Old-Fashioned Values (14 page)

On his face, across the black lacquer surface of the table, illuminated by a candle in an elegant square holder, he smiled his little smile.

“Why only three?”

At that point, the first board of sushi was delivered: uni and hamachi.

“Because I say so,” John said, picking up a piece of hamachi delicately in his fingers and popping the whole thing into his mouth.

Rachel felt her brow furrow. John chewed gravely, his mouth bulging slightly, looking into her eyes all the while. It took him a long time to finish the enormous bite. When he was done, his smile had become one of amusement.

He said, “I won’t make you spend a question on asking why I just ate that that way. That’s the only correct way to eat sushi, but even though I do want to teach you about that kind of thing, I won’t be disappointed if you use your chopsticks and dip it in soy and wasabi the American way. Just please don’t dip the rice in the soy, if you do—turn it over so the fish gets the flavor.”

Rachel blushed. That was what she always did with sushi, which she loved: dipping with the rice down, which apparently constituted a grave sin.

“Try it my way?” John said. “Use your fingers and turn it upside down to get the soy on the fish.”

Rachel mixed a little soy and a little wasabi, then picked up a piece of hamachi. The fish felt a little slimy, but she also felt incredibly grown up to be learning from a man who clearly knew exactly how you were supposed to eat sushi, which had obviously eluded the few people in Wisconsin who ate it.

The tiny bit of soy on the fish, instead of the huge amount the rice always picked up. made it possible actually to taste the fish in a way she never had. “Oh my God,” Rachel said, still chewing the half she had bitten off as delicately as possible, though of course that wasn’t delicately at all, and the rest of the exquisitely assembled morsel had fallen apart.

John laughed. “Next thing to teach you is to put the whole thing in your mouth. It’s strange at first, but you learn to chew it very slowly and enjoy it to the fullest. You’ve got a lovely, delicate mouth, but I promise you can do it.” He gave Rachel what seemed a rather meaningful look, and Rachel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant her to think about what else might befall her mouth. She felt her face get hot—he meant kissing, of course. Of course. It was completely inappropriate for Rachel to wonder what his cock looked like.

John said, “Alright, time to think about your first question.”

In silence, enjoying the food and the simple fact of being there with John, Rachel pondered that first question. Finally, as she chewed a delicious piece of tuna, she decided to take him up on his suggestion. Something about the possibility that he might be pleased if she did that seemed to send delicious, if tormenting, tingles through her body.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

John smiled the little smile. “That’s a very good question, Miss Lowenstein. I was born and raised in Maine. I did a little of the hunting and fishing my family loved, but I also developed a taste for literature that I found hard to satisfy until I was sent to boarding school in Connecticut, for both my and my family’s good. Then I went to college in New Jersey, where I studied economics very, very hard, and learned to enjoy what people usually call the finer things—without, I’m proud to say, letting them get dominion over me. I worked for a few years on Wall Street, and made some money, but then I got stressed and bored, which is a terrible combination. I decided to get a PhD in economics. I did that in Massachusetts. That let me make more money, in a more interesting way, and it also led to being able to lecture at Mendon from time to time, and keep myself young that way. Time to think about your next question.” He took a piece of salmon, and made a comic show of chewing it as slowly as he possibly could, while looking Rachel straight in the eye, to tell her she had better be thinking of her next question.

At last he swallowed, and Rachel said, “When did you start doing… discipline?”

The little smile appeared, this time crooked up a tiny bit on the left side. “I’m guessing you mean what I call loving discipline—or, to put it a little less euphemistically, disciplinary spanking. I don’t suppose it’s inaccurate, though, to connect my ideas about loving discipline to my broader thoughts about discipline in general. Very intelligent question.”

Rachel tried to look like she had meant all that. Of course she had really only meant “When did you start spanking girls?” She could sense somehow, in the way his eyes crinkled, that he knew that, and his self-assurance and gentle mockery made her feel like she was flying, even as it vexed her ever so slightly. The vexation seemed so strange, though: almost as if she thought she
should
be vexed that way, because John did it to help her learn. Actually, Rachel felt like she had never known just how much she had to learn until she met John Gammon.

