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Gildenheart -5-
🕑 Added 2019-01-23 12:43:31 +0000 UTC
At nineteen, Gordon Victor was accepted by the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He had most of a semester to finish at UCLA then he would report in the fall to the Academy to pursue a degree in Aeronautical Engineering.
“I want to build spaceships,” he told anyone who asked about his long term goals. He expected to put in six years as an Air Force officer along the way, perhaps some of it flying planes.
He didn’t expect to fall in love with flying.
But in the summer between UCLA and the Academy, that hadn’t happened yet. He had another sort of falling in love to experience first.
July 4th, he went with his father and younger brothers on a fishing trip to Ensenada, Mexico. He spent a lot of time on the beach and not much fishing, an activity that bored him beyond understanding.
Her name was Sonia Hernandez-Castille and she was four years older than he. Born in Jamaica of a Russian mother and a Spanish father, she claimed to have grown up as a vagabond, not quite sure what exactly her nationality might be. “I’m what the cat dragged in,” she told Gordie while they sipped icy Margaritas at one of the beach bars under a blistering Mexican sun.
She stood about 5’3”, shorter than the girls he usually dated but she had an outstanding figure, an all over tan and sun-gilded brown hair. And eyes the deep sea-blue of a surfer’s dream.
They made love seven times in four short days. The last time was the best because they knew it would be the last. Her large breasts were soft under his hands, her lips hot on his mouth, her pussy tight around his cock.
He wanted her, needed her and like the song said, two out of three ain’t bad. He thought he wanted and needed more so he tried it out. “I love you,” he said, meaning it to the depths of his nineteen-year-old soul.
She laughed, rolled them over so she was on top and rode him until all thought was pleasure and oblivion.
*
Gordie sat quietly for a time, wondering when and if Mr. Spaight would return and what would happen to Vickie when he did. Finally, the warmth in the room became a bit oppressive and he fumbled with the buttons of Vickie’s jacket until he could take it off which he then folded and put on his lap.
He began to wonder why he had not even considered leaving the stool he had been sitting on since the manager had left. He decided to get up and explore the room a bit but after another time he realized he was still sitting there. He’d been thinking about King Fred and British pounds and hadn’t moved at all.
He tried again and this time he ended up wondering for several minutes how much money Vickie had in her bank account and where had it come from. But he had not budged from the stool.
Gordie could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Unable to move from the stool he thought he might be getting close to panic when something turned his attention to the door Mr. Spaight had left through. He felt his nipples crinkle and a flush of heat in his bottom. “What now?” he wondered, squirming a bit, though that only made the feelings more intense.
*
Moments later, the manager entered the room. He stood there a moment, staring at Gordie. In the face at first, but his eyes drifted down to the front of her shirt.
Gordie felt his nipples like two warm pebbles on his chest and the warmth from below became a flood reaching up to the middle of his being. The man wants me, he thought. And Heaven help me, this body wants him!
“Vickie,” Mr. Spaight said in a voice that sounded like it had been squeezed out of him. “I’m a married man.”
Vickie sat up straight and thrust her breasts toward the man and Gordie could not seem to do anything about it. His breath sounded ragged and Vickie kept licking her lips. The heat in her bottom made it hard for Gordie to think.
“I’m supposed to spank you,” said Mr. Spaight. “You know that’s not what I want to do.”
Gordie nodded. He knew what Mr. Spaight wanted and Vickie’s body seemed to want the same thing. It seemed strange that here and now, an employer would assume he had the right to spank a female employee—but was that what was about to happen?
Gordie squeezed his eyes shut.
“Stand up, Vickie, and lean over the desk,” Mr. Spaight commanded.
Gordie’s eyes popped open as he found himself standing. He took a step closer to the desk but the edge of it came just above his middle and because of the corset, he knew he didn’t bend there. “I’m too short,” he said.
In fact, sitting on the stool, lower than a chair would have been, he had barely been able to see over the desk at all.
Mr. Spaight used his foot to push a six-inch high wooden box closer to the desk. “St-stand on that,” he ordered.
Gordie stepped up onto the stool and bent at the hips to lie across the desk. He felt himself begin to cry and he turned his face away from his boss. “Please, Mr. Pate,” he began then stopped because he knew he had gotten the name wrong. He sobbed. This can’t be happening, he told himself.
Something was placed in his hand. “P-put that in your mouth,” said the man.
Gordie looked, it was a wooden spindle wrapped in cloth with a ribbon at each end. A gag. “No, no, please, no,” he sobbed, knowing he sounded like a scared girl.
“Put that in your mouth,” Spaight repeated, “and tie the strings behind your head.”
Unable to disobey, Gordie did as he was told. I can’t manage buttons but I can tie a bow behind my head, he thought, inanely.
“Reach forward and grab the edge of the d-desk,” Spaight said.
He’s done this before, thought Gordie, whimpering through the gag. He gripped the farther edge of the desk in Vickie’s tiny hands. The position caused her to be lying on her breasts, her nipples pressed against the desk.
