Portmanteau Ch. 01–03

My amazement increased when I saw the second picture, featuring . . . me again. This time, it was an image of me at my best friend Alex's place, holding one of his dog's black leather collars by one of its metal rings, with a mock-malevolent expression on my face. I didn't remember anything about the episode, bit guessed it was probably around Thanksgiving time. How the hell did Natalie get it? The subject of the final photo? Me, in a leather jacket and black pants, scowling into the camera because my mother took the shot when I was hungover and my hair was a wild mess. I told her not to and then she shot me anyway. However, I did look rather cool in a hard-ass sort of way.

I sat back, trying to process what was going on. Thanksgiving was three-quarters of a year ago. Had she taken that photo from her parents that long ago? And why? The second shot? She'd never met Alex or been to his place. And why keep the third picture of a stern-looking guy? Stymied, I couldn't figure it out. But I remembered how she'd stopped dead in the living room doorway the previous night, staring at me (or my bare chest). And I did know that the photos had something to do with her and erratic, strange and unpredictable behavior.

Later, I was drinking a glass of ice tea in the kitchen when she walked in. "Oh!" she said, turned and left. I had the distinct impression that she was avoiding me, although I didn't take it personally. How naïve I was.

Chapter Three – The gazebo

Our parents were in a great mood that afternoon. When they arrived, both Mom and Dad discreetly gave me the raised eyebrow interrogatory. When I smiled at them, they were relieved and we spent a couple of hours swimming and sunning at lakeside while Natalie swam laps across the lake. I remembered that she was a dancer and runner.

Everybody then took a nap, although neither Natalie nor I actually slept. While dozing on the deck, I could hear her pacing in her bedroom, which was directly above the deck, and felt her gaze looking down at me.

She appeared for cocktail hour in good spirits, although she was more distant to me than she had been last night or at the cove that morning. Not to the point of being remotely rude, just not engaging much with me. But she appeared to love my parents, with whom she had been many times and knew well. Still, it was a pleasant hour. Vodka, gin and rum tonics were served. Her parents were obviously delighted that their daughter's morning and lunch alone with me had not had any repercussions. Indeed, they were quite attentive and warm to me.

In a while, Natalie went to the bar and I saw her pour another double, thinking of the pronouncements she'd made to the press as a teenager about not smoking, drinking or doing drugs. I excused myself, announcing that I would begin making dinner. Avner and Shelley looked at Natalie, wondering if she'd offer to help and join me, but she stayed.

Dinner was a classic, simple summer meal. Fresh corn, sautéed shrimp, great bread and a green salad. There was plenty of terrific wine and berries with fresh whipped cream for dessert. At first, Natalie seemed extremely happy and vivacious. But at other times she acted estranged, lost in a private world. When she was drawn back into conversation, she resumed her engaging self. Her eyes lit up when she laughed, and she always looked at me when she appeared most happy. I noticed a surreptitious glance between our parents after she finished a particularly amusing and interesting story that was mostly addressed to me. Later, her brow was actually furrowed in thought a couple of times. I suppose her parents thought she was preparing for her new role. Little did they know.

After dinner, we watched an interesting DVD whose director and cast Natalie was interested in. I expected her to be the most vocal about it, but she was reserved. After the movie, her parents served dessert, the women played a round of Scrabble and everyone said goodnight. Natalie lingered downstairs.

"Feel like a walk?" I asked.

"No – I mean . . . yes, sure, I would." Is it okay if I change and we can go in a few minutes?" I nodded, not expecting an international movie star and celebrity to be asking permission. When she came downstairs, she wore a blanket around her shoulders, which was strange because it was still quite hot inside. However, once we were in the entryway, she slipped it off.

Whoa! She was wearing a full, loose black skirt and strapless, black satin top that laced all the way up the front with metal eyelets, accentuating her big tits. It ended well above her navel. Actually, it was like a bustier. The skirt was cut extremely low, hanging not on her waist but resting on her hips, exposing the beautiful, black lace band of her panty or G-string.

"You look incredible!" I said. I didn't add that she also looked slightly slutty.

"You really like it?" she said, trying not to smile. "It's the first time I'm wearing it. I only bought it on Thursday." The day before she knew we'd meet, I thought. "It's a bit wild for me. But I could never let my parents see me in this."

We went out and walked down the road. There was no traffic. It was a spectacular, romantic night. A breeze had begun and it was cooler than inside the house. Clouds scudded across the moon. The mood and energy were like the morning at the cove, quiet and . . . intimate.

"Listen, Philip, I know that my behavior has been all over the map. I've been bouncing back and forth from a tease to an ice queen. But I haven't been doing it to manipulate or frustrate or be mean to you."

