It Is Getting Clearer

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Author’s note:

This follow on to ‘Where is this Leading’ that was recently published. It might be best to read that first, but this does stand alone as an erotic tale.

I do not apologise for using the same opening in this as I did in that.

I could hardly believe it. I had never been ‘into older men’ yet here I was just a year after my divorce in bed with Jon who was older than my dad. Yes, Jon was well into his fifties, maybe even early sixties. That did not, though, stop him being an amazingly good fuck and probably the most interesting man I had slept with and maybe had ever known.

He was an actor. Not tremendously successful, but a face that when seen in a film or on TV, would make many people say, “I know him who is he?” Recently though, he had not had much acting work. He had become rather old fashioned and there were just too many actors around with his looks, acting style and voice. He had become known as, what all in the profession dread, unfashionable. Fortunately, he had done a voice over for a kids TV programme and had taken a percentage of the take. As luck would have it that became a computer game and he has made a stack from that.

He was not the most attractive of men. He was balding, somewhat overweight and was probably no more than five feet six or seven. None of that was of concern to me. I do not choose my men on looks or physique. What is between their ears is far more important to me than what they have between their legs or how they look.

To earn the additional money he needed to maintain his fairly lavish lifestyle, as well as paying for his three ex-wives, he did some lecturing at the college I was attending as a mature student and we immediately hit it off. That was mainly due to me having produced at university the Joe Orton classic play “What the Butler Saw.” Jon had once starred in that and had a love for it as I did. So, after one of his, highly entertaining, very interesting and really quite motivational lectures, he asked me about my production.

That led to me staying behind chatting to him about it.

That led to us having a drink in a wine bar down the street, near to the British Museum.

That led to us agreeing to have dinner a few days later.

That led to him fucking me in his flat in Camden Town and

that led to……………………. well read on and you will find out.


I had never really been into pain as part of sex. Of course there had been the odd bite or suck that was a little too hard and sometimes my ex, during our twenty years together had applied too much pressure when squeezing my breasts or pinching my nipples, but nothing severe and certainly nothing that had been planned.

With Jon, my mature actor lover, it was the fact that it was planned that created the huge expectancy and anticipation. That was added to by the unknown. How it would go, what would happen, how he would do it and just how much pain there would be for me? I found those the most intriguing aspects as I had waited the few days for it to happen. Was it really going to happen, I asked myself several times? Was I really looking forward to being hurt, being smacked or spanked? I was not quite sure which was the more evocative word. The one that made my pulse race more as it came into my mind. Which was it, spanked or smacked, that gave me the stronger jolt when I thought to myself?

‘He’s going to spank me.’

‘He’s going to smack my naked bottom.’

Jon was going to do that not only because he was into BDSM, but also because I had asked him to.

During those few days between agreeing to it and now getting ready for it, I had said such things to myself many times. Sitting in front of my laptop as good as naked, masturbating myself and admitting to Jon that I enjoyed the mild smacking he had done so far, I had thought of little else.

Since my divorce I had become interested in the more deviant aspects of sex, although I had experienced very little. My interest had started when I was cruising round the net when I was waiting for my divorce. Obviously, Fifty Shades helped, poorly written book though it was, and I watched a film called The Secretary with Maggie Gyllenhaal. For a time, it seemed that practically everywhere I looked people were being spanked, women were wearing nipple clamps and just anyone who was anyone had a butt plug.

From the moment I had said to him, “Oh Jon I want you to spank me. I want you to spank my bottom,” it had become in my mind a totally accepted fact that he would do just that. Before I met him, it would have been an outrageous proposition, but now it was becoming an inevitability, I suppose.

“There are a couple of things you need to do before you arrive at my house,” Jon had told me on his mobile as he was driven by private car from Heathrow. I could hardly hear him for he was whispering, presumably to avoid the driver hearing him

“Ok, what’s that?” I had asked. “But could you speak up a bit please?”

“I’ll şişli escort call back in half hour or so, had said rather curtly.

