Naughty Spanking One

by Miranda Forbes

  “Oh, God! I’m cumming!” the dirtybirds grunted almost simultaneously and spurted their hot loads between hidden lips.

  This was the moment Nyna and Francine had been waiting for. They jerked the prepared line, pulling the slipknots tight on the now subsiding dicks and quickly tied both ends tightly together, trapping the cocks in their ‘glory holes’. Shouts of pain and dismay greeted this action as they tried unsuccessfully to free themselves. They strained and grunted but their exertions only succeeded in tightening the tethers holding their dicks. All the while, Carla was clicking close-ups of the action.

  The moment of humiliation had arrived. The tethered loggers were suddenly spotlighted as Big Burly switched on a floodlight to reveal them standing up against the pine wall, their pants ignominiously draped around their boots. Nyna stepped out of the shower block, followed by the others. Antoinette went over to the tethered pair, wiped a cumdribble from her rouged lips, took off the wig she had borrowed, and adjusted her slipped bosom.

  “Aaaargh! It’s a man! We’ve just facefucked a fag!”

  The jacks looked around wildly as a roar of laughter and a round of applause broke out. The rest of the loggers were standing in a circle grinning at them.

  Antoinette smiled contentedly. You will never know which of you got a gay blowjob, cos I’m not telling! But you know you enjoyed it as much as I did. And Carla here took some lovely photos as you came.”

  She knelt and planted a lipstick kiss on each of their lilywhite butts while Carla clicked away, and gave them a playful slap.

  “Goodnight, you sweet thangs!”

  A cheer went up from the onlookers as Antoinette turned and flounced dramatically off.

  I have never seen big men cry before. The two tethered jacks were weeping in mortification and embarrassment at their plight and the onlookers were shedding tears of laughter.

  Big Burly stepped out into the light. He wasn’t laughing.

  “Eez time for you to apologise to zee lovelee ladies for ze peeping ’oles or I leave you tied ’ere tonight for ze greezlees.”

  Two mumbled apologies were forthcoming and two very sore cocks were released so that the jacks could pull their pants up and slink away to their billet.

  None of us got much sleep that night. We partied in the lodge with the loggers till the small hours. From there it degenerated nicely. Antoinette put my wig back on and wowed them with a tabletop burlesque routine. She quietly disappeared later, to reappear looking dishevelled and very smug about something at breakfast the next morning. I think Nyna and her coterie ended up the night initiating a couple of young loggers into the delights of flagellation, judging from the sounds of leather striking skin coming from the cabin next door.

  As for Hyacinth and me, we spent quality time exploring the hidden parts of Big Burly and Topper. Or, to be more exact, they spent quality time exploring our hidden parts. They did a very thorough job of it too, and I now know why they made those cabin beds so sturdy!

  The others departed in the van immediately after breakfast, leaving us to wait for our plane to arrive. At the appointed time Big Burly and Topper cradled us in their arms and carried us down to the landing dock and handed us over to Ernie and Arnie.

  “Look after zem! Zey ’ave ’ad a tiring night!”

  I waved my sweet muscleman a tired goodbye.

  Ernie took one look at my face and knew exactly what Big Burly meant.

  Men always do!

  You Might Like It

  by Penelope Friday

  “Spank me?” She scoffed. “I’d like to see you try!”

  “I’d like to see me try. That’s the point.”

  There was an assessing look on his face, as his gaze dropped down to her bottom, curving suggestively under a skirt that covered her to mid-thigh. The look of assessment was returned by her, her head tilted to one side, her dark hair sweeping her shoulder.

  “And what would I get out of it?”

  He smiled.

  “Try it; you might like it.”

  “Uh-uh. Not tempting enough yet. Persuade me more. What are you going to do for me in return?”

  He hesitated. No doubt about it, he hesitated. Weighing up his options, she reckoned. Just as she was weighing up her own. Privately, she’d always had the odd fantasy about being smacked, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t need to know that. This way, she might get to try out two fantasies for the price of one. A bargain indeed!

