A Month With Mr. Martin (A Sequel to The Headmaster's Schoolgirl Wife)

Dinner Is Served

The cook was a short Scottish woman left lame and with a permanently curled lip by some childhood malady.  She had worked for Charles for many years.  Having no suitors of either sex excepting the blind or very drunk, the unfortunate woman had developed a keen interest in masturbation and voyeurism to compensate.  Her other employers had not been nearly as understanding when she was inevitably caught out at a doorway or windowsill, violating someone’s privacy in the throes of self-administered ecstasy, but Charles Martin found her obsessive habits both an amusing diversion and a useful additional tool of humiliation for his charges.   If he came across her at an insalubrious juncture, he either politely complimented her vocal range, or simply failed to notice her at all.

For her part, she relished the sight and sound of young flesh being corrected as much as the sexual act itself, and as she was a cracking cook to boot, it was a perfect match.  Free rein in the Martin household was nearly as sweet as true love.  She was delighted to meet “Alex,” and fully planned to rub her own nubbin raw tonight as the tart was put in her place.  By the looks of her tear-stained face, she’d already had a taste!

Attracted by the howls, she’d had an ear to the study door (and a pair of busy hands) during Alexis’ tawsing but couldn’t wait to actually see the trollop being properly dealt with as all trollops should.  She was a pretty young thing, the cook thought as she eyed Alexis up and down, pursing her lips hungrily, and quite well-developed.  No doubt Alexis was popular with the boys, as well as the social climbers, and for that alone surely deserved every lick she got.  Envy was a coiled snake in her chest, and made her fervently hope discipline was on Mr. Martin’s menu tonight!

 “O’f’tg’en,” she told Alexis in her impenetrable deformed brogue, handing her a serving platter with a twisted grin.  The “young miss” stared uncomprehendingly until a slap on the thighs sent Alexis stumbling into the dining area. 

“G’t’f’q’o’t!Wh’t’g!” The cook limped back towards her domain, waving her away after she was sure the door had been left slightly ajar.  She’d sneak back later and try to catch the master of the house at work, as she did love seeing the girls get it, especially if she could indulge herself in a quiet doorway.  Sometimes as she got close she’d peek further out  and manage to catch the girl’s red-rimmed, tearful eyes looking right at her own delighted pair, chagrined, as they suffered what they had coming, and them knowing she was seeing them at their very worst, and seeing how she was enjoying it, would invariably send her over the edge.  The girls would watch her eyes roll back before looking away in horrified realization, both knowing there was nothing the spanking’s recipient could do but take it.  Being seen was awful enough, but having one’s privates eye-raped by a furiously masturbating cripple while you cried your eyes out was beyond unfair, at least in the view of their wards.

Of course, Charles Martin’s maids knew better than to complain.

Alexis stepped into the dining room and carried the platter to the table, trying very hard not to look down at Charles Martin’s surging, twitching pants as she announced dinner.

She had seen the bulge in his trousers and heard his various oblique hints during the afternoon’s chores that she should take matters into her soft young lips if she knew what was good for her.  But she couldn't bear the thought, and assiduously avoided even the slightest sexual innuendo, pretending not to understand or that she hadn’t heard, as she dusted and vacuumed.  Charles didn’t mind, in fact he quite looked forward to persuading her to enthusiastically espouse his point of view.

As she bent over to serve, feeling the promised sting at the tops of her thighs from her earlier session, her small breasts were continuously falling into view.   She was disgusted by the way his delighted eyes roamed from the steaming food to her bobbing young tits, but forced herself to smile and just tried not to jiggle them too much.  Her still-throbbing bottom also peeked forth from the tiny maid skirt whenever she bent to deliver a tray the cook had left on the end table.  As he ate he commented favorably on intimate details of her appearance, causing her to blush madly, or made small talk about the estate that somehow only emphasized how out of place her near-nudity was amongst the polished (by her) finery.

It turned out the tarnished array of serving equipment was a gift from some Duchess or other.  He’d brought in their usual cook for the event, who (he informed Alex drolly) was quite passable if you didn’t let her make haggis, and so they enjoyed roast quail and duck l’orange, with an enormous array of sides such as baked asparagus and various offences against potatoes.  Standing next to him serving, Alexis knew the celebration was in her honor but nonetheless would rather not have attended, particularly not just now.

“And for dessert… a lovely cherry tart, and a cherry-red bottom for this lovely tart.”

He lifted the final silver tray cover to reveal a beautiful round rosewood paddle, and on top of it the cherry tart.  Rather new, judging from the shine, and with the matte finish and varnish the wood looked almost soft.  She was certain it was not.

Ice ran down her spine and spread to fill her veins as she began to understand.  “Sir?” she managed querulously.

“You have a date with the paddle, remember?”  She whined wordlessly in response.

He scoffed.  “Come now, it’s only your just deserts.”  The play on words did not improve her mood even slightly.                                                                                                                                       

She smelled scotch as he leaned in close and whispered.  “Did you think I had forgotten?”

