
Message-ID: <51486asstr$1120115403@assm.asstr.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net
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Subject: {ASSM} rp "3 French Hens" {Uther} (MF bdsm) [1/1] <*>
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Date: Thu, 30 Jun 2005 03:10:03 -0400
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===================

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by 
law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go 
do something else.

This material is copyright, 2003, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and 
keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as 
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous 
permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me 
at anon584c@nyx.net.  

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.

                          #  #  #  #  #

                          3 French Hens
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net


Melissa had missed Jonathan.  When he called her up the day after 
Christmas, she thrilled to the sound of his voice.  "Did you 
enjoy your Christmas?" 

What did he want her to say?  "I missed you."  That was safe 
enough. 

"I'll get back to town tomorrow.  Come over then?" 

"Yes, Jonathan." 

"Five o'clock, my place." 

                              - = -  

It was hard to find parking in his neighborhood, and she had 
to walk three blocks to his apartment house.  The wind was cold 
and gusty.  Since she was wearing a skirt, no panties, and nylons 
instead of pantyhose, the breeze reached areas which she normally 
kept warm.  She was shivering when she rang his bell at 4:55. 

He buzzed her in and opened his apartment door when she 
knocked. He was wearing slacks and an open-necked shirt.  He took 
her coat before kissing her.  "Your ass feels cold," he said. 

"It is," she told him.  "There was nothing between the skin 
and the cold wind." 

"These are warm enough," he said feeling her breasts through 
her blouse.  "Well, we'll find a way to warm up your ass soon.  
Are you ready for your Christmas presents?" 

"I didn't bring you anything," she admitted. 

"I didn't tell you to, Melissa."  His voice made her shiver 
more than the cold wind had.  "I make the decisions, 
remember?" 

"Yes, Jonathan." 

"Anyway," he said more cheerfully, "you aren't quite ready for 
your presents, yet."  He led her into the bedroom.  There was a 
strange-looking chair off to one side with a straight back and 
wooden seat.  "Leave on the stockings -- and the shoes for now." 
She knew that everything else was to come off. 

"Yes, Jonathan.  Earrings?" 

"Leave them on, too.  Did you insert your diaphragm?" 

"Yes, Jonathan." 

When she had hung her clothes in the closet, he brought her 
three packages wrapped in Christmas paper.  Two of them were the 
same odd shape, the third was long and thin.  "This," he said, 
"is the third day of Christmas.  The song calls for three French 
hens." He handed her one of the odd-shaped packages.  "The first 
French hen." 

She unwrapped a ping-pong paddle.  It had rubber on one side 
and sandpaper on the other.  She knew instantly that this was how 
he was going to warm up her butt.  "Oh Jonathan!"  She kissed 
him, sticking her tongue in his mouth as he fondled her still-
chilly butt. 

Before she could ask him to do the warming then, he handed her 
the other odd-shaped package.  "French hen two." 

"Thank you."  If she was less appreciative of this gift, it 
was because it had been predictable as soon as the first one was 
in front of her.  Could you even buy a single ping-pong paddle?  
"Do you want to try out your gifts now?" 

"Open French hen three."  He handed her the third package.  
What she unwrapped had obviously started off as a single 
yardstick. Jonathan had cut it in half and put the pieces 
together by their sides.  One end was wrapped to make a handle, 
and the two pieces were not quite against each other.  There were 
two lengths of what looked like wire from a coat hanger along the 
edges of one piece. The one end of each length disappeared into 
the handle, and the other end stretched beyond nails which 
Jonathan had driven into the edges of the yardstick. 

"Can you get into the gym shoes when they're like that?" he 
asked.  The legs of the wooden chair were in holes in two-by-four 
pieces of lumber, and the shoes were about a foot apart pointing 
inward with their toes on the right-hand two-by-four.  When she 
tried to move one shoe, it stayed against the board.  "I nailed 
them there," Jonathan said. 

She slipped out of her heels and struggled into the gym shoes. 
Jonathan sat in the chair holding the yardstick and one of the 
paddles in his left hand.  When she leaned over his lap, her left 
side was against his erection, her legs were straight, and her 
heels were off the floor. 

"Poor ass," Jonathan said.  He stroked it, his fingers 
brushing over her vulva as he did.  "Poor chilly ass.  Poor 
chilly ass which has to suffer for Melissa's faults.  Well,..." 
he shifted the paddle into his right hand and settled his left 
arm across her back while his voice paused.  "We'll do something 
about the chill soon." 

"Ping," he said as he swung the paddle against her right butt 
cheek.  "And pong."  This time he hit her left cheek.  The swings 
which followed rapidly did warm her butt, but they didn't hurt 
much.  She felt a stinging when he switched to the sandpaper 
side.  She kicked under the new feeling, but her legs couldn't 
move.  He dropped the paddle to stroke along her butt.  "A little 
warmer now," he said.  His fingers stroked across her vulva. 