"Well, I'm glad that we're finally talking about it. It would have been tough with anybody, but it's been especially hard considering the added dimension of who you are."

"It's cool out here. I should have brought the blanket. Could you put you arm around me? She didn't need to ask twice and felt great under my arm. "I'm out of control and very confused. So if you're feeling that I'm a spoiled, bratty girl who needs to be put in her place, you'd be right."

"I must admit you do need somebody to make you behave properly. Why have you been acting so strangely?"

She seemed like she was about to make a confession. But she couldn't. "I – I don't know, she said in an unconvincing tone."

"Well, if you can't or won't tell me that, then what I'd like to know now is why you have those photos of me?"

She lost it, broke away from me and began yelling. "How dare you look into my private property? Who do you think you are, my master or something?" I just stood there, thinking about her interesting choice of words. Most people would have said "boss," "father" or "big brother," not "master." When she saw I wasn't reacting by screaming back at her or being defensive, she ran to me and pummeled my chest with her fists, although she was too slender for it to hurt much. I grabbed her wrists.

"They were lying in plain view on the coffee table," I said.

"They were? Oh," she aid, suddenly contrite. But she didn't try to remove her wrists from my grasp.

"You haven't answered my question."

"And I don't intend to," she shot back, feisty again. "You'll have to beat it out of me."

Now all my suspicions were confirmed. I looked around and saw in the distance could just barely discern the gazebo on the far corner of her property. Without a word, I pulled her along. "What are you doing?" I didn't reply. "Where are we going?" Silently, I pointed to the gazebo with my free arm. My energy had completely changed. After that, she didn't say a word, which gave me time to plan. When we reached the gazebo, I had a general idea of what to do. I saw that the interior contained several chairs, throw rugs and two short mushroom heaters. I moved a heater to each side of a solid, wood chair and lit them. She huddled near the heater, silent.

"I'm going to the house for several things. Stay here. Is there anything you need?" She shook her head. At the house, I found a satchel in the entranceway, stuffed the blanket inside it, and worked quickly and quietly. In the kitchen, I found a large utensil that I had used earlier for one of the meals. Then I strode to the living room, swiped a bottle of brandy and, instead of fragile snifters, two sturdy tumblers. That completed the inventory from the ground floor. Upstairs, I changed into black jeans and entered her suite. Going to her walk-in closet, I removed the belt from her bathrobe. After rummaging through a couple of drawers in the bathroom, I scored a bottle of lube. Only one accessory was missing. I stopped in the laundry room, where I found two items that suited my needs, and left through the garage, where I found what I needed in the fishing tackle.

I stormed out of the house. In the distance I could see the faint light of the mushroom heater. When I arrived, she was sitting on a pile of throw rugs that she had gathered in front of the wood chair. Upon hearing my approach up the stairs, she raised herself to a kneeling position, facing the chair, her hands in her lap. I was pleased by her posture. The skin of her lower back looked magnificent in the warm light from the mushrooms. I walked over and stood directly behind her. She didn't move. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, Philip." I walked to the chair, set the satchel on the floor and sat down. She was kneeling inches from my knees. Her eyes flickered over to the bag but she couldn't see any of the contents. I poured two large portions of brandy and held one out to her. We both drank, although she swallowed three or four times as much as I did.

"Are you sure you want to proceed?"

"Yes Philip."

"And you know you'll be spanked? Ask my permission so that we're clear."

"Yes, please spank me."

"Have you ever been spanked by a guy before? Or ever had any kind of SM session like this?"

She shook her head. "I've wanted to since I was 14, but I never have. Please do whatever else you decide I deserve as punishment."

"Then stand at my right side." I reached into the satchel as she repositioned herself, breathing intensely. She probably thought I'd use a hairbrush. Instead, I pulled out the kitchen utensil, an oversize, hard black plastic spatula. She gasped as her knees buckled and she conveniently collapsed across my lap, facing to my left. "Open your mouth." I placed the middle of the handle deep in her mouth. She moaned from the humiliation of holding her instrument of discipline. "It may not be the exact metal spatula you have in my photo, but it's just as punishing."

I raised her filmy skirt up to her waist, exposing the exquisite, milky white legs and the sexy panties that left half of her tight ass exposed. She'd begun drooling from the spatula handle lodged at the back of her mouth. I placed my hand on her ass and she moaned. Sliding my hand down, I cupped the gusset of her panties. They were completely drenched. "Do you know that your wet pussy is staining my pants?" She nodded, mewling. "I hope you don't think you're getting away with that, do you?" She shook her head, grinding her pussy on my thigh. "Let's get those filthy wet panties off." I ripped them down her thighs and left the wisp of expensive French lace dangling there, humiliatingly.

