Notebooks of the Young Wife Read Online Free PDF

girl who seemed to have been interrupted in the proofreading of a manuscript to notice that the interloper’s hand held a punishment strap.
    Niamh used a key to let us in, and I followed her along a corridor and up a narrow flight to the first floor. The place seemed deserted. Under a short fleece she was wearing a skimpy T-shirt and cotton Bermudas that emphasised the curves of her solid figure. I reached out and took hold of the waistband, bringing her to a halt on the turn of the stair. There was a glimpse of a dark cleft, then her body was against mine and I squeezed a full buttock.
    ‘You like that, yeah?’
    ‘I like, very much,’ I said into her ear, nuzzling the neck.
    ‘I’ve not been spanked for days. We want you nice and juicy and if that would do the trick...’
    I kept a hold of her while she steered us into a room and locked the door. She went over the table on her elbows and I peeled down the shorts to find an arse that swelled out completely bare, without even the minimal cover of a thong. Here was another knickerless girl after my own heart. Spanking was what she was going to get, but first I gave in to the temptation to inspect the goods at the closest quarters. Far from raising an objection, when I hunkered down behind her the Irish girl obligingly arched her back to present me with an even better view. Covered in a fine down, the skin was pearly-white and indeed without hint of bruising, and I explored its soft resilience with my two hands. Then I straightened up and crooked an arm round the compliant waist to deliver the first smack.
    ‘Uh-uh.’ It was a throaty noise that encouraged me in my task. But this was to be no punishment session and I stroked and caressed as much as I whacked with a stinging palm. I was making love to a young woman in a way we both understood. When the area had turned a beautiful salmon-pink I stood back. She rose from the table holding her bum, blew me a kiss and fired up a floodlight on the computer desk in the corner. Camera in hand she waved me up onto a table that resembled nothing so much as the examination table in a doctor’s surgery. It was equipped with the stirrups appropriate for a gynaecological examination, and I understood that her photography was going to be of the most intimate kind. I was already juiced to dripping point inside my jeans and stripped them off to climb up so that my calves could be lifted and positioned.
    ‘Fucking beauty.’ Niamh bobbed about between my spread legs, eye glued to the viewfinder as she stored image after image of my seeping cunt lips for the delectation of future generations. It was a heady experience that I have to say made me ooze still more. I’d heard of the injunction to ‘smile!’, but this candid camera had me doing something decidedly more earthy. Then she laid aside the device and looked up at me from squarely between my parted legs.
    ‘Um, Dr Jane Double-Barrelled: the important person who keeps the national smut safe. I asked if my lens could get in there, but I didn’t check if you were up for a tongue. Well, I know you are in theory, but I mean like mine. Here and now.’ The charming creature had taken a fit of shyness and I just fell totally in lust.
    ‘You should be warned that while I showered this morning, since that time the young wife has had a go, then your gorgeous arse made me wet my pants and this fevered snapping of cunt pics has got me leaking all over your table. So it’s likely to be strong stuff down there, sweet girl.’ By the time the sentence was finished she was wearing the biggest grin I’d seen all year and pushed her face right into the nitty-gritty.
    I’d been taken into the charge of an enthusiast – a self-proclaimed ‘muff-diver extraordinaire ’ – who in seconds flat had me at that pitch of sensation where pleasure crosses into pain. And held me there while time stopped. In the end I begged and sobbed my way to the release that was, at last, granted. As I lay back