Impact 11: of Amends

For those who pay attention to such things: When Sarah is alone the story is in the past tense. When Claire and Sarah are together the story is in present tense.

As always, I hope you enjoy this story, that you will post comments

Special thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for proof reading this chapter for us.

of Amends

Claire wakes me extra early with smiles and kisses. I hadn’t forgotten about the spankings, but dropping down on the toilet seat to pee I discover the hard way how tender my fanny still is.


“What is it?!”

Claire’s was in the door looking alarmed.

“My butt!” I cry, glaring at her, and lifting my bruised cheeks off the seat. “You broke it!”

“Ah well, you were very bad…” she says with an air of resignation. “It hurt me more than you.”

My eyes are wide with disbelief and outrage, which makes her burst out laughing and rush to me, holding my face in her hands and showering me with kisses until I relent and smile. Lowering myself cautiously back down, I suck air as my skin presses the seat.

“You know, that is something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Spank me?”

“Spank a girl,” she corrects. That this was something she’d long fantasized about made my belly hot.

“Have you been spanked?”

“But of course, I lived in London!” Claire says with a happy wink as she leaves me to my misery.

She makes us dark bitter espresso and cold melon and berries. I sit gingerly at the kitchen island watching her work, coveting her naked back and perfect butt. I start to ask about the weekend when she reminds me that she will be in Belgium and France for the next two weeks. I’d forgotten about the art fairs, and suddenly her trip feels like an eternity. It must show on my face.

“Ah! Don’t pout, I’ll be back before you know it,” she chides, handing me a bowl of fruit. “And we can do something fun tonight.”

After I finish my fruit she leads me into the bathroom for a shower.

“Your eyes look better this morning but your hair is worse,” she chided.

Using conditioner to loosen the tangles in my hair, careful of the lump on the back of my head as she does, Claire smiles down on me. She’s only a little taller than me, but it’s enough; the perfect amount. I want to go down on her, to take her in my mouth. I want her to smile down on me while I lick and suck her. But he won’t let me kneel.

She lets me touch her and kiss her, and is sweet and flirty, but she is careful not to let things go too far as we clean and groom one another. Afterwards she dries and brushes my hair until it shines like rose gold. Pulling it back tight, she lacquers it against my head, twists and rolls it into a beautiful, if severe, bun. I watch her in the mirror as she does my makeup. Her mood is light, but again, taking extra time with my lips and eyes, she uses more eyeliner and mascara than I usually do, giving me a smoky look. My lips are a dark red and glossy. Like my hair, the effect is sexy, if again, a bit severe?

The only clothes I had in my weekend bag I’d either worn to work on Friday or weren’t work appropriate, so I’ll wear Claire’s clothes today. I’ve been looking forward to this, she has so many beautiful things. But she stops me from choosing what I want, telling me she has it all worked out.


“Next time don’t show up naked,” she scolds me, and begins picking things for me from her great antique armoire.

I plop myself down at the corner of the bed and watch as Claire picks out a black high waisted pencil skirt, a crisp white blouse, thigh highs and black patent leather Jimmy Choo pumps with five inch stiletto heels and wickedly pointed toes. She holds up a lacy bra, looking from me to it and back again with a critical squint. I start to protest that her bras will never fit, but she stops me before I can.

“This is my mother’s,” she says matter of factly. “It should fit.”

The set is a pale cream and so delicate they almost look frail. It all feels deliciously transgressive. Perhaps because they are her mother’s panties. Or perhaps it’s because Claire insists on dressing me as well, standing me up and taking away my towel, kneeling to slip the little white and cream panties over my feet and sliding them up my thighs.

Either way I feel both wicked and pampered.

Claire calls the bra a “balconette”. And while it’s a style I’d never pick out for myself – too scared I’d spill out of it – Claire is right about the fit. I’ve never pictured her mother I realize, but am surprised. I would have assumed her breasts were Claire’s size but the frail looking demi cups hug me nicely; only a little snug.

“It gives them a lovely conical shape” Claire gushes, holding it up in place and staring down at my chest. And she’s right; that my nipples are hard, adds to the effect. My breasts look long. I hold it in place as Claire moves behind me and begins to fiddle with the straps. While the cups fit, my rib cage is narrower than Claire’s mother, but with some eve gelen escort adjusting she makes it fit.

