From the Top Shelf - The Tenant, Part 2

You may recall from last week that our landlord friend had an apartment for rent, but the prospective tenant could not afford to pay the extra fee for 'key money'. She agreed to allow him to spank her instead, so without further ado, let's find out how that goes in part two of The Tenant by Matthew Martin.

When she arrived at the flat she was wearing one of the shortest miniskirts I had ever seen; it barely reached to the tops of her tautly braced stockings. Her long slender legs ended in high heel shoes. A close-fitting blouse revealed her breasts as small but prominent beneath a bra which was clearly visible through the transparent material. She appeared to be calm but in her demeanour there was also something slightly apprehensive. I had left on the table a copy of our tenancy agreement which awaited my signature and I saw her glance towards it.

"Is that for me?" she enquired.

"No, I haven't signed it yet."

"When are you going to?"

"When you have paid off the key money."

"Which will consist of what?"

"Oh...spanking, some strapping, caning."

She blanched. "How much? I mean how many times?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"My mood, your reaction, my judgment of what you can take."

She looked tentative. "It sounds pretty open-ended."

"Yes it is. Take it or leave it."

She hesitated. "And - and it's going to hurt me - a lot?"

"Well if it didn't it would be no fun for me. You can back out if you wish. There's still time."

She gave me a long look as if to measure my intentions. I went to a drawer and took out the cane I had bought for the occasion. It was a long, thin flexible instrument, as I demonstrated by making a cut through the air with it.

"Is that what you're going to use on me?" she asked quietly and I nodded.

"OK," she said between gritted teeth, "let's get it over."

I placed a chair in the middle of the room, sat down and beckoned her to approach. She stood beside me and I put my hand under her skirt, feeling first her smooth firm thighs, then sliding my hand between them where they joined at her crotch, lightly fingering the cleft between her buttocks, finally exploring their satiny surface under her snugly clinging briefs.

"Do you really have to do THAT?" she gasped in a strangled voice.

"Just a reccy. Examining the terrain before launching the attack. But we'll have these off."

Using both hands I grasped the waistband of her briefs and pulled them down to her ankles. Without waiting to be told she stepped out of them, leaned down and flicked them away.

"Right," I said, "Now over you go!"

Putting my arm around her waist I tilted her forward and she fell face down across my knees. Her miniskirt, which scarcely covered her bottom, fell with her, revealing the two plump cheeks of as sweet a little bum as any addict could wish for... With my left hand round her waist I then drew her towards me until her hip was pressed against me...

I began with my hand, but soon developed a sore palm so I took off my belt which I have used as a strap on many a bare bottom. It is actually an old stirrup leather about two feet long and an inch wide. Doubled in two it carries quite a bit of weight and can be wielded effectively with little more than a flick of the wrist.

With this implement I rapidly transformed the pale surface of Jean's moon into something more resembling the sun, rising or setting, streaked with darker tints where the strap had fallen. I didn't count the number of lashes I gave her, but just went on until I felt that enough was enough. Of course she struggled and kicked and cried, first in protest then in anguish, and tried to protect her burning backside with her hand, but I prevented this by twisting her arm behind her back.

Eventually, realising her helplessness, she resigned herself to the punishment, and the rest of it was carried out without resistance and to the accompaniment of gasps of pain and subdued sobbing.

When at last I finished and released her arm, she didn't try to get up but just lay there weeping quietly and gingerly feeling her burning buttocks. To help cool them I laid my hand on the hot surface and gently began to stroke it. This seemed to have a soothing effect and she stopped crying. After a while I turned her over, at the same time pulling her up, and sat her on my knees with one arm supporting her shoulders and the other caressing her flank. Her eyes were still swimming and her cheeks tear-stained, but the woebegone expression was giving way to one less lugubrious. Perhaps it was just relief that her agony had ended, perhaps some secret satisfaction in the way she'd endured it, perhaps some stranger sensation she didn't fully understand, but she seemed content to stay on my lap and feel my hand underneath her bruised and smarting bottom.

I changed the position of my hand and moved to the warmth of her crotch where my searching became more insistent. Her face flushed, her head dropped on my shoulder, then she lifted her face to mine and our lips met in a passionate kiss.

She withdrew her mouth, met my eyes with hers and whispered, "Have I paid the key money?" I nodded and smiled. "The rest is voluntary," I grinned and she curled up on my lap.

She glanced at the cane, which I had placed on the table beside the tenancy agreement and said, "What about that?"

"Oh that will keep until the next time," I replied cheerfully.

"And you'll sign the agreement?"

"Of course, but I may have to add a clause."

"Which says what?"

"That the tenant places her bottom at the disposal of the landlord whenever he needs access to it."

"I think I'll sign that," she whispered.

"Sensible girl!" I said and folded her into my arms.

Very sensible indeed. Something tells me she will not have to wait long for the landlord when her taps spring a leak or her water heater stops working.