When he called back, he was speaking at his usual volume. He had a rich deep voice that I am sure has talked him into many women’s knickers, including mine.

“It’s theatre Chrissy, sex is all about theatre, role-playing and acting.”

“Is it?” I asked enjoying as I always did his flights of fancy, but not really believing him and seeing it as just another branch of his seduction technique

“Yes to get the maximum from it we have to go outside our normal roles, we have to be someone else. Like actors, we have to lose our inhibitions, do things we would not dream of when unaroused and ask for whatever our heart, prick or cunt desires’

I found his rambling narratives fascinating and I hung onto his every word. I had got used to him using such basic words and fortunately he used them appropriately and not as adjectives or as derogatory descriptions; I hate anyone being described as a cunt!

“Put your hair into pigtails for me and wear little make up.”

“What? Er, um why?”

“You need to look and feel as young as possible.”

I did not really understand why, but I went along with his requests. On the tube from Loughton via the Bank to Camden Town and on the short cab ride to his house, though, I did wear a hat so I could hide the pigtails that otherwise would have hung down my back well past my shoulders. I had not worn my hair like this for such a long time and it was actually quite good fun pleating it. I had showered and had washed, and dried my shoulder-length, blonde hair. I was sitting, dressed just in my panties, in front of my dressing table mirror carefully weaving my hair into the schoolgirl type plaits. When both were finished and I had put tight rubber bands around the ends, I glanced in the mirror. It would be rather illusory of me to think that the hairstyle had taken years off me, I just wish it had, but I think it made me look younger than my forty-five years. For some reason that I did not understand, the young girl look of the plaits with the clearly womanly look of my bare breasts gave me quite a sexual jolt. I began to see what Jon meant about playing roles!

“Let yourself in,” he said when I called him from the cab. “Go to that small back bedroom on the first floor and you’ll find what you have to wear there. It’s all lying on the bed or hanging up next to it. There is everything you need so don’t wear anything you’ve got on now. Is that clear Chrissy?”

“Yes Jon,” I replied quietly not wanting the cab driver to hear me.

“Did you manage the pigtails and remember no make up?”

“Yes, yes I did,” I mumbled very quietly feeling very embarrassed even though there was no way the cabbie could have heard anything.

“Fantastic. So when you are dressed, and ready and do take your time come to the back room in the basement where I will be waiting for you.

Now that the time was as good as here for the cab was pulling into the road where he live, I did begin to feel very nervous. Nervous about perhaps being hurt and having to take the pain that was clearly an essential aspect of corporal punishment. Nervous about the contrived, almost cold-hearted way he had arranged this and nervous about whether that would reduce the pleasure. After all I had always had my best sex when events happened spontaneously. And nervous also about my reactions and whether I would get the kicks I expected and Jon promised.

Maybe most nervous, though, at the slightly deviant nature of this particular aspect of sex. I was intentionally moving away from mainstream sex and was welcoming Jon in pushing out my boundaries. I was going further than I had been before. That also made me nervous for I wondered whether it would mean that if I didn’t like what I found, I might not be able to revert to “normal” sex? I thought that I would probably be ok for I had handled my forays into girl/girl sex quite well and despite now having quite a few experiences with a three different women I had not become a lesbian or a penis hater.

Hanging up beside the bed on a coat hanger was a blouse and a skirt.

It was a white cotton blouse with a collar and buttons right up the front.

A short, pleated skirt with a that was little like a kilt with red, blue and green the predominant colours. As I picked it up I could feel that the plaid wasn’t as heavy as the real tartan, in fact it was quite lightweight. Holding it against me, it came no further than half way down my thighs.

There was a pair of white, lacy-topped hold-ups and a pair of silver strappy, mid height heeled shoes.

The only other piece of clothing was a pair of panties. There was no bra.

The panties were full and high waisted. So from that perspective they were modern. I picked them up and held my hand inside them. Being made of a pink, loose weave net, I suppose it was, they were as good as completely fatih escort see through.

I was getting into it. I was understanding more and more what Jon had said about CP being a ritual as he has when we had agreedto dothis.

