“Right now?” I said, lying over his knee.
“Right now,” he grinned.
My arm was still twisted up my back.
“You have to torture me first.”
“I think you’ve been tortured enough for one night,” he chuckled, and I felt his fat fingertip on my bum, “So I get you to give me answers and only ifI get the answers you’ll do it.”
“So how many do I have to get?” he asked, rubbing my bottom.
“So I have to get all five?”
“Yep. And I can lie.”
He rearranged me on his lap and said “I want you to tell me your favourite colour, and what age you were the first time – or have you – had an orgasm.”
He spanked hard and fast, and I moved and closed my eyes, resting my face on my arms. It hurt a lot. Not like the gentle spanking he’d started off with, and I’d asked him stuff like:
Where do millionaires buy their socks? A: They let their wives buy their socks
Why don’t you live in a mansion like a proper millionaire? A: anything that could be called a ‘mansion’ in Scotland would be a million [He only has nearly 3 million and most of that’s in the company, so I guess he can’t afford it. Weird how rich people can’t afford things, just like the rest of us!], and I don’t need one for just two people
Do you have, like, a private jet you keep at the [Edinburgh International] airport?/probably phrased as “so you don’t have, like, a private jet?” in a disappointed voice. A: No, because they cost hundreds of millions. In the 1920’s being a millionaire meant having a lot more than today.
I suppose he’s right and a million isn’t really a lot; after all, half a million is only 500,000 which is a lot but it’s not that much; enough for 4 or 5 houses, I guess. And a quarter is just 250k.
He spanked my thighs too, which I’d thought I would dislike, but I actually enjoyed it.
Anyway, right now he was spanking really hard and I was moaning and whimpering a bit. “Are you ready to tell me?” he asked. “No,” I said, burying my face in the sofa arm. He spanked even harder, the noise of each slap really loud. I put my hand down to try and hold the burning skin, but he grabbed my arm and easily twisted it behind my back. As if to punish me, he slowed down a bit but made each smack come down really hard and each time he spanked me I moved. “It’s too hard!” I whined, and he stopped. “Well then, what is your favourite colour?” I shook my head and he continued, pressing down firmly with each smack. It was very painful and I realised that I’d underestimated his strength – or my resilience – and would never be able to keep from revealing the five things. He had all night to spank me. I could, I thought, quickly reveal four things and make him work for the fifth, but that wouldn’t help me. I needed to stall him.
So I said, “I need the bathroom.”
He stopped, and let me up.
In the bathroom I put cold water on my bum but I knew it wouldn’t really help me withstand it, and I had to stall him more. When I came out Roland made us coffee again, and I guessed he must’ve known I was trying to stall him and was letting me do it. By this time it was around 10-11pm.