"First I'm going to beat you for ruining my pants. Then I want you to think about which part of your body will be disciplined next, for drooling on the floor without my permission." Before she could respond, I began striking her gorgeous ass cheeks. Although I began with medium force, I quickly increased the intensity until she was grunting with pain. To my surprise, she never asked me to stop.

After a dozen blows accompanied by her deep grunts, I pushed her far leg off my knee so it angled across my shin, opening her pussy to the light of the heater on that side. I leaned over to look. God, it was beautiful. With my entire hand, I cupped her pussy again, but this time slid two fingers into her hot slit. She bucked and stiffened for 20 seconds in what seemed to be a small orgasm, then lay limply. I grabbed the back of her head by her tomboy-like short hair and pulled till her flushed sweaty face was level. "Did you have permission to cum?" I asked as I unlaced her top. She shook her head as I ripped the black leather laces out of the first several levels of eyelets. "Should you be made to pay for that rudeness?"

"Yes, I should be made to pay" she sobbed while I yanked the top down until her tits broke free and spilled out. Again, I had to pause. They were considerably larger than they looked in any movie, perhaps a small C. The nipples were outstanding, extremely dark, thick and long. "Turn around so I can see your tits in the light when I cane them," I ordered. Awkwardly, she slid off me onto the rugs. I handed her a glass. We both drank deeply. I looked down at this gorgeous star with the angelic face. She was now a different person: a submissive, masochistic, obedient slut whose sweaty body craved more pain. And she looked like an underage teen, not a young woman.

Once she set down her glass, she held out her arms, hands clasped. "Do you want to be bound?" She nodded, so I pulled out the belt to the dressing gown and wrapped her wrists. She seemed shocked at seeing the belt. It was as though I had thought of everything. As I tied her hands, she looked greedily at the satchel, wondering what else lay inside.

I grabbed the hair at the front of her head and pulled her up. She showed her body proudly, so it was time for more degradation. "Turn around so I can see how your ass looks." She reversed, and I could see that the virgin skin on her perfect cheeks was a livid red. "Take off your panties and hand hem to me." When I held them, I ordered, "Bend over so I can see if I left any marks." She promptly leaned forward so her hands reached her knees, her reddened ass close to my face. "More." I knew she'd been a dancer, so it was no problem for her hands to rest on the floor. But it was her own idea to spread her legs as wide as possible, opening up her pussy and ass crack. How did she know to do that?

Quietly, I picked up the spatula, aimed carefully, and struck her pussy. She cried in surprise as much as pain, but didn't break position. Except for backing up six inches, thinking I'd have easier access. I hit her six more times as streaks of pussy juice trickled down her thighs. "Get on my lap." She straightened back up and climbed onto my lap, facing the heater to our right and twisting her dripping, inflamed pussy into my thigh. Again, I pulled her head back and up by the hair and held the spatula in front of her face. "Say it."

"Please punish my breasts – I, I mean my tits," she spluttered, humping her mound on my thigh. I pushed the panties into her mouth. "Keep your head raised." I released her hair and was impressed. Once again, her athlete/dancer's body enabled her to hold up her head so I could enjoy that exquisite face. With my left hand now free, I began to pull and squeeze her slippery labia while simultaneously pulling and squeezing the corresponding nipple, her front dripping with sweat from the heater. I did it in tandem. When I extended her right labia, I stretched her right nipple. While I twisted her left nipple, I turned her left labia. She was in a frenzy of pain and lust, endlessly saying "Ohhh! Ohhhh!"

I thought she was primed and that she couldn't withstand much more abuse (little did I then know about her phenomenal tolerance), so I picked up the spatula, slowly striking the underside of her tits. After a couple of blows, I began abusing her clit and smacking the top of her tits. As her orgasm built, I shoved two fingers into her tight hot cunt and drilled my fingers as I whacked directly into the obscenely bloated nipples with the spatula. I forced a third finger into her burning hot cunt, dropped the spatula and viciously slapped, pulled and twisted her agonized nipples as her orgasm overtook her. She began a violent cum, writhing and screaming through the panty gag, legs jerking and arms flailing.

After a minute of subsiding twitches and shudders, she slid off my drenched lap and fell in a heap onto the rug. I refilled her glass and pulled her so she was sitting upright. I slapped both cheeks to revive her from her groggy state and fished the panty from her mouth. I pulled back her head and poured more brandy down her throat. She sputtered and some of it spilled out onto her beaten red breasts. Then she looked at me with a challenging, insolent expression in her darkly gorgeous eyes.