The Table

[a_bad_girl]

She pulled into the parking lot of the store she had passed many times but never had a chance to stop at. Memories the sign said, a step back in time. From the outside it was a huge cavernous edifice. What treasures did it hold, what remembrances would it stir up in her mind she wondered.

Immediately upon stepping inside the entrance the scent of old tickled her nose. She stood still, closing her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It was like the smell of her grandmother’s attic on a warm summer’s afternoon during a forbidden foray when she was ten. That tummy tingling, twisty angst of being somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. It was the first time she had encountered that sensation, but definitely not the last. As the dust motes had swirled and danced in the sunlight streaming through windows the antique steamer trunks and hat boxes had whispered to her, tempting her, saying me, me, me open ME! Blinking, she smiled remembering all the ‘adventures’ she’d gone on in that attic over the years.

The initial room of the store was full of knick knacks, mementoes, and bright shiny baubles of all kinds and sizes. “Real” graced the shelves next to reproduction, a mix of old and nouveau old. The bright hues of carnival glass blended in a palette with the pastels of Depression era glass. She picked up the sugar bowl of a silver tea set, giggling as she imagined a maid saying, “One lump, or two, madam?” The Victorian era was her favorite period of fantasy. The clothes, the proper manners, the hierarchy of the household, and the strictness of the husband that ruled the domain, all played their part in her daydreams of “what if”. She smiled again thinking of all the pandemonium she would have created as the unconventional wife/mistress of that household. Hmmm, and all the noise she would have made when the man of the house corrected her waywardness. A certain man she knew came to mind, one who would have fit that role extraordinarily well. She set the sugar bowl back down and moved on.

In the middle of the room was a glass fronted case filled with jewelry from decades past. Silver, gold, crystal, and semi precious stone sparkled in the lights. In her grandmother’s attic had been a couple boxes with costume jewelry including a silver charm bracelet that she had loved to wear, to hear the way it jingled on her wrist. Keepsake trinkets from an ancestoress’s life, tiny baby shoes, a skeleton key, Aladdin’s lamp, a glimpse into the mind of great, great, great who? Over the years she had created her own charm bracelet. A frog prince, Cinderella’s carriage, a book of secrets, and a witch’s cauldron were a few of her talismans of choice. Would one of her descendants wonder what about the charms had caught her eye? The clip on earrings, and brooches, all brought back attic dress up memories as well. She strolled on.

Carriage House the sign said pointing up the stairs. Climbing the steps was much like her first illicit trip to the attic, wondering what she’d find around the corner. The room was filled with furniture. Ohh yummy, a four poster bed, perfect for being restrained on. A richly colored fabric covered bench for kneeling on at the end of the same bed. Hmm, she sighed, smirking at where her mind was wandering. Ohhh, black leather padded straight back chair. She could just imagine that chair in his den; being pulled over his knee while he sat in it. It had the ‘look’ of him about it, tasteful and refined.

Then the center of the room caught her eye. A piece she was very drawn to on many levels. It stretched out long with a brilliantly polished finish.The mixed darker red tones of the wood, mahogany and maybe cherry, complimented the burgundy striping in the ten upholstered chairs that surrounded it. The table had formal dinner party written all over it, one of her absolute favorite events to plan and hold. From the menu right down to the place settings of the table, every small detail was very important. It was also a popular topic of conversation with him, consequences that could and would happen if she ‘misbehaved’ before, during or after such a gathering. Extremely stingy, throbbing, uncomfortable consequences. She sat in a chair at one end of the table, imagining him sitting at the opposite end, the other seats taken by their mutual friends.

She stood back up, running her fingers over the smooth, cool surface, liking the fluid sensual feel of it, while lost in thought. Dinner parties were most enjoyable, but she had a slightly more private soiree in mind. The table set for two, one place at the head of the table and one to its left. Not quite a candelabra affair, perhaps three or four candlesticks of varying heights would be interesting. Hmm, she would be wearing a simple black dress, v neck, sleeveless, and knee length with a single strand of pearls. Underneath, a white lace bra, black lace panties, white back seamed stockings and a black garter belt with black patent leather stilettos. And what for him? A starched white shirt, with cuff links, and black pants, with shined black shoes. Unpretentious, stylish and hot on a man.

