Even though I’d already climaxed and the sore burning was almost unbearable, I didn’t beg the woman to stop, and I still didn’t try to move.
In fact, in the end, I believe that it’s the sweet humiliation of being punished by my own step-daughter which makes me so eagerly submissive. The perverted shame of being spanked by a woman who’s younger than me, even if it’s only by a couple of months, and who, at least according to tradition, should be laying across my knee.
In fact, I can even remember experiencing the same sensations back when I was still at school. Because every day when she was standing behind me in the lunch queue, a girl named Donna (who must have been at least a couple of years younger than I was), would suddenly begin smacking the backs of my thighs.
Once again, I never moved or tried to complain, and I certainly didn’t try to cover myself. Instead, I just kept shuffling forward as each girl ahead of me reached the lunch counter. And holding my hands very firmly in my lap as the sore pink handprints began to throb, I bit my tongue and held my breath as the tears streamed down my cheeks.
I would even try to time entering the lunch queue so that Donna was standing behind me every day. And a couple of times in my final year, I even got into trouble for wearing skirts that were far too short, longing to give Donna the opportunity to spank the tops of my thighs as well. But, in spite of all my uncertainty, after countless sleepless nights, I am absolutely certain of one thing.
I love Roger. I may love being spanked by his daughter, but that’s got nothing to do with why I married him. I’m not merely using Roger so that I can be with her. And, as evidence of this, I know for a fact that if I ever cheated on my husband, his daughter would go absolutely ballistic and beat my backside until I couldn’t sit down for a year. But even though the thought of this may sometimes turn me on, I could never possibly bring myself to hurt the man I love.
Besides, Stacey’s punishment for my minor misdemeanours was more than enough to satisfy my craving; smacking my thighs if I ever needlessly insulted Roger during an argument, and spanking my backside a delightful shade of pink whenever I stayed out without calling.
To be honest, most of the offences themselves were so trivial that I can’t even remember why my step-daughter was so angry with me. But the idea and the memory of the spankings themselves endured; if I close my eyes when I’m fingering my pussy and wish that she is spanking me right there, I can almost seem to relive every single sharp and biting stroke.
Of course, a couple of the crimes that I’ve committed in the last five years have really stuck in my mind, mostly because the punishment itself was so deliciously unique. And from all of these memories, the one I’d really like to share was the time that Stacey caught me borrowing money from Roger’s wallet again.
In spite of my step-daughter’s warning, I’d seen a beautifully ornate, brown calfskin belt which I simply had to have. But by a cruel (or perhaps even a fortunate) twist of fate, this was the last day of the sale. I wouldn’t get paid until the next day, and by then it would be too late.
I remember taking my time as I picked up my husband’s wallet, almost begging for his daughter to suddenly walk through the door.
When she finally did, I almost let out a squeal of delight as she caught me red-handed, holding £100 cash in one hand and her dad’s wallet in the other. I felt a tingle in my pussy as I struggled to explain myself, going on and on about the gorgeous belt which would make my whole life complete. She decided that if I loved belts so much, then I should have one across my rump.
As luck would have it, I was already wearing skin-tight jeans with a leather belt that day. And ordering me to take them off, she folded the belt into a fairly painful and erotic-looking strap.
Standing there in nothing but my white ankle-socks and my T-shirt, feeling my own pussy growing wetter by the second as I waited for my step-daughter to begin, without thinking, I laced my fingers together and rested my hands on top of my head.
Of course, Stacey honestly didn’t even seem to even notice. But as far as I was concerned, my posture really underlined the fact that I was desperate for my punishment to begin. And sure enough, when she started lashing the sides of my thighs, I physically needed to bite my tongue to keep myself from begging for more.
For more than ten minutes as I just stood there in the middle of the room, bolt upright and clenching my hands on top of my head, my step-daughter circled around and around, lashing every exposed millimetre of my thighs.
My face was red as I clenched my teeth and the tears were literally streaming down my cheeks. Every vicious whack across the front of my thighs was soon followed by another along the side. And this in turn always curled around to sting the front as well. An equally vicious whack then landed across the back of my thighs, and then another along the other side.
