“What do you mean?”
“I think you need a spanking.”
“You what?” I was outraged at his suggestion.
“You heard me. You were acting like a naughty kid, so I think I need to treat you like one and put you over my knee.”
“You pervert.”
“Yes,” the man said. “But only because you deserve it. If you’d prefer it, I can just call the police and let them deal with you.”
I thought about my options. If the police got involved, it’d be embarrassing, not to mention a late night and I had early morning meetings to go to. If I did as the stranger asked, I’d be free to go in a few minutes and could forget about the whole sorry affair. I looked at him once more. I had to admit he was rather handsome: tall, tanned and muscular, no doubt from working outdoors all the time. He definitely had more than a touch of Alpha male about him: just my type. And it was only a spanking. The thought of feeling his hands on my pert arse made me quiver in anticipation despite myself.
“OK. But I’m not taking anything off.”
“Of course you’re not. So, I think fifty strokes should be fair, shouldn’t it?”
“Fifty! That’s ridiculous. Twenty.”
“Trespass is trespass. OK, how about thirty? But you have to thank me afterwards.”
I nodded my assent.
“OK, bend over this.” The park keeper gestured at a climbing frame with a bar at an appropriate height. I was going to balk at the idea of being spanked in the open air but then I realised it was safer to stay in public than going into the park keeper’s hut. Blushing fiercely, I bent over as indicated. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I just hoped it would be over soon.
“Great arse,” said my captor, standing back and looking at me bent over and ready for my spanking. I could feel a flush rise in my cheeks. The exposure was humiliating: even though I was fully clad, I knew that he’d be able to see my buttocks clearly outlined in my pencil skirt – and worse, the second that he touched me, he’d realise that I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I heard him move closer and then – ‘thwack’ – his hand struck my left arse cheek. I wriggled at his touch: he clearly wasn’t hitting me with his full force but it still stung.
“Aren’t you going to count?” he asked. “If you don’t, I might forget how many times I’ve spanked you.”
I blushed more fiercely. This really did feel like punishment.
“One.”
“Very good.” The park keeper spanked my right buttock as he spoke.
“Two.”
“You learn quickly,” he said. I could have sworn I heard him laugh but before I had a chance to think about it, he’d administered another slap to my left buttock, this time harder. I yelped in pain but had to admit that that wasn’t the only sensation. To my horror, I could feel my pussy welling up. I wasn’t sure if it was the humiliation or the feeling of the handsome stranger’s hand on my arse but I was beginning to feel turned on.
“Three.”
The next few slaps followed in rapid succession, three fierce blows to each cheek in turn. I whimpered as I kept count out loud.
“Too much for you, gorgeous? You should have been a good girl, shouldn’t you.”
“I am a good girl,” I protested. “I’m always a good girl. Except tonight.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that I met you tonight then, isn’t it. Otherwise I wouldn’t get to punish you. And unless I’m entirely wrong, I think you’re really quite enjoying it.”
The stranger went back to a slow steady rhythm of spanks as he spoke, giving me enough time to feel the warmth spreading through my tender arse before he upped the pace with the next smack.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I hissed, even though I could feel my nipples pressing against my thin silk shirt by now, and was beginning to worry that he’d notice if he moved to look at my face. Luckily for me, he was quite happy with the view from behind.
“Don’t give me all that coy nonsense. It’s obvious that you’re enjoying it. Hardly surprising, really. Sensual women always do.”
“And what makes you think that I’m sensual?”
Even though I was angry at the assumption, I had to admit that I was also flattered.
“Well, most women wear underwear to work. You clearly like feeling the air against you. And that makes you sensual.”
I was glad that it was dark so that he couldn’t see my blush.
“Anyway, you’ve stopped counting. If you’re not careful, I’ll throw in a few more spanks to make sure that you behave properly in future.”
