____________________________ | | /)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\ / )| DIRECTORIES |( \ __( (|____________________________|) )__ ((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / ))) (\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///) \ / \ / \ _/ \_ / / / \ \ o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o o betical directories. o o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o It's About Love (MF, affair) by Jahn Palmer (c) 1997 *** "You know what you need," I said, and saw her jump ever so slightly, proving that my guess had been right. After her confession, she'd turned away from me and faced the wall, not quite able to look at me. I think she was afraid that I was angry, angry at having been used as a weapon of jealousy. Perhaps I was, on some level, but the anger was mild. I mean, the damage was done, there was no way to undo it, and she'd admitted to me that it was all her fault, and said she was sorry. Oh, I suppose if I'd found out that she'd slept with me just to make her boyfriend jealous, and she hadn't apologized, yes, I'd be angry. . . but once she admitted that what she'd done was wrong, well, the anger faded. It was over, for me at least. But it wasn't over for her. The shame and the hurt and the fear were eating her up inside. I could see that. So could she, I think. I think that's why she came to see me. Don't get me wrong; she was an adult, and she would have apologized! But I think she chose this very night to see me because she knew that her anguish was growing too large for her. "You. . ." she breathed, "You wouldn't mind?" I shook my head, and even though her back was turned, she seemed to relax. . . not completely, of course, and her sigh of relief did sound a bit like a sob, but she realized that it would at least be over. She was wrong, but that wouldn't matter yet. "You know what to do, then," I said, barely loudly enough to be heard. She seemed to shrink inside herself, gathering her courage; once this started, she knew there'd be no turning back. I loved her too much to let her back out. She got up quickly, determined to get it over with, and her fingers started to work on the first button of her blouse. "No, not like that," I snapped, and she froze completely. She drew a long gasping breath as she realized what I meant. I was pleasantly surprised to see her quickly turn around to face me again. She was determined. . . and braver than the younger woman I'd loved so long ago. She didn't raise her eyes to meet mine, but that was allowed. She'd know how I was feeling towards her once her punishment started; she didn't need to try to second guess. She finished unbuttoning and untucking her blouse, and it slipped to the floor; then she unhooked her skirt and stepped out of it. As usual, she had to leave her shoes on; I knew from experience that partial undress was more effective for her than total nudity; the constant feel of the remaining clothing reminded her all too well of why some of her clothes were missing. I reached out for her hand; she was almost too shakey to grab on to mine, but I was patient. She and I both knew, by unspoken law, that once she took my hand, there was no turning back. When she finally managed to touch her hand to mine, I gripped her tightly. Now she did look into my face, and I could see that she was terrified. That was good; I wanted her scared for a bit. I didn't let even a hint of emotion show on my face as I pulled her closer, and then sat back down on my chair. She had often "whoofed" out some air as she dropped across my lap in the past; this time her exhalation was more of a squeak. I placed one hand firmly in the center of her back, and then quickly drew her panties down to the tops of her thighs. She trembled, and I could see quite a few goose-bumps rising on her skin; I always had lectured her before starting her spanking, and always gave her time to steel herself for the pain. But this time I didn't need to do either. I knew that, even if she didn't, yet. I smacked her, hard, and she gasped, so I followed up immediately with another SMACK, not giving her a chance to catch her breath. I knew the first few seconds of spanks didn't hurt, not until the sting had time to build, but I wanted it to hit her hard. . . My hand might have been all I'd used, but I do a lot of physical work. . . my hand was large, heavy, and calloused. . . and her bottom hadn't been properly smacked in a very long time. I was barely ten spanks into her punishment when I heard her little, pained gasps as she remembered how much a spanking could hurt. I hadn't even reached forty spanks when I heard her first sobs. She was tough, and tried hard never to cry during a spanking, because she didn't think it was fair to ask for sympathy, even unconsciously. . . But she didn't yet realize where the real pain was, even though she was already crying as much as she ever had during one of my spankings. So I smacked her harder, and faster, concentrating on a relatively small area to keep intensifying the sting. She was still crying, but somehow she managed to start crying and doing her little gasps of pain at the same time. If she hadn't needed it. . . but she did. I redoubled my efforts, hoping that this would be enough to break through the barrier, and it was. I breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped her crying and started bawling. . . loud sobs mixed with shouts, screams, or howls of pain. But no sooner had I breathed that sigh of relief than I doubled my efforts again, hoping my hand would hold out just a bit longer. It did, though I thought I might have to soak it in ice water later on. It didn't matter, though, because I'd gotten through to her. A few more sharp spanks finished her off, and she tried to get to her feet. I only let her get most of the way up, just far enough that she could pull up her panties, but I wouldn't let her walk away. I pulled her back to my lap, instead, and wrapped her in the biggest hug I could managed. She did try to pull away, which I expected, but quickly relented, and let herself be comforted. She was still crying pretty hard, even hiccupping occasionally from the stress, but she managed to put her arms around my neck and bury her face in my chest. When her tears finally slowed down enough, I whispered to her. "Now do you understand?" She pulled back far enough to look into my eyes. "It's about love; it's about curing you of the hurt that was eating you up, by giving you a safer pain to focus on." Her eyes flicked downward for a moment, while she looked inside herself to see if she believed this. When they came back to meet mine, I saw that she knew that wasn't everything. "No, it's not over yet. You hurt him too." A tear glistened in the corner of her eye, but she blinked it back, swallowed heavily, and nodded. "Okay," she whispered. I smiled, and she managed a weak smile in return. I gently set her back on her feet, and stepped away for a moment, feeling my heart swelling with pride. The fear was gone from her now, which meant that she had grown up. . . except for one thing. I rooted through the top drawer and found what I needed; an old-fashioned, solid wood hairbrush. I turned around and handed it to her. She looked puzzled, which made me smile. "Not for me?" She asked, not quite guessing the answer. "No. For him. He cheated on you first." Understanding flashed across her face, as she realized that he was hurting as badly as she'd been. . . why else had the horrible fights kept happening, all over something that was over and done with? "Okay," she whispered, smiling just a bit. "I guess. . . I guess I'm still hurting enough to be strict enough." I laughed, and shook my head as I helped her gather her clothes so she could get dressed and go home. "You'll find out, darling. . . it's not about pain. It's about love."