“So I’ll answer the question you asked, and let it lead to the question you meant to ask, if that’s alright.” Now the smile had become so very gentle that Rachel felt her own slightly anxious semi-frown transform itself to match. She nodded.

“I first started doing discipline, I suppose, when I learned how to tie my shoes, do my chores, and get myself going in the morning. I mean that I think my ability to discipline myself—to do what’s necessary without being told—probably began then, and I think I have my mom and dad, who are very simple people, to thank for that. I got scholarships to school, but my priceless education came from my parents.” He had been gazing out into the dark restaurant as he spoke, but now he looked at her, and he must have seen the question in her eyes, because he continued, “They never spanked me. Spanking was just something I had in my nature, I think. And I knew from a very early time that it had to do with sex, even though I was nineteen before I did anything about it. I was lucky enough to have an older girlfriend then, in college, who did a lot of naughty reading, and was pretty brave, I can see looking back on it. She gave me some books, and after I read them she asked if I thought I could keep her in line. I was pretty nervous, but I knew I really wanted to try. So we made some rules, and I found that it helped both of us to know that if she broke them—and she broke them a lot—she would wind up over my lap with her bottom bare.”

“Like Mark and Sally,” Rachel said softly.

“Kind of,” John said. “But the dynamic was pretty different, I think, since Joan had been the one to ask me. It wasn’t as serious, I think, and so, I think in retrospect, not as helpful to her as I think Mark is to Sally—and Sally is to Mark. Mark and Sally are more like Carol and I were. In between, I dated one other woman for a few months—just to round out my history for you, Miss Lowenstein. She thought she might like loving discipline, but it turned out that really she just liked spanking.”

Again he took a piece of sushi—this time a very complicated looking roll of flying fish roe, placed it carefully in his mouth, and began to chew. Again he gave her the meaningful look, and this time Rachel giggled. “Alright,” she said. “I’m thinking.”

Did she want to ask about Carol? She thought probably not—that would be too specific. But maybe she could find out what she wanted to know about Carol and John’s relationship with a more general, philosophical question. John swallowed, even more theatrically this time. Rachel giggled again. She had gone, somehow, from never having felt more nervous with a man to never having felt so carefree and comfortable on anything resembling a date.

John raised his eyebrows, and Rachel said, “Do you believe in maintenance spankings?”

To her delight she could see that her question had actually taken John by surprise: his eyes even seemed to bug out of his head very slightly—and of course also very attractively.

“You’ve done some reading of your own,” he said dryly. Rachel nodded. “May I ask where?”

“Of course,” Rachel said. “I found a lot of blogs—by women mostly—about what they usually call domestic discipline.”

“Ah,” John said. “That’s good to know. Alright, I’ll answer the question. Ready?” Rachel nodded. “Ready to hear about the fate of your bottom?” Rachel giggled, and nodded again. “Yes and no,” John said.

Then he closed his mouth and just looked at her for a very long moment. Rachel almost demanded more, but she had a strong suspicion John was testing her, to see how curious she really was about the matter. She remained silent, looking patiently back into his eyes.

John laughed. “Okay, okay. It’s just that maintenance night was, well, not exactly an issue with Carol, as much as a private joke. I refused to tell her in a given week whether she was going to get a maintenance spanking or not, and then if I refused to give her a maintenance spanking, she would always brat. Then I might refuse to punish her for it, and punish her by not punishing her, but… well, to be honest, we always ended up in bed. Of course we did that a lot anyway.”

Rachel put her hand out instinctively across the table to grasp John’s. His voice had become very sad, and his little smile was gone for the moment. She squeezed his hand. “You loved her very much.”

John nodded. “Still do.” He took a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean I’m not falling in love with you, Rachel, though,” he said.

“Oh,” Rachel replied, her heart pounding her chest. “Really? I mean…”

The little smile returned. “No need to say anything of the kind back,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to think that my love for Carol might get in the way. It certainly won’t get in the way of me giving you maintenance spankings as necessary.”

“What does ‘as necessary’ mean?”