  She moved towards him, entwining her arms around his neck suggestively; pressing kisses against his cheekbone.

  “I could suggest something,” she whispered.

  He was intrigued, she could see. Also, she could not help being wickedly amused by his anxiety. What on earth did he think she was going to ask him to do? Something so scandalous that he wouldn’t be able to consider it without blushing?

  “Go on then.”

  His hands had slid around her to fondle her arse, smoothing the silky material against her sensitive skin. She leaned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him.

  “Well,” she drawled slowly, “why don’t we take things a little further? Why don’t we … set the scene a little first?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  So she told him…

  He leaned heavily on the wooden desk, frowning slightly. Miss Fenella Grant had misbehaved too many times recently. She would have to learn that her behaviour was unacceptable. She would have to be punished. He looked around the book-lined study and waited for her to arrive.

  She stood on the far side of the wooden door, smoothing out any possible creases in her tunic. Had she taken things too far? What would he say to her this time? What would he do to her? The tap on the door was timid – so light that she wondered whether he would hear her. But he must have been listening, because a stern voice called out in response.

  “Come in.”

  Her fingers slipped on the door knob as she twisted it. Her palms were just the slightest bit sweaty. She rubbed them against her skirt and tried again. This time, the door opened, and she slid in to the room, standing just inside the door, hands clasped nervously in front of her.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes. Yes, Fenella, I did. Come in further and shut that door behind you.” She pushed the door to, and noticed a large, old-fashioned key in the lock. “Lock the door, and bring me the key.”

  “But, sir …”

  “No!” He cut across her. “I give the orders in here, Fenella, not you. Lock that door immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She twisted the key. It creaked slightly as the lock turned. Pulling it out, she found that it was lighter than she had expected: it looked so heavy and old. She held it in front of her, offering it to him while staying as far from his desk as she possibly could. He took the key from her hand, and placed it in a drawer. Fenella found that she could hardly breathe. It was just him and her in here now. There was no escape for her. She shuffled back a couple of steps, putting a gap between herself and him.

  “Stand still, girl.”

  “Sorry.”

  He sat upright, and looked her straight in the eyes. His face was grave.

  “Miss Grant, I have been hearing bad reports about you from every side. It appears that you have been misbehaving on a grand scale. I would be sorry to think that any of my students could be so disobedient without due cause. What have you to say for yourself?”

  Fenella’s heart was beating a little faster. He was good at this. How did he get to be so good at this? She could feel an answering throb to her heart lower down, between her legs. She hung her head a little.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be bad.”

  He rose to his feet, majestically.

  “Didn’t mean it? You come to me with more disgraceful – disgusting – reports than any other student before you, and all you can say is that you didn’t mean it? Miss Grant, you will need to have a better explanation than that if you want to escape
punishment.”

  Oh, punishment! She had been waiting for that word, and she felt a jolt in her stomach as he said it. The word lingered on his mouth like a promise. But she had her part to play, and she was enjoying playing it. She threw herself to her knees in front of him.

  “Oh, sir. Oh sir, please don’t punish me!”

  “Have you been bad, Fenella?” he asked gently.

  She looked up at him. He had walked around the desk and was leaning against it – right above her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Very bad?”

  “Very bad, sir.”

  “Then you must be punished, Fenella. Rules must be obeyed – do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes …?” He waited.

  “Yes, sir,” she corrected herself.

  “And you will take your punishment like the naughty girl you are?”

  “Yes, sir.” (Yes, please, she thought.)

  He bent down to her and put a hand underneath her chin. It was the first time he had touched her, and she shivered at the feel of his touch.

  “You need to stand up, then, girl. Stand up and bend over the desk. But first, you will need to remove your panties – you are wearing panties, are you not, Miss Grant?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Then stand up and take them off.”

