ve twice left the University’s precious erotica shelves unlocked lately?”
Her eyes widen in shock. “How did you know?” It’s true, no point in denying the fact.
“I notice things. An accident, I’m sure, but rather careless, some might even say naughty. Are you naughty Emily?” Silence – the cat has clearly got her tongue. “Do you deserve to be punished – indeed might that be a better solution than the matter being bought to the attention of the Vice-Chancellor?” Michael presses home his advantage. “Those rare editions are extremely valuable. Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson, bought to book one might say.” Emily gets the joke, but it’s no laughing matter.
“Punished… lesson?” she stammers, “what do you mean?”
“I think you know to what I’m referring – you’ve read enough about spanking, no doubt wondered what it might be like. I don’t believe you’re as innocent as you pretend Emily, I saw you slide a hand under your skirt just then. You deserve to have your bottom smacked.”
“Oh…” Overwhelmed by his quiet certainty that she’ll obey Ellie discovers in herself a complimentary willingness to defer; feels her pussy throbbing with desire at every word Michael utters. This is ridiculous, thinks her rational brain, I’m an independent woman, he’s no right to demand my obedience. But you know you want to, responds her libidinous subconscious, you’ve so often dreamt of such a scenario, and how you’d willingly submit…
She nods anxiously towards the door. With an unreadable expression, Michael walks purposefully towards the entrance, locks it and returns.
“Bad girls require discipline,” he whispers in her ear.
“They do, sir,” she meekly agrees.
“Come here.”
Emily stands next to him, hands behind her back.
“Turn around and lean forward against the desk.”
Deferentially, eyes downcast, Emily complies; wrapping his left arm around her slender waist Michael slowly, and deliberately raises her skirt. Emily wishes her boobs were just a little bigger; wishes her arse was just a little smaller but knows her lovely legs are just right. Now so does he.
A grunt of male disapproval, “I don’t care for tights,” he tugs her pantyhose down revealing flawless bottom cheeks, “next time I expect you to wear stockings.” Next time, who said anything about next time? Despite her mounting panic, Emily has an epiphany of understanding; Michael’s coercion is more implied than actual, less of a threat by him as a need within her. He runs his hands appreciatively over her pristine, unmarked bottom then tugs those unexpectedly racy, almost transparent black panties up hard into Emily’s damp divide, the silken scrap disappearing between puffy pussy lips, chafing her swollen clit.
“Turns you on, doesn’t it” he growls, holding her tightly.
“Yes, but I’m scared,” she whispers and it’s true, the physical proximity and her helplessness in the hands of an alpha male are more exciting than anything Emily has ever before encountered.
Emily tenses, holding her breath, awaiting the inevitable; yet the initial smack still catches her by surprise. At first, it’s mainly about the ringing percussive sound, a numbing shock. Prudently Michael allows a pause, he can tell it’s her first time. Gradually her skin pinkens and a sharp stinging sensation suffuses Emily’s posterior.
“Oh,” she looks at him wide-eyed, “oh yes”, amazed by her own compliance with the punitive intentions of a man she scarcely knows. A second spank, slightly harder this time.
“Feeling it now, aren’t you,” Michael mutters, “rather different from in the stories you’re so keen on?” Indeed, the physical reality of what before was only fevered fiction is raw and immediate.” I’ll stop if you ask me to,” he adds.
“Surely not when I’ve been so bad,” Emily replies huskily. The scene is set, and his hard palm hits her bottom repeatedly as Michael methodically and unhurriedly spanks away, Emily’s body responding animatedly to the burning sensation gradually suffusing her derriere.
“Keep still,” he commands as she squirms in a futile attempt to dissipate the smart.
Eventually, Emily has no idea how long – five minutes, or an eternity – Michael ceases her chastisement. Both are breathing heavily now, albeit for different reasons. He slides a hand up her inner thigh and under her knickers.
“Good girl,” Michael whispers, pushing an exploratory digit into Emily’s sopping sex. She shuts her eyes and moves against his fingers, Emily is needy but alas, her evident excitement is unrequited. Taking her by the shoulders Michael turns the shaken young woman to face the wall.
“Make yourself respectable,” he instructs in a tone countenancing no dissent, “don’t move until I’ve left, no rubbing your bottom, or anywhere else. I’ll let myself out,” he kisses the top of her head, “and be back soon to do one final bit piece of research, don’t miss me too much.”
And then he’s gone; taken Emily to the edge and abandoned her unsatiated. Which, thinks Emily, bottom glowing fiercely, is truly sadistic. Simmering with sexual awakening she’s no intention of being denied. Walking stiffly towards her chair, Emily sits, wincing as her tender buttocks make contact with the seat. Legs spread and eyes closed she shoves a hand down the front of her panties and addresses her pent–up frustration with flying fingers, all too quickly reaching a shattering orgasm.
On Monday morning, after a weekend mentally replaying this momentous encounter, and multiple flouting of Michael’s embargo on masturbation, Emily walks into work full of hope for what the new week may bring. Inwardly more confident, her outward appearance has also altered. She’s taken more care with makeup, mascara, and her favourite cherry red lipstick. Does her best not to tug down her skirt at every step. Emily doesn’t usually favour such short clothing and worries people may notice she’s wearing stockings. Once at work it’s business as usual, albeit with some appreciative glances from borrowers, being desired is an unfamiliar but welcome ego boost. Emboldened, Emily experiments with undoing the second button of her blouse.