She had certainly dared to hope it, that was clear from her dismay.

He gestured.  “Over the table.”  He smoothed a spot of green tablecloth for her directly in front of him.

Reluctantly, Alexis bent, facing him, offering her sore bottom for another painful spanking, elbows down and forearms flat on the table.  She was horribly aware this exposed her entire hanging breasts, but was sufficiently cowed that she merely hoped his enjoyment of the view would ease her punishment.  Alexis even arched her back to ensure the view down her front was as tantalizing as the confection.

Charles slowly finished his steak, savoring each bite (and her boobs) as Alexis remained in position waiting for his “dessert” to be served on her impudent buttcheeks.

Taking a deep breath, Alexis told herself she would maintain her dignity throughout, no matter how much it hurt.  She wouldn’t cry this time, or beg, or… she wouldn’t finish that thought.  But she flushed again, and she knew her just-visible nipples were hardening.  She tried not to think about what after-dinner plans Charles might have for a ripe, delectable morsel such as herself.  And after she’d been spanked into a very agreeable frame of mind, at that.  Her heart fluttered and she pushed the horrifying, tantalizing images from her head.

She eyed the small circular rosewood paddle; it was larger than a brush but clearly intended for impacting one cheek at a time.  She suspected he had obtained it specifically with her own buttocks in mind.  For a moment the thought was absurdly flattering, and she caught herself wiggling her young breasts with their firm tips enticingly.

“Ahem!”  Red from ears to neck, she cleared her throat and decided to just pretend she hadn’t done that on purpose.  Dignity, she reminded herself.  Forbearance, fortitude.  Jack!  Think of Jack!  She tried to picture his face.

But Charles had not missed the fleeting show.  The little minx wanted to flirt, did she?  He’d give her a blush she wouldn’t soon forget.  Good she was falling into line, though.  It would be an enjoyable dinner.  He took another delectable bite and licked his lips, eyes locked on her nipples.

Finally he rose, stretched, and stood behind her, moving the plate of cherry tart to his placemat, and picking up the paddle.  His hand ran over her exposed bottom, lifting her skirt higher, and she shivered.

“I’ll think you’ll find the wood has a little more bite,” Charles Martin intoned dryly.   Spread legs shaking, Alexis whimpered.  She certainly hoped seeing her breasts bobbing had put him in better mood.   

Charles readied the paddle.  The pink marks of her earlier tawsing were still clearly visible on her naked ass.  They would certainly add to her excitement, he thought wryly, adjusting his grip on the rosewood.

The cook leaned in the doorway quietly to watch, leering.  The little brat was in for it now!  A paddling always received a lively reaction from the girls.  Her hand stole between her legs, the other squeezing a hungry nipple. This was shaping up to be an excellent night.

He rested the wood against Alexis’ right buttock, and she began to sniffle back tears.  This was going to hurt a lot, and there was nothing she could do but lay over the table and take it obediently.  Doubtless he was itching for an excuse to cane her, and she resolved not to give it to him.  This would be her stand.  She would be totally docile as he chastised her, that would show him who was in charge here.

“Are you ready Alexis?” She could hear the smile in his words.

“Y-yes sir,” she replied, though she was anything but.

SMACK!  An explosion of pain went off behind her.  The sound startled her and tears burst from her eyes.  She began to sob.  She couldn’t possibly take even a single another…

SMACK!  She wailed.  “Oh, sir!”  Now both her cheeks were on fire.

SMACK!  “Oh please!”  It hurt more than she’d imagined possible a few minutes ago.  Wood was much sharper pain than leather.

SMACK! “Are you learning your lesson, young miss?” 

“YEESSSS!”  Alexis howled her assent.

“Good.” SMACK!  “OWWW! Oh please sir no more!”

He chuckled.  “Nonsense, dear.  Why, this is the highlight of my day.  What could be better than teaching you a much-needed lesson in humility?”  SMACK!  SMACK!  He gave each cheek its chance to make his point, the deeply reddened flesh bouncing under the kiss of the rosewood.

“I don’t knooooow!  Waaah!”  SMACK!  Alexis sobbed hopelessly, all pretense of stoicism forgotten.

SMACK! “Stick it out, girl!” he said sharply.  SMACK! “Hmmm… perhaps if you put your mind to it (SMACK!), you can think of something I’d like better.”  His voice was smooth and reasonable.  He might have been asking what sort of biscuit she’d like with her tea.

SMACK! Through the haze of pain, Alexis tried to fathom his request. SMACK! Was he just being sarcastic? SMACK! Or was an answer expected?  SMACK!  She thought of what a man like Charles Martin might prefer to paddling her butt, and shuddered.  SMACK!  No! She wouldn’t debase herself like that! SMACK! Oh, but it hurt so much! SMACK! Surely Jack would understand! SMACK! She was under duress! SMACK!  She couldn’t take any more! SMACK!  She knew her only salvation lay between his legs, and it sickened her. SMACK! She was going to have to promise him something. SMACK!  Else the paddling would surely drive her mad.  SMACK!  It hurt so much, she had no choice! SMACK! Oh Jack! SMACK!

