Ultimate Spanking

by Miranda Forbes

  Rose blushed. ‘Not really an area I’ve paid much attention to. Are you writing a book?’

  ‘Yes. On how erotica reflects, or even affects, modern sexuality. It started out as a newspaper article for one of the Sunday lifestyle sections, but was so well received a publisher commissioned it. Has to be finished quickly though before people’s attention moves on.’

  ‘Oh so it’s not academic work?’

  ‘Does something have to be academic to be of worth?’ There was an edge to his tone.

  ‘No of course not.’ To cover her embarrassment, Rose turned around and led Luke towards the books.

  Nice chassis, trim little figure, probably shapely legs under those thick tights; it occurred to him that young Ms Rose might present a pleasant challenge. Not quite Professor Higgins and Eliza Dolittle, but if he could just draw her out a little the results might prove rewarding.

  Perhaps, Rose tried to convince herself later that day, sampling contemporary women’s erotica might help restart her stalled thesis. Albeit embarrassed, she made the appropriate purchases.

  A few erotic short collections later, it had become clear to Rose that these titillating tales were underpinned by certain prominent and reoccurring themes. Dominant men and submissive women for example; and such stories often involved an element of dressing up. Despite Rose’s lack of dress sense, the idea of exchanging her serviceable white, with a tint of grey, M&S undies for some racier lingerie slowly took root. She wondered, having never ever tried, what it might be like to wear stockings; certainly if these stories were accurate, they invariably seemed to push all the requisite male buttons. Increasingly enthralled by this strange new world of sartorial and sexual possibility, Rose read on voraciously. Stories about spanking were guaranteed to hit the spot, dampening her knickers and sending her fingers surreptitiously down between her thighs to bring urgently required relief. Far from being epistles of brute sadism, as she’d previously believed, CP fiction, as she now understood it to be called, was a far subtler mélange of literary arousal.

  Unbeknown to her, though Luke also enjoyed the genre, he’d been fortunate enough to have already enjoyed a couple of long-term CP relationships.

  ‘Fancy a coffee?’ Rose asked him midway through the third week of his attendance. It’d taken her that long to pluck up the courage to attempt anything more than professional or a merely mundane interaction.

  ‘Sure,’ answered Luke readily, and over cups of cappuccino it became clear Rose was more than just curious about him.

  ‘How’s the research going?’ She asked, nervous.

  ‘Good. Quicker than I expected.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rose couldn’t keep the tone of disappointment from her voice. The faster he worked the quicker Luke would be gone. There was obviously no time to lose. ‘I’ve been looking at some of the books you’ve finished with. Thought they might be useful for my own studies. But tell me, do you find them arousing?’ Rose flushed at her own boldness.

  ‘Sometimes.’ Luke was disarmingly frank. ‘I’m only human, how about you?’

  Involuntarily Rose reddened. ‘Certain themes seem to be ubiquitous,’ she said, evasively.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well.’ Rose had entered uncharted territory. ‘It’s interesting how clothes are always used to accentuate a female character’s sexuality. To proffer her body as an offering. Stockings and high heels for example.’

  ‘Many women wear them as a matter of routine. Look at the average City office.’

  ‘You know, I’ve never worn them. In academia women have made a virtue out of dressing down. But I can see it might be fun to dress up. Perhaps erotic clothes could enable less brave souls to feel uninhibited. And in the spanking stories there’s always an element of sexual coercion: he is completely in charge, she is forced to submit and so is absolved of guilt and responsibility, as a result, for what follows.’ Aware she had now given voice to feelings she’d not really thought through enough, and in a somewhat awkward academic fashion, her discourse promptly stalled. They hadn’t, she was suddenly acutely aware, even been discussing spanking. It had just crept in.

  ‘Why not test the idea,’ suggested Luke. ‘Isn’t that how you scholarly types are meant to proceed?’

  ‘What me?’ Rose laughed. ‘You’re not serious.’

  But on the walk back to the library Rose glowed with pleasure.

  Walking alongside her in companionable silence Luke’s own thoughts were definitely not innocent. With a little more effort, and a little less Oxfam she could make something of herself. But don’t get rid of the glasses because actually they’re very sexy.