The panties are a low waisted bikini that doesn’t quite cover the crack of my ass, and while the bra is supportive, the cups don’t entirely cover my nipples. Whatever image I might have had in my mind of Claire’s mother is shifting – and becoming a lot sexier. Not in a million years can I imagine my mother wearing something like this.

I lean on Claire’s shoulders as she kneels again and smooths the hose up my legs. She smiles up at me as she pushes my heels into the pumps.

We stand together in front of her mirror as she buttons the blouse and zips up the skirt. it is high waisted and snug down to my knees where there is a little slit – so I can walk, one assumes.

The blouse is her mother’s as well. It is a crisp white cotton with a high collar and floppy French cuffs, darts at the waist and bust give it a lovely silhouette. But it has plenty of room for me in the bosom. Claire leaves the top three buttons undone, a bit racy for the Gray Lady, but I say nothing. Tucked into the skirt, the overall effect is almost architectural.

“Look at that ass!” Claire murmurs appreciatively, making me flinch, expecting a swat that never comes. Instead she has me turn for her.

“It’s swollen,” I whine, which makes her laugh, but she gives me a kiss on the cheek.

Looking at myself in the mirror, something about the outfit feels like a costume or a disguise. Like a little girl sliding around in her mother’s shoes – but naughtier, much naughtier. I’m dressed for a porn set in a law office, except I’m wearing her mother’s underwear. I get a queasy feeling there are going to be more spanking. I’m not sure I can bear it.

“All I need is a pair of black rimmed glasses to complete the office dominatrix look,” I say nervously. “No repays of last night I hope.”

“No,” she laughs, studying her handiwork for imperfections over my shoulder Claire smiles at me in the mirror. “Today you are my finance bro!”

Her long thick hair is pulled back into a lovely loose bun, and she’s made her face up as well – but not for work… she looks like… she’s going out for a date. I’m confused by the “finance bro” comment, but when I ask what she meant she ignores my question.

“Now me,” is all she says, casually dropping her robe and turning back to the armoire.

“What did you mean about alway wanting to spank a girl?” I ask. “Always, like…”

“Like always,” Claire says simply as she picks out a skirt and a blouse. “I saw my aunt spank my cousin Charlotte at the beach once. At the time it was very frightening.”

Claire’s shoulders go tight with the memory. I can’t see her face, and without turning around begins to dress.

“I remember watching Charlotte’s body squirm and twist, her tears…”

The skirt is short and tight for work, but not scandalously so.

“But it was also so exciting. I would think about it over and over, and at some point it became something I fantasized about, something that would make me cum.”

She shoulders the blouse. It’s a pretty cream silk I don’t recognize. Her head is lowered as she buttons it.

“Did I disappoint?” I ask quietly. “Or was it…”

“No!” she says turning. Her eyes glittering again. “My young Sarah never disappoints. She surpasses all my fantasies.”

She is smiling and flush. At first I think it’s the subject matter, that I am indeed going to get spanked again, but then I see the discolored front of her blouse; recognize the skirt. t’s the outfit she wore the night we first met. The blouse I splashed with rose. She is pushing her feet into a pair of high heels and smiling at me. I feel myself blushing. Her hair and makeup are the same as that first night as well…

“Come my little John Gault,” she says, taking my hand, “Time for you to study The Fountainhead.”

She leads me into the living room. I follow her to the couch, not sure what’s going on. That’s when we both see what my boots did to the upholstery the night before.

“Oof! It seems I am going to make an enemy of my stepfather,” she says with an air of surrender. We’re both staring down at the black skid marks my boots left all over the beautiful white fabric. Like a pair of wings, there are a series of arcing charcoal black scrawls on either side of where Claire had knelt and eaten me out.

“Claire, I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, don’t be…’ she says with a wave, then turns and looks me in the eyes. “What was it like?” she asks, it’s still early, the apartment is drenched in long morning light. I look around, trying to understand what she means.


“The first fantasy,,” she says, and I think of her cousin Charlotte getting spanked. Claire can see I don’t understand,

“Your fantasy that first night,” she says with a hint of impatience- am I being dense?

“At the bar.”

And suddenly I understand. She sees it and smiles like a cat. I feel rooted.

“You were naked…”

“Did istanbul eskort bayan I strip for him?”

I try and remember. I picture the scene in my mind, cast my imagination back to how that fantasy had played on me that night, and the week or two after – before.