Starting up near my rump, Stacey methodically worked her way down to the very top of my knees. Working clockwise for five minutes before circling the other way, she made certain that every inch of my skin was swollen and blazing red; covered with angry purple welts that were left by the edges of the belt. And having long since climaxed and started howling like a baby, still standing bolt upright and never even considering that I could just simply run away, when Stacey ordered me to touch my toes, I obeyed without a single moment’s thought. Following that, I spent another ten minutes howling as my step-daughter belted my naked peaches black and blue. Or to be more accurate, a deep, blazing shade of crimson, criss-crossed with the same angry purple welts that now covered my thighs.
After giving me the money to buy the calfskin belt from her own purse, she told me that I could expect exactly the same thing if she ever caught me ‘stealing’ again.
Have any of you ever tried wearing skin-tight jeans over sore and inflamed thighs? The denim feels like sandpaper, aggravating the burning welts whenever you try to move. Indeed, I was still in tears when I went out to buy the belt in question. And when I tried to force myself to sit down and cross my legs, I almost screamed as the course thick material dug even further into my flesh.
After receiving a belting like that from Stacey, it would only be a matter of time before Roger would notice the marks. And even if I’d tried to hide them and had worn loose trousers 24-hours a day, he was also bound to notice how much I was wincing whenever I tried to sit down.
After all, a blushing pink bottom might only require a couple hours to recover, but the angry purple welts on my bottom and thighs took several weeks to heal. And when he asked me what on earth had happened as he rubbed some cooling cream into my skin, I felt myself coming as I explained how his daughter had been spanking me every week for several years.
Roger was aghast, but the truth was that the shame of it was actually turning me on. It seemed that I’d been longing to receive these angry purple marks for quite a while; the evidence that would finally force me to confess my humiliating secret.
‘I was such a naughty girl,’ I said, panting, as I longed to feel my husband’s cock inside me. ‘I tried to borrow some of your money without asking, and Stacey punished me really hard.’
Roger couldn’t understand why I’d enjoyed it so much. But in the end, he honestly didn’t have to. Being beaten by my own step-daughter like this had made me ecstatically happy, and the shame of admitting it to my husband was making me feel as horny as hell. So begging him to ‘cuddle me better’ as I spread my legs and lay down on the bed. Actually getting off on the slow throbbing pain that was burning in my bottom and my thighs, I actually squealed when my welts began to sting as we had the most wonderful sex of our marriage.
Sadly, that was the only time that my step-daughter has ever really punished me. And although she gives me an over-the-knee spanking a couple of times a month, she’s expecting her first baby in November, and I don’t think she’ll have much time for me after that.
As weird as it may sound, however, now that Stacey’s had an ultrasound and is positive she’s having a daughter, I finger my pussy wheneve
r I imagine turning forty-seven myself. And as I bring myself to climax, I can almost feel my naked rump being belted by my twenty-year-old step-granddaughter, because she’s caught me taking money from her grandfather’s wallet, just like her mother before her.
Hot Enough for June
by Philip Kemp
Very quietly and carefully, June turned the key in the lock. Mark always slept like a log – so if only she could creep in and get herself into bed, he’d never know what time she got in. Always assuming – she offered up a silent prayer – that he was asleep.
No such luck. Even before she’d closed the door behind her she heard Mark’s voice from the lighted living room. ‘June? That you?’
She turned, putting on her most innocent expression as Mark appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh hi, honey! What’re you doing still up?’
The look on her boyfriend’s face was a mixture of concern and anger. ‘You OK, baby? Where on earth have you been? Don’t you know it’s nearly three o’clock?’
Something told June she could be in even more trouble than she thought. This might need some serious cajoling. Putting her arms round Mark’s neck, she offered him her cutest smile. ‘Oh honey, I’m sorry. You know how it is when us girls get together. The time just went. I never noticed.’
‘You’ve been at the restaurant with Cathy and Sue, all this time?’