Dressing quickly I felt shivers of expectancy going through me as I was transformed. Transformed from an approaching middle age, conventional, business woman in her forties to a young girl looking rebel who was about to have her arse smacked and then Lord knows what done to it.

I had not seen the mirror until I was dressed for he had hung the coat hanger holding the blouse and skirt over it. I guessed that was intentional by him that I wouldn’t see it until I was deressed. And I was also sure it was equally as intentional that I should then look at myself in the nearly full-length mirror. It was all part of the ritual, an essential aspect of the ceremony and role-play, I realised with excitement.

My heart pounded when I saw myself in the mirror. I knew that in some ways I would look ridiculous. I am, I was very aware, simply too old to carry off the look Jon was seeking other than in the special circumstances he was creating. But in those circumstances my appearance excited me.

The cotton blouse was not of a very high quality. The material was thin and looked and felt as though it was old, well-worn and had been washed too often. With all the buttons done up it did though fit me well. It was trim across my back and whilst it showed the outline of my boobs it did not cling to them overly tightly. However, when I moved the jiggle of each orb under the material was very obvious indeed. As, of course, were the dark shadows of my areola and the strong protuberances of my nipples that were trying hard and largely succeeding I saw in the mirror to make mountains out of molehills.

Standing up straight the hem of the skirt did, just about, cover my stocking tops. However, when I bent or leaned forward past about forty five degrees it didn’t. No at that degree of tilt I really did flash them, A few more degrees and the patch of skin between them and my panties was also revealed. And when I bent so my waist was at ninety degrees as I imagined it might be be when Jon spanked, me the skirt rode up so that most of the pink, net panties could be seen.

If his intention with the clothes and the mirror was to stimulate, excite and arouse me and make me even more amenable to the forthcoming spanking then he most definitely succeeded.

My hands were shaking, my knees were probably knocking and I know my breasts were wobbling and jiggling all over the place as I walked down the stairs to the formidable sounding basement. I opened the door and was part relieved and part frightened to see that the room was very dimly lit.

“Come in Chrissy,” I heard Jon say.

Trying hard to accustom my eyes to the low light, I walked into the sizeable room. I had only been in it once before when Jon had given me the guided tour of his large rambling house that. I couldn’t see him but when he spoke again I realised he was standing behind the door.

“Go to the centre of the room Chrissy and stand there,” he said.

I did as he asked noting that the room was windowless, which was not surprising considering it was a basement. It was about twenty feet square with a large, low, modern bed at one end off to my right and a table at the other end to my left. In the middle of the room where I had been told to stand there was a single, straight backed dining chair. There was a door alongside the bed.

Glancing around I could see that the bed had black, silk or satin sheets with the top one turned back as if inviting someone to get in. Looking the other way I saw that the table had some items on it that, at first, I could not make out. As my eyes became acclimatised to the dark I began to see what they were. There were several bottles that looked as if they contained oils and others that appeared to hold lotions. There was a pile of towels or flannels and a large ceramic bowl that looked as though it held water. Looking closer, I saw two vibrators, one black the other gold.

And then I saw the cane.

The cane that could only have one purpose.

The cane that could only have one intent.

The cane that was there to hurt and then pleasure.

The cane that I had never thought about before.

The cane that there and then, I think, I fell in love with.

It seemed so right. It seemed to be perfect. It was what I had been searching for. What I needed, what I wanted, what I so utterly desired. And to think I had never really even thought about it before. Not until I saw the two feet of bamboo with a hooked end hanging from the table. Not until that moment did I realise the dormant need that had been lying in me. Not until the cane that Jon had placed so cleverly so it was staring at me did I realise that it was my ultimate. My total desire. My one wish and need. I knew then looking at that cane that escort levent my life had from that moment intrinsically changed.

“Stand still for me Chrissy. Just let me look at you,” the still unseen Jon said to me.