  Two days later Rose spent her lunch hour browsing shoe shops, and eventually emerged with a pair of sleek black court shoes with high heels.

  Walking in them was tricky, so she practised assiduously, enjoying the way they thrust her shoulders back and made the most of a not very big bosom, and tensed her calves, and pushed her small, firm buttocks into a whole new prominence. In fact, Rose began a plan to startle Luke with a new and sophisticated image. She’d wear the shoes with a knee-length black skirt, sheer pale tights and a crisp white blouse. Let her hair down too and put some lipstick on. She was determined to be the equal of any modern girl.

  But to her chagrin Luke didn’t appear to notice her new attire. They exchanged the standard pleasantries and he got down to work.

  Rose was furious and out the corner of his eye Luke watched her angrily pacing up and down, her heels clicking out an angry percussive accompaniment to her mood. Of course he’d clocked the transformation, but saw no need to let Rose know. Not yet anyway.

  Damn him. He will notice me.

  Grabbing a couple of seldom requested volumes, she pushed a stepladder into position, immediately adjacent to Luke. As if the tomes need returning on the uppermost shelf, she climbed high, and the tapered toes of Rose’s new fuck-me footwear searched for grip on the worn wooden steps. Not completely unknown to her, each time she raised a knee, her skirt exposed a sinuous nylon-covered thigh and one of her delectably taut buttocks.

  ‘Very nice,’ observed Luke, laconically. ‘Is this a new you?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘So you’re emulating a femme fatale? And trying to distract me from my labours, for which sin I shall have to take you to task.’

  A thrill, part fear, part excitement, surged through her. ‘How so?’ Her voice was small, almost a croak.

  ‘By spanking the bottom you’ve so obligingly revealed’.

  ‘And if I refuse.’

  ‘You won’t, because it was you who bought the subject up. And you were right in your textual analysis of CP literature. The essential element is coercion, so whatever happens next, you’re not to blame. Now, come here.’

  Rose descended, unable to take her eyes from his face. She teetered towards him. And soon found herself face-down, over his knees, with her fingers and toes touching the worn wooden boards, and her bottom raised enticingly. Tingling with anticipation, every muscle in her body tense, she gritted her teeth, held her breath and waited.

  And waited.

  Not until she relaxed did his palm descend, and as each slap came into contact with Rose’s tightly skirted rear, a satisfying crack echoed around the hallowed walls. After an initial volley Luke paused. Rose had no words to describe the rush of unfamiliar emotions coursing through her and stayed silent. But not for long. Feeling his hand grasp the hem of her skirt she anticipated Luke’s intention and immediately protested. But then regretted her outburst, as an admonitory slap to the back of each of her thighs stung like fury.

  Luke expertly pulled the skirt to her waist, exposing a most beautiful bottom, barely covered by skimpy white briefs and every spanker’s sworn enemy, tights. He spanked harder and her alluringly firm cheeks juddered most pleasingly. Rose was breathing heavily, squirming her hips on his lap in response to what he knew were contradictory feelings of pain and arousal.

  He stopped a second time, and adroitly tug
ged her knickers and tights down and around her knees. Resting his hand on Rose’s lightly toasted rear, he felt the silky skin glowing hot beneath his tender touch.

  Rose mewed and sighed as his fingers caressed her, teasing and squeezing her labia. She squirmed and she squealed with delight at the delicious torment. One finger, two fingers, slid effortlessly into her honeyed vagina and pistoned insistently, in and out, while his other hand returned to chastising her rear end. The combination of the two sensations was irresistible. Rose could not help herself. She came hard.

  Dazed and smiling, endorphin-stoned, her gaze unfocused, it took five hazy minutes before she’d recovered enough to stand upright.

  Luke murmured something to her: ‘Prior appointment. Must go.’ Rose doesn’t take in most of what he says. But he smiles at her and promises to return the following day.

  Rose spent a restless night; appalled by her wanton reaction to Luke’s spanking, yet thrilled by her belated discovery of hitherto unimagined sexual pleasures. Elated and emboldened she decided to again push the boundaries of her new relationship.

