Monday, 18 June 2012

Marina, Part Four

As we waited for an attendant to fetch Marina's car from the coffee shop's car park, the Moose ran her hand up my sleeve and gave me a quite superlative pout.

"Which hotel do you want to go to?"

"The usual one, from the good old days," I replied.

Marina nodded at the memory, so we climbed into her car, and she began the short drive down Tlalpan to the hotel.

She was deathly quiet as she manoeuvred the car through the light traffic, and I noticed that she was gently biting her lower lip. Obviously something was troubling her, and white man that I am, I leaned over and spoke softly into her right ear:

"Want to tell me why you look so worried?"

"Oh - shut up - you know what's wrong!"

She almost lost control of the steering wheel, such was her panic, and a car screeched past us, its driver leaning out of his window to flip one of those delightfully obscene gestures that Mexicans are so good at in Marina's direction.

"Be careful, Moose," I admonished her. "You really need to give the road your full attention and not worry about what is going to happen to your bottom."

Marina chose to ignore my well meaning advice and began to complain in a high pitched tone about the unfairness of it all. She really should have thought about that before she went off the rails, do you not agree, gentle reader?

We reached the hotel and Marina swung her steering wheel to the right so that the car swept through the outer portal in and came to rest inside the underground car park. Without a word we both climbed out and walked to the door that led to reception.

I booked a room on the second floor and up we went in the lift. As it reached the floor Marina began to make little mewing noises in the back of her throat, and to avoid a debate as soon as the lift door's opened I simply grabbed her by the arm and marched her to the room. A chambermaid was busy in the corridor, but if she saw me half dragging Marina to her fate she gave no sign of it.

The door to our room was already open and Marina walked in without having to be pushed. I closed the door with a thud and made sure that I clicked the locking bolt as firmly, and loudly, as I could and was rewarded by the sight of a shudder passing through Marina’s frame.

There was really no point in wasting time. I grabbed her arm and pulled her towards me, stepping backwards as I did so and then sitting down when I felt the bed against the back of my legs. As I sat down, Marina was hauled across my knee and lay helplessly in position, her wine-red knee length skirt providing ample protection for the area that would be the target of my correction. Thus it had to be raised and I grabbed the hem with my right hand and quickly swept the garment above her waist.

"I am wearing tights," Marina announced in a very quiet tone. "They hold my bottom" she went on, "and help shape it."

I almost burst out laughing at the ludicrousness of the comment, but common sense kicked in and I stifled my laughter. I could have pointed out to her that whether she likes it or not, at 33 she is fast approaching her fuck-by date, and once a woman passes that milestone the days when men will fight each other for her attention are over. All the fancy foundation garments in the world cannot hide that inexorable march of time.

 Instead, and without a word, I hooked the fingers of my right hand into the waistband of her tights and hauled them, and the pale cream panties that she wore underneath, down to knee level in one swift, practised movement. I lifted my left thigh up ever so slightly so that there was space between Marina's stomach and my legs, and thus the garments came down without any fuss or bother. You can just tell that I have done this before.

Marina began to make those mewing sounds as she felt the fresh air on her upturned bottom, but other than that she made no sound. Normally I would pause for a moment to let the reality of the situation sink into the mind of my victim, but this time I just could not be bothered. We both knew that she had behaved appallingly and that this was her well-earned punishment. I raised my right arm high above my head and brought it down in a great swinging arc to crack across Marina's helpless, and totally bare, bottom.

To be continued.

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