Christine sprawled on the sofa indulging herself with a large glass of wine and some Belgian chocolate. Her twin daughters out trick or treating, she found her mind wandering back to when she too was a girl of eighteen. Those incredible experiences she had enjoyed with Mr Hanson in the old crumbling house on the outskirts of town were etched into her memory forever. The thought made her blush, and the old familiar tingling and churning in the pit of her stomach began.
Why did I stop going? she mused. Because I got engaged, then married. She sipped her wine. But I'm not married now. I divorced the bastard. She popped a chocolate into her mouth. Then the idea took hold and her excitement grew. I wonder if I still have my Halloween costume? I wonder if Mr Hanson is still there in that house?
Fifteen minutes later she left the house wearing a long black cloak, and beneath it, the diaphanous gown of a witch, laced with cobwebs and tiny plastic spiders. She remembered the way oh so clearly, and walked in the comforting shadows as her mind churned and her anticipation grew.
Twenty minutes later, Mr Hanson's house came into view. She opened the rickety gate and walked along the path through the untended garden, stopping by the front door. The paint was crumbling and faded but the cast-iron lion's-head door knocker was the same. She rapped three times. Footsteps echoed from the hollow hall beyond the door, which was thrown open to reveal Mr Hanson. His eyes glinted in predatory delight at the sight of her.
"Trick or treat?"
"Neither. Come inside. You know what to do."
It was just like old times. She followed him into a study. The fire roared and the flames flickered in the hearth and the clock on the mantelshelf ticked tirelessly. The old mahogany desk awaited her, a patina of age on its surface, a surface that she would shortly be occupying.
"Remove your cloak and take your knickers down."
How could she not obey that delicious request? In a few moments she was bending over the desk, her rounded bottom presented for long-awaited chastisement. When he tapped her inner thighs with the cane, she obediently parted her legs, revealing herself to him so shamefully. Wanton fires raged within her.
Mr Hanson surveyed the sight through narrowed eyes, and a wolfish smile curled his lips. He grasped the slender cane firmly in his right hand, and began.
Each stroke sliced into the firm flesh, burning, biting deep. Christine shrieked. She howled out her pain and her pleasure as the cane descended again and again, leaving trails of red fire in its wake. Her bottom wobbled and bounced beneath the onslaught. Her legs kicked as she moaned and shrieked in heady euphoria. And when it was over, she lay panting, her punished flesh stinging and sore. Her cries were silent now. There was only the noise of the fire and her ragged breath, and the breath of Mr Hanson caressing the back of her neck as he leaned closer ... closer ...
very cute luv it!!!
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