  As promised, Luke returned to the library the following day, but acted as if nothing had ever happened between them, and promptly got down to work.

  Undeterred, with her own research to pursue, she cornered him, pressed her hot little body against him. Luke felt her braless nipples harden through her thin T-shirt; could feel her firm stomach, naked under the crop top. Ducking down, Rose freed his half erect penis and took it into her mouth.

  She’d never attempted a BJ before, but she had always been a good student and had read enough about oral sex since meeting Luke, her enthusiasm quickly took him to the brink. ‘Rose, I’m …’ he gasped in warning.

  It was, she reckoned, less messy to simply suck and swallow. And besides, what better right of passage to becoming a new woman?

  She looked up at him, smiling in triumph, as a thin trickle of come ran down her chin.

  ‘This is for distracting me,’ Luke said through gritted teeth.

  And Rose was thrust face-down over the counter. Feet barely touching the floor, her baggy combat trousers were tugged down to her ankles. Hands pinned into the small of her back, she was held helpless, as Luke doubled the worn leather of his belt, then raised his hand high.

  A flash of pain seared her naked rump; a sensation far removed from the previous day’s more sensual spanking. This was punishment pure and simple, yet for Rose its erotic effect was every bit as potent as the day before.

  Six livid wheals decorated her jiggling bottom before Luke tossed the belt to one side. Tears filled her eyes. And when he pulled her tiny thong to one side, her sex was every bit as wet as her teary face. As he grasped her hips, Rose pushed herself up and back on to her toes, expectant, eager for more. Until a knock at the door broke them apart.

  Luke didn’t visit the library the following day but sent an email. He would be in on Monday, he informed her; the day when his work at the Worth would be complete. ‘But there was,’ he wrote, ‘unfinished business between them which he intended to resolve.’ And Rose should therefore ‘dress accordingly and be in a suitable frame of mind.’

  That weekend Rose took another shopping trip on which she purchased a dress in a 50s style, high-heeled sandals, and finally, with an insouciance she couldn’t have imagined a couple of months previously, a pair of sheer black stockings and a matching suspender belt.

  Back at her flat she could scarcely believe her own transformation; from drab librarian to chic attractive femme; and from wanting to wanton.

  ‘You like?’ enquired Rose mischievously, when Luke arrived at the library. She’s never held this much sway over a man before, let alone had the self-assurance to use it.

  ‘Yes, very much,’ Luke said. He carried a long canvas bag under one arm.

  ‘Then let’s lock the front door and adjourn to my office,’ said the newly confident Rose.

  ‘Now,’ she enquired, once they were ensconced inside. ‘About this unfinished business?’ Her glasses slipped down her nose and she peered over the top.

  Without taking his eyes from her, he reached out and gently grasped one of her breasts. Squeezed the firm flesh and felt her nipples stiffen in response. Slowly, he raised the hem of her dress; over nylon-clad knees, up shapely thighs, and onward, past the dark welt of her stocking top to the enticing nexus where her legs and torso met. ‘You appear to have forgotten your knickers,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t forget anything.’

  ‘Aren’t you taking a risk?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  The CLOSED sign went up. Heavy doors were firmly locked against the world. The answer-phone was switched on. High windows and thick walls would ensure they were neither seen nor heard.

  ‘I think you know what the resolution of our unfinished business will involve,’ said Luke. From his bag, he produced a cane and theatrically swished it though the air.

  Rose nodded a mute assent.

  ‘There’s no need for preliminaries.’ Luke’s strong hands clasped her shoulders and guided Rose carefully, but insistently, to her desk. She allowed him to position her; upper body bent forward until she lay prone along the smoothly polished wooden surface. She reached out and grasped the sides.

  Luke’s hands grasped each of her slender ankles, tugged her feet wide apart, then lifted her dress to her waist.

  She tensed her calves, pushed herself up slightly on to her toes and locked her knees. The stance pushed her buttocks out and upward in silent invitation. Luke tapped the tip of the cane lightly against her two perfectly proffered cheeks. Rose screwed her eyes shut. And the first stroke of cane fell to become a thin line of fire across the crest of both buttocks. She gasped. A second stroke followed. Then a third. Rose wriggled on the tabletop, struggling to endure the increasing smart.

