All Change for Amy

The short drive to Geraldine's house was a blur of anticipation. Amy's hands were shaking on the steering wheel, her body still buzzing from the meal, from the constant, teasing touch. Once inside, Geraldine didn't waste a moment. "Strip," she ordered, her voice echoing in the quiet hallway.

Amy obeyed without question, her fingers quickly unbuttoning her dress. She stood naked in the cool air, save for the new lingerie and the sheer stockings. Geraldine walked around her, her eyes dark and intense. She was a sculptor inspecting her masterpiece. "I'm pleased," she said, her voice a low purr. "You corrected your dress as instructed." Her approval was a potent drug.

Then, without warning, she stepped close. So close, Amy could feel the heat radiating from her body. She cupped Amy's crotch, her strong fingers pressing the damp silk of the panties against Amy's most sensitive flesh, one finger dipping slightly into the cleft. Amy gasped, her knees almost buckling. Geraldine leaned in, her lips so close they were almost touching Amy's. Amy closed her eyes, her whole body straining towards the kiss she craved more than air.

"I am very disappointed in you," Geraldine whispered, her voice like ice.

Amy's eyes flew open, shocked. "What? What did I do wrong?"

Geraldine pulled back, her expression one of cold fury. "What did I do wrong?" she mocked. "I took all the time and effort to show you how beautiful you could be. I wined and dined you. And you don't even thank me. Not once. Your manners are appalling."

The injustice of it, the sheer, unexpected twist, left Amy speechless. She had been so focused on the physical, on the game they were playing, that she had forgotten the most basic rule of politeness.

"I think that deserves fifteen," Geraldine stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Bend over the kitchen table."

The kitchen was cold and sterile. Amy did as she was told, laying her torso on the hard wooden surface, her hands gripping the far edge. She felt Geraldine pull down her panties, leaving her bottom completely exposed. She heard a drawer open and close, and then Geraldine was back. The first blow was not from a hand. It was from a wooden mixing spoon, and it was a whole different world of pain. A sharp, cracking, biting sting that made her cry out.

"You will count every one," Geraldine commanded, "and thank me afterward."

"One. Thank you, Mistress," Amy gasped, the words torn from her.

The spoon came down again, and again, a relentless, rhythmic punishment. Each stroke was a fresh fire, and by the time she reached fifteen, her voice was thick with tears, her backside a throbbing, burning landscape of agony and, shamefully, dark, intense pleasure. She was sobbing quietly into the wood of the table when she felt Geraldine's hand, gentle this time, sliding between her legs from behind. Her fingers found Amy's slick, swollen heat and began to stroke, slowly, expertly.

"From now on," Geraldine whispered in her ear, her body pressed against Amy's back, "I'm the only one who sees this body. Not Jack, not anybody else, unless I tell you to. Is that understood?"

Amy could only grunt a guttural, "Yes... Mistress," as she felt herself spiraling helplessly towards a powerful orgasm. Just as she was about to tip over the edge, Geraldine removed her hand. The denial was a fresh, exquisite torture.

"Get dressed," Geraldine said, her tone once again brisk and dismissive.

Amy slowly pulled herself up, her body trembling. As she was pulling up her panties, Geraldine went to the hall closet and returned with a new leather holdall. She handed it to Amy. "There are enough supplies in here to keep you looking how I want you to look," she said. "Now leave. And await my call.”