Shadow Lane Volume 1 & 2: The Romance of Discipline, Spanking, Sex, B&D and Anal Eroticism in a Small New England Village. Eve Howard
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that what you’d suggest? I was thinking more in terms of a good spanking.”
“What did you say?” asked Damaris deliberately, unconsciously clutching her stomach, where she’d felt a sharp stab, then a rush.
“I said that you deserve a good spanking. And if that detective weren’t due any second you’d get one right now. All right, make your phone call. But remember what I said.” William advised, then disappeared into his office.
Detective Flagg arrived in due course and remained closeted in William’s office for a half hour. Damaris was standing at the window, staring out at the rain falling softly on the woods that surrounded the building when the two men emerged.
“Don’t forget to call me,” William urged Michael Flagg, who was in no hurry to be ushered out. Damaris leaning on the windowsill, with her curvaceous bottom, so prettily outlined by a tight merino skirt, had captured his entire attention.
She quickly straightened up as the men walked through the office, and remained at attention until the detective was gone.
“Having your wife followed?” Damaris teased.
“You’d better not be so fresh or you’ll get that spanking yet,” William warned, but turned his back on her too quickly to notice her shudder.
The next afternoon it was raining again. It was a slow day and the phones had hardly rung. At around three, Damaris wandered into William’s office without an official reason. He was reading through some tiresome correspondence he’d already postponed far too long.
Although he hardly noticed her enter, William couldn’t fail to acknowledge her presence when Damaris boldly perched her pert bottom on his desk, and began to swing her daintily shod foot. He stared at her with wonder, her nerve rendering him temporarily speechless.
Damaris smiled, batted her lashes, then blew an enormous pink bubble at him with the huge wad of gum in her mouth. William threw his pen down and leaned back in his chair.
“Young lady, didn’t you hear a thing I told you yesterday?”
“Boss, are you a pervert?” she asked ingenuously.
“What sort of question is that? And does this look like a chair?” He thumped the desktop.
“Three times yesterday you mentioned spanking me,” she reminded him. William pushed his correspondence aside. Suddenly she had his full attention.
“There’s nothing perverse about that,” William told her. “That’s what you do with a brat.”
“Do you ever spank your wife, boss?”
“I assume you have a good reason for asking?”
“Just prurient.”
“Yes, I spank Laura.”
“Often?”
“Yes.”
“How does she feel about that?”
“You two go out to lunch together. Ask her,” William replied carelessly.
Damaris wiggled off the desk and took a stroll around the room. His gaze followed her taut little bottom with a connoisseur’s savor. Her waist seemed impossibly small, perhaps 22” around. He watched her promenade awhile. Then he rose and locked the door.
“To answer your original question, Damaris, yes, I am a pervert. And your questions seem to indicate that you are one as well.”
He pulled a chair into the center of the room, then stepped up to her and took her by the arm. “Come over here,’ he said, pulling her to the chair, sitting down and putting her briskly across his lap.
“No! Don’t!” she cried, fully breathless yet feebly trying to resist. This seemed necessary. She had her pride. But as she only weighed 100 pounds to his muscular 165, she was tucked neatly under one hand and easily held fast. Damaris squirmed in vain.
“Right,” he said; “This won’t take long.” And he smoothed down the seat of her pencil skirt, pausing momentarily to admire her shapely legs, glamorously hosed in seamed stockings and shod excitingly in spike-heeled pumps.
While holding her firmly in place by her impossibly small waist, he administered no more than a dozen resounding smacks to the well-rounded seat of her skirt. But each spank was a shock to her system that left a penetrating sting in its wake.
The spanking was over almost before it began, and she was set back on her feet. To Damaris, it had been a teaser, like a spanking in an old film that you catch by accident at 2 am
“Boss, that hurt!” she told him, because this was a normal thing to say. To keep acting normal seemed crucial to her.
Similar thoughts were flashing through William’s brain. Which was why he had kept her first spanking so short. If he kept it light and flirty, she mightn’t be scared off. “Spankings hurt,” he told her, while watching her rub her buttocks with both hands.
“No,” she replied, “that huge boner sticking into my ribs was what hurt.”
“Are you still being fresh?” He pulled her down to sit on his lap, locking his arms around her waist.
“In my culture,” lied Damaris, “when a man smacks a woman on the bottom, it’s as good as a proposition.” She nuzzled his ear as she purred this, grinding her freshly warmed seat into his corded thighs.
“Mine too,” William said, boosting her off his lap with a swat. “Go lock the outer door,” he told her.
Michael Flagg had been asked to detect the security leak at Random Construction. Damaris was the prime suspect. But William needed proof before acting. It was his contention that she had been selling information to his largest competitor, Price Enterprises. William hadn’t gotten near a property in almost a month; just about the length of time that Damaris had been his secretary.
It was quiet on the Cape at that time of year, with the rowdy summer crowd long gone. So Michael Flagg had plenty of time to devote to solving the sordid little corporate mystery revolving around the seductive secretary. Autumn had taken hold fully in the village and tracking Damaris to and from her coke dealer made for a delightful drive through leafy, dappled lane and pumpkin patches. He’d found her motive for selling her company out. No salary is ever large enough to support a coke habit. Now he only had to spot her making one exchange.
There was to be a land auction on Friday. Damaris typed and sealed the bids herself on Thursday night, not forgetting to make a photo copy for herself.
That evening Michael followed Damaris straight from work to The Serpentine Lounge, where she began to drink, while awaiting the arrival of her contact. Michael sat in his car outside until Randall Price himself strode into the bar. This was the arrogant young owner of the company to which Damaris had been selling information.
Michael slipped into the club just in time to observe them swap envelopes the instant Price slid into the booth beside her. His went straight into a breast pocket - it was thin. Hers immediately vanished into her large handbag. It was thick. Randall Price ordered a cocktail, but left well before it arrived. He hadn’t much to say to Damaris after picking up what he’d come for. Soon after this Damaris paid her bill and also left.
The wind was whipping leaves around the street when Damaris came out. She was half drunk on cocktails. The sky was filled with clouds. Soon it would rain. Damaris turned her collar up and started to walk towards her car, feeling lonely and sad. She hated the things she’d been doing. She never had an ounce of coke all to herself before. She resolved to quit using for good when it was gone. Nor would she ever deal with the officious Price again. It wasn’t a bad resolution, but it could not dispel the guilt that now oppressed her.
Damaris felt utterly wretched when she thought about her boss. The pleasure she’d enjoyed with him lately had been intense. But it always ended all too soon; and then he went home to his wife. A strong man to lean on was missing.
Hearing