“I think you just took off your clothes without explaining yourself?”

“And him?”

“He was fully dressed.”

“Good,” she says, as she unbuttons her blouse. She throws the blouse to the floor and unzips the skirt, letting it fall. I had been so flummoxed by seeing the blouse again, it only occurs to me now that she hadn’t put on a bra or panties. Was that because…

“You weren’t wearing panties?!” I ask, truly scandalized.

“No,” she laughs. “Can you believe it? I was so determined to get laid that night, but I couldn’t go through with it. He was that awful!”

This makes me guffaw, Claire is making a pouty face remembering her date, but smiles at me.

“You though! You kept dipping and curtsying… I was sure you were going to kneel in the bathroom – I was terrified you’d see!”

I remember my urge to kneel, how I’d forced myself not to, how I’d blushed with shame at just the impulse. I wish now I had knelt, that I’d been shameless and eaten her pussy in that bathroom.

“What then?” She asks, snapping me out of my regrets. Claire is studying me, she’s naked and at ease. Not shameless, just totally unashamed. “The fantasy?”

“Oh, you were on the sofa?”

“Like this?” she asks, sitting down on the middle cushion, her hands on her knees, the curved black scrawls from my boots to either side of her smooth muscular thighs.

“Yes,” I murmur, “but, you had your arms spread on the cushions?”

“Like this?” Claire reaches out and props her elbows on the sofa back, letting her hands drape carelessly.

“Yes, and your legs were spread… very wide.”

She opens her knees as far as the sofa would allow.

“Like this?”

“Yes,” I tell her, but now I can feel my color rising, unsure how to tell her.

“What is it?” She asks. “What else?”

“You… you were smiling… I mean, your smile was different, it was just more… arrogant.”

Claire’s smile widens and she almost laughs. I know I’m turning red, Christ, I must be scarlet. I can tell she’s enjoying my discomfort, but she draws her lips between her teeth, composing herself, and after a pause, smiles again, this time with a disdainful lift of her chin.

“Yes,” I hiss, my voice shaking.

I hesitate in front of her, staring at her in all her glory. Looking at the way she’s spread across the couch, the arrogant lift of her chin I feel a spike of excitement. This is Claire as I’ve only ever imagined her, the Claire of my dreams. She is so perfect, and now, her shaved pussy, it’s wet and open. She’s so ready for me.

“You like that,” she tells me. And I do, but despite myself I glance back at the windows across the way, the morning sun makes them into mirrors, I can’t see into the apartments, can’t see who might be watching us. I am staring at the smoker’s window.

‘Can you see what I’m about to do?’ I think. Seeing my nervous turn Claire smiles even broader and tells me, “You like that too.”

“I… do you like it?” I ask – stalling. Fantasy is one thing, drunk…

‘You weren’t drunk last night,’ I think, remembering our reflection in the dark glass of the huge double hung window. The bug-eye chandelier above us, shining down, illuminating us for all to see. Her fists and teeth pulling at the white duvet, my face pushed in her ass.

“I do with you.” Her look, still arrogant, seems to challenge me, dare me.

‘Put my money where my mouth is.’ I think. But still I hesitate.

“I’m all made up…”

“I like that, that’s what I want,” she tells me, her demeanor is cool and arrogant. “And this is my fantasy too.”

I see her fingers flexing, clawing the fabric of the sofa.

Her nipples, hard and dark, point at the ceiling. Her pussy is open and wet. A thick drop of milky cum is dripping down her perineum from her cunt. She’s been thinking about this all morning; anticipating seeing me this way. I look up at her. Her expression is still arrogant and cold, but her voice is warm and gentle.

“I want you to imagine it’s that first night,” she tells me, “that you don’t know me, that you knew in the bathroom and saw I wasn’t wearing panties. That I invited you here for a glass of wine and you came, but when we arrived I undressed and waited. That this is all you know,” she says, gesturing at her spread legs and reaching for her pussy. She pulls back her lips, exposing her clitoris.

I remember wanting to kneel in front of her in the bathroom. I imagine her inviting me home with her instead of leaving alone that night. I imagine following her back here, laughing; of looking at her ass as she climbed the stairs ahead of me, the way I did the night I climbed the stairs behind her and ate her pussy for the first time. I image the shock I would have felt watching rezidans escort her casually stripping down and seating herself in front of me – waiting for me to eat her out like a fucking queen. My heart is thundering. Her eyes shine with recognition, her face and neck are flush.