She can’t conceal her unhappiness when Michael fails to arrive and becomes increasingly despondent when he doesn’t turn up on Tuesday and Wednesday either. By Thursday she’s almost lost hope. Turning to the erotica collection for comfort a photograph falls from between the pages of a book on ‘Le Vice Anglaise’. Emily looks aghast, Michael! But it can’t be, the date scribbled on the back is 1936 – does her dom have a doppelganger? All too much of a conundrum to deal with in her overwrought state, Emily locks up early and heads disconsolately home.
On Friday she settles onto her stool and re-opens the same book. Was Michael ever really here, she wonders? Could this have been some sort of hallucination, an epic instance of self–delusion? Of course not, get real, examine the facts, she inwardly chides. Consider the evidence of two days of sitting gingerly, the finger marks on your sore buttocks clearly visible in the mirror. She was spanked alright, the pertinent question being whether she will see Michael again, let alone reach the sexual conclusion so ardently desired. Not being clairvoyant Emily doesn’t have a clue about either outcome, for now, she tells herself sternly, you’d better get on with some work. Mentally cataloguing the day’s mundane tasks Emily doesn’t notice a familiar figure quietly enter the building until he’s immediately adjacent. Caught totally unawares her incipient shout of shock is stifled by his hand.
“I’ll remove it from your mouth,” his voice whispers, “if you promise not to scream, understood?” Emily remains frozen for a moment, struggling to come to grips with her predicament before vigorously nodding assent.
“Where did you appear from?” she enquires in a small voice.
“Not important right now,” he shushes.
“Your picture…” She points at the faded sepia print on the table.
“My father,” he laughs, “chip off the old block, aren’t I? Long gone, of course, he put up the money to establish the erotica collection you’ve so much enjoyed.” Helping the shaken young woman to her feet he turns Emily to face a bookcase.
“Just relax,” he says calmly, trailing a hand teasingly up and down the back of her thighs.
“Relax,” she tenses at the suggestion, “when I don’t know what you intend to do.”
“I think you can hazard a pretty accurate prediction,” he teases.
“I’m quite sure you’re planning to punish me again,” says Emily shivering with anticipation at the thought, “what might occur afterwards is what’s preoccupying me.”
“What do you hope happens?” he enquires, lips brushing the nape of her neck.
“I think you can make a very good guess,” Emily replies cheekily.
Right now, she can’t think of anything she wouldn’t let him do, and Emily has read a lot of salacious books and has a very vivid imagination.
“I’m rather enjoying your new look,” says Michael appreciatively, “let’s see what lies beneath…” He unbuttons her blouse to the waist, frees her boobs and rolls each erect nipple in turn between finger and thumb. In response, Emily kisses him hard on the mouth, her acquiescence clearly in no doubt. His other hand slides up hard between her thighs and encounters wetness at the apex. Emily moans at this touch, yearning to be penetrated by the hard cock she can feel bulging through his trousers and pressing against her thigh.
“You’ll endure a harsher correction this time,” he murmurs, bending Emily across the desk while removing his belt.
“The door”, she gestures urgently.
He shrugs off her concern. “We’ll just have to take the chance; I find a little jeopardy adds an additional frisson of excitement.” Wrestling up the short, tight skirt exposes the soft curves of Emily’s hips and beautiful bottom; Michael savours the sight for a moment prior to peremptorily pulling her knickers down and off.
“Someone wants to be fucked pretty badly,” he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glimpses her damp, pouting slit. With no warning he straps Emily hard and fast, leaving blazing bands of hurt across both cheeks and down to her stocking tops. She yelps, groans, and stamps her feet, nevertheless thrusting out her buttocks to meet each of the worn leather’s cruel kisses. A further dozen overlapping strokes sear across her fiery red behind until Emily thinks she can’t possibly take any further chastisement.
“Hurts,” she whimpers, tears in her eyes, although the perfect pain only serves to stoke a fire of arousal down below. Aware of her limits, Michael runs his hands along the insides of Emily’s legs and pulls her knees apart, leaving her open and exposed. His tongue repeatedly explores the length of her labia, right up to the nub of her clit, building each caress into a rhythmic repetition. Emily feels an orgasm inexorably approaching, her breathing becomes fast and uneven.
“Fuck you’re tight,” he observes crudely, sliding a finger into Emily’s inviting pink pussy then positioning his erection at her slick entrance.
“Stop teasing and DO IT HARD,” she screams, last vestige of dignity and reserve surrendered. Lewdly Emily pushes back her hips, anxious to have his full length inside her. Equally caught up in the intensity of the moment Michael fills the lusty librarian with the cock she craves. All inhibitions abandoned Emily feels the rhythm of his thrusts increasing, inwardly clenches her pussy and takes them both to an inevitable sexual crescendo. They lay silent for a moment before Michael chivalrously passes Emily a large linen handkerchief to mop the come leaking onto her nylon-clad thighs.
“I think my poor bottom has suffered quite enough for one day,” she whispers sensually, “how about you take me home to your place and fuck me slowly and gently?”
“How about we take one of the books from the special collection to provide us with inspiration?” he replies.
“Oh, I think I’ve already done quite enough research,” Emily responds with a giggle.
“Then let’s grab a bottle of wine and see if we can’t put theory into practice,” agrees Michael.
Cut to a year hence; doctorate earned Emily has been promoted to take charge of the main university library. There’s a new young woman librarian at the Institute, still on probation and requiring guidance. Emily considers herself a firm but fair manager and has kindly offered an after-hours tutorial on the special collection. A recently successful MA student, now a research fellow, somewhat older and vastly experienced, may join them later…