Sensing another imminent victory, Charles laid it in triumphantly, with gusto.  Time for this lovely bitch to take her rightful place!  Her obedience wouldn’t just be lip service, either. Her apple-red cheeks jounced and clenched under his assault on her most basic dignity.  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Ohhhhhhh sir!  Please sir, let me – OWWW! – please let me, oh please – OHHHH! – please let me take care of you! Just OWWWWW no more please!”

 SMACK!  Charles’ tone seemed unimpressed, though his eyes sparkled.  “Hm. Take care of me how, exactly?”

SMACK! “Oh sir, I don’t—OWWW!”  Her heels drummed.  She wouldn’t agree to this!  She wouldn’t!

SMACK! This one came down on the same cheek.  So did the next two.  Alexis shrieked and clutched the tablecloth, nearly pulling the dishes off.  The last of her resolve fled.  “AAAhhh!  With my moOWWWWWth, sir!”

For the first time the assault paused, and despite her terror and shame at what she’d just agreed to do, Alexis sobbed with relief at the respite.  But it proved only momentary.

SMACK!  SMACK! “Beg for the privilege.”  Oh no, must she really?  Wasn’t it enough that --

SMACK! SMACK! “OWWW! YES SIR! PLEASE PLEASE LET ME!” 

SMACK! “Let you what?” SMACK!

SMACK!  SMACK!    “PLEASE LET ME SUCK YOU OFF SIR!”  All dignity fled, Alexis sobbed at the sounds of her utter, disgusting surrender, hardly able to believe the awful words coming from her mouth.

Charles smiled thinly.  “Not just yet, dear.”  SMACK!

In the doorway, wide eyes took in every detail.  Charles Martin did not disappoint, the little scamp was certainly feeling it!  And now she’d be serving the master a sweet dessert indeed!  She’d been tamed but good!  The cook’s fingers moved faster, drool dripping unnoticed from her twisted mouth as she scaled the heights of bliss just as Alexis plumbed the depths of despair.  Fortunately Alexis’ plaintive howling easily drowned out her own barely muffled cries of joy.  As the orgasm took her she only wished she’d been able to catch the tart’s crying eye, to complete her humiliation.

He finished her with three to the crease, each side, that had her convulsing on the table, rattling dishes and scattering silverware as she uttered progressively louder shrieks of agony.  All hesitation or doubt was removed entirely.  Anything but this!  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Alexis lay there sobbing uncontrollably and wailing, fervently hoping her spanking was over.  Charles Martin was pleased, that final barrage had left her utterly broken to the work ahead.  She’d already been desperate enough to offer her slut mouth… and he hadn’t even gotten out the cane yet. “Very well, lets see if you’ve learned anything.  You will find a stiff task awaits you just under the table.” 

And there it was.  She was really going to have to do it.   Obediently, Alexis knelt beneath the ornate dining table, tears streaming.  As if in a dream, she shuffled forward.  She didn’t want to do this.  But she knew what was expected, and she did not want more instruction.  Charles leaned back and grinned languidly as her hands worked beneath the tablecloth, hearing the buckle and then the zipper open, and then sighed in pleasure as her head began bobbing slowly over the erection he’d been sporting nearly nonstop since the moment she arrived, delighting in the sensations of her continuing sobs, whose motion he could now appreciate rather directly.  

For her own part, Alexis could hardly believe what she was doing.  Her position was untenable, to say the least.  “Just get this over with,” she thought, moving faster, trying not to imagine how she’d explain her current circumstance to Jack.  At least no one could see her under here, she thought, not seeing the tiny camera attached at the junction of a table leg.  Desperate to make the experience as pleasurable (and brief) as possible despite her loathing, she employed every trick a married woman knew, looking him in the eye from between his legs and working her fingers in his sensitive spots, though this made the process considerably more shameful.  She could feel her ears burning as she groped and kneaded and smiled miserably through her tears.

But Charles enjoyed his entire dessert, sighing and groaning with each bite, before she was able to coax forth his essence.  He popped a last bit of cherry tart covered with whipped cream into his mouth, and then with a grunt, Charles Martin finally began spurting a far sweeter cream into her aching jaws.  “Delectable,” he gasped, eyes rolling back. 

His taste flooded her senses.  Alexis choked, sputtered, and swallowed.  It seemed to go on and on, spilling everywhere.   She wondered how long he’d been saving it up for her.  But she glowed with pride when he patted her head and told her “…good girl,” and hated herself for it. 

Jack had better not ever find out about this, she decided, sniffling as she wiped the floor clean.   Still, as she rubbed her aching bottom beneath the table, she was more determined than ever now to sneak out tonight while Charles was sleeping, and return home rather than endure another moment, let alone another month of this painful, degrading treatment.