"Bend over."

Morosely, she crouched beside me and gripped the arm of my chair, sliding herself over my lap, her feet still firmly planted on the ground. I knew what she was doing: as long as you can feel the ground you still feel some measure of control, but when they are raised into mid-air and you are hovering on the lap of another person you are completely in their thrall, helpless and vulnerable. I grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to me, sliding her body further up mine so that her crotch was against my thighs and her legs were pulled up, forcing her feet into the air. She wobbled as she lost balance and control, but I held her firmly in place. It felt most peculiar to be on the giving, rather than the receiving end of this arrangement.

Only now could I fully understand why she was so mentally drained from her soaking by the hose. The touch of her skin, even through my clothing, was wretchedly cold and her flesh was icy and firm to the extent where it almost felt frozen. She was shivering, her body covered in goosebumps. And she was scared. A welter of emotions swam through my mind: elation, excitement, sexual energy, trepidation; but mostly I felt a sense of justice. This was right, it was fitting, she deserved what was coming to her.

I aimed and swung my hand hard on to her rear. It rippled pleasingly, an immediate blush of red covering the afflicted area. She made no noise, but her body tensed. I hit her again and again, twice in quick succession on the same spot and she emitted a small groan. Leaning back, I attacked her left buttock and fetched four resounding blows on it. The fact that her skin was wet would, I knew, make the blows all the more painful, and additionally provided the benefit of making the blows sound louder. Out in the open, in the space of the garden, they reverberated and resounded with an almost violent force. Sue's feet were waggling, a sure sign of severe discomfort, and I unleashed an almighty crack, as hard as I could, landing square on her right buttock. She stiffened, her back arching and knees locking, and tried to escape from my clutches, but I held her tight and despatched a second thundering blow on the identical spot. At last she screamed.

And that was one of the most satisfying moments of my entire life. I practically came on the spot as Sue's pain was transmitted to me, every sinew in her body fighting against me, every impulse in her mind urging her to fight. But she couldn't, she was mine, and I could deal with her as I saw fit. In rapid succession I fired another three spanks on to the same area, feeling her buck and fight beneath my grip, the physicality of her body wrestling against mine adding to my own feelings of sexual excitement. This was extraordinarily exciting and my mind was in turmoil as I tried to assimilate the sensations pulsing through me. Sue was in tears, whimpering continuously and screaming with each new blow. Her arse was crimson, the clear shape of my fingers evident in numerous places. My blows had been concentrated on two main areas, and I changed tack, spreading my thunder more generously around her quivering, pained backside. I rained half a dozen blows on the backs of her thighs, an extremely tender spot which I knew would leave her gasping, then ran a series of hits down to her knees and back again. Finally, I concentrated once more on the principal area of her aggravation and launched another salvo of spanks on her reddened and fiery arse.

"Please," she said. "Please."

And a dart of excitement burst through me. To hear Sue beg me was delicious indeed. I celebrated with another three blows, increasing in firmness, as Sue convulsed in tears beneath me. The assault had lasted a good ten minutes, and what with the rifle-cracks of my hand on her arse and her screams and constant whining, it had not been a quiet interlude. It was inconceivable, I thought, that no-one could have overheard us.

"Has that warmed you up Sue?" I shouted. She made no response, but it didn't matter. I had ensured that any listener would know it was Sue and not me who was on the receiving end on this occasion. My own hand was aching by now, puffy and reddened and sensitive, and I knew I couldn't do much more. I rolled my palm across her backside, thrilling at the heat emanating from it, and scratched my fingernails across first one cheek, then the other, sliding over her crack. As she relaxed, realising her ordeal was over, she unlocked her knees and her right leg slid away slightly, parting her arse cheeks a fraction. Almost without thinking, I slid my index finger inside and explored downwards, rolling it away across her left cheek before returning, and again and again, my hand working in an outward brushing movement. My fingers slid ever closer to her crack and pussy and by now Sue's whimpering had stopped, to be replaced by a low, heavy breath. Finally, I positioned my finger over her slit and slowly slid it across its length. She was, as I had expected and, perhaps, hoped, sopping wet.

"Heavens, Sue, anyone would think you enjoyed that spanking," I said in an unneccesarily loud voice. "You're soaking wet, aren't you?"

She lowered her head in shame but couldn't deny it. I traced my fingers up and down her slit a few times, gradually sliding them between her lips until they were buried inside her. I bent over her and whispered in her ear.

"Are you ready to come back inside now?"