  She obeyed. Her hands slipped under her tunic skirt as she reached and pulled down a pair of skimpy white knickers. She held them in her hand and turned to him.

  “What should I do with these, sir?”

  “Put them on my desk. There.” He pointed. “They will be directly in front of you when you bend over – a reminder, Miss Grant, of your sins. Are we clear about this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bend over.”

  She leaned down across the dark wooden desk. It had a smooth surface, almost comforting against her cheek. She knew that with her motion, her tunic had lifted at the back, leaving her pale, tender bottom open to the elements – and to him.

  “What are you going to do to me, sir?” she asked.

  She felt a hand against her back, pushing her further down against the desk, so that her breasts were rubbing teasingly against its firmness.

  “I am going to teach you a lesson, Fenella.” His voice was gentler now, almost loving. He stroked the hand down her back, lifting the bottom of her tunic that little bit further when his hand reached it. “You understand that you need to be taught a lesson, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes –?”

  “Yes, sir,” she corrected herself obediently.

  “Good. Remember, this is for your own good, Fenella.” He permitted the first trace of laughter to appear in his voice. “I don’t say that I get no pleasure from this, but – you know you deserve it.”

  “Oh yes, sir,” she breathed.

  His hand rubbed gently across her exposed bottom, leaving every nerve-ending tingling.

  “You see, you’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

  He lifted his hand away and brought it back with a slap.

  “Oh!” She couldn’t help but exclaim; it was – it was a little painful but, at the same time … she wriggled her arse a little, suggestively, begging for more.

  “Keep still, Miss Grant.”

  The hand lifted and slapped again; lifted and slapped. There was a rhythm to the punishment that had her moaning against the desktop. Lift – slap – lift – slap.

  “Sir!”

  His hand paused on her bottom, smoothing the contours.

  “Fenella?”

  Lift – slap – lift – slap.

  “Please…!”

  “Please, what, Fenella? You know you deserve your punishment.”

  She arched her neck back, up from the desk, closing her eyes as she did so.

  “Yes, yes, but sir…”

  “What?”

  “Fuck me,” she moaned. “Please – please, fuck me. Please, I need you inside me.”

  The hand lifted and smacked once more.

  “Miss Grant, I am ashamed of you. You are a student, I am a teacher. It would be most inappropriate to do what you suggest.”

  Slap – slap – slap.

  “Yes, yes, I know – but please!” she whimpered, rocking back and forth, so that her nipples grew hard against the wood and she was wet, so wet, between her thighs. His fingers delved lower, noting the heat and wetness that she couldn’t disguise.

  “Oh, Fenella,” he said, his voice a caress. “Oh, what a very naughty girl you are.” One finger slipped inside her, pressing against her most sensitive places. “This is a punishment, Fenella. And you … you’re wet, you’re giving, you’re begging me, are you not, to make love to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes…?”

  “Yes, sir!” The words were almost screamed as one finger became two, became three, thrusting in and out of her.

  “Tell me what you want, Fenella. Tell me exactly what you want.”

  The fingers did not stop their movement for a second. He had no mercy.

  “Oh, God.” Without the slap of his hand on her arse, she could feel it tingling with need. With his fingers inside her, she could hardly think – hardly breathe – for wanting him. “Darling…”

  His other hand was on her neck suddenly; his voice a savage whisper in her ear.

  “But I am not your darling, am I, Miss Grant? I am your teacher, and I want to hear you beg. I want to hear every word of your disgraceful fantasies. I want to hear everything you’ve ever dreamed of me doing to you.”

  She wondered if he could make her come just from the sound of his voice. Perhaps she had not been the only one with this particular fantasy in mind. Her voice grew husky.

  “Sir, I … I’ve been such a bad girl.” The fingers thrust hard inside her and she bucked under his pressure. “I have … I have dreamed, I have wanted you to …” Now his palm was on her bottom again, stroking the reddened skin. It was heaven. “I have imagined you doing just this to me, sir; spanking me until I couldn’t take any more, until I screamed out for you …”

  “Yes …?”