“Your mother says I have to do this,” Spaight seemed to be trying to make excuses. “It’s only fifteen swats. It’ll b-be over before you know it.”
Fifteen? Vickie can’t even count that high, thought Gordie. I won’t know when it’s going to be over. She shivered.
No one said or did anything for a long moment except for Mr. Spaight breathing like an asthmatic bulldog and Gordie whimpering into the gag.
Then Gordie felt Vickie’s skirts being lifted up and spread across her, with a small book or something placed in the small of her back to hold them up. The bottom edge of her skirts came up around her neck and head, what she could see of the room narrowed to a tunnel.
“Y-you’re not wearing panties,” Mr. Spaight protested.
Gordie felt herself blushing, top and bottom she was sure, and she couldn’t help writhing in anticipation. “Uh, uh,” she grunted into the gag.
Mr. Spaight groaned. “I’m a married man,” he reminded himself again.
Gordie didn’t want to laugh but a strangled giggle escaped her.
Then the first blow landed. It stung and it hurt but then a warmth spread through her. That wasn’t so bad, Gordie thought. Nor was the second on the opposite cheek. But the third one and every one after landed where a previous one had and each stung more than the last until Vickie couldn’t stop squirming and whimpering.
And yet… And yet, it was… exciting.
It was sexy, too. Because it was a man spanking her bare bottom, inches away from her sex, a man who wanted her. And heaven help her, she wanted him. She imagined she could feel him, feel his erection, his masculine hardness. And she wanted him inside her.
She whimpered and moaned into the gag as the blows landed. He really wasn’t hitting her that hard, just enough to sting, though each swat seemed to sting more than the last. And her excitement kept increasing.
Suddenly, he stopped. She moaned fiercely, desire so hot within her that she couldn’t have said what it was she wanted but stopping was not it. She writhed across the desk, trying to push her bottom up and toward him.
“Nine,” he said and the word meant nothing to her. Somewhere in her mind some fragment of personality that might still recognize itself as Gordie tried to grasp the sound as a number, and failed. The body was Vickie, and Vickie wanted things done to her.
“I’m a married man,” he said again but this time it was less of a defense, almost more a complaint. She heard him moving around and the quiet whisper of cloth moving on skin. She arched her back and lifted her left leg, spreading her thighs.
He made a tentative touch on her hot, wet sex, then thrust deep inside her. They both gasped. She lifted herself and rocked back and forth, panting around the gag, clenching and unclenching muscles she had only just discovered.
Gordie’s world exploded with pleasure, deep, intense and more vivid than anything he had experienced as a man. It seemed as if Vickie’s body were made just for this purpose. Every thrust sent her into orgasm, again and again, and each many times more powerful than the male version.
Even after her lover stopped moving, the orgasms kept coming in waves. She kept rocking back and forth, surfing the ocean of feeling, her eyes closed, the gag gripped in her teeth.
But her awareness had expanded, she could feel Spaight moving lethargically around the room, sitting on her stool, rearranging his clothing. She couldn’t see him but she was fully aware of his location, his moves and the state of his arousal.
Left alone, lying across the desk, she moaned and whimpered, hoping to entice him into resuming what he had been doing to her.
“Please,” he whispered.
“Uh, uh, uh,” she panted, swaying and wriggling atop the desk.
She knew that he had moved up behind her again, his erection not half-recovered. What could he do for her while limp?
“Spank?” he asked.
“Uh, huh,” she whispered, surprised at how good that sounded. She felt good, happy, anticipating the pleasurable sting.
He put one hand on her sex, two fingers inside her, and with the other hand, he swatted her behind, firmly, stingingly, in a slow rhythm, alternating the cheeks of her ass with each stroke.
She believed that she would lose her mind as each blow landed, timed perfectly to thrusts from his fingers reaching for the pleasure button inside her pussy.
Everything stopped for a long moment and then the thrusting resumed with her lover’s long hard cock inside her again and again and again.
When he stopped this time, she knew he was spent, done for, collapsing slowly onto the floor to rest against the end of the desk. She rode the waves of pleasure for several minutes, finally releasing her grip on the desk to play with herself, her nipples and her sex, in order to keep the orgasms coming.
She giggled when she realized the noise she was hearing was Mr. Speight snoring. Then she arranged her skirts, rolled over and started to sit up in order to reach the ribbons to untie the gag quicker.
Her yelp almost got past the obstruction. Her bottom was tender and objected to being sat on. This also struck her funny. She had to roll back onto her tummy to slide down off the desk and stand up. Then she could untie the gag and laugh.
She smiled down at her sleeping boss, rolled the ribbons around the spindle and stashed the gag in her purse.
Then she simply stood there, looking at her discarded coats and musing about the dampness of her thighs and her sore butt. She might not be able to sit down for hours, the thought of which seemed delicious somehow.
Vickie, she told herself, you’re a kinky little slut. Then she squirmed and giggled.