He was spanking me evenly and rapidly, making my arse glow. I felt another surge of wetness to my pussy but returned my attentions to keeping count. What was happening to me? I’d never been spanked before. I’d certainly never let a stranger touch me in public before. Now both were happening and I was relishing every second of it. I deliberately said “twenty,” as the stranger spanked me once more – lower than the amount of spanks I knew I’d had. I could have sworn that the next smack was just that little bit harder, but whether in punishment or reward for what I’d done, I wasn’t sure.
“Spread your legs,” the park keeper said, his voice husky. Even though I was nervous, I did as he asked. Smack number 21 went to my left inner thigh, and number 22 went to the same place on the right hand side. The sting to my tender skin was delicious. I knew that my juices were pooling out of me now, and that it wouldn’t be long before the stranger could see the dampness on the back of my skirt. The only question was, did I want him to? My head was spinning so much that I wasn’t entirely sure I’d care.
Spank number 23 returned to my arse. I thought about skipping counting, letting him know that I was enjoying what he was doing but I wasn’t sure I had the courage. After all, what would that lead to? Instead, I maintained the count but didn’t try to mask the arousal in my voice. The man responded by hitting harder, beating a rapid tattoo on my arse before finishing with one final viciously hard slap across both cheeks at the same time.
“Thirty.” My voice rang clear but I stayed in position. I wasn’t sure what I was doing: did I want him to carry on? My body said yes but the flush on my face said otherwise.
“You’re free to go. Unless you don’t feel you’ve been punished enough.”
The words brought me back to reality.
“Of course I’ve been punished enough. I can’t believe you did that, you sod.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go home, good girl. Think yourself lucky that you met someone as nice as me. You could have ended up in a lot more trouble.”
I stood up and walked across the park with as much dignity as I could. The man followed me.
“What are you doing?”
“Letting you out.” He jangled his keys at me. “Can’t have you climbing over the gate again now, can I?”
I walked home, arse stinging, thoughts of the stranger buzzing through my mind. When I got into bed, I found my hand drifting between my thighs and came hard at the thought of my punishment. I wasn’t a good girl. I was very, very bad indeed.
The next day, I found my mind drifting to the stranger more than I’d have liked. I couldn’t focus during a client meeting and even had to sneak to the toilets mid-morning to sate my lust. Something about the way he’d treated me combined with his cute smile and voice full of laughter had hit a nerve. By the end of the day, I knew what I had to do. I headed straight for the park then sat in the pub opposite, looking at my watch. The hours seemed to drag, even though I’d got a magazine with me. But eventually, I saw the clock face show the time I’d been craving: 8:01 p.m. I walked over to the park, looked at the locked gates and climbed over them. I could see my stranger only a few feet away but didn’t look at him. Instead, I headed straight for the swings, sat down and kicked off. As I flew back and forwards, I knew that I wouldn’t have long to wait long for him to join me…
How To Spank Me
by Shanna Germain
First, leave a note on the
bed before you leave for work, telling me what to wear. I’ll find it on your pillow when I wake up, and smile when I realize you’ve chosen the pleated pink mini-skirt, a white baby doll T-shirt and those bottom-hugging white panties that you bought me for my birthday, three to a package. Suggest, in your carefully crafted scrawl, that I wear heels. I’ll know that you mean my three-inch high strappy black sandals, the ones that let you see my toes. In your PS, tell me that you’ll be home at three, and that I’d better be ready.
Be late.
At 2.30, I will parade around the house in my skirt and heels, my nipples popping through my baby doll T. By 2.45, I’ll get into position as instructed, bent over the kitchen table, my hands and elbows pressed against the wood, my ass in the air, just barely covered by my skirt and panties. By 3.00, I’ll still be in position, anticipating your arrival with tingling nipples and tingling cunt. At 3.15, I’ll notice the cramp in my right calf, the way that my hands are sweaty on the wood, the fact that the crevice of my underwear is soaked and sticking to my newly shaved skin. By 3.30, when you still aren’t home, I’ll convince myself I can’t stand it any longer, that you’re not coming, that I’m going to go back and put on sweats just to spite you. I’ll consider masturbating, just to relieve the ache that’s building up inside me.