‘Why sure, honey, I told you that’s what we were doing.’
Unwinding June’s arms from round his neck, Mark took a step back. Anger was now definitely the expression that was winning out. Lightly and delicately, a few butterflies started performing a stately dance in June’s tummy. ‘June, that restaurant closes at midnight. I called them at 12.30. The staff were just heading home.’
She gulped. ‘Oh, er. Yeah, well, we went on somewhere. Just for a bit.’
‘Somewhere, just for a bit?’ Mark repeated grimly. Taking her hand, he led her towards the living-room. ‘Come in here, young lady. I think we need to talk.’
‘Oh honey, it’s awfully late,’ she protested, trying to resist. There was something about the phrase “young lady” that made her feel strangely apprehensive. ‘Can’t it wait till the morning?’
‘No, it can’t. And tomorrow’s Saturday. Or rather, today is. Plenty of time to sleep in, if we want to. Or for anything else that needs doing.’
Normally, the prospect of a long lazy Saturday morning in bed with her boyfriend would have filled June with delighted anticipation. She and Mark had only been living together a couple of months, and their love-life was still firing on all cylinders. But it crossed her mind that for once Mark – this new, grim, rather scary Mark – might have other ideas which might not prove quite so alluring.
In the living room Mark sat down on the couch, motioning June to sit opposite him. ‘OK, my girl,’ he said, ‘time for some straight answers. Just where did you go after the restaurant?’
‘Oh, just to a bar, honey. It was no big deal, honest.’
‘No big deal, huh? June, you told me you’d be home well before twelve. Didn’t you think I’d worry? Didn’t it occur to you I’d be phoning round, frantically trying to find out where you were? Calling the hospital, even. Did you never even think of calling me? I tried your cellphone. But it’s switched off.’
‘Oh honey, I’m so sorry!’ exclaimed June, genuinely meaning it. She went to give Mark a hug, but he held her off.
‘No, stay where you are, June. I know you, and you’re damn good at being all sweet and cute and loving, and getting round me that way. Well, not this time, my girl. Straight answers, I said. You went to a bar. Which one? And the truth, now.’ he added, seeing June hesitate. ‘Remember, I can always check up if I have to.’
‘We, we went to Smokey Joe’s,’ June stammered.
Mark gazed at her, appalled. ‘Smokey Joe’s! That dive?’
‘Oh, it’s not that bad, honey, honest! Cathy knows one of the guys that work there. And people were pretty friendly. Let us play pool and everything.’
‘Oh yeah, I just bet they did.’ Involuntarily, his mind’s eye conjured up a picture of his cutely curvy girlfriend leaning over a pool table in her form-hugging jeans, while the crowd of drunks and deadbeats that frequented Smokey Joe’s feasted their eyes on her temptingly rounded rear end. ‘I bet they just loved that. Three attractive young women, on their own, way past midnight. I’m amazed you three didn’t get yourselves raped in the parking lot.’
‘Oh, Mark honey,’ wheedled June in her most melting tones, ‘we were just fine. But it’s so sweet of you to worry about me. And I’m really sorry I forgot to let you know.’
Again she went to hug him, and this time he didn’t push her away. But as they kissed he suddenly froze and held her at arm’s length. ‘June, have you been drinking?’ As she dropped her eyes he held her by the chin and lifted her face, obliging her to meet his gaze. ‘The truth, now, young lady. Have you?’
‘Er, well. I just had one …’
‘One?’
‘Well, maybe two …’
The look in his eyes was now sheer anger. ‘On top of all this, you were drink-driving?’ Mark’s jaw tightened. ‘OK, Mary June Macarthur. That’s it. You are in deep trouble, young lady. Stand up.’
Nervously, June obeyed. There seemed to be a lot more of the butterflies, and now they were dancing a tango. Mark’s use of her full name sounded decidedly ominous. ‘Mark, what are you …?’
‘Going to do? Something that should have been done a long time ago, my girl. I’m going to put you across my knee, take down your panties and give you a damn good spanking on your bare bottom. Now get those jeans down!’