Now John took her hand in his. “How much real BDSM material have you read?”

Rachel blushed. “A lot?”

“Then I’m guessing that you encountered a great many scenes where a girl gets punished for no reason at all.” Rachel nodded. “And I’m also guessing that you find those scenes some of the most arousing.” Rachel gave one quick nod, barely able to admit the truth—the absolute truth—of what John said. “Can you see the connection between those scenes and what goes by the name of maintenance spanking?”

Rachel could, though she hadn’t thought of it that way before. Suddenly the image of John telling her it was time for a spanking and pointing to… what? the arm of his chair? the ottoman?… filled her mind, and she realized that she had suddenly got very wet between her legs. The lingering smart from her very first spanking, in the limo, seemed to contribute a warmth of its own as she imagine John telling her that he would spank her simply because he was John and she was Rachel, and John spanked Rachel because John was a man and Rachel was a woman. A wave of arousal so great that she clutched involuntarily at John’s hand crashed over her. It allowed her only to whisper, “Yes.”

Chapter Seventeen

His cock feeling as hard as a bar of iron, Mark watched Sally emerge from the bathroom, naked because he had told her she must take off all her clothes, even her pretty underwear. The lingerie had been like the gift wrap, but now he had opened his present. His exquisitely beautiful girlfriend, creamy pink and white skin seeming almost to glow in the low light of the hotel room, crossed hesitantly to the bed where he stood, silently pointing the way for her to stand next to him, at its foot. Her perfect little breasts with the strawberry nipples, her pert little bottom, its cheeks like apples, and above all the cleft in front, modestly hiding under red-gold curls: they all belonged to him.

“Lay yourself down,” he said softly, “for your spanking.”

Sally looked up at him uncertainly, and then she said, “Hold me first? Just for a moment?”

Instantly Mark put his arms around her, treasuring the feeling of her soft bare skin against his arms still covered in the fabric of his shirt, and the sight of the contrast between her bare legs and his grey-flannel-covered ones.

“Oh, Mark, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

She looked up at him, trembling slightly though the room was very warm. “Okay,” she said, “I’m ready, sir.”

“Lie down on your tummy, over the side of the bed, with your feet on the floor. I’m going to spank you. That lingerie was very naughty. From now on, I will be the one to decide what kind of underwear you wear.”

“Seriously?” she whispered with a giggle.

“Seriously,” Mark said. “I’ll make a spreadsheet for you.” Then he couldn’t keep a straight face and laughed.

Sally thought for a moment, and then she said softly, “Actually, I really, really like that idea. I want you always to know that I’m wearing the panties you chose.”

“I should warn you,” Mark said, “that some days you won’t be wearing panties at all.”

“What?”

Mark nodded. “It’s important that you understand that you’re only allowed to wear underwear when I let you.”

“Oh, sir,” Sally said, seeming almost overcome with arousal at the thought.

Mark ended the hug and said, “Alright, young lady. That’s enough delay. Get your impudent bottom over the side of the bed for me.”

Sally took a deep breath, and then she moved so that she stood at the foot of the bed, facing the head, ready to put herself in position. “Lay yourself down now,” Mark said. “On your elbows, like when you got your whipping. But I want to see those knees spread, too. You need to learn that a girl who wears immodest underwear gets her pussy put on display.”

Sally gave a little sob of erotic shame, and did as Mark had instructed, bending over until she could support herself on her elbows, and very slowly—even sluggishly—separated her knees to show Mark the delicious view he had craved for so long, of his girlfriend’s sweet little cunt nestling between her thighs, with a charming hint of her rosy anus just showing in the valley above.

He went to stand next to her left thigh. “I’m going to give you a very special kind of spanking, Sally,” he murmured. Then, instead of bringing his hand down hard on her creamy, round bottom, he put his fingers on her pussy, cupping and rubbing. He began to caress her there, dominantly, in the way he was quickly learning to do with enough skill that he knew he could make Sally crave more and more. Her pussy was so wet that his fingers were immediately slipping easily up and down, giving her such pleasure that she moaned loudly into the pillow on which she had laid her cheek.