#116) Watching Eyes

Jesse thought that because he was wealthy, Jenny would do anything he commanded of her. After all, why should she be any different from any other girl from his past, or any other lackey in his employment, for that matter? Jenny liked the lifestyle that Jesse took for granted, but not when he went so far as to take her for granted, not just to discipline her daily, often pushing her past her limits, but to demean her.
“Come, Jenny,” he barked, “out of the corner. Display your nudity in front of this window.”
Jenny rushed to obey, leaning against the panes with her hands on the large picture window. Evidence from the recent hard spanking was fading from her bottom, so Jesse gave her six of the best with the cane, the sun through the window warming her front, Jesse warming her rear, pains administered in front of the panes. Jenny couldn’t help but scream and sob in response to the strict severity of Jesse’s caning.
“That’s it, yell louder, my little bitch,” Jesse encouraged. “See the gardener out on the lawn, trimming the hedge?” Jenny nodded. “Make him look up from his work, make him stare at your nudity, Jenny! I swear that if he does, I’ll fire him on the spot…”
Guilt flooded through the slender girl, almost washing away the waves of pain. Jenny didn’t want the poor old man to lose his job, just for hearing her cries, seeing her wet sex on display. She tried to accept the punishment stoically, swallowing her outcries as she took the beating. Jesse noted this, bore down on her harder, gave her extra stripes. Jesse was gifted in the use of implements of discipline. He also was adept at summoning forth all her demons, to play with them, to toy with them as he punished her. He particularly liked to bring them forth out in public. Jenny counted her blessings that this whipping was administered in his study; sometimes they were given in the mansion’s foyer in front of the cleaning staff, in the breakfast alcove or dining room before the wait-staff.
But even in this private setting in the quiet, wood-paneled, book-lined room, there was another pair of eyes on Jenny, besides those of old Herman with the shears in his hands, besides Jesse who was now leaning back in his chair, masturbating to the sight of Jenny’s pale flesh marked with the lattice-work of the caning. Further away from the window, in front of the long, multi-car garage, John was polishing the Rolls Royce Corniche. The chauffeur knew that the lord of the manor wasn’t only into S & M, the chauffeur knew that the master was as cruel as Simon Legree and as uninformed on the subject as E.L. James. And John knew that the mistress of the manor accepted such treatment because she (incorrectly) assumed that, as a submissive, it was what she deserved.
Jenny had met Jesse at a huge party on his estate less than a month ago. She’d attended with several girlfriends who worked with her at the modeling agency. Jenny was immediately smitten with Jesse, and he saw in her a young woman with submissive tendencies that he could mold like pliable clay. How envious her girlfriends all were when he asked her to stay the night! How they talked and gossiped when they left at two in the morning, and Jenny accompanied Jesse to the sumptuous master bedroom. He’d made love to her that night, but he’d also spanked her hard and verbally humiliated her even worse. Jenny took it all with a smile, and Jesse knew he had another mistress.
Herman was confused by what altercations was transpiring in the master’s study, John was not. He stared openly at the lovely blond through the far-away window, saw her hang her head, signifying that her beating was concluded, but that her presentation was not. John had stared openly at Jenny many times in the past.
There was that partition between the passenger-seats and the driver’s in both the Rolls and the Bentley, but the curtain was rarely drawn to a close in either vehicle. So when John drove Jesse and Jenny, he saw up-close their dynamic. He saw how Jesse completely dominated the introverted girl, in words, deeds, and attitude. Apparently, Jesse had seen the movie, “The Story of O.” Jesse routinely replicated a scene from the movie with Jenny. As soon as they slid into the backseat, Jesse would hold out his hand, and Jenny knew to bridge-up, pull down and off any underwear she might be wearing. Then she would pull up her skirt or dress, so as to sit her naked bottom directly on the leather upholstery. She often would’ve preferred to sit up on one hip or the other; her bottom was bruised and sore from his harsh treatment. But she always obeyed, feeling her little rosebud pucker-up and kiss the soft car-seat. Butterfly kisses to match the butterflies fluttering in her tummy. Because in the rear-view mirror, Jenny noticed John’s kind and understanding eyes. She knew that, just like this ritualized routine, John had witnessed her whippings; they were too frequent, too loud, and too public for him (and most of the other estate staff) not to have seen.
John’s eyes, so different from Jesse’s, were matched by his kind and caring voice when he drove only her on errands to either the nail salon, hair salon, the spa, or shopping trips.
He spoke first, the first time he chauffeured her into town. “You need not worry. I won’t share what is shared here with the master…”
Jenny looked up with wide eyes, catching his in that small, oblong mirror.
“Thank you!” and they exchanged names, and background stories, and then, because of those eyes and that voice, she opened up and it all flooded forth, with a cascade of tears. It became like a therapy session with a counselor, every time she took a car-ride by herself. She often ended the round trip with the words, “You are an angel, John, thank you!”
