BurningMonkey
TheMan In TheMirror
- Joined
- Jan 21, 2014
- Posts
- 4,861
He ignored her. Walking behind, he started his examination...only this time, it wasn't quite so clinical. His hands moved smoothly and gently, not probing and prodding as before.
He began at her shoulders. as last time, but now he more stroked[.I] than kneaded; his hands ran smoothly but gently and slowly across her shoulders, down her arms. He spent a few minutes examining her hands, his fingers gliding over her palms. Then he moved to her flanks, under her bra, sliding languorously over the smooth skin of her ribs, across her hip bones, lingering for a moment in the hollows above her waist, then moving smoothly and unhurriedly around the front, caressing her belly, before moving down again back over her hips and down the outside of her thighs.
This was not a man assessing a horse; this was a man appreciating the wonder of a woman's body. Again he lingered a little at the backs of her knees, finally proceeding gently and slowly up the inside of her legs and thighs, but ending short of her pudenda.
He moved his hands then to her shoulders again, brushing aside her ponytail and running his fingers lightly up to the nape of her neck and down her upper spine.
"You truly are exquisite," he breathed as his fingers ended at the base of her spine just above her panties.
Then he stepped away. As she bent to pick up her clothes, however, he spoke.
"We're not finished, yet," he said. Moving around to stand in front of her, he fixed her with his gaze. "You didn't follow my instructions," he said. "I specifically told you to wear that orange top and skirt to this interview, yet you didn't. Disobedience requires punishment."
Reaching suddenly--he was quick, for a big man--he took the base of her ponytail in one meaty fist and turned towards the desk.
She struggled, of course, but what could she do? He had her head in an unbreakable vice-grip by her hair. He pulled her towards the desk, stumbling, and pushed her head down on the surface so that she was bent over at the waist.
"When you were young," he said, "did your parents ever spank you?"
He began at her shoulders. as last time, but now he more stroked[.I] than kneaded; his hands ran smoothly but gently and slowly across her shoulders, down her arms. He spent a few minutes examining her hands, his fingers gliding over her palms. Then he moved to her flanks, under her bra, sliding languorously over the smooth skin of her ribs, across her hip bones, lingering for a moment in the hollows above her waist, then moving smoothly and unhurriedly around the front, caressing her belly, before moving down again back over her hips and down the outside of her thighs.
This was not a man assessing a horse; this was a man appreciating the wonder of a woman's body. Again he lingered a little at the backs of her knees, finally proceeding gently and slowly up the inside of her legs and thighs, but ending short of her pudenda.
He moved his hands then to her shoulders again, brushing aside her ponytail and running his fingers lightly up to the nape of her neck and down her upper spine.
"You truly are exquisite," he breathed as his fingers ended at the base of her spine just above her panties.
Then he stepped away. As she bent to pick up her clothes, however, he spoke.
"We're not finished, yet," he said. Moving around to stand in front of her, he fixed her with his gaze. "You didn't follow my instructions," he said. "I specifically told you to wear that orange top and skirt to this interview, yet you didn't. Disobedience requires punishment."
Reaching suddenly--he was quick, for a big man--he took the base of her ponytail in one meaty fist and turned towards the desk.
She struggled, of course, but what could she do? He had her head in an unbreakable vice-grip by her hair. He pulled her towards the desk, stumbling, and pushed her head down on the surface so that she was bent over at the waist.
"When you were young," he said, "did your parents ever spank you?"