She felt the arm which had been resting across her back shift. 
The next slap on her butt was marked by a loud crack.  It didn't 
hurt worse than the paddle; the crack must have been the two 
pieces of the yardstick hitting each other.  More blows 
followed. 

When he stopped to stroke her butt this time, his fingers 
didn't just casually brush over her vulva.  He caressed her labia 
and even her clitoris. 

The next blow from the yardstick *hurt*.  "Ow!" she said.  
She writhed under his arm. 

"When I hold it this way," he explained, "the wires keep 
traveling when the wood stops.  Stings, doesn't it?" 

"Yes....  Yes, Jonathan." 

"It's supposed to sting."  He hit her that way hard enough to 
sting.  And, then, with increasingly harsh strokes.  She tried to 
accept her punishment stoically, but she couldn't help writhing 
as the wires bit more deeply into her butt and crossed welts from 
previous blows. 

He dropped the yardstick, and caressed her butt again.  He 
alternated spanks with his open hand with a finger rubbing 
between her lips. 

She thrilled at the sensations, but she soon wanted, needed, 
something more.  Approaching her clitoris on every stroke, his 
finger never quite touched it.  And then it did. 

Those strokes drove her higher and higher.  Her body struggled 
against her imprisonment harder than it had done during her 
spanking.  Suddenly, she felt herself climax.  His finger didn't 
stop moving until she collapsed. 

He patted her shoulder and butt while she lay across his lap 
gasping.  After a while, he slapped her with his open hand.  It 
wasn't a hard slap, but the welts hurt.  "Stand," he said, 
removing his arm from her back.  She almost fell when she did. 
"Careful!  Can you untie those shoes like that?" 

"I'll try."  She could.  When she'd got her right foot out of 
its shoe, the left one was easy.  "Do you want me in the heels, 
again, sir?" 

"Please."  She put them on.  He gestured her towards the 
kitchen. He pushed a few buttons on the microwave.  He pulled a 
chair out for her.  With her sore butt, she'd have preferred to 
keep standing, but he didn't give her that option.  Plates were 
on the table, tea was in the pot.  When the microwave beeped, he 
fetched boxes of oriental takeout to the table. 

It took him only a minute to open the steaming boxes and 
insert serving spoons.  They ate in silence.  "So," he finally 
asked, "did you enjoy your French hens?" 

"Yes, Jonathan." 

"Want more food?" 

"No, thank you.  I'm full." 

"You can put the boxes in the refrigerator.  The rest of the 
dishes need to be rinsed before you put them in the 
dishwasher." 

"Yes, Jonathan."  She added their dishes to those already in 
the dishwasher.  She found a dishcloth in the sink and used it to 
wipe off the table.  Was she his guest or his sub?  Both, 
apparently.  Well, loading a dishwasher was no onerous task. 

He led her into the living room and pushed a button on a music 
system.  The sound of some classical piece filled the room -- 
audible, enjoyable, not particularly loud.  "Brahms," he said, 
sitting on the sofa.  "Join me."  She sat next to him, the fabric 
stinging the welts on her butt. 

He put his arm around her.  Soon he was kissing her and 
caressing her breasts.  Her arousal grew slowly until he got up 
from the sofa.  She had to suppress an objection; Jonathan was in 
charge -- her opinions didn't matter.  But she had more than 
opinions on this; she needed his kisses, more of his caresses, 
deeper caresses. 

Then he pushed her down on the couch and knelt beside it.  He 
was caressing her again.  Now, his kisses left her mouth to trail 
down her neck.  His fingers were no longer on her breasts, but 
were stroking the insides of her thighs.  When his mouth reached 
her right nipple, his hand reached her vulva.  Tongues of fire 
spread from his mouth and his fingers.  When the two blazes met, 
they consumed her.  She convulsed. 

When she was next aware of the outside world, he was kissing 
her forehead.  His hand rested on her mound, not stroking 
anything but still holding her.  "No," she said when he started 
kissing her left breast and caressing her vulva again.  It was 
too soon for her to respond again; those spots were too 
sensitive. 

He ignored her, and soon she *was* responding again.  
When he sucked hard on her right nipple, she went over again.  
This time when she recovered, he was kissing around her navel.  
He stood up when she'd just caught her breath.  "I think," he 
said, "you'd be more comfortable in bed."  He raised her torso by 
tugging on her hands and slipped an arm behind her.  He slipped 
his other arm under her legs; then he lifted her.  He carried her 
into the bedroom and lay her on the bed.  The air was cool on her 
skin. 

Before she got too cold, however, he had stripped and was 
lying beside her.  His hand guided her in turning on her side 
with her knees drawn up, so he was lying behind her.  After he 
covered them both with a sheet and a light blanket, he was cool 
against her back. 

Soon, though, his body heat warmed her back, especially her 
still-sensitive butt.  His breath warmed her neck, and his hand 
warmed her belly and breasts as it caressed her.  When it went 
between her legs, it warmed her all over. 