Other than these excursions, Jenny usually stayed in her room and read. She would have liked to ride horseback at the stables, but her bottom was kept too sore to be able to post at the trot. She would’ve liked to sunbathe on her terrace, but her bottom was usually bruised so heavily, it made Jenny self-conscious to put on a bikini. When in the mood, Jenny reread the A Man with a Maid series of books, dreaming what it would be like to be with a gallant, loving man to discipline her moderately, like Jack does with Alice. When the mood possessed her, Jenny would masturbate, particularly because Jesse rarely made love with her any longer. He would simply jack-off, into a world all by himself, while looking at his handiwork on her backside after whipping her mercilessly. Slowly, over time, the fictional character of Jack in her favorite smut evolved into real-life John. Jenny’s climaxes were so intense when she fantasized about John possessing and punishing her! She knew that he’d fuck like he’d dominate her, with love and praise, passion and compassion.
At other times, or when she was outside the privacy of her bedroom, Jenny reread one of her favorite classics, The Great Gatsby. Every time she reread it, she seemed to understand Fitzgerald’s masterpiece a bit better, especially that last page. Sentences like, “Contemplation…with something commensurate to his capacity to wonder… Gatsby believed in…the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter…So, we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Oh my, she thought to herself, to write such words! Sometimes when she read too late into the night, or the mood overtook her, she would masturbate to this text, too, wondering if that sense of enigma or ennui was specific just to her or… At other times, she wondered if Gatsby was smut, too, and the boats being beaten back orgiastically were the little pink boats inside a woman’s sex.
And then, all of Jenny’s before-bed prayers were answered. Jesse announced that he had a business trip arranged to Gstaad, Switzerland, and instead of just assuming she would accompany him, Jesse asked if Jenny wanted to join him.
“Thank you, sir, but I have an old cheerleading knee injury, so am not a great skier, and I prefer warm climates to the cold. I’d gladly wait in the lodge for your return, if you prefer…”
Perhaps Jesse suffered from his own sense of ennui, but he shrugged and said he’d go for the week-long trip alone. The day he flew to New York for his connecting flight, Jenny took a car-ride to her spa to have her butt crack depilated. For some reason, this painful process made Jenny feel sexy. On the car trip back home, Jenny initiated the conversation with John.
“You know where I live, but I don’t know where you do…”
“In a suite of rooms above the garage, ma’am,” John answered, enjoying lampooning their relationship and pretending formality.
“I’d love to see it,” she said.
“I’d love to show it to you,” he replied.
When he opened the Bentley’s heavy door for her, away from any of the estate’s prying eyes, Jenny embraced John and kissed him passionately. As the long kiss lingered and intensified, Jenny thought of a passage from another book, The Princess Bride. Near the end of that favorite, she remembered reading, “Since the beginning of the kiss, there have been four kisses that have been rated the most passionate. This one left them all behind,” the book said. Jenny thought that the kiss she shared with her soon-to-be lover would eclipse them all. As their kiss ended, John grabbed Jenny with both hands across her buttocks and gave her a squeeze there. Due to their sore state, Jenny gasped. It felt liberating to be roughly touched there by this man, it felt so intimate.
“When we are certain to be away from watching eyes, safely ensconced in your suite, would you kiss my bottom with a hand spanking, John?”
“If that’s where you need my kiss the most,” he answered, and led her upstairs above the garage, his gloved right hand resting gently on her undulating ass.
His answer made Jenny swoon, but not as much as what came next. John slowly removed each article of Jenny’s clothing, and as her flesh was exposed, he kissed it. He unbuttoned her blouse and kissed her collarbone, removed her bra and kissed a nipple, unzipped her pencil-skirt and kissed a bruised cheek, pulled down her thong underwear and kissed her pudendum.
“Keep your high heels on,” he instructed.
“Yes, Sir.”
John started to unbutton his uniform. “No!” she exclaimed. “Keep your livery on! Please! It’s so masculine, the riding boots…” and she licked a boot’s toe, “the jodhpur pants…” and she kissed the bulge in his breeches, “especially the leather driving gloves…!” and she kissed his hand, “and the cap…” and she kissed his mouth. Jenny pulled away from the kiss to say, “Yes, having now tasted you everywhere, I want your kiss on my bottom…”
She pushed him backward and he sat on his bed. She crawled across his lap and arched her bum high in the air, right in his face. John alternated hard kisses with his mouth and soft kisses with his gloved hand, alternated cheeks. This foreplay made the couple ache with desire.
John showed Jenny by example that Dominance need not be cruel to be stimulating. He made it more like a dialogue, her need speaking to him, his answering eloquently, even loquaciously. The love-making that followed was just as verbose.
They laid on his cot afterward, sweating but sated, and Jenny realized that a coda could be written to The Princess Bride. In her mind, she composed, “Since the beginning of the fuck, there have been four fucks that have rated the most exquisite. This one left them all behind.”

9 responses to “#116) Watching Eyes”

  1. Dear jimh01 and Tipacanoe, Often I find photos around the Internet to be an inspiration. Glad you like them, glad you think I’m not totally reliant on them for my accomplishment. Thank you for following so faithfully!


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