  But the area of tenderness only increased as three more strokes followed; each applied with precision, none overlapping. She’d taken the sixer well, she knew; no hollering, no tears. Instead, she’d somehow channelled the tremendous discomfort inwards. And it was as if the heat from her buttocks had suffused to her sex, which had flooded.

  ‘There’ll be a further six,’ announced Luke.

  Rose haughtily tossed her head. ‘I can take it.’

  ‘Can you indeed.’

  He employed a wrist-driven action, making full use of the rod’s pliable qualities to whip the perfectly curved outline of Rose’s posterior.

  Her jaw set in determination, Rose gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out. The cane cuts were even harder this time and fell lower, slicing cruelly across the tender junction where her thighs and buttocks merged. Rose’s feet kicked out in involuntary response, as the pain rapidly accumulated into a persistent, throbbing smart.

  Eventually Luke stopped.

  ‘You really laid those on hard.’ Rose struggled to maintain her self-control. ‘My arse feels as if it’s on fire.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t deserve it, or crave it. But you may stand up now.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  ‘You may be ready to stop, but I’m not.’

  ‘Rose. Look over your shoulder at the indisputable evidence of a soundly caned rear end.’

  Rose obliged, craning back to peer at her pertly presented posterior. ‘You’re right. It’s deeply marked. And it hurts like hell, but I need more.’

  ‘Well, you asked for it.’ Inevitably this time the strokes started to intersect, causing Rose intense suffering. And when Luke halted for the third time, 18 strokes had been delivered cold

  But Rose has yet to shed a tear. True, her eyes were wet, her face creased with the effort of enduring the intense discomfort of a thoroughly beaten bottom. But Rose steadfastly retained her punishment position. Luke rested the rattan’s tip at the apex of her thighs, observing tangible evidence of arousal to which she gave a low moan of pleasure.

  ‘One for every year of my life, please,’ she declared re
solutely.

  Rose was 24; another six strokes to go. ‘Very well, it’s your choice.’ Luke raised the rod and Rose thrusts out her red-striped rear.

  At the finish, every inch of Rose’s perfect bottom had been thrashed scarlet, and she was finally reduced to tears: ‘I think I deserve my reward now,’ she whimpered, smiling through her tears.

  ‘Ever been taken from behind before?’ Luke asked, scarcely able to comprehend such a feat of endurance, and such an appetite for depravity in one so young and inexperienced.

  ‘In my bum? Will it hurt?’ Rose is wary but doesn’t demure, a fact Luke gratefully files away for future experimentation.

  ‘From, not in, silly,’ Luke reassured her.

  ‘In that case no, but I’m about to be aren’t I?’ Rose’s tone was unashamedly lascivious.

  Luke guided the tip of his cock into her wet sex. Her bottom cheeks glowed hot and her stockings rubbed against his thighs. Clasping her small tits, Luke slid right into her depths.

  She wanted the moment to last for ever and pondered how to prolong the bliss. ‘Turn me around.’

  ‘What? Your sore bum on that hard desk. It’ll hurt,’ he warned.

  ‘I’m too turned on to care. Besides I think it’ll add to the sensation.’

  So Luke did and they were both proven right. Her cheeks smarted, but the pain simply spurred Rose on.

  ‘Do it!’ she cried out, losing herself, taking her pleasure roughly and joyously. And as she came so hard, Rose had few doubts that she could keep Luke and be exactly what she wanted, simply by choosing to submit.

  Butt in a Sling

  by Landon Dixon

  ‘You get me those LCVP’s pronto, Sergeant! Or, by God, I’ll have your butt in a sling!’

  ‘Trouble, General Williams?’ Imee Aquino politely asked, strolling into the map- and memorabilia-cluttered office just as red-faced Warren Williams was in the process of slamming down the phone.

  ‘Damn NCO’s couldn’t run a rotary club back home, let alone a goddamn pacific war!’ His bony face softened, as he watched Imee strut across the office and, drop a teletype message into the basket on the desk.