“That’s right, Sarah, kneel.”

I feel a plume of heat rise up through me at the command, but actually doing what I’m told is tricky. Using the coffee table for support I manage to kneel in the tight little skirt and the ridiculously high heels. The sharp tips of her Jimmy Choos dig into the thick white shag as I crawl to her on my hands and knees, taking care, not wanting to spoil her hose. But then I look up at Claire. Her usually warm hazel eyes glint with something sharp, something dangerous. She is the Claire of my fantasy. My awkwardness, the hose, it’s all forgotten.

“Eat my pussy slut.”

My ears ring with the slur, but my lips part and the tip of my tongue peeks out as I bend my arms and crane my neck.

‘If she had ordered me that first night would I have obeyed?’ I wonder as I flatten my tongue, showing it to her. Her pussy is so close I can already taste it in the air. But I am looking into Claire’s eyes. She is watching me with cold detachment, with seeming no care or interest. I shiver, sure that I would have.

My hands are shaking as I place them on the insides of her thighs for the first time. My breath catches and falters as I point my tongue and I lick Claire’s pussy for the first time; hear her suck air. I curl my tongue and split Claire down the middle, pushing through her wet depths for the first time. She drenches my mouth, the smooth walls of her cunt embrace me and tasting her for the first time makes me want to swoon.

The smooth caress of her denuded skin against my tongue and lips, the tangy taste of her, the remote self satisfied expression – all seems to crash down on me as I suck and lick and kiss her pussy with sudden urgency. I am using every part of my mouth to please her, even my teeth as I draw the fragile inner folds through my smiling jaw. I am moaning with delight, lost in the feeling and taste of her. Her hands are in my hair at times pulling me to my work, and then cradling my skull like a treasure. It’s only then that I look up expecting to see disdain, but see the mask has slipped. The corners of her mouth curl into the ghost of a smile.

At first I imagine that the girl who spilled wine on her is making amends, pleasing her, but then I see through the fantasy. See how happy she is for me, the real me, her Young Sarah. And I realize I am happy, that I want this, that she’s giving me this, and I’m grateful.

There is real love in her eyes, and she is smiling down at me with joy and wonder.

Her eyes are glistening, cheeks flush, breasts rising with heaving breaths – she flexes her shoulders, drawing them back and together. Arching her back, almost as if it were spasming.

“Oh Sarah!”

My tongue slides easily through her, she is so wet, I am drinking her, the taste is light and clean. The fragrance is just that – a perfume that I find intoxicating, breathing deeply as I lap at her open cunt.


I feel her hands in my hair and realize I’ve closed my eyes, that I am baring down, fully engrossed, focusing on my lips and tongue, on her every small movement and sigh, every change of temperature. Not only is she heating my mouth, but she feels feverishly warm under my hands.


I slide my tongue upwards, feel her hidden prominence, still under its fleshy hood. I suck, bringing my hands up to either side of my face and draw her skin upwards, exposing the little pearly gem. My lodestar. I drag my tongue around her flesh, feeling her under my tongue, her movements, I can feel her hips rising pressing herself into my mouth.


My ears still rang with Claire’s cries as I stepped through the turnstile and onto the subway platform. She had slumped, twitching and laughing while I kissed her thighs and looked up at her. Once she recovered she leapt to her feet and helped me off my knees, leading me back to the bathroom to clean me up and repair my makeup. She had babbled happily about her trip, packing, the day ahead – all as if nothing had happened. And I had gone along with her, said nothing.

‘Had anything happened?’ I wondered for the umpteenth time. My mind went back and forth between the idea that something profound had happened and nothing had happened.

‘Should I have told her I love her too?’ I wonder. ‘What would it even mean?’

With Danny, I’d known exactly what it had meant when I told him I loved him. I’d seen the future those words had conjured: the kind of wedding my mother would like, the kind house my father would approve of, the children our congregation would embrace. It had all made me miserable, but I’d seen it and I knew he had, but more importantly that my mother and father had – that it had made them happy.

All I could picture with Claire was now. I loved what we were doing, never wanting it to end. I soaked her mothers panties, fingering myself furiously as she had jerked and gasped in her post coital bliss. I had pressed my face into her wet pussy as I’d cum, smearing my makeup.

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