Free The Three Rs by Ashe Barker

virgin…?”
    I can only stare, shaking my head briefly. No one has ever spoken to me like this before, or asked me such personal, such totally outrageous questions.
    He doesn’t press me to answer, but he holds my gaze. I feel like a rabbit caught in headlamps, I couldn’t tear my eyes from his if I wanted to. And in this moment I’m not at all sure what I want.
    “No? So you have enjoyed a nice, erotic spanking before now?” His tone is soft now, seductive.
    At last I manage a response. “What? No! Of course not.”
    “Ah. But you want to.”
    “I… How…?” I’m stammering, not certain what I want to say. Do I tell him the truth, that no, I’ve never been spanked but I’ve wanted to be. But I’ve never dared ask. And that I’m not a virgin, very nearly but not quite. A few sweaty episodes of clumsy fumbling, however enthusiastic, in my late teens is hardly an adequate apprenticeship for this. I desperately wish I could come up with some witty, sophisticated line that would make me seem more worldly, more interesting and less the gauche girl who last got laid over two years ago and is now dampening her knickers with her own juices just because a handsome man is stroking her hand. But none of that happens. Instead, I just whisper, “Yes, I’ve thought about it. Fantasized. And no, I’m not a virgin.”
    He smiles at me, a sweet and gentle smile, absolutely compelling, drawing me in. He continues to caress my hand. I’ve stopped trying to tug it away.
    “This sounds interesting. Delightful, in fact. Have you any other fantasies you’d like to share with me?” His tone is soft, beguiling and very sexy.
    I shake my head. “No, not just now.”
    “Pity. Maybe later then. So, what are we going to do about your yearning to be spanked? I’d love to oblige you. And I think I ought to tell you, I’d really, really love to fuck you afterwards, though I’m not going to insist on that. I’m offering you a free, no-strings erotic spanking, with an optional fuck-fest to follow. Would you like that?”
    There’s silence, and he waits. The last word here has to be mine. He knows it, I know it.
    Is that me? Is that really my voice saying yes? And am I really thanking him for his kind and generous offer. And telling him I’d really like to try the fuck-fest too? I suppose I must be, because he’s smiling broadly now, his sexy grin taking on a hint of the distinctly wicked. And my knickers are soaked.
    He lifts my hand, drops a kiss in my palm before folding my fingers into a fist. He stands.
    “Potatoes are ready. We’ll eat, enjoy our wine then get an early night. My room, I think.”
    Cain makes no further reference to our plans for later in the evening as he serves the meal. He places my plate in front of me.
    “Enjoy.” His smile is deceptively bland as he takes his seat and picks up his fork. I reach for my utensils, conscious that my hand is shaking and hoping that Cain won’t notice. If he does, he’s too polite, or wise, to comment. I start to eat, determined to achieve some passing resemblance to cool. As if agreeing to let a man I hardly know spank my bare bottom is a perfectly normal thing to do on a Saturday evening in Berwick.
    Half an hour later we’re seated at the table, our empty plates evidence of Cain’s culinary skills. The meal was delicious, as I knew it would be, but I didn’t do it justice. I’m acutely conscious of the gorgeous man who shared the food with me, offering me extra helpings, refilling my wine glass. And when we finished, insisted I remain seated while he cleared the table and made coffee.
    Now, he’s going to spank me. Really. Truly. And, I suspect, beautifully. Will he use his hand? Will it be across my bare bottom? The skin on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs is tingling in anticipation. He knows it, he must know. Every time he’s smiled at me, clinked his glass against mine, every time his fingers have brushed my hand as he’s passed me the potatoes or