Shadow Lane Volume 8: The Spanking Libertines A Novel of Spanking, Sex and Romance. Eve Howard
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Duarte.”
“Please don’t say that. What happened last night was a brief B&D adventure, never to be repeated.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Hector, why have you fixated on me? Why didn’t you move in on Diana while you had the opportunity?”
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
“Well, did you or didn’t you?”
“Did I or didn’t I what?”
“Play with Diana?”
“Diana is so sweet.”
“Oh, you barely know her.”
“I wish you were more like her.”
“Since you two are getting along so well, you don’t need me, do you?”
“I need you more than ever.”
“Look, I’m not even sure that I like you.”
“Did you like Mr. Duarte?”
“At least he knew what he was doing.”
“And you don’t think I do?”
“I know you don’t. How could you? You don’t have the slightest idea.”
“You go on thinking that.”
“Hector, you have to stop. It’s not funny any more!”
“Calm down.”
“I won’t be coerced into intimacy.”
“I understand,” Hector replied gravely, startled by her sudden anger. “I went too far. I’m sorry.”
“You really have to back off.”
“I’ll do that, Lupe,” he assured her, his heart pounding.
“You might grow on me in time,” she added with a smile. “I’m not ruling out the possibility.”
“Thank you!” Hector beamed.
“Maybe we can study together sometime. Or take a walk to the Cider Mill.”
“I’ll take you up on both.”
When their taxi disgorged Lupe and Hector in front of Cushing several hours later, Clarence Gerard was there to wonder at the sight.
“Lupe!”
“Clarence, hi.”
“Don’t forget about our study date,” said Hector, heading off toward Jocelyn dorm.
“You have a study date with Hector Green?” Lupe’s lover demanded, grabbing her overnight duffel and carrying it into their dorm.
“I vaguely committed to one,” she explained, following him upstairs.
“What were you doing together?”
“We just happened to take the same train back from the city.”
“Oh? You weren’t with him this weekend?”
“No, Clarence.”
“What were you doing in the city, anyway? You never told me you were going to the city.”
“Is that a hint of reproach?” Lupe opened the door to her room and they entered.
“I simply have the sudden and definite feeling that you were up to no good this weekend without me,” Clarence declared. When Lupe merely blushed he became more concerned. “Well? Am I going to have to beat it out of you?”
“I guess I had a sort of adventure,” she began. Then it all came out, because it was much too exciting a secret for a young girl to keep.
Clarence listened, pacing with folded arms. When she had finished describing her scene with Xavier Duarte in detail Clarence turned on her with blazing eyes.
“So that’s what you call being my girlfriend, is it?” Then he slammed out of the room.
Thus began a period of frost that lasted nearly a week as Clarence went about the campus and environs, steadfastly ignoring Lupe, no matter how affectingly she strove to catch his eye and in spite of how charming she looked in a whole new set of woolen skirts and sweaters.
Lupe’s pain was unremitting and her despondency grew by the day as she observed Clarence escort Meredith Pels, his leading lady in The Rivals, to local taverns and the dining hall. She was a tall, willowy, deep bosomed, blonde senior who radiated political correctness from every vegetarian pore. Off-stage she wore no makeup, dressed virtually in boy’s clothes and barely even seemed to comb her hair, yet she was a goddess and this was known to all, except herself. All of which gave no comfort the petite brunette.
After two days had passed Lupe left a note in Clarence’s mail slot. “Can’t we talk?” it had pathetically beseeched him. The missive was ignored. Meanwhile, Lupe cried herself sick, stopped eating, dressed in black and for a period of more than 24 hours, did not bathe. Losing interest in everything but her grief (and the novel Pamela) Lupe barely noticed or attempted to discourage the constant presence of Hector by her side. He was happy to be used as a sounding board, to furnish a shoulder to cry on, and revile the name of Clarence Gerard whenever it was spoken. But the afternoon she wore a grey shirt with a black jacket and trousers and forgot to shower, her fascination was too great to resist and he nearly attacked her in her room, begging her to surrender to his need with greater vehemence than it was in her power to repel in her weakened emotional state.
“Do what ever you like, I don’t care,” she sighed, laying back on her bed and gazing out at the slate grey sky through the mullioned window panes of her lilac dorm room.
Hector rolled her over on her tummy then pulled her up by her hips. Reaching around to loosen her trousers and pull them down he murmured with more honesty than cynicism, “perhaps if you pretend that I’m Clarence, you’ll get a thrill.”
“Then do it hard,” she advised, closing her eyes as she rested her weight evenly on her knees and the palms of her hands.
Hector didn’t need a second invitation to comply with her injunction to the letter. He wanted to fuck her hard. He’d been dreaming of doing nothing else since he’d first spoken to her. Nor did this determined young man, one of whose ambitions was to some day edit the National Enquirer, have the slightest qualm about playing surrogate to the girl that he desired above all others.
“You’re dry though,” he mused. “How do you get wet?” Unconsciously he stroked her bottom as he asked her this.
“Spank me,” she replied, though with relative disinterest.
“Really?”
“Go ahead.” She slightly rotated her smooth, slim bottom. The gesture added another inch to his already straining erection. He unzipped his jeans to liberate his cock. Out of curiosity she turned to regard the handsome pink specimen of masculine ardor. “Nice cock,” she mildly complimented him, dropping her head again with a sigh.
Hector tentatively caressed her bottom.
“That’s it,” she encouraged him. Her pain and disappointment at losing Clarence had left her too physically exhausted to be either embarrassed or protective about her fetish any longer.
“All right, young lady, you asked for it,” he told her, moving to one side and taking her by the waist to give her something like a proper spanking. It was true that she was up on all fours and under his arm rather than over his knee, but Lupe hadn’t reckoned with Hector’s ethnicity, which included strong spanking influences on both the Latin and European sides. He instinctively knew how to hold a girl for a spanking and how to apply the palm of his hand to her backside.
True to her word, Lupe became moist within moments. Hector ascertained this twenty or so swats into the spanking. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed Lupe as she surrendered to the fantasy that she was