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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."