‘A spanking? But, but you can’t. I mean, I’m 22. I’m much too old to be spanked!’
‘Think so, do you? Well, young lady, this is where you learn different. No girl is ever too old for a good spanking, and certainly not you. Now if those jeans aren’t down in five seconds …’
Reluctantly, June started to undo her belt. ‘But Mark, I’m not a little girl any more. No one’s spanked me since I was ten!’
‘Haven’t they now? Well, maybe that’s just the trouble! Your mom and dad are lovely people, but you twist them round your little finger and they let you get away with murder. If you’d spent a bit more time across your dad’s knee as a teenager, maybe you wouldn’t be in so much trouble now. As it is, my sweet, welcome to catch-up time!’
Reaching out, Mark pulled June’s jeans down to her knees, then taking her by the hand drew her down across his lap so that the upper part of her body rested on the couch, with the plump curves of her bottom uppermost and perfectly positioned for his hand.
June’s mind was in a turmoil. Part of her accepted that a good sound spanking was the least she deserved for the way she’d behaved this evening; and besides, she couldn’t deny that there was something rather exciting about this new, masterful side to her boyfriend. But at the same time it was humiliating that she, an adult, an intelligent young woman, should be treated like this. And if the look on Mark’s face was anything to go by, this was going to be no lenient spanking. A tingle of alarm quivered though her upturned bottom-cheeks; alarm that intensified when she felt his hands at her waist, and realised that her panties were being deftly lowered.
‘Oh no, Mark, please!’ she begged. Twisting round on his lap she gazed imploringly at him, her blue eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m so sorry. Really I am! I’ll never do it again, I promise! Please don’t do this to me!’
Mark laughed scornfully. ‘Oh come on, honey. This is me, remember? How often have I seen you pull this tearful, penitent act on traffic cops and people like that? Then two minutes later you’re laughing at them for having been such suckers. Well, young lady, you’re not suckering me.’
‘Oh but please, Mark. At least not on the bare! It’ll hurt. And it’s so embarrassing!’
‘These little panties wouldn’t be much protection, honey,’ retorted Mark. ‘As for embarrassing, that goes with the territory, wouldn’t
you say? In any case, I promised you a bare-bottom spanking, and that’s just what you’re going to get!’ So saying, he drew down the skimpy garment till it dangled around her thighs, well clear of the target area.
And as target areas went, this one was a peach. Mark had often admired the shapely contours of his girlfriend’s rear. And more than once, in her more wilful moments, his palm had itched to administer the treatment those ripe curves so temptingly invited. But now, as he prepared to give the sweet, spoilt girl the first real spanking of her life, he was struck as never before by what a superb bottom she had. Pale, full and beautifully rounded, the girlish mounds positively cried out to be spanked – long, lovingly and often. Enchanted, he stroked the cool globes, squeezing them gently. They felt deliciously soft, trembling at his touch as if anticipating the punishment they’d soon be enduring.
‘You know, June,’ he said, ‘you’ve got a gorgeous bottom. Really beautiful. Only one thing wrong with it. It hasn’t been spanked anywhere nearly enough. But that, young lady, is something I intend to put right. From now on you can count on getting this treatment whenever you deserve it. Starting right now.’
‘Oh!’ cried June as, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mark raising his right hand high in the air. The next second –
Smack.
‘Ow!’ she yelped, as much from surprise as from pain. Never would she have guessed just how sharply a hard male hand can sting a soft, unprotected female bottom.
Smack.
‘Ow!’ A second swat, just as hard, connected with her other cheek. Mark paused to admire the two pink hand-prints now adorning the pale mounds, then settled down to spanking her hard and steadily, smacking now left, now right, and taking care to cover the whole expanse of her ripe rearward curves. After only a few spanks, a warm pink blush suffused the pretty bottom-cheeks, deepening steadily to a rich glowing red. With each spank June gasped and squealed, kicking and wriggling frantically. But Mark had her in a secure hold, and there was no escape for the increasingly penitent young woman.
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