Hands clasped in front of me I did as he asked. Not speaking, standing perfectly still, dressed in the, on one hand, somewhat ludicrous get up yet, on the other, a provocatively sexual, outfit I waited. He took his time saying nothing and as far as I could tell not moving. It was a little unnerving to stand there simply being stared at by the man who was going to spank and smack me. I wondered what was going through his mind, what he was thinking about as he looked at me? As looked at me clad in the clothes that combined the innocence of a young girl with experience of a woman. The pigtails of youth with the unfettered breasts of maturity. The blouse and skirt of the playground with the stockings and panties of the bedroom.

His inspection seemed to go on for ages and more and more now, I realised what he meant by his comments about the ritual.

“Well done Chrissy, you look perfect,” I heard him say, feeling rather than seeing, him move silently across the room so he was next to me.

I had been a little concerned as to what his ‘uniform’ would be. What the ceremonial garb was for a spanker? I had half thought he might blow it all for me by wearing something totally outrageous, like a mask, or cape or, heaven forbid, a leather thong. I am pretty sure that had he worn any of those or anything too contrived, say a headmaster’s gown and mortarboard, I would have laughed and, despite the heightened state of arousal that the proceedings had so far caused for me, I would be unable to continue. Although sexual acts can be fun I don’t think they work when they become ridiculous.

I should not have been surprised when I saw that he was not wearing anything outrageous. The long, dark coloured, silk dressing gown that Jon was wearing was perfect. It had plunging lapels, so that a wide and deep expanse of his quite hairy chest with dark hairs sprinkled with grey could be seen. There were no buttons just a tie round his waist so a slight tug on that and it would open and his, I assumed, total nudity would be shown to me.

I smiled and murmured. “You don’t look so bad yourself Jon.”

He didn’t reply but slowly walked round me looking at me from all angles. His appearance and his gaze on me rekindled my arousal and as I stood there, I could feel my nipples hardening again. That’s something that often I don’t realise has happened until perhaps a man’s staring will raise my suspicions sufficiently for me to glance down and see the two organ stop like lumps poking out from my swimsuit or whatever it is I am wearing. This time, though, I was acutely aware that the thin, nearly see through, cotton blouse was struggling unsuccessfully to hide the eruption going on in my chest. I glanced down and the bumps were both larger and more obvious than had imagined and looking up I saw that Jon was also staring at them.

“Chrissy’s having some naughty thoughts isn’t she?” He asked.

“Er yes, yes she is.” I replied.

“And young girls like Chrissy shouldn’t have such thoughts should she?”

“No, no Jon they shouldn’t,” I heard myself replying as I slipped into the role of being a young girl. I had not for one moment thought that we would get into a role-play and that was just as well for that was also something that I would have thought was just a little bit too silly. However, it seemed to come so naturally and far from being ridiculous, adopting such a role seemed natural and was, I have to admit, exciting.

“No Chrissy,” he went on, his gaze roaming unrestrained all over my body sending even more tingles of desire through me. “Young girls shouldn’t have naughty thoughts should they?”

“No Jon they shouldn’t.”

“Because when they have naughty thoughts things happen to them don’t they?”

“Yes, yes they do,” I replied seeing quite clearly the silk robe moving as his erection grew.

“Things that are happening to you now aren’t they?”


“And what is happening to you Chrissy? What is happening to your young girl’s body?”

I did not reply for a moment not sure what he wanted me to say.

“You can tell me Chrissy, you can tell me anything,” he went on standing so close I could smell the Dior aftershave he always wore. Glancing down I could clearly see the outline of his hard cock under the thin material and it took a superhuman effort on my part to resist reaching out and grabbing it. I wanted to so badly, but thought it would probably mess up the ‘ceremony!’

“My nipples are getting hard,” I said in a whisper now totally into the role-play.

“Are you wet as well Chrissy?” he asked.

“Yes Jon, yes I think I am,” I responded not really knowing whether I was or not.

“And that’s also very naughty isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“And when young girls are naughty they have to be punished. They have to be chastised and taught to be good, don’t they Chrissy?”

“Yes Jon they do.”

“And you’ve been very naughty with your thoughts and your breasts and your pussy haven’t you?”

“I have.”

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