  “Until,” her voice sank to a low moan, “until I begged you to take me. Until I was so wet, so throbbing that I couldn’t live without you inside me. And then you … you …”

  “Tell me more.”

  “You pushed inside me, sir. You fucked me, over and over and over. I came, and came again, and it was your name – your name, sir – on my lips as I cried my desire aloud. Punish me, sir. I shouldn’t have thought such things.”

  “Oh, Fenella, Fenella.” He spoke with mild disapproval. “Oh dear. You are such a very bad girl.”

  The hand had gone from her neck, and she could hear the sound of him unzipping his trousers. It was unbearably exciting.

  “Please, sir!” she begged.

  “What did you say you wanted?” he demanded softly. She could feel his erection pressing against her. He was so hard. “Did you want me to do this …?” He thrust inside her and she moaned against the desk. “Did you?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “And then,” he continued, pushing further inside her, “you wanted me to …”

  He was moving back and forth, gently at first but with ever increasing pressure until she too was thrusting against him, wantonly demanding and receiving pleasure.

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Yes …” His voice was lower, but his breathing too was fast now; she could feel that he was on the edge, close to tipping over.

  “Yes,” she echoed, and opening her eyes saw the sight of her pure white panties, two inches from her face.

  It was the last touch. She came, crying out his name, just as she had told him. She felt him climax, too; throbbing inside her in a heavy breathing silence more sensual than any words could have been.

  Later, much later, he spoke again, smiling.

  “I think I could grow to like your fantasies, Fenella.”

  “Me too,” she
said, contentment etched across her body.

  “Me too.”

  Victoria’s Secret

  by Virginia Beech

  The sight of Alysha masturbating a half-naked girl to screaming orgasm in the stable hay room shocked Riding Mistress Maude.

  To her horror, it was Guinevere who was the willing recipient of such lewd attentions from this darkly beautiful daughter of a deceased officer of the Bengal Lancers and his Calcutta concubine.

  This was no surreptitiously stolen stable kiss. Guinevere’s riding habit was hitched up over her creamy thighs, her knickers pulled down to bare her rounded bottom. It bucked in fetching provocation; the quivering cheeky curves clenching and unclenching in rhythmic fury, as she responded enthusiastically to Alysha’s finger-fucking. Guinevere’s voluptuous breasts hung free of their constricting bodice and Alysha was tonguing the lust-hardened nipples in hungry debauch.

  Maude watched with gut-wrenching jealousy as Guinevere reached a knee-trembling climax beneath the finger squelching lasciviously within her cunt. She came, shuddering to the ecstatic surges that coursed from her inflamed clitoris to every nerve-tingling extremity of her body. Alysha knelt and buried her dark face to Guinevere’s love-lips, her serpentine tongue lapping the sweet flowing nectar of her cum juices.

  Guinevere was Maude’s star riding pupil at Victoria’s, the select Academy for orphaned ‘Daughters of Fallen Heroes’ situated off Berkeley Square in Mayfair. Formally opened by Queen Victoria when she was proclaimed Empress of India six years previously in 1876, the Academy charitably housed 30 indigent young ladies aged between 18 and 20, preparing them for a secure, if somewhat Spartan, spinster life as a governess.

  An accomplished equestrienne under Maude’s attentive instruction, Guinevere looked magnificent riding side-saddle in Hyde Park’s Rotten Row each morning when they exercised the Academy’s horses. Maude had long secretly lusted to possess her. In the confines of her bedroom above the mews stables behind Victoria’s, she dreamed of tasting the sweet delights of her body, of baring Guinevere’s bouncy breasts and sucking her nipples to excited hardness. She fantasized about Guinevere’s hidden pearl nestling within that lush curly forest now so wantonly displayed before her, dreaming of her becoming her live-in stables assistant, when she would possess her in nightly Sapphic sensuality.