Walk in the door at four o’clock, just as I’m about to give up, just as the heat in my panties has grown cold, just as I don’t think I can stand it any longer. Step up behind me. When I turn my head to look at you over my shoulder, when I open my mouth to say something nasty about the fact that you’re late, say, “Face forward.” Say, “Don’t speak.”
Correct my position without saying a word. Straighten my hands on the wood and make sure my head is down on the table, then push my feet farther apart with your leg. Do it roughly. Flip the short skirt up over my ass, then rub your hands across the panties. Find the wet spot and dig your finger in, tease it there until I lift my ass higher in the air, already begging for it, moaning into the table.
Tell me to be quiet. Tell me that I am not allowed to make a sound until you say so. Stand to the left of me, and reach under my T-shirt and tweak my nipples, first one, then the other. With your other hand, return to rubbing the wet spot in my panties. Realise I am panting and pushing my ass toward your hand, trying to catch as much of your flesh as possible against my skin. Say, “Don’t move.” Then flick my clit through the material until I am bucking and bucking, unable to keep still.
Let your hand swat my butt cheek, just once, a swift stroke that catches the fleshy part of my ass and makes my head spin. When I cry out, do it again, and again. Threaten to tear off my panties and spank me naked. Tell me what a bad girl I am for wanting it so much. Wait until I’m panting, begging, sticking my ass toward you again and again, wait until I’m so wet I’m dripping into your hand, and then back off.
Make yourself a cup of coffee. Stand back and stare at my ass – positioned like two half-peaches in the air, barely covered by my dripping wet panties, just waiting for you. Sip your coffee while you ease the white fabric down over the cheeks of my ass without touching my skin.
Get undressed.
Do it slowly, so I can hear every button, every zipper, every slide of fabric over your skin. Press your skin against mine, hold my cheeks in your hand, first one then the other. Feel their juice, their heft. Moan. Tease my bare slit with your fingers. Keep doing it until I beg. Enter me with your fingers, first one, then two, three. Slide them inside me over and over until I’m fucking your hand, legs spread wide before you, my grunts and moans covering the sound of you fucking me.
This is your cue – slap the fleshy part of my ass with your palm.
Alternate. Repeat.
See the blush growing across my cheeks? This same redness is on my face too – excitement, shame, joy.
Pay attention as you spank me. Note the change in pitch when I moan, the way I toss my head back, just a little, each time your hand slaps my ass. I’m about to come.
Stop.
Step back and pick up the belt that’s draped over the back of the chair. Run the leather through my wet crack and across my clit, until you feel me shiver, until I arch my back, begging for it. Tell me you’ll let me have it if I touch myself. Wait until I take my hand off the table, press it between my legs, look back over my shoulder at you, begging.
Take the end of the belt and slap it, soft, against my ass. So that it makes a noise, but doesn’t hurt too much yet. Let me know there’s more where that came from. Ask me if I want it.
When I whisper yes, slap me a little harder and ask me again. When I say yes, slap the other side and ask me again and again, until I’m grunting please, yes please, yes, yes, yes, until my flesh is warm and red beneath your hand, until the sound of the belt against my ass is so loud, so much louder than my own voice as I arch and quiver and come.
Wait until I am able to breathe again, until I can back away from the table, then hug me against you so I will not fall. Tell me how much you love to make me come. Tell me that it’s my turn to be on top tomorrow.
Love, Honour And Obey
by DMWCarol
The starters were carefully placed on the table just seconds before the grandmother clock in the hallway struck six. Jo smoothed out the rumples from her skirt, fluffed up her hair and prepared to welcome her husband home. It was the first night they’d had to themselves in nearly two months, the kids were at their aunties’, there were no meetings or friends in need to deal with and it was going to be wonderful – she looked great, the food was ready to dish up, the makings of a bath were laid out, the sheets were pristine and there was a bottle of Chardonnay and half a dozen chocolate truffles on ice in the bedroom. Any time now Chris would be pulling up outside and she could hardly wait to reveal her surprise.