If his hand was warm there, his phallus was hot.  It rested 
against her vulva for a moment.  Then he parted her lips and he 
pressed inside.  His torso slid back and a hand kept her from 
following as he moved deep within her.  Then he tucked the covers 
more tightly around her.  "Good night," he said. 

He seemed to be going to sleep.  She couldn't sleep like this. 
Not when Master had her tied to the whipping post and thrashed 
her had she ever been a man's possession so completely.  Jonathan 
was in her, resting in her -- not moving, but claiming her and 
occupying her.  And with nothing to distract her, no other 
sensations but the warmth of his legs behind hers and the 
occasional twinges from her butt, her experience was all of his 
occupation of her, his possession of her.  He did go to sleep, 
though; and, soon after his body relaxed, his phallus relaxed as 
well and slipped out.  She missed it, but she could go to sleep 
then. 

                              - = - 

She was lying naked and uncovered when she woke to his hard 
slap on her butt. "Wake up," he said.  "Go into the bathroom, use 
the toilet and renew your contraceptive.  Come get me before you 
shower."  She brushed her teeth, too.  There was no reason to do 
her hair or makeup if she were going to be taking a shower. 

It was more a matter of *their* taking a shower.  He 
washed her, and she washed him.  When they'd dried each other 
off, he led her back to the chair.  "No reason to put on the 
shoes this morning" he said. 

When she was back across his lap, he stroked her butt and 
vulva instead of striking them.  Morning wasn't her favorite time 
of day, but his caresses in the shower and in the chair took her 
higher and higher.  She was nearing climax when he did spank her. 
Only his hand, but the welts from the night before hurt.  Soon, 
though, he was stroking her vulva again, his erection pressed 
against her side.  After a few repetitions of that pattern, she 
wanted -- needed -- release; but he was neglecting her clitoris 
in favor of her lips.  She writhed in her need. 

Suddenly, he spanked her harder than he'd ever done with his 
hand alone.  That was enough to take her over, and he rubbed her 
clitoris as she spasmed and spasmed. 

She lay gasping on his lap.  Breathing was harder than ever 
like this.  "When you're ready," he said, "get up."  She took the 
implicit permission for another minute's gathering of her breath 
and energy.  Then she struggled to her feet. 

After leading her into the bedroom, he gave her a long kiss 
before helping her lie down on the bed.  The kiss was repeated 
lying down, but he soon kissed down to her breasts.  He spent a 
long time there, holding one breast in his hand while he sucked 
the nipple of the other, then kissing a line from one nipple to 
the other and repeating the process.  After a while, he got up 
and went to the foot of the bed.  This time, his kisses began at 
her ankles and progressed slowly up her left leg.  When he'd 
given one sucking kiss to her vulva, he started over on her right 
ankle. 

Finally, though, he was kissing and licking her vulva, 
arousing her but teasing her unmercifully.  Whenever she began to 
peak, he would abandon her clitoris for less direct -- though 
still arousing -- licks on her labia.  Finally, when she was 
almost there, when she felt that she needed one last lick on her 
clitoris, he raised his head away from her altogether. 

She moaned, and reached down to give herself the stimulation 
he was denying her.  But he was there before her.  When she felt 
his phallus against her hands, she guided it into her vulva.  One 
hard thrust filled her completely.  On the second, she began her 
climax.  It seemed to go on forever as he drove in and out. 
Finally, he thrust deep within her and hard against her.  His 
climax joined hers. 

They lay there for a long time.  Even after he'd come out of 
her, he lay on top of her.  Finally, though, he got up and left 
the room.  After he'd come back and dressed, he asked her, "Want 
to use the bathroom before breakfast?"  She did. 

Again, she cooked their eggs wearing only an apron.  "Did you 
pay off the Visa Gold?" he asked out of the blue. 

"Yes, Jonathan."  He seemed to have switched to his dom 
personality, not that going naked when he was dressed and doing 
the cooking weren't types of submissive behavior.  "The December 
payment was very small.  Interest and charges on the previous 
month's balance.  I don't have the statement with me." 

"That's all right.  I'd like to see the January statement when 
it comes.  Living without one credit card should teach you that 
you can live without another, too.  We'll have to meet in your 
place next time; all your records will be there." 

"Yes Jonathan." 

"You have things to do today?" 

"I could change my schedule." 

"No need.  Why don't you take the second French hen with you? 
It's no different from the first, and we might need it at your 
place."  She was being dismissed.  After donning the clothes 
she'd worn here, she came to him for one last kiss.  Then she put 
on her coat and left.  


The End
3 French Hens
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2003/12/25
2004/09/01
2005/06/29


Thanks to Denny for editing this. 

This is one of a series of four stories about 
Melissa and Jonathan.

The first story story in the series is:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/story/1-care.htm
"1 Careless Moment"

The next story in the series is:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/story/4-little.htm">4 Little Words

The index to almost all my stories is:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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