Looking around to make sure no one was in the room, she leaned forward until she was bent over the table. Mmmm, the perfect height, her bottom was just at the right angle. She closed her eyes, conjuring up the scene, fingers still stroking the table top. The candles would be flickering as she stood by the table, the other lights dimmed. He would come up behind her and just stand. She loved the way her senses were all stirred up when he did that. The anticipation of what he might say, or do, made her core begin to heat up. Perhaps he would run one finger down her bare arm, while he murmured with his deep voice in her ear, asking her if she’d been good today.

Define good she would ask beginning a verbal game of wills.

You know what good means, his answer, a finger sliding down her other arm. A caress that might make her shiver as it implied a harder touch to come.

Your definition or mine, her inquiry to him.

Answer me, the tone that creeps into his voice demands she tell him what he wants to know, now.

My behavior was less than ladylike, her voice soft & low.

What happens when you don’t behave? He moves to speak in her other ear.

I get punished. I get spanked she stumbles over the words.

Do you deserve to be spanked? His breath is hot on the back of her neck.

Yes, her voice barely above a whisper, catches in her throat.

Ask me. The heat of his body behind her is beginning to drive her crazy.

She is silent, unable to respond. On the table next to her he lays a leather strap. It’s meaning unspoken between them.

Ask me, he says again.

Silence.

He unzips the back of her dress, and then unhurriedly slides it down her body. She trembles, a slight quiet whimper escaping her lips when she steps out of it.

Ask me.

She swallows hard, her lips part….still no words.

He unclasps her bra, removing it, his fingers lightly brushing over her nipples.

Ask me.

She shakes her head no.

A hand in the middle of her back pushes her forward until she’s bent facedown on the table; arms outstretched. Her bottom is pressed up tight against him; she wiggles slightly, the liquid heat between her legs intensifying.

Ask me.

I can’t she almost cries.

He steps back, hands on each side of her hips, slowly sliding her panties down to her knees. A finger traces back up her right thigh then slides between her legs.

No…please…. her fingers stretch wide at the teasing intrusion of his touch.

He gives a low chuckle, his hands move to grip her bottom, squeezing slightly almost as though parting the cheeks.

Gasping she tries to move away, unsure of what he’s doing.

He places his hands flat on the table, one on either side of her body, leaning over until he’s almost lying on top of her, trapping her in place. The warmth of his body on her back is a sharp contrast to the cold of the table under her breasts and stomach.

Ask me, he orders.

Eyes squeezed closed, she fights the urge to acquiesce to his demand. Her lower back arches up, rubbing the bare skin of her bottom into the soft cloth of his pants.

His left hand buries itself in her hair, twisting her head so his lips are right next to her ear.

Ask me now.

Please spank me, she blurts out, unable to resist his will anymore. Spank me hard and don’t hold back, she whispers.

As you wish, my dear, he laughs softly at her submission, standing back up, to run a hand over her bottom.

She begins to pant, afraid yet excited about the discipline to be delivered.

The first stroke of the strap bites intensely, making her rise up, off the table. His hand pushes her back down then brushes a hand over the spot where the strap struck, making her shiver. That space between pleasure and pain.

Stay in position.

He moves to the other side, another stroke lands, driving the breath from her lungs in a yelp. Alternating sides, he continues to rain hard punishing slaps on her bottom. Tears begin to flow well before he finishes, sobs intersperse with shrieks.

He stops, leans over her once more. His pants feel rough against her throbbing, stinging bottom as he tells her not to move, he has to make a call, a call to someone she knows.

Her eyes open wide………

Right this way, we have several lovely pieces in the Carriage room. The salesman’s voice broke into her musings. She stood up and sighed, tracing her fingers where she’d just lain, feeling the warmth lingering from her body. Such are the everyday dreams of a bad girl she mused. She took a picture of the table with her cell phone and sent it to him.

It’s a beautiful table she told the couple standing with the salesman. I think you’d enjoy it. With a secret smile she walked away.

Once out in the car her phone rang.

I was just thinking about you she said to him. I saw the most wonderful dining room table.

Almost as if reading her mind he began to tell her a ‘story’………