Jo poured herself a glass of wine and sank into the comfortable leather sofa, the music was soft and sensual with just enough of a beat to keep it sexy rather than sleepy, loud enough to notice, but not so loud it would hide the sound of the car pulling onto the drive. It had been a busy day, but tonight was going to make every second of preparation worth while. Still it was nice to have a few minutes to relax before her plan kicked into action.
The music really was quite erotic, by the time she’d finished her wine she was starting to feel really horny. Maybe dinner could wait a while, it wasn’t anything that would spoil, she could drag him off to bed first, or maybe just pull him onto the sofa with her and save the time it would take to get upstairs. Maybe she should greet him in just the sexy new black basque, minuscule thong and the seamed stockings she’d bought for the evening, he’d always said it was the perfect way to be greeted home …
Another glass of wine and she was half naked, straining her ears for the sound of the car. It was strangely exciting waiting like this, but surely, he should have been here by now? Maybe the traffic was a bit heavy though, nothing to worry about.
It’s amazing how sitting around unappreciated in your scanties after several hours of housework and cooking can dampen a mood. By the time Chris was half an hour late, the CD had needed changing and the second glass of wine was empty, Jo’s mood had totally plummeted. Where the heck was he?
The waiting had stopped being exciting and was well on the way to irritating. The clock in the hall was a constant reminder of the seconds ticking past without Chris. OK, so he didn’t know she was planning anything, but even so – where was he? As the clock chimed seven she moved from angry to worried, maybe something had happened? A quick ring to his mobile provided the answer – he was working late and he hadn’t even had the decency to call and tell her! Jo slammed down the phone in disgust. She knew her husband did not appreciate calls at work, but he didn’t have to be so damn rude. It was hardly unreasonable to want to know why he was an hour late!
Jo loved her husband, but he could be so inconsiderate at times, work always came first, especially when he was stressed. Jo was so angry she could scream. She stormed into the kitchen, dump
ed the dinner in the dogs’ bowls, and then headed upstairs to retrieve jeans and a T-shirt.
The rotten bastard thought that all she was good for was looking after the kids, tidying the house, and cooking his dinner. He’d forgotten what it was like to be fun and naughty and young and he was trying to make her forget too. Well stuff him! She decided. And snatching up her handbag she strode out of the house and off to her best friend’s house. Laurie always knew how to cheer her up.
Several cups of tea, half a pack of chocolate digestives and two chick flicks later she was not even close to cheered up. It didn’t help that the second film was set in a high school and the lead character in the story reminded her of how much fun Chris used to be. They’d been friends since they were kids and it didn’t seem possible that he’d gone from the naughty schoolboy everyone had wanted to be with to Mr Boring with his suit and laptop and never ending meetings and business trips.
“Maybe the naughty boy is still in there somewhere?” Laurie suggested.
“Not a chance,” Jo replied. “He may have been naughty, but he was always nice back then. He’d never have treated me the way he does now. Miss Flude would have given him six of the best if he’d been this much of a swine!”
Maybe that’s what he needs, she thought with a laugh. A good hiding might teach him a lesson. Six of the best right across his naughty bottom. What a pity she didn’t have a cane.
She pictured Chris bent over the dining table, pants at his ankles as she administered the caning he so richly deserved. Laurie joined her in laughing at the idea. That was what she needed. A good laugh made her feel so much better. Jo hoped that Laurie hadn’t noticed that the idea of punishing Chris had rekindled more than just her good mood. The way his nicely rounded arse was presenting itself in her mind was a lot more arousing than she’d have wanted even her best friend to realise.
Chris was clearing up the mess she’d left in the kitchen when Jo finally got home. She’d hung around a while letting her friend’s easy humour soothe away all the anger and hurt. No need for him to know that, though! She wasn’t going to let him off that easily. A whole day’s work had been wasted and that image of his bare arse was provoking her to make him pay in ways they might both enjoy.
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