A Patron of the Arts, Part Two – Lisa - Sex Stories

A Patron of the Arts, Part Two – Lisa

... and then brought it down sharply across the middle of the soft, rounded target. “THWACK!” I heard Lisa hiss between gritted teeth. Another fifteen hard blows were delivered in rapid succession, each acknowledged by the same hissing sound, but nothing else. Because of the angle of the mirror, I was able to see the blows as they struck. Madame then stopped. “You may stand up and leave. The next time it will be fifty. And cover those nipples!” I then noticed that despite the “caning”, as it were, Lisa’s nipples were still hard and sticking out. It was at that moment that Lisa looked in the mirror and saw that I had been watching. Embarrassed, she covered her breasts with her hands and ran from behind the screen to the stairwell. While several people noticed her dash for the door, luckily, no one appeared to know what was going on, or that I was a more than an uninterested spectator. Those that did notice her dash went back about what they were doing, while Madame Tyser, now all smiles, came out from behind the screen to schmooze with the parents and foundation reps. I waited a cautious amount of time, then ducked into the stairwell myself. I heard soft sobbing, but could not immediately determine if it was coming from above or below the floor I was on. I softly called out Lisa’s name. The sobbing stopped. There was a pause, and then, “Who’s there?” “I’m Mr. Apiary. Britt Apiary. I was the one you saw in the mirror. I came to see how you are doing.” The sobbing resumed. “How do ...

... you think I’m doing?” “Can I come up so we can talk about it?” The sobbing reduced to sniffles. “Okay," was her meek reply. As it turns out, she was two flights up, at the entrance to the roof access. She was on the landing above the top step, lying on her side (likely due to the residual soreness to her bottom). I stood a few steps down, but was still looking down at her. Her hair was up in the standard “ballerina bun”, revealing a gracefully sloping neck. Interestingly, her nipples were still quite erect. She noticed that I was looking at them, and quickly put her hands over them, her face turning red. “What is wrong with me?” she whispered hoarsely as she sat up. “I just had a wizened-up old lady sexually abuse me with a stick, whip my ass with that same stick; yet I’m sitting in a stairwell and I’m apparently so aroused that I have a major case of pokies.” “Sometimes we can’t control our body’s reaction to stimulus, even if it is the opposite of what we would consider normal,” I said, thinking of Quinn, the young lady that I had whipped with my belt before fucking the daylights out of. “And, in case you didn’t know, there is a large part of the population that finds receiving or inflicting pain to be sexually stimulating.” She took her hand away from her breasts. “So I’m not weird, or sick, or perverted?” “No,” I replied, “whatever floats your boat.” “Even if my ‘boat’ sticks out so much?” she asked, now standing on the